Online Dating: Holy S#!+, I Don’t Have Time for This


There’s not a lot more to it than that title. I talked to this nice guy a bit. He wasn’t particularly attractive, but he was Catholic and an engineer. Then he asked if we could hang out sometime and I played the scenarios in my head.

1. He thinks things are going great and I don’t like him because he keeps using the phrase “needless to say”. There’s some legitimate reason to run that I’m not addressing. I realize it later when I tell Gail about his obnoxious quirk and she interrupts to say “Wait. He had blood and fur under his fingernails?!?!?!” I’ve wasted a night I could’ve been working on my graduate portfolio. This is the likeliest outcome.

2. I really like him and think it’s going somewhere, even though my heart is dead, and he doesn’t return the sentiment. His rejection… makes my heart deader? I’ve wasted a night I could’ve been working on my graduate portfolio. This is not super likely.

3. We really hit it off. I give the first guy ever a second date that I don’t cancel the day before because I’ve just realized he asked me to his place the night we met, called me fat, and said my degree was stupid. I shit you not, on that one. Anyway, we start to spend time together… a lot of time. I fret over how to do the whole “relationship thing” without fucking it up. This time and energy could be spent on my portfolio, but isn’t and then I fail my last chance at grad school and blame him. My life is over. This is the least likely scenario.

Online dating. Holy shit I don’t have time for this.

A couple of weeks ago, Catholic Engineer and I were sending each other really long and interesting messages and had mentioned meeting. I was taking longer between each message, thinking about whether or not I should bother, considering responding to him at all was tough to fit into my day. He sent me a message addressing that and included the thought that he didn’t mind waiting, because I was worth it. That could’ve been an “aww” moment or a “dude, clean the semen off my window and get out of that tree” moment. It’s the internet, y’all. I was a little creeped out, but knew I might be being unreasonable. Then I pictured a future without my MLIS and stopped logging into PoF without another word or explanation… because I’m an asshole. Since then, I’ve admitted that I was only using PoF as an entertaining distraction from homework, because Facebook gets old and some profiles are funny. I’ve been able to avoid the site since then, because if I sign in and see all of these unopened messages from Catholic Engineer, I’m going to feel like a dickhole… or be terrified. I have a hierarchical checklist now:





I had a chart I made in Paint, with the intention of demonstrating this, but it kind of implied that “Boys” was the ultimate goal, The Holy Grail of my twenties and I value myself more than that. It’s only hierarchical in the sense that I’m not moving forward until I accomplish each individual goal, not the sense that my life isn’t complete until I suck more dick. Maybe that’s not what hierarchical technically means, but I don’t have time to look it up, because I should be finishing that paper.

All that being said, I’m off dating right now. It’s stressful and time-consuming and I’ve got more important shit going on in my life. Going to the bars takes even more time and the results are even less satisfying. Dedicating myself to not dating has actually been super freeing, in a way. I don’t feel guilty for not going out or giving Internet dates a shot. I’ve just chosen not to do this right now, because I can’t. I’m twenty-fucking-five and despite the fact that the Midwest is perpetually warning of the sand quickly running through my uterus, I’ll have time for it later.

Ask Me About My Genitals

A student asked if I was still a virgin today. I told him that was completely inappropriate and immediately became very active on my current online dating site via my phone, because when he asked, I thought “Practically.” I’m intensely annoyed with myself for letting a fifteen-year-old get to me, especially when my vagina seems to be their default, such as when a girl announced that I needed to get laid for asking her to turn down her music. I’ve got to stop wearing my “Ask Me About My Genitals” shirt to work.

This time of year is freaking made for couples, in the same way that summer is made for bars and single people. I tend to go through bouts of “I need a boy!” anyway, but name one holiday movie where someone is unattached and it’s awesome. It doesn’t exist. The protagonist is alone and miserable until Colin Firth or that reindeer, Clarice, shows up and all the pieces of their lives suddenly slip into place.

rudolph happyIn the previous scene, he was cutting himself.

As someone who doesn’t much watch television or movies, that’s not really my concern. Real life, however, pressures me to find someone right the fuck now. In the South, everyone my age is married with a baby on the way; and those are the late bloomers. It’s all over Facebook and Wal-Mart and every single family Christmas party that I need to pick up the pace. I can’t talk to any of the women in my family without being asked if there are any boys in my life. It was actually once recommended by my dad’s cousin that I have a one-night stand. Everyone is concerned with my sex life!

The thing is, I don’t want a boy. I mean, I do. No. I mean I don’t. A part of me really wants to date, because I feel like I am ready for another relationship. I’d like to try out sex with someone I don’t hate and who isn’t morbidly obese. I’d like to make-out on the couch like I never did at 16 and gossip about penis size with Gail from more than a hypothetical perspective. Mostly, I’d just like someone to be nice to me while I’m nice to him and we just do sweet things for each other. Forehead kisses and holding hands sound good. On the contrary, I also love my pink Christmas tree and shaving my legs when I feel like it. I enjoy going to movies alone and watching the same episode of Vampire Diaries three times in a row, because I was reading during it and not paying attention. I love my Buffy marathons and littering the living room floor with my latest craft project. I’m not sure if I have gotten enough of this single life, blast-the-audiobook-like-the-rebel-I-am phase. If I start something that really takes off, I risk giving that up.

But… none of that matters. I don’t have time for a relationship. Not right now. I have one more chance at my graduate portfolio and I work two jobs. I barely have room for funny bad dates that I can blog about, let alone an actual relationship with a good guy who places further constraints on my time. As much as I’d like to get stuck with a cute boy I love during Snowmaggedon 2013, cuddling up naked for warmth, it’s not an option. My winter storms have already been reserved for working on my portfolio and job applications. Divorce aside, this just isn’t the time in my life for romance and babies, because I decided to go to graduate school. I’ll have plenty of time for that after I finish and get my career going. In the meantime, my genitals will be fine. I just hope there are some decent guys left in six months. We age so quickly here.