Dating : Dating: Gonna Be a No From Me, Dawg

I never thought I would be this girl. You know her. Some Sex and the City archetype; the girl who has no luck with the guys. I don’t know if that’s true, actually… I’ve never watched Sex and the City. I KNOW, I KNOW. But in my REAL life, I’m 100% falling into the stereotype that is the foul-mouthed maid of honor who sleeps with one of the groomsmen and bitches about her dating life. Minus sleeping with the groomsmen because men typically gross me out and I don’t want them near my genitals. A wise man once said that celibacy is easier than intimacy. This wise man was the priest on “Fleabag” (a gem of an Amazon Prime show, if you haven’t binge watched it yet), but it doesn’t matter who it was because I AGREE.

Whenever I’m asked about my dating life, I full roll my eyes into the back of my head total The Exorcist style before my head spins on my neck and I projectile vomit all of the negative experiences I’ve had lately. My friends laugh (those bitches) and I don’t blame them. Dating in 2019 is comedy and I’m the running joke. In a way, I’ll admit I like to be. Most days I’m bitter, but sometimes I can see the humor in a guy legitimately taking my cell phone number from the baggage tag on my suitcase in LAX when I suspend the knowledge that that’s for sure something only murderers do, right? And yes, THAT’S A TRUE STORY.

Recently, though, to any proposition of dating, I deliver an apology along with, “I’m off dating right now.” As if dating is some illicit drug I’m trying to quit (and isn’t it?). “I’m off dating.” “I’m taking a break from dating.” “I’m trying to find myself.” Those are the running lines. All lies, I suppose, but shit, I don’t owe these men a damn thing.

In my mild celebrity and modeling career, I was actually invited onto an app called “Raya”. Dubbed the Tinder for the elite, it is an application that allows for the social meet ups of athletes, musicians, models, and the like. Out of pure curiosity, I delved into its digital wonderland and let my eyes widen with possibility. FINALLY, the men I DESERVED. Surely a linesman for the Los Angeles Rams would be kinder, more accepting, and funnier than Kyle from my local bar, but GUESS WHAT. I was wrong. I WAS MAD WRONG. These dudes are just Kyles with money, which kind of makes them worse (imagine Kyle with a cribs style refrigerator full of Monster Energy drinks — UGH, INSUFFERABLE!). And I don’t give a shit about money. I make my own. I wash my own dishes, too. And I’m not lucky that some guy who can push another dude over wants me to roll back his foreskin. Hard pass. No yards gained, homie.

Truth be told, I’m tired. I know there is a lot of unfairness surrounding your parents choosing your betrothed, but man, can that shit come back? Can Billy, Ol’ man Wentworth’s first son on the farm up the road come fetch my paw and accept a cow from my dad or something? I’m pretty much an old maid over here. An old maid with stories. My friends, some of them engaged or married now, gather ‘round for the tales while I do the thousand-yard stare at their ring fingers. Their eyes widen, “what’s it like out there?” As if dating is the Upside Down or I just returned from war. IT’S A SHIT SHOW, LADIES. DO YOU KNOW WHAT I’VE SEEN WITH THESE EYES? A MAN WASTED TWO HOURS OF MY LIFE WITH COLD CHIPOTLE and stories of how his ex-girlfriend is the c-word. It was Soviet Russia. The red flags were everywhere, and the man had an extremely defined jaw line.

Paradox of choice has killed modern dating. Too often people are caught up in what could be next. “I can’t settle for good enough because maybe there’s something better out there.” Do you know how many dumb slack jaw dudes I’ve heard say this? Too many. GOOD ENOUGH IS SOMETIMES THE BEST THERE IS BECAUSE YOU SHOULD FOCUS ON BUILDING A RELATIONSHIP AND MAKING “GOOD ENOUGH” INTO THE BEST. (Obviously there are exceptions. We’re all human.) Tinder, Bumble, and even Raya show that there could be better love, better sex, better connection in the next swipe.

There is completely new jargon these days, too… “ghosting”, “bread crumbing”, etc. and while bread crumbs sound delicious, it sucks to be the person trailing along and picking them up. Of course, males aren’t the only people who do this, the entire fluidity of gender has assholes all over the spectrum. But I’m not one of them, SO LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE. Leave the good ones alone. It breaks my heart to see my baby girls down on themselves, crying over some 4 because he did her dirty. Wipe them tears, baby. You an angel. He’s a dud. Scrape him off and DON’T look at his Instagram.

I’m off dating. I’m not doing it anymore. No more flicking the needle for air bubbles and squeezing my arm for a juicy vein to pump in all these bullshit feelings. It was never for love, right? Only a reminder that my heart hasn’t been rendered incapable. My sister got a puppy the other week and I love that little guy to death, so I know my heart is still beating away. It’s tired of being slammed on tables, tired of dragging its little hurt self back into its cage and weeping for days to come.

I never thought I’d become this girl. Never thought I’d turn down offers because I’m afraid of what they cost. Never thought I’d become jaded. And yet here I am. I am Randy Jackson and the modern dating pool is my American Idol audition. I gotta be honest with you. It’s gonna be a no from me, dawg.