Cosmopolitan Dating…

I recently met a girl… Oh god, another blog on the internet about dating and experiences that no one else really cares about right? Well, I wanted to write about a concept that I’ve been thinking about the last few weeks.

“Does she like me?” “Is he stable?” “Does she shave?” “Does he love his mom?”

Typical questions we may ask ourselves in the initial process of getting to know someone. The rush of uncertainty within the first stages can be fun and aggravating all at the same time. Why do we do it? I call it Cosmopolitan Dating.

In current times we have social media to help carry us through those ‘oh-so-tough’ personal situations. Motivational memes that tell us to be strong or that being single is the best thing ever or that we are meant for greater things…. Yawn…

My first handful of dates with this girl were great! Really. For me at least. I really liked this one. She was a sight for my sore eyes. She had a slight bitchiness that went along great with her apparent passion to enjoy life however she could. I wanted to do everything right just in case this was one of those elusive unicorns that we all hear about.

Weeks later, I still got excited to see her. Sweaty palms and all. I was excited to see a text from her at any random time. Problem was, each subsequent date felt like the first date over and over again. A connection I was yearning for still seemed like it was dependent on how each first date went. I would talk with friends about it and a common piece of advice was to play a game of sorts. “Make yourself unavailable” or “Ignore her for a while”, “make her feel envy”… Sorry, but I’m not a game player like that and even if I was, why the fuck would I want to pursue someone who I have to play those games with?

Before social media, we relied on these magazines that guided us with articles about sex, dating, being single, being a player… and so on. Why do we have to conform to those standards? Is it because some angsty journalist had some bad experiences yet can write really really well so we take what they say as gold? That’s my guess. It’s probably from decades of Dear Abbeys as well.

Dating should be about doing what YOU feel is right. Not what someone else pushes on you as the way things are supposed to be. As soon as I realized that the only feasible way to ‘maybe’ get anywhere with this girl was to play this game, I shut myself off. I got the hint… whatever that means.

I’m 35 and I can reliably say that I don’t need newsstand advice on how I should feel about pursuing a relationship with someone else. It truly should be ‘Fuck Yes’ or ‘Fuck No’… (google it) This in-between shit isn’t worth it.  



I find myself in the same damn spot in life all the time. I wonder if I actually don’t mind it. Being single is actually an understatement. I love people, but I’m constantly going alone. I don’t mean that in a pouty whiny fashion either. I live for myself too often and it gets old. Then I’m reminded of times when I tried to live for someone else, and I got fucked. Prime example, family. It’s ok though, because in something like five billion years the earth will be consumed by the sun and we will be nothing more than…nothing…

After a marathon of a day (15 hours of work and school) I decided to go to my new local watering hole. Guinness is my poison and a good crowd keeps me coming back. For some the toilet is their thinking spot. For me, it’s the bar. A good bar. I’m happy with where I’ve decided to take my life currently but I’m not happy with certain aspects that should have been different.

I decided to open a small little diner in my pseudo-hometown. The support I was expecting was nothing more than a hand ready to be held out with the palm to the sky waiting for a handout. I sold it not because it wasn’t working, but because I wasn’t happy. Plain and simple. I’ve burnt a lot of bridges with it and quite honesty I don’t care at this point. The demons inside me have decided to speak out a bit tonight. Not because of the time at the bar (I only had one Guinness), but because of the overwhelming fatigue from the last few weeks. (And really, the last ten years of my life)

The last visit to my parents was quite sobering for me. For the zillionth time I recently turned my life upside down (flight school)… Seeing my parents after a few years amongst hate-filled emails of guilt and shaming to me, I couldn’t have wanted a faster exit. Everything I’ve done and every decision I’ve made is my fault. Got it. I sold my place still owing money.. Got it…. I paid off people that truly helped along the way. When all is said and done, I was sitting in a house that I’ve never felt comfortable in. Ever. As I’m looking up at the thousands of dollars worth of Thomas Kinkade paintings and the ridiculous amounts of trinkets and random shit, I hear the undertones of guilt being thrown my way. “Oh, the big news…. Me and your dad are going to Ireland for… ” if I had a gun I would have pulled it out, polished one round, stuck it in the chamber and pulled the trigger to my fucking temple. Reminiscing of the time I got my ass beat to a pulp when I was a kid and dropped my wallet on the ground after tossing and catching it like a baseball. I was informed to never ever disrespect money.

