Now that I’m alone again, naturally, most of society expects me to engage in a heinous ritual that, while torturous, and if practiced for an unspecified length of time, might lead me to true love.
Being that it is so distasteful, I have a severe aversion to this ritual. I have an extensive list of other unsavory activities I’d rather be subjected to. For example:
- I’d rather French kiss a pregnant rattlesnake.
- I’d rather watch Progressive Insurance commercials for 10 hours straight. In HD.
- I’d rather listen to the acceptance speech from the Academy Award winner for “Best Sound Editing” on a continuous loop.
- I’d rather go down on an unwaxed Kardashian after a spinning class in August.
Oh, come on, girlie, what could possibly be that ghastly? I’ll tell you what.
I know, I know. Everybody does it and it’s not that bad and you get to meet new people and just have fun with it and I’ll never get anywhere with that kind of attitude and blah, blah, blah.
But I simply can’t take it anymore. I’ve been on a million bad dates and I’m over it like a teenage girl is over the Jonas Brothers.
I just don’t wanna. I don’t wanna ask and be asked “So, what do you do?” I don’t wanna chug my beverage like a frat boy so the alcohol will kick in soon enough to make this trip to the dentist slightly less painful. I don’t wanna spend 90 minutes getting dolled up only to arrive and think, I wore foundation for this?
I must say, however, I did rather enjoy being in a relationship. Can’t I please just skip the dating part and be safely nestled in a healthy relationship with an awesome guy? I implore you… Fairy Godmother? Santa Baby? Oprah?
Huh? It doesn’t work that way? Well, screw you, too, Oprah.
There are some people who actually enjoy dating. They call themselves optimists, but I like to call them annoying as fuck.
So listen to me, annoying, I am allowed to have a crap ‘tude right now, mmkay? I just got out of a seven-month relationship that probably should’ve ended at three months. I’ve been at this dating hoodoo since the summer of ‘72. Well, it feels like that long anyway. Since my divorce, I’ve been dating like a madwoman to no avail and, once again, I’m back at square one.
Let me bitch. Let me whine. It probably won’t last. I’ll start trolling dating sites and the Home Depot after a few weeks of feeling pathetic and lonely.
And I will revel in every sweet minute of it.