After watching the HuffPost Live, Is courtship dead? with the fabulous Alicia Mendez, something occurred to me: I need someone to teach me how to date. I don’t think I know how to date; I know how to interview and how to be in perpetual never-ending break-up, but I have no clue how to just date. Now when I put this on my facebook page my b double o (Bianca) stated that I have given her rather good dating advice. And here is the thing
she is right. So what is my problem? Why can’t I follow my own words?
Let me first lay out my “dating life”; it fluctuates between looking something like the Sahara dessert, or dying of thirst on a boat in the middle of the ocean (water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink; except substitute men for the water, and other activities involving orifices for the drinking and you have my life). So when I do get to date, it is rare and I never really know what to do.
Part of this is that me, little ole me is a big ole fattie. Now the politics of beauty and dating (particularly in gay culture) is a whole ‘nother post, but the reality is: weight can and does limit your options. Limited options may not lead to desperation (it can but doesn’t have to) but it does often lead to less experience. What I do have experience in as a millennial, a queer boi, as university boy, as a person is: texting, sex, interviewing, and judging.
A date for me very often starts off on something like this: I am bored; I get on my iphone. I find a boy. He is bored. It is 2AM. We “talk”; no sexting = a great guy. This is all app level mind you. So this is my new coffee shop, open 24 hours a day. I can always look for something shinier, and brighter. I can always find a guy hotter, smarter, with a bigger dick, and closer (gas is high & plane tickets ain’t cheap). There is no off switch, and while that nonsexting 2AM chat with “Bigdick4U” (who is only looking for friends while showing all but his dick in his profile pic) is great and all, in the back of my mind he too is looking for someone hotter than me, brighter than me, (often) smaller than me, and with a fatter ass (god I need an ass), but never smarter than me (a boy has to have some pride right?). And before you claim I am just self-sabotaging (I am, but wait before you say it; sometimes the pause is everything), he often is on several apps, looking for several different types of men. So basically, for this millennial options are a bitch! Water, water too much to drink?
The next problem is that I am an interviewer. Often a date (in person, on the phone, or via text) with me requires that you bring your resume. I don’t mean to do this, but I can’t help but get my Oprah on, on a date. Where do you work? Where did you do to school? How many siblings do you have? What kind of man are you? What are your dreams? What are you scared of? What was the last great movie you saw? When did you last hook-up? How big is it? What did you say your name is again? Needless to say, well I am saying it anyway, the guys start sweating, break out in hives, and flee for the nearest exist or, magically, the phone connection gods fail.
Now, if I get a guy past these two hurdles, I think: brave soul. I get happy, excited, and hopeful. I am that crazy person who actually tries out my name with their last name, their name with mine, and hybrid versions. This is never really serious but it is what I do; it has taught me that my name always sounds best with my last name last (just a heads up), and it is pointless since I am not big on marriage, but basically I am saying, despite all my freewheeling, get ready to be serious pretty fast. This is a problem. In this world, apparently dating minus the title of boyfriend can last FOREVER. And while I am being Charlotte York’s dilluted black cousin, the boy always texts me something like: or I find myself in conversations like:
But often, too often, my dating life has the lifespan of a fly. Hella short: it is born, it lives, and then it dies, in minutes and it is often not that great. The last romeo texted me: “come to the back door; be quiet. You can’t stay.” I want to say I didn’t go; I want to say I said, No it is cold outside and it is 12AM and we just met online. But I went, came, and then left. Because well, sex, a hookup was just easier.
So yeah, I need a teacher. Someone teach me, how do I date and not interview; how do I date and not hookup? How do I just be? Can we be on a date and not feel like we are auditioning for the position of boyfriend? Must there always be this performative aspect to the whole thing? And why, if we can’t get our talk and laugh on, is sex always still on the plate? Why do I sleep with guys I don’t date, and “talk to” guys I never sleep with? Here I am, unable to have a good date but able to hookup. The only dates I have ever been on has been with a guy who is my ex but not my ex because we were together but we weren’t together (which basically means we REALLY REALLY weren’t together but we were REALLY REALLY fucked up), and they weren’t “dates.” We laughed, we talked, we kissed, we hugged, we watched movies, went to the museums, talked about our lives and shared secrets with each other; we danced in my kitchen to Bette Midler’s “Rose” but none of them were official dates. So, in this age of hooking-up, sexting up, and stripping down, how do you date? Like literally, sit down, talk, laugh, enjoy each other, and schedule a follow up meet, you know, a date.