My Photo
Name:
Location: British Columbia, Canada

Yeah. I got nothin.

Thursday, December 29, 2005

The Twenty Year Void

I'm too fucking old to date. There's something wrong with that, but I'm starting to think it's true. I just don't have the energy for that shit. Dating takes motivation. It takes...pep. I fucking hate pep. When I have peppy people inflicted on me, I just want to reach out and bitch slap them. Peppy people and pekingnese. All that bouncing and drooling and naked adoration, and refusing to see someone's flaws, let alone laugh your ass off at them...that just ain't me. I can't help it, if I'm not laughing cause your funny, I'm laughing to avoid sinking into abject despair that the world has spawned something as fucking moronic as you. I'd go with funny, given the option.
But it seems like as I get older, the average girlfriend gets younger, stupider, peppier. And yeah, I know stupider and peppier aren't words, go fuck yourself, would ya? Man, I can't compete with that. I can't stroke your over inflated ego, jack that shit up yourself, buddy. I can't adore you, think your too good for me. Your not. Get over it. You wanna be better than me? Sure, just make it at something useful, like cooking. Whip me up some creme brulee, would you? Nothing beats creme brulee. Except maybe authentic Mexican flan from that little Mexican restaurant on Hastings in The Heights, you know the one, with the authentic Mexican flies in the jars of dried chills on the counter, and the authentic Mexican family running the place, and Ma's first grandson was born 12 days after the kid, and on the first day I went there, and he was a Massive Beast with feet like fucking pancakes, man, this kid was Huge. Fucking massive. Damn, I miss that place. I miss that flan.
So yeah, back to me. Or you. Where were we? Oh yes, the grovolization of dating. Seems everywhere I go these days, I'm surrounded by girls in their mid-twenties, who look like girls in their late teens, and act/talk/think like girls who are prepubescent fucktards. And they're snivelling at the feet of, as a near and dear friend would say, 'any man with so much as an ounce of personality'. Maybe that's what went wrong....personality became trendy. Superjocks or Bill and Ted style potheads are out, and any boy with half a brain is the new accessory du jour for the ladies of style.
But honestly, are they really so few and far between? Do we really have to put you in the kitchen every time one walks in the room, just to make sure that when the excitement becomes to much for you, you piddle on the linoleum, not the carpet? Must you keep fucking giggling? Who am I talking to? I keep using "you", but I've switched from a male recipient to a female one...generic audience at large I guess. Fill yourself in wherever you fit.
And that there's the dating world, in a nutshell. Then, we get to the married world. Take out my closest friends, they're anomalies in the system. Other than them, I've noticed a trend here too: Same guys, moderately human, basic levels of decency, mid-twenties. The wives? They're...maternal. Like jello on barnboards maternal. They talk about the kids, and how much they love spending time with them, doing kiddy things, playing kiddy games, going to mommy groups and mommy and baby gym classes.
These people are fucking nuts. No one wants to spend that much time doing kid things, hell, kids don't want to spend that much time doing kid things. Kids need coffee breaks too, you know. Ask mine. She knows where the best coffee in Vancouver is.
And when they're husbands go out with the boys on a Friday night, do they mind? No, of course not. And that's just jolly. Except that they don't mind because they need that alone time to catch up on reading Parenting magazine, or doing laundry. Fuck the girls night out, hell, don't even have them over for a coffee. Women bond over babies, or at dinner parties where they can all talk about the babies.
Rosy cheeked, flannel clad, Peg Perego sporting, these women have delved into the wonders of married life with all the joy and drive of June Cleaver.
So where did the twenty somethings go? When did twenty something become a black hole, sucking in rejected teens desperate for a "real man" and housewives who have forgotten what the world looks like from outside the diaper?
Man, I'm too fucking old to date, and too fucking young to marry. I'm not gonna giggle, but I'm not gonna sing you a lullaby if you can't sleep. I'll say motherfucker, although not in front of my daughter. Yeah, that one day was different. You try getting a toothbrush out of your nose. You'll say motherfucker too, betcha will. Betcha.
On that note, I'm outa smokes, so I'm out of here. Conclusions? They're passe.

7 Comments:

Blogger Maine said...

This is why I'm happy to be married. I'm too old to fake interest in something I don't find interesting, or to pretend I'm some awesome fun guy when I'm not. Screw that. I'm done trying to impress anyone.

If you want, you can move to VA and join my harem. No peppiness required.

12/29/2005 10:01 AM  
Blogger Impulsivecompulsive said...

Just two questions: does your harem offer daycare, and do you make creme brulee? If so, I'm in. Dating life done, dead and deceased. Perfect.

12/29/2005 10:11 AM  
Blogger Maine said...

This is quite funny. My harem actually does include daycare, since we've got kids and all. We all occasionally share in child care duties, but, yes, we have it. Plus, we've got dental.

And I've made creme brulee once. Can't say I "make" it, but I can and I have. Date no more. Join the herd.

By the way... you don't have a problem with occasional group sex, do you? Not all the time - mainly on holidays and stuff.

12/29/2005 10:33 AM  
Blogger Impulsivecompulsive said...

Daycare is good. Child care duties? Only if I can teach the kids all the words to every Adam Green song. Mine has learned where to throw in the necessary "bleeps", although Bunnyranch sounds a little strange as, "Bleep me, bleep me, bleep me in the parking lot..."

Group sex on holidays? Perfect, I can plan my shaving around that. None of this full time shit.

So, can I get a greencard for that? "Unemployed single mother, full time student at community college who's major she keeps forgetting, looking for greencard to join Maine's harem."

I hope you've got some pull with immigration.

12/29/2005 11:04 AM  
Blogger Boo! said...

Rosy cheeked, flannel clad, Peg Perego sporting, these women have delved into the wonders of married life with all the joy and drive of June Cleaver.

Who's that?!

I'm with you on the dating crap too. Fuck it.

12/29/2005 8:58 PM  
Blogger Impulsivecompulsive said...

By "who's that" I assume you're talking about the rosy cheeked women, not June Cleaver herself, no? They're everywhere, out and about. Check the Quay. Tons of them there. And dinner parties overwhelmingly populated by married couples. They aren't at school though...that would be neglecting the children.

12/29/2005 10:15 PM  
Blogger Boo! said...

Oooooh. I thought you were talking about someone we know and the description wasn't ringing any bells. Now I get it.

12/30/2005 5:05 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home