From the back to the middle and around again, I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous semi annual editorals about us crazy snake people and our dating habits. Even if the idea of “hook up culture” was a new phenomenon (Spoiler alert: Hippies. Spoiler alert spoiler alert: The fucking jazz age? See also: Human history) is it really such a terrible idea to road test? The most finite resource we have is time and theres nothing worse than spending time on people who only end up wasting it. And keep in mind not everyone does this, but I hate to see an arguably “different” approach get thrown under the bus like we’re having some sort of renters only, under employed, selfie entrenched bacchanal over here in our market segment.
Despite my incredibly pragmatic approach to most things in life, its not like I’m not a romantic. I’m open to the idea and the possibility of having a serious romantic relationship, but I have yet to encounter someone who can live up to the only expectation I have: Just be real with me. I hate that so many people do what they think they’re supposed to do in a relationship, rather then what they want to do. Its the root cause of so much passive aggression its unreal. I know all too well. I’ve lived it. I’m good on that.
I don’t buy into the whole “love at first sight” or “soul mates” business, its oddly superficial and usually the result of, I don’t know, pheromones or some shit. Which isn’t to say things never pan out, but lets be real, how many times have y’all had an amazing night with someone new and then they just say something that forever ruins your boner for them the next day? Or worse yet, they add you on Facebook and you find out they’re REALLY into Nickelback, or have been to the Gathering of the Juggalos. More than once. Sometimes 24 hours is all you really need to know a person is all I’m saying.
I don’t understand “being in a relationship” as a life goal or milestone, as if it were like buying a home or climbing a mountain. Human relationships are complicated and trying to assign any sort of assumed trajectory to them is absolutely insane. Love takes time and honesty, not 3 drinks, a non-expired condom, and the ability to settle.
I would much rather wake up alone than next to someone who doesn’t want to be there, but feels obligated. I actually really like living and being alone. I mean, I’m an adult. If you come into my life at this point, and then decide I’m not your cup of tea, I’ve already figured out how to live my life without you. Things not working out is always sucky, but never life shattering. I have other places to be, it’s cool.
And maybe thats why hook up culture is arguably making a resurgence: I hate the idea of dating, and clearly I’m not alone in that. Two people sitting across from each other at a restaurant gauging each other’s potential over mid priced entrees, “So do you have any siblings?” Gross. Get me in a bar loudly discussing how the two party system has completely failed this country with someone else getting sloppy and just yelling “YASSS!”, or better yet, counterpointing at an equally excited volume. Be who you are from the get go, the “little surprises” route never ends well. Like, sure, people change with time, but at a certain point in your life you should at least have a level of self awareness you are able to express verbally to a stranger. I’ll start: Hi. I’m Brittany. I’m irrationally moody, adorably obese and don’t plan on ever having children ever. Still with me? Great, I’ll have a Captain and diet.
Sometimes I wonder how much my queerness effects how I view dating and relationships. Most etiquette and manners and expectations are set by incredibly heteronormative goals, somehow cumulating in 2.5 kids and a plot in suburbia. Maybe to get to that end game, you grin and bear it through the under seasoned chain restaurant food, you laugh at the bad jokes and you hope to get a ring around your finger before he realizes how often body hair occurs, especially as time progresses, where he would least expect it. Who knows, its never really been my scene. When I find myself smack dab in the middle of some mediocre bullshit, I have my “oh no the server crashed!” panic mode rehearsed and ready to go (No one has ever suggested I remote in via a smart phone terminal. No one. Like, guys. Come on. Like I’m gonna fuck someone who doesn’t even suggest remote troubleshooting.)
Not that my fantasy life is that much different I suppose (and sometimes I wonder how much of it is a product of what I’ve been told to want vs what I would actually want out of my life, but that is a tangent for another day). Nothing makes my toes curl like the idea of waking up next to someone who pays half the bills, supports my creative bullshit, gives me an additional perspective and makes me a cup of coffee. Someone I would raise dogs with and travel the world in short, inexpensive bursts. Someone who agrees having a small apartment in several cities would be preferable to being tied down on a mortgage. Someone who shows up because they want to be in my life, not because they feel obligated as part of some sort of bizarre social contract.
Until then, I suppose I’ll make my own fucking coffee.
And by make my own coffee I obviously mean go to the same Dunkin’ Donuts every morning and awkwardly flirt with everyone who works there.