Dating at 41 in 2017


This shit sucks. I'm told that it sucks at every age in 2017, but I can only speak from my experience. And since I've been mostly 41 in 2017... I repeat, this shit sucks.

I will admit that it's 100000% me. I'm not the same woman I once was. So I don't handle situations as I once did. Which admittedly, makes it difficult to make it past date numero uno. A few times, through... Seriously. In my younger years, I overlooked, denied, and pretended that the shit I observed in these terrible trash type ass dudes wasn't real. As if all those red flags were mere symbols of a hot and heavy burning love. Fell for the okey-damn-doke more times that I can remember - or even want to.

You mean most people don't keep these lists? Oh.

You mean most people don't keep these lists? Oh.

Fast-forward some 10, 15 years later to the year 2017, and I. AM. NOT. ABOUT. THAT. SHIT. Did you hear me fellas? Let me repeat myself for the trash mofos in the back... I. AM. NOT. ABOUT. THAT. SHIT. As I said, there was a time that I was. It gave you guys a certain confidence about y'alls average ass asses. So now y'all think it's simply the norm to be trash. Did I stutter? I. AM. NOT. ABOUT. THAT. SHIT.

You'd have to see it to believe it. Some of y'all know how real it is out here. Especially at this age. Finding a mate out this bitch is like sifting through a box of broken ass toys, where your best options are a Transformer stuck between its two objects, and "No Hands" GI Joe. And these old ass barely mobile muthafuckas have the nerve to want to be players. You heard me right. Geriatric "No Balls" Ken believes himself to have considerable game - when he has issues playing, if you know what I'm sayin... It's really quite pathetic. I mean, if you've not experienced it, just reading about it makes you want to start a GoFundMe for these clowns, no? #thayneedhalp

I can't tell you how many of these pathetic assholes have dropped hints about forever - playing with my ring finger or telling pathetic little anecdotal romantic tales about being married or spending their pathetic little lives with one person... on the first fucking date. Yes. They do this shit. And it's tired. Like these broke ass muthafuckas got together and agreed that deception was the way to a woman's heart... Because that's what that shit is. And again - it's tired. Especially to a woman, like myself, who isn't thinking about, interested in, or expecting forever period - let alone, on a first date. (I'on't know you, dude.) So when these pathetic muthafuckas, put on this pathetic showing, on what can only be a pathetic first (and last) date; I'm like nah... I'm good. And in the spirit of being straight up, I tell them why and... they. don't. get. it. Of course they don't. And ya know... I'ontevencare. It is not my job to teach you to value women, dude. I'll pass.

Ye Olde Tinder Profile | Myers Briggs: FUFU

Ye Olde Tinder Profile | Myers Briggs: FUFU

Or the social media stalker. You meet. Agree to go out. Exchange contact info/social media. You notice the other soul going a bit deep in the likes prior to the first date... Conversation feels like re-reading all of your Facebook/Insta/Twitter/Snap/fucking MySpace feeds at once, as this person proceeds to tell you all that they studied about you in the lead up to the date. Shit. Is. Awkward. Scary awkward. Like is it too soon to get a TRO, like right now over breadsticks, awkward? Like how the fuck are you going to get out of this 'date' alive awkward? Yes. This is dating in 2017. Okay. That exact scenario happened in 2015. But. Because of that, I no longer exchange social media with people who I do not know and have no real connection to, in 2017 - so it counts. Got these clowns on a 90 day social media hold. No need to electronically entangle if his ass ain't acting right in week 3.

And then, you've got the flat out boring dudes. You know the exact reason why this mofo is single - there is absolutely nothing interesting about his boring ass. He is beige. Everything about him. His home. His job. His family. His personality. His car. His life. Even the bland ass food he blandly raves about. Beige. I've had better conversations with my tomato plants than his boring ass. Who da fuck over 40 (hell, 16!) wants to sit on the phone and listen to each other breathe? I. GOT. SHIT. TO. DO. Call me back when you done breathing, clown.

Last, but not least, there's me... "Spiked Hair" Black Barbie with a chewed up foot/leg, despite never being around animals. Why am I single? Well. One of these dudes asked me that question not too long ago and I blatantly said - "I have commitment issues." No bullshit. Don't get mad at me when I tell you that I've stayed in I have no idea how many beds in the past 6 years - (n)one my own, in more than 7 countries, in more than 50 cities... and you chose to believe I was the settling down type? Cute. Your fault brah. It's not to say that I won't ever be. Right place. Right time. Right people. But. If I'ma tell the truth about these clowns... There's mine. Which, admittedly, is changing. The hair, too.

I swear y'all something happened at the stroke of midnight entering my 40th year, where every last little bit of patience for this (and this) particular type of bullshit was zapped from my very being. As if by magic my 'nah' muscle began to flex harrrrrd, forcing me to demand more from the people I allow in my life. Because for all of my life, I'd surrounded myself with those who weren't kind, who didn't support, who, in hindsight, didn't really like me. Mirroring my relationship with myself... (Oof!) But whatever that something that happened was, I began banishing all that did not honor this woman. Starting with my terrible thoughts about me. And as I replaced abusive thoughts, with loving, supportive, and kind ones - I began to receive that from people in my life, almost without effort... Still willing to let go of anyone, who, for whatever reason, is incapable of honoring me. Immediately.

I also began being honest with myself about... everything. Something I know I didn't do before. For the sake of not being alone, I'd pretended to be someone I wasn't. I'd pretended to love those I didn't. Accepted treatment that made me feel terrible inside. Yet, I chose it. Would quickly declare that I deserved better, when I never chose better. And at 40, I guess I just got fed up with the bullshit. Found myself LOVING my me time. Began to choose better for myself. In all areas of my life. Starting with releasing these trash ass mofos. In the words of that great, old negro spiritual, "I can do bad by myself..."

Which is why dating sucks. At 41. In 2017. Be it online, random encounters, friend hookups... It's wild out here, y'all. Hug your boo tighter, tonight, if you got one. As for me, maybe 42 in 2018 will be better... I'm chilling until it is.*

*Unless there's a Celiac Vegan Professional Body Surfer who goes by Stef, born November 5th somewhere out there...