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Saturday, August 29, 2009

D8-ing is H8-ing

So, having recently come out of a relationship, I came to a really annoying realization the other day: I have to re-enter the world of dating. Now, I know a lot of people get excited about being single and meeting new people, but I write a blog called The Curmudgeon because I fucking hate people. Even the ones I know and choose to spend time with get on my nerves, so you can imagine how I feel about new ones.

Seriously, what a fucking nightmare dating is. People are just awful. With all their issues, and insecurities, and their baggage, and their bad habits, and even their good habits, and their stupid comments about how much they like plays or art, and their having had sex with anyone else, and the shitty music they like . . . And then there are all the stupid goddamn questions you have to ask: Where are you from? Where'd you go to school? What do you do? How many siblings do you have? Oh, you have a dog? Oh, it's little, white, and fluffy, and bites, and pees on the carpet? How adorably cliche. What's it's name? God! I want to blow my brains out all over my shower tiles just thinking about it!

And those are the ones who actually make it to the dating stage! Those are the better ones! The percentage of the population that's actually physically attractive enough to be dateable is minuscule! Seinfeld put it best, so I'll let him do the talking:

I know, I know . . . when you find someone you actually like, it's not such a chore to inquire about their interests and past, because you genuinely want to know. But seriously, how often does that happen? Fuck.


  1. Do what I do, have a significant smother 3,000 miles away and relax. Put on a wedding band sometimes, see who's sleazy enough to go after a married person. Make the whole scene into your own holier-than-though psycho/socio experiment. At least this way there's some intellectual value to it. I was never a dater as much as a mater.

  2. Or we can just get married and start our haterfesting life together. I'll come to hate you, you'll come to hate me, but at least I'll never as you about your first pet or your hopes and dreams, cause a) I already know and b) I don't really care.