Dating Is Hell

A chronicle of the problems with dating in modern society.

My sister came to see me this weekend, and we got on the topic of what I tend to do wrong in dating. The good news: It’s fixable. The bad news: I need to concentrate a lot harder on maintaining my own life while seeing whoever. Damnit. This is not conducive to maintaining an optimum level of laziness. This requires planning and trying and other things I’d rather not do.

I suppose, though, that anything I can do without trying isn’t worth doing in the first place. Besides that, knowing what I need to do to avoid being a crazy person might help me avoid more crazy people.

But you wouldn’t want that, would you? Then we’d all be bored.

Last Friday night, I went out with a friend to go dancing. Some important things to know about this evening:

  1. My friend — let’s call her Mary — was determined to help me meet someone, no matter how much I didn’t want that.
  2. It was a weird crowd at my favorite bar. Not at all the usual people. Not even slightly. They were all typical club refugees, rejects from other bars, and (if I’m being honest) the kinds of girls that are always bridesmaids. You know what I mean.

So, we’re in line at the bar, and it’s not even the normal bartender. I get my usual Lone Star — the cheap beer of champions — and Mary and I attempt to dance a bit. Of course, though, we’re bumped off the floor by the bridesmaids, who, you know, require sizeable real estate. Exasperated, we go outside, where we meet 3 and his friends.

From the start, I knew 3 was going to be a pain in the ass. He looked like the Persians from the “Les Bos” episode of South Park, and he clearly found himself very amusing. He starts chatting me up and introduces me to his friends, and Mary  sneaks away to leave me with 3. Ugh. 3’s friends, as his wing men, also disappear, leaving me and 3 to talk.

What happens next is the kind of ludicrous shit you’d expect to see in a sitcom:

3: Can you believe all the people here from California? I hate California.

Me: I’m from California

3: You are? I went to Santa Barbara once. I loved it.

Me: (internal monologue) Smart people would have shut up by now.

Suffice it to say, I wound up claiming that I saw a friend across the bar and spent the rest of the night hiding from 3. Is there anything more blatantly obnoxious than not-even-remotely-subtle manipulation?

Every other day, I lose faith in humanity, and this is strictly due to the fact that meeting guys is an exercise in everything horrible. I don’t have a lot of luck meeting guys in real life, so, being an internet addict, I’ve done the online dating thing from time to time. This month, I’m trying a new network, and, honestly, while I will give it a full month, I’ll probably also shut down my account after that.

It’s been just a couple of days, and during this time, instead getting the usual combinations I’ve seen (control freaks, Asian fetishists, and the occasional genuinely nice person who also happens to be online), I’ve been saddled with horrors straight from the bowels of dating hell. Some gems to share:

  • You’re beautiful. You’re meeting me for coffee this week.
  • "Hi. Sex?"
  • I’m rich. You should go out with me.

Suffice it to say, nope, I’m not interested.

Honestly, is it too much to ask to meet someone, somehow that understands I’m a person with my own life, my own thoughts, and my own likes and dislikes; someone who can deal with that (which really isn’t a lot to deal with), and not try to change me? Hell, the guy can try to change me eventually (it won’t work, but let me have some fun!)… Just pause a minute or two and wait before unleashing the crazy.

Never agree to see a conspiracy theorist no matter how many people tell you to give him a chance. Unless you’re into that paranoid shiz, too, you’re going to be bored. And you’re going to look around and notice that a lot of his books are on the topic of the Illuminati.

At the encouragement of a few friends, I went ahead and met this dude (we’ll call him “1” because numbers are great) at his place on the Fourth of July to watch fireworks and hang out. Theoretically, it should have been pretty chill: We work in roughly the same industry, I brought a bottle of Brooklyn Local 1 (great beer if you haven’t tried it), and he’s a musician, so I knew that the music selection would at least be decent.

Funny how theoretically never pans out. I spent the night hearing 1 talk about how he was going to look for UFOs during the fireworks and how I needed to take a hit off the bubbler he had sitting on his dining room table. Dude seriously smoked 4 bowls before I gave up keeping track. To make matters worse, he was not only boring when stoned (although, without knowing if he pre-gamed, I can only assume he’s boring sober as well), he was obnoxiously lewd, asking me to sit in his lap while we watched the fireworks. WTF? This was a first date!

I should have left about 20 minutes into this whole fiasco, but I just had to try to be a nice person. I need to stop trying to be a nice person.