As I look across my kitchen table at my bearded, pajama wearing, Tolstoy-lookalike roommate Tony munching away from a bowl of Cheerios, I can’t shake the idea that I will die alone. Tony slowly lowers his head down close to the bowl, crunching on the Cheerios, and a little bit of milk gets caught in his beard. He wipes it away effortlessly, notices me staring at him, cocks his head and says:
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
I couldn’t tell him I was thinking about dying alone, there, sitting in my breakfast nook. I mutter “Nothing”, and go back to the restless nature of my thoughts.
Remember the days when you met someone at a show and because you REALLY liked the same band, that was literally the moment you fall head over heels in love with that person?
I got a girlfriend once because I separated the green Skittles out for her in Biology class in high school. Maybe you played football and got to bang cheerleaders. Maybe you were the school slut. Maybe you’re the one who developed breasts before everyone else.
But now, as a thirty-something adult, I realize that the entire dating scene is a cruel and self-debasing act of masochism. Sitting there listening to another person LIE to you all night over some shitty food is the definition of Hell (because you know NO ONE is completely honest at the beginning of a relationship). And, if can somehow stomach your food over this persons desperate attempt to relate to everything you say, you just may get back to your bedroom to have drunk, partially sustainable sex with this partner.
You’re lucky if even use a condom.
My gay friends tell me straight people are boring. I agree, especially when it comes to sex.
“What you do last night?” I ask my flagrant gay friend.
“Oh my God! It was fantastic, a full orgy, people coming everywhere, blow jobs for days, brilliant! What about you?” He asks back.
I shrug: “Spent 55 bucks on a dinner and didn’t even fuck.”
“What, no head?”
“Not in this town, pal.”
He huffs: “Fucking boring ass vanilla straights man, ya’ll in a sad state.”
“Tell me about it,” I say.
Then he smiles: “I’ll suck your dick.”
“Thanks for the offer, my friend, but I’m not into sack.”
There’s something to be learned from all of this. Here in New York, straight people are even more doomed. For the women, it’s rough. There are more women than men in New York City, and half the men are gay. For the guys, you better be hot like Ryan Gosling in tight black jeans and a beanie or got some money, because if not, these women would rather spit on you than smile when they pass you by on the street.
Why does dating suck in NYC?
Here’s a partial list:
YOU’RE NOT AS COOL AS YOU THINK
It might be true. You might not be as cool as you think you are. All that style, haircut, and fashion sense will only allow fucking privileges with someone who also give a fuck about that shallow shit. I imagine two porcelain dolls slamming their bodies against each other, fearing to mess up each other’s hair. I know people who don’t even like sweat, including their own! How the hell can you fuck properly without sweating?!? That’s crazy. If you ain’t sweating during sex, you doing it wrong. And yes, you can do sex wrong. Trust me. I’m running a straight C- average in bed.
Your inflated sense of self importance may just be the thing preventing you from actually meeting a decent human being that will care for you. We know you think your hot shit. But you might just be a touch mediocre.
Real talent and genius come rare each century. I mean, there’s only one Lady Gaga, and you ain’t it.
TOO MANY OPTIONS
When I’m working the bar, I like to ask questions of my drunken regulars. When I pose this question, “Why does dating suck in NYC?”, the number one answer is this:
Too many options.
What the fuck does that even mean? How many interesting people do you really think are in this city? Seriously, I’m a bartender. I watch all of you all the time. What do you think we’re doing back there? We’re analyzing every aspect of human fucking behavior. We know who you fuck. We know what’s wrong with your marriage. We know you’re actually a lesbian and you haven’t come to terms with eating pussy.
Too many options, what the fuck?
Most people are pretty much the same, no matter how you dress them. The human animal does maybe five things (you can guess those) and all the other accompaniment is really window dressing. Either you got money or don’t. Either you have a big dick, or you don’t. Either you’ve got a pussy so beautiful you want to sleep on it, or you don’t. People are not that unique.
My mother always said: “better to deal with the devils you know than the ones you don’t”.
I’m with you, Moms.
And as my very angry ex-girlfriend once told me:
“The grass is greener where you water it, motherfucker.”
Stay tuned for the next installment of “Why Dating Sucks in New York? (Part 3)