Dating is hard

Harder than a boner.

Remember when you were in your twenties and dating was hard because you had a huge list of non-negotiables? You had so many expectations and hope and dreams because THIS WAS THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! It was before you had a mortgage, when you could miss a day because your other job of selling drugs would cover it anyway, when drinking wasn't just a coping mechanism, right? You wanted a man who could keep up with you, make your mother livid and make you feel alive. You were vibrant, skinny, cute and ready to take on the world! You had tons of friends, too. You were living life to the fullest!

Let's take a look at the progression, shall we? This was my list of dating requirements at 18 in no particular order:

1. he must love dogs
2. has to make me laugh
3. must have a job
4. doesn't want kids
5. doesn't live with parents
6. doesn't know what D&D is
7. has to have own car
8. must love my music
9. not a smoker
10. must be attractive

That list kept you from getting into a clingy relationship with an ugly loser with no goals. Let's flash forward to after my first real relationship and heart break...

1. he must love dogs
2. has to make me laugh
3. must have a job
4. doesn't want kids
5. doesn't live with parents
6. doesn't know what D&D is
7. has to have own car
8. must love my music
9. not a smoker
10. must be attractive
11. can't be a stoner/drug addict
12. must want to go out more than once a year
13. has to have a healthy relationship with his mother...and grandmother
14. can't be an obsessed gamer
15. must have a sex drive
16. must be supportive
17. must be honest
18. never cheats

Yes, the list got longer in some ways, shorter in others. I was still in my twenties. But I had less friends, I was less vibrant and less skinny. I don't really come into a lot of available men my own age. The ones my age I knew were heavy into role playing board games or had serious anxiety issues that they either self-medicated or just got stoned on prescription pills. Did I mention that was when I was younger? Yeah, well, I'm fucking thirty now.

Thirties.

Let's talk about options. When you are thirty and single, you will most likely come up against these types of available men: divorced, single dads, divorced dads, twice-divorced single dads, she-cheated-on-me-I'll-never-trust-agains, gamer addicts, swingers, Christian virgins, I'm-probably-moving-soons, and my favorite, I-also-post-on-Craigslist-desperates. Oh yes, you better believe I fucking check. It's easy, just look under the guys looking to feed from lactating women.

Yep. Somewhere around this entry.

I'm just going to jump right in now and tell you about my last date... 

I'd gone out that afternoon to meet some dumbass for a late lunch, but he ended up getting lost... by like 40 miles. Apparently it really hurt his ego, too, because he turned into a gigantic ass about it and to up the ante, started sounding rapey. I don't deal with rapey, so I told him to get himself a hooker, but simultaneously, in spite of this drama, I was messaging another guy who seemed less rude. He wanted to make sure I didn't "lose all hope in humanity" after the last fiasco by extending an invitation to a casual dinner. I accepted.

Sidenote: I was also talking to a nurse at the bar who was studying a "heal through Jesus" type of homeopathy called Bio-Energy healing. I had to sober up a bit, so I listened to her intently and even let her do a demonstration on me. Say what you will, but I got TWO HUGS. I FUCKING GOT HUGGED TWICE OUT OF IT. She smelled like cigarette smoke, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. Two. Two hugs. Suck it. Back to the story...

He was pretty, by the way.  Really pretty. And of course he'd traveled the world. They all have. Because we're all out of college now, and I'm the only one who hasn't. I'm the only poor person on that damn dating site that can't say how beautiful my time in Istanbul was. But moving on... He had a great job, he had a good sense of humor, was polite, had a decent job, was pretty, had a beard...why did he give me the awkward side hug before running (yep, pretty sure he ran) to his car and never speaking to me again? I was charming and witty and held my booze... maybe he had to pee? OR probably because at this age guys suddenly develop a fucking list, too! It's not just about getting laid anymore. You have to have more than just a well-kept vagina and boobs; you have to meet his requirements regarding family, credit history, goals and maybe even political views. I think his list wasn't matching my life's CV. I look back and now I see I had some red flags come up: I don't have family since they're either dead or estranged; I own my own home and have a career job, which roots me and makes me less likely to move; I'm an extrovert, so I'm less likely to let him make all the decisions; and I'm harder to impress since I don't really need him for anything. Now it's appropriate to be a uterus with maternal needs and I'm terrible stock for starting a family with. Family values? Isn't that a tour with Korn headlining?

We are fam-i-ly. I got all my sisters with me.

The whole thing felt like a waste. I mean come on! I'd laid some of my most charming shit down-- There was an elderly lady attending her grandson's second birthday party at the table behind us. Her arm was in a sling. She looked like the poster-child for MedAlert bracelets; the epitome of "I've fallen down and I can't get up and this happens a lot." I told him I'd give him ten dollars if he'd go up to her in front of her husband and whisper, "It's none of my business, but I think you should leave him."

Come on, Mom. You can't keep rolling off like that.
You know Dad gets testy when he can't smack you.

I fell in love with me; I thought I'd sealed the deal on a second date. Nope. Apparently he didn't run because he had to pee after all, because he didn't even respond to my obligatory thank-you-text. Which, if you've been counting, makes that two bullets I dodged that Saturday.

OK, so now what the fuck?

There is a solution.

So if men have lists and women have lists, are we super boned now? No! There's good news, everybody! There's a solution to this problem I call onset dying alone. It's called settling and what it means is that your lists will become shorter the older you get. Doesn't that sound awesome? Let's take a look at my list now. I've color coded it because it now has a specific order.

Legend:
      non-negotiable

      "rich/super attractive" override

      "makes me laugh a lot" compromise

      not necessary if he has a beard

      he thinks I'm cool, so whatever

      would be really nice

•   Must love dogs 
•   must have a job 
•   must have all his teeth  
•   has to make me laugh  
•   can't be a virgin  
•   doesn't have kids  
•   doesn't live with parents  
•   not a smoker  
•   has to have own car  
•   doesn't want kids  
•   must love my music  
•   doesn't know what D&D is  

It's called compromising, kids. You decide what's really important to you. Or, to put it into perspective, what's less important than dying alone. Just take this weekend for example; I'm going to a movie I don't even care about with a 36 year old Jesus-adoring virgin. I know, right? But to be fair, he has really, really lowered his standards, too, because he's six years older than me and that means his list is even shorter than mine! To be fair, this isn't really a date date. It's more of a cry for help, I mean, a reason to get out and make a friend maybe. There is a silver lining, though. If it's one thing Christians know, it's other sinners. Networking. Maybe I can meet another sinner through this guy who makes it to even the blue requirements. Just remember--Hope; she is one cold-hearted bitch from Hell. Now, get out there and lower those inefficient standards. And don't buy cats. Those fuckers will eat you after you die alone.