Dating, again. Failing, again.
When my last book released, another academic marvel and a monograph this time, someone asked how my book party was and where it was at. I stood there, rather stunned, as--well--there was no launch party. None of my books, articles, or literary forays have ever gotten a launch party or social nod. Instead, my reviews and critics have generally been kind and warm with notes of praise, yet when you are me, and always on the outside looking in there is no one to throw a party for as we say. I'm still taken aback by the question. Still shocked by how hard it hit me.
Yet, the reality has long been there. Waking up alone is one thing. Always being alone another. Never having anyone to celebrate with . . . well, that's a marker in and of itself.
Though, as any socially adjusted adult does (I use that term loosely) I attempt to engage in adult activities, socialize, meet people for drinks, and do this tango from hell called dating. I've never been good at it, but these days I'm left to wonder if any of it is worth the gander. I mean . . . here's some of the cleaner tidbits I've picked up as of recent.
1. At 40 dudes who aren't married or divorced are like unicorns. Why? If you aren't married, divorced, or have a long and jaded relationship in your past there is something wrong with you. You are not to be trusted.
2. Separated. Yeah, fuckers. When a man says he is separated you wanna know what that means? That means he's still married, sleeps on his side of the bed, probably with his back to his frigid wife, but he still fucks her on high holy days. Like the day he's coming to meet you or the night after he sleeps with you.
3. When some dude says he's looking for an adventurous woman that is code for anal. That's all. He wants anal.
4. Divorced. Yeah, ask for the fucking papers. Why? Divorce means him and his lady got into a pissing contest over who left the toothpaste cap off and him not putting the toilet seat down. He's not leaving her.
5. If you are coming off of a shit relationship--especially one with abuse--don't tell your male friends. Why? They'll run back to their wives and make another baby while remembering the sadness and horror in your eyes about the failure in divorce. You'll know you were the reason they were once looking to exit and are now not.
6. When some dude wants you to be spontaneous, that means little more than anal and blow jobs. Blowjobs: always in public.
7. When he calls you sweetie a month or less into the tango: just pick up your heels and run. He's playing games and doesn't mean his words of remorse for blowing you off.
8. When he wants to meet you midday, at a hotel on the far side of the borough, just remove that fucker's number. You don't even need to Google that joint to know it's got plastic covering the cups and toilet bowl.
9. When a dude has had more bartending jobs, construction jobs, and short-end gigs in the past decade that you own pairs of panties just put down your rosé cider and run. Don't walk, run.
10. Dudes in pin-striped suits: no. Just no. I mean, unless you like that kind of dominance and being second fiddle and not having an opinion.
11. When dudes call you "a good girl" . . . Yeah, no. What am I five and need a goddamned pink bow and sucker?
12. When a dude encounters you and calls you fun sized. . . Yeah, I'm not a fucking Snickers bar. Though that is code for wants to throw you around in some kind of violent sex fantasy, have his adventurous (ahem, anal) sex fantasy for a weekend, or he's near seven foot tall and the oxygen is thin up there and destroyed his brain.
So as I fantastically fail at this dating thing, living thing, and everything else thing I still wonder if it is worth it. Much like the sidecar of drugs I take daily to supposedly keep the Lupus at bay, I wonder why I should bother. Then I remember that conversation about the book . . . The one about a journal issue . . . The one about an article . . . The one about a fellowship. In the end, I'm still alone, restless, and searching. Much like Carrie Bradshaw was: restless, lonely, and eating greasy Chinese food. I'm sans that whole Chinese food thing, though.
Yet, the reality has long been there. Waking up alone is one thing. Always being alone another. Never having anyone to celebrate with . . . well, that's a marker in and of itself.
Though, as any socially adjusted adult does (I use that term loosely) I attempt to engage in adult activities, socialize, meet people for drinks, and do this tango from hell called dating. I've never been good at it, but these days I'm left to wonder if any of it is worth the gander. I mean . . . here's some of the cleaner tidbits I've picked up as of recent.
1. At 40 dudes who aren't married or divorced are like unicorns. Why? If you aren't married, divorced, or have a long and jaded relationship in your past there is something wrong with you. You are not to be trusted.
2. Separated. Yeah, fuckers. When a man says he is separated you wanna know what that means? That means he's still married, sleeps on his side of the bed, probably with his back to his frigid wife, but he still fucks her on high holy days. Like the day he's coming to meet you or the night after he sleeps with you.
3. When some dude says he's looking for an adventurous woman that is code for anal. That's all. He wants anal.
4. Divorced. Yeah, ask for the fucking papers. Why? Divorce means him and his lady got into a pissing contest over who left the toothpaste cap off and him not putting the toilet seat down. He's not leaving her.
5. If you are coming off of a shit relationship--especially one with abuse--don't tell your male friends. Why? They'll run back to their wives and make another baby while remembering the sadness and horror in your eyes about the failure in divorce. You'll know you were the reason they were once looking to exit and are now not.
6. When some dude wants you to be spontaneous, that means little more than anal and blow jobs. Blowjobs: always in public.
7. When he calls you sweetie a month or less into the tango: just pick up your heels and run. He's playing games and doesn't mean his words of remorse for blowing you off.
8. When he wants to meet you midday, at a hotel on the far side of the borough, just remove that fucker's number. You don't even need to Google that joint to know it's got plastic covering the cups and toilet bowl.
9. When a dude has had more bartending jobs, construction jobs, and short-end gigs in the past decade that you own pairs of panties just put down your rosé cider and run. Don't walk, run.
10. Dudes in pin-striped suits: no. Just no. I mean, unless you like that kind of dominance and being second fiddle and not having an opinion.
11. When dudes call you "a good girl" . . . Yeah, no. What am I five and need a goddamned pink bow and sucker?
12. When a dude encounters you and calls you fun sized. . . Yeah, I'm not a fucking Snickers bar. Though that is code for wants to throw you around in some kind of violent sex fantasy, have his adventurous (ahem, anal) sex fantasy for a weekend, or he's near seven foot tall and the oxygen is thin up there and destroyed his brain.
So as I fantastically fail at this dating thing, living thing, and everything else thing I still wonder if it is worth it. Much like the sidecar of drugs I take daily to supposedly keep the Lupus at bay, I wonder why I should bother. Then I remember that conversation about the book . . . The one about a journal issue . . . The one about an article . . . The one about a fellowship. In the end, I'm still alone, restless, and searching. Much like Carrie Bradshaw was: restless, lonely, and eating greasy Chinese food. I'm sans that whole Chinese food thing, though.
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