Dating In Your 30s

Sometimes I wonder whether I’m ever gonna meet a guy, before it’s too late…

Everywhere I look, I see couples loved up and making memories together. Every gal I know is perpetually in a relationship and they get to have all those lovely dating experiences like going to the movies, having dinner in a romantic restaurant, trips to the fairground, romantic holidays abroad, or even just cuddling up on the sofa – all that nice relationship stuff that you miss out on when you’re single.

And here’s me sat at a computer with messy hair, eating a massive bowl of cereal, realizing that the only long-term committed relationship I’ve ever been in is with my laptop computer. Well hey, at least it’s reliable!

I mean, I’ve dated more guys than I wish to remember. But most of my relationships don’t last longer than a three-course meal. A three-course meal at McDonalds.

Problem is, like a lot of introverts, I’m picky. Because introverts are generally OK on our own, we end up being less desperate and more choosy. And if we let someone in, they have to fit into our introvert lifestyle otherwise we’d go insane! But that doesn’t necessarily mean we like being alone. Some introverts do. But some of us long for a special connection with someone, to share our life with the right person, to put down roots.

But, it’s difficult to meet men in real life if you’re introverted. Or if you’re over 30. And especially if you’re both.

Dating in your thirties is different than dating in your twenties. First of all, once you’re over 30, most men are already married anyway. Else they have tons of baggage like kids, addiction issues, weight issues, kids, divorce, debts, kids.

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Secondly, in your thirties, forty is hanging over you like a big cloud of doom and there’s a sense that, if you’re not already in line, you’d better get in line: get married, get a mortgage, get a family car, have kids, buy a white picket fence, pretend to be living happily ever after. I often relate it to musical chairs. Everyone is trying to find their seat before the music stops (at 40!). Because, like they said in Sleepless in Seattle, you have more chance of getting killed by a terrorist than you have of getting married over 40.

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Another problem is that online dating tends to be the go-to for introverts (and us older folks) but trying to meet a guy through online dating is difficult. Trust me, I’ve on-and-off online dated for 10 years. Am I in a loving, committed relationship? Yes! With my computer, remember?

A lot of men online are unstable, insecure, and perverted. They think you’re supposed to marry them by the second date. Or sleep with them within an hour of meeting. Or they’re players. Or they’re psychopaths. Usually all of the above. To be fair, I’ve heard a lot of women on dating sites are just as bad. Online dating brings out the worst in people.

Meeting someone in real life is much better. But it’s hard. How do you meet someone in real life?! A typical introvert’s social circle is not particularly big (mine consists mainly of married women and gays). And when you’re over 30, who in your workcircle is not already married with kids?

Well, there’s always Larry…larry

Back to Meg Ryan crying…

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It guess it’s like Prince said: Until I find my righteous one, computer blue.

Although, I actually have no idea what he meant by that… Oh well, back to my cornflakes.

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Forgiveness is a Noun not a Verb

Look, I’m like the least forgiving person on Earth. I don’t do “forgiveness”. But it seems to be really popular these days, I keep coming across this bizarre concept all over the internet when I’m looking for advice on revenge. But there’s something a lot of these “forgiving” people are getting wrong…

My advice to the forgive and forgetters is: if you truly wanna be all forgiving… that’s fine – but you gotta take note: forgiveness is a noun not a verb. What I mean is that forgiveness is a concrete, solid thing – like a big boulder or something. It’s a commitment you make to yourself – yourself, yourself – not other people – to improve the condition of your soul. You can’t just say you forgive someone and magically you acquire inner peace or something, it don’t work that way.

There was this chick the other day, prattling on about her ex for an hour and a half, and then she ended by saying, “But, of course, I forgive him”. Well… if she’d forgiven him she wouldn’t have just wasted 1.5 hours of her precious existence talking about how much she hates him. Think of all the things she could’ve done with that hour and a half…!

In 1.5 hours you can:

  • Learn to say “I love you” in 10 languages
  • Paint a beautiful picture
  • Learn how to play “Let It Be” by The Beatles on guitar
  • Learn how to make a Spanish omelette and actually make one and eat the damn thing – twice!

What a wasted opportunity!

I know that applies to me too, I’ve wasted at least – at least! – um… 7 years, on revenge, and that other fun “R” word: Regret. I could’ve become a Guitar Hero in that length of time! But, hey, I accept my fate, because verb-ing it doesn’t make it so and I can’t turn it into a noun unless I have some Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind treatment done on my brain.

If you can forgive and forget the people who’ve wrong you then good on you, think of all the Spanish omelettes you can make with your ample free time! Just make sure your behavior is matching the words coming out of your mouth otherwise you’ll have to come join me on the Raft of Revenge, and no “Let It Be” for you!

 

Open Letter to a Married Female Friend

Dear Stacey,

I hate you. Oh, by the way, I also hate your husband, Todd. I hate you both. Do you know why I hate you both, Stacey? Because you’re so f***ing perfect. Even your damn names are perfect! Todd & Stacey. Stacey & Todd. Wtf?! You and your perfect husband with your perfect jobs and your perfect lives and your perfect car in your perfect garage in your perfect house with it’s perfect “matching colors” kitchen with your perfect “His & Hers” coffee mugs to fill with freshly ground organic coffee from your perfect coffee machine and then sit on your perfect deck in your perfect garden and say “Hi” to your perfect neighbors in your perfect neighborhood. How is this even real?!

Stacey, people like you are supposed to only exist in fictional stories. In fact, it’s like you just stepped right out of a Fairytale and came to life. How do things like this happen, Stacey? What cosmic occurrence lead to the string of events that lead to people like you and Todd existing? Why did every single thing in your life go so wonderfully, perfectly right, Stacey?

Why?!

Do you know what “worry” is, Stacey? No, you don’t. Do you know what “bills” are? Of course you don’t! Your perfect, rich, successful husband deals with all the bills so you never have to worry your pretty little head about it. You’re only stressed because you have so many champagne luncheons to go to and parties to throw and invites to send and how will you ever have the time to fit in your horse-riding and Pilates classes?  That’s like your idea of Defcon 5, isn’t it, Stacey? You can’t even fathom real problems!

I can only dream of your life, Stacey. Well, actually, no, that’s not quite true because I’m your friend so I have to watch you live your wonderfully, smooth and glossy, picture-perfect life while I sit on the other side of the fence with my broken life and broken teeth and broken heart, hoping I’ll be able to find some broken man and afford a broken shack in Crimesville sometime before I die of malnourishment or murder.

I hate you, Stacey. Because you have choices. You’ve always had choices, from the moment you were born. Who do I want to be friends with? What toys do I want for Christmas? What clothes shall I wear? Do I want a brown pony or a white pony? Where do I want to study? Which car do I want daddy to buy me for my 17th birthday? Who do I want to date? Where do I want to live? Who do I want to marry? You got to CHOOSE all these things, Stacey! You didn’t have to work for anything, you didn’t have to fight for anything, you didn’t have to settle for second best – or third, or fourth – you didn’t have to accept acceptable or deal with endless disappointment and rejection.

Ever.

You don’t even know what disappointment and rejection are. You’d have to look them up in the dictionary. You don’t know what it’s like to go without something, to long for something you can never, ever have. Every single thing just worked out so hot damn wonderfully for you, didn’t it, Stacey? Why?! What makes you so deserving of a wonderful life? And worst of all, because you were born into it, you don’t even comprehend how fantastic it is! You sit there and complain that your cinnamon spiced chai latte isn’t “chai” enough. Wtf, Stacey?!

F*** you, Stacey!

P.S. See you next weekend.

Love,

Your friend, Aliquo.