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AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you read the front page today, you probably read my "online dating" story. I thought it would be nice to give you all an update on my own dating journey, because I'm sure you are all DYING to know what I've been up to.
Two years ago I set upon a voyage to develop my social life and mingle with other members of the human race. Two years later and I have become so disgusted with just the idea of dating I fear that I have doomed myself into becoming a caricature of the women that Hallmark movies poke fun at "She doesn't want a career, she wants a Christmas tree farm."
Okay, a Christmas tree farm would be cute, though I'm doubtful how profitable one would be in this economy. But if it was for love? I quite possibly would move all the way to Engadine.
I would even support an arranged marriage situation for myself at this point.
The mechanics of finding time and enduring boring dinner dates is a burden in itself. The overwhelming pressure to live up to the expectations that other women have set as precedence for attractiveness is almost worse.
The modern man has unlimited access to find women to their specific taste and desire on the internet. Women, the same. Heck, guys can create virtual girlfriends that will look, talk, and act just as they wish -- but for one evening, they get stuck with an odd ball. Me.
I feel disadvantaged on the dating market for not having Botox lips, augmented breasts, or a slender frame. I'm disadvantaged for not understanding a hidden language that exists between fantasy and reality.
Every time I go on a date, I feel as though I have 100 pounds of expectation tied to my waist. I imagine a flicker of disappointment in my date's eyes as I stumble into the restaurant booth. Instead of the carefully curated digital fantasy I suspect he's accustomed to, he gets my company for a languishing evening at a crowded restaurant with minimal choices. I'm just his real-life attempt at having his cake and eating it too.
I was recently told by a man that I'm "stupid" and that "I don't understand anything at all" about dating. I think he's right. I've read essays, books, and listened to lectures about dating for two years. I've dissected the lives of my peers like a laboratory frog just to uncover where I am failing. Sometimes these frogs offer advice and reassurances, but those often leave me feeling more confused and uncertain than before.
I've researched dating and intimacy like they were prerequisites for life, pulling from both fiction and nonfiction. Somewhere along the way, I may have deluded myself into believing that the Jane Austen novels I read in high school reflected the reality of courtship: You go to a ball, some mysterious stranger in a British military uniform asks you to dance, and a few pages later, the two of you are happily married with a family.
Boy, was I wrong.
There are no balls and there are definitely no places to go dancing in a 100 mile radius of Alpena.
Despite my research, I haven't had any amazing prospects materialize. I've been on a variety of dates in the last six months and though they haven't been terrible, they haven't been entirely enjoyable. Fine food, varying degrees of interesting, mundane conversation - just overall, blah. I'd have more fun crocheting at home under a heated blanket than in a cold dining room with a stranger.
Maybe I should really consider that arranged marriage thing.
To deepen my current misery, I like to crack open a tub of Ben & Jerry's and watch Indian Matchmaking on Netflix. Apparently, arranged marriages are common in India and some families will employ a "matchmaker" to find a spouse for their children.
I love the practicality of a professional analyzing my personality and characteristics and finding two or three options for me to pick from. Way less work, and I feel like having an objective, unbiased perspective on the process of finding a spouse takes out the guess work.
"Is he lying about having a job? Does he want children? What are his values?"
I'm not naive to believe that arranged marriages are fool proof. Rather, I like the premise of a family supporting a young person's search for a spouse, relying on practical matters like financial stability, value compatibility, et cetera. Instead of listening to my own fickle heart, I could compare personality audits and quantify the pros and cons rather than falling in love with a potential loser.
Too bad arranged marriages don't have a real market in the United States ... yet.
Dating apps almost quantify the dating process, but paying for a matchmaker and involving families in the matter seems more authentic. There are higher stakes, clearer expectations, and no funny business.
Alas, I cannot afford a matchmaker in this economy. Worst yet, Mother has told me that she does not wish to involve herself in my love life - that actually might be a good thing.
Even if I did find a matchmaker, I'm not sure the dating process would be any easier.
I imagined finding a partner would be like entering an H&M and having a department store full of selections: "What color, cut, size do you want? What is the occasion? Lucky you, we have that on sale!"
Dating apps haven't been much of a help, either.
I've recently deleted my dating apps though I find them more comical than helpful. When I'm drunk I will re-download one and scroll between sips of Yuengling lager, giggling at the other lonely people on there, especially the couples looking for a third person to join their harem.
"We don't want your emotional commitment, we just want your body a few times a week."
Sometimes I take screenshots of profiles and send them to my friends so we can poke fun at my dismal prospects together.
"Kayla, you have a choice between the divorced dad that wants a step-mommy or the guy going to college for poetry. You're doomed to be alone forever!"
I don't think I'm doomed to be alone forever. But, I don't think finding a partner should be this exhausting!
Trailing my parents around town on the weekends because I have no other plans or people to hang out with makes me feel like Jane Austen's Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice:
“I’m twenty-seven years old, I’ve no money and no prospects. I’m already a burden to my parents and I’m frightened. So don’t you judge me, Lizzy. Don’t you dare judge me!"
Perhaps I'm being dramatic ... actually, I know I'm being dramatic. I'll surely be married or in a relationship within the next five years, and I'll look back on this period of my life and think, "Why was I so mopey? Why didn't someone slap some sense into me?"
Being single isn't so bad, I guess. I get to travel where and when I want. I don't have to worry about calling someone every day. There is minimal confrontation and drama in my life right now. Maybe I should keep it that way a bit longer ... or maybe I should just bite the bullet and find a matchmaker?
Ugh. No. I'm just going home to watch cooking shows and fall asleep holding an ice cream tub in my lap, blissfully unconcerned with what the future holds.
POSTSCRIPT: I wrote this at 10 p.m. in the office on Thursday. While writing, I listened to Trying to Love You by Sierra Ferrel on loop for about an hour. I highly recommend this as a writing strategy.