“Fire up the apps,” bestie says to me. We are texting, he’s home and I’m 1200 miles away. “You’re in a new place for a while, fire ‘em up. Who knows what you’ll find.”
Here’s what I found. Ten guys, maybe twelve, nearly all conservative. I logged out. It’s okay. I was in a remote, rural location in the off-season. It’s not like I had high expectations.
What this meant was I had an active profile when I got back to the city. I couldn’t resist. I looked.
I’m active on social media so my feeds are full of all kinds of nonsense I didn’t ask for. The algorithm thinks it knows what I want to see so it shows me endless reels about dating.
The majority of posts are by women sharing stories about how bad it is. There’s probably a confirmation bias thing going on here; I suspect people having a great time dating aren’t posting as much.
Still, I get a steady dose of straight women of all colors, sharing stories of men behaving badly.
There are a lot of “Fellas, listen up,” posts too.
“You think you’re competing with other dudes. Nope. You’re competing with her peace of mind. You’d best bring more to the table than dick.”
After all, dick is abundant and low quality. Too crude? No Scrubs is a solid jam.
Also, not wrong.
And there are pep talks on how you should not settle, but baby, don’t give up hope, there’s someone out there for you.
I had to order a new fridge. I’ve been kicking the can on this for a while, but there’s no denying mine is loud. I hear it rattling in the night. It’s long past its sell-by date.
My house was built in 1946. The doorways are narrower than in a newer house so I have limited options. The space the fridge needs to go is narrow, too, and against a wall on one side. When I get the new one, which is taller than my old one, the microwave perched on top will be higher than it is now. I would like to put the microwave on a cart in a specific location in my kitchen, but most of the standard kitchen carts are too big.
I found a stainless steel restaurant cart but it’s not quite what I want. I may just stick with what I’ve got, which is a step stool. It’s fine. It’s better than fine, plus, I’ll have a new fridge.
Some time back I went on a very good date. The guy was present, polite, communicated well, and he checked a bunch of other boxes. It was memorable for the absolute lack of bad vibes.
He messaged me the next day asking to plan a second date. We texted for a while and then he disappeared.
It was utterly confounding. But it also helped me shift my thinking to, “What if alone is the better choice?”
That guy matched with my rebooted profile. I stared at the app for a while and then I messaged him. “We matched before. Do you remember me?” He could unmatch me if he didn’t want to explain.
“Did we meet down by the water? I got really, really sick, I spent months in a haze. Months.”
That’s not “I’m sorry,” and he could be lying. I’m not a complete idiot, but why bother? 2020-2022 was an unbelievably complicated time to be alive, not to mention dating. “I got really sick,” is a highly plausible explanation. We had a literal plague.
I’m not saying I want to go on a second date two years later — and he hasn’t asked. I’m saying if I choose to believe him, it clips off this loose thread.
It’s one thing for your head to tell you it’s not you, but your gut will take forever to catch up with your head.
By the way, I’m genuinely curious to hear your take on this situation, feel free to email me if you have thoughts. I texted my bestie and he was all, “Call that guy out, you have nothing to lose.”
I went on two dates in 2022 and one in 2023. It’s 2024 now. I’ve heard dating is a numbers game. I’m failing at that part for sure. Three dates in two years? Oof.
Or maybe I’m not wasting time. Maybe I’m standing on my stepstool getting a plate out of the microwave.
Maybe, on the surface, it looks like a compromise because I can’t find exactly what I want.
Maybe it’s the better choice.
This is such a rambling way to ask you to not tell your single friends there’s someone out there for them, they just need to be patient. Do you think they’re not patient? Trust me, that is the least of their issues.
What if you dropped by with ice cream instead? Your girl has a new fridge, there’s space.
Unrelated note: I know I need to move off Substack. I absolutely care and will make the move as soon as I decide where to go.