Welcome to the first explanation of a part of my blog that I’ve left out this whole time. Ever seen the movie American Beauty? Totally different story line but same sort of effect.

I’m tired now and feel like sleeping. As much as I haven’t shared too many details of a part of my life I hate, there’s plenty more waiting to be vomited out someday. Because of some other really good things in my life right now, I’m finally content with my path. I have no clue what it is, but living for myself once again is an amazing feeling. Guilt is waiting right outside for me though…


I was completely utterly lost today in a realm I thought I could understand. I decided one of my priorities before giving up my air mattress and the lack of any functional furniture would be to get curtains for my bedroom. A downfall of my apartment in this complex is that it faces a pretty busy street and is a few hundred feet from interstate five. (It’s not as ghetto as I might be making it sound). Since the sound is slightly more than the kind of white noise that I actually like, I decided to look for a deal on some cheapy curtains. I actually scored a pretty nice set that was on clearance at my oh-so-favorite home accessory store, Bed Bath and Beyond. Unfortunately I am stuck on a tight budget for a short while so I actually had to give my self pep-talks to get past the kitchenwares and even the bedding sections.

What was really weird is when I got to the window covering area. What. The. Hell? I realized I need at least a part time girlfriend for these occasions. I’m usually pretty savvy with basic design functions and what not, but this is the first time in my life I actually had to pick out curtains. I wanted to drop to my knees and bury my face in the displays and start crying for help.

After several rounds through and around the aisles, I dove in. It was like trying to pick up a hot dog that you dropped into the campfire. Not sure why you’d really feel the need to save a hotdog after dropping it in the campfire, but the essence of what I was doing was there. After wincing a few times, and biting my nails as I hesitated to grab a style of curtain rod I felt amazingly relieved. I can do this! I don’t need a girlfriend to help me with this stuff.

But, I realized something… If I find someone who wants to get married, could we work all the way up to the ceremony and when the gifts are on the table we call it off and split the gifts? What is the rule on that?

What’s your twenty Papa Smurf?…

So for the last few days I’ve been on a truck with my ‘trainer’ to learn how this trucking company handles their shipping procedures. I have to do fifty hours of driving before they assign me a truck of my own and I can venture off all over the country if I want. All is well and I’m just about done.

If anyone has every thought of driving a truck for some period in their life I can confidently say it’s one of the cooler things I’ve been able to do. Getting paid to travel around the country isn’t too bad. The turn off immediately is this whole riding with a trainer thing. Being a trainer for these companies pays awesome. You not only get paid for the miles you drive, you get paid for the miles the trainee drives and with this company you get paid for each mile the trainee drives for six months after they get off the truck.

Normally with these entry level companies you have to ride a few hundred hours with a trainer but luckily because of my experience I only have to do the minimum. All that being said, life is no fun right now. This guy drives from Sumner, WA to Medford, OR every day of the week sans Saturday night and Sunday. Being that he has me on his truck he can maximize every last bit. The day starts at eight a.m. and he drives till about seven in the evening. The truck gets unloaded and I drive from about nine in the evening till about eight in the morning. And it starts all over again. Ugh.

His paycheck gets fat and I get my required hours. I’m ok with that. This is where I become reflective on the concept of killing ourselves by working too hard. This guy I’m riding with makes a ton of money simply for sitting on his ass all day. Good for him, but today as he was driving (and I was trying to get sleep in the bunk) he met his wife at a truck stop. He normally only sees her on the weekends since he’s out on the road so much. Granted I don’t have anyone in my life that would even want to spend more than a day with me but how can some people expect to have meaningful and fulfilling lives when so much time is spent away like that? I guess it works for him and plenty of other people though.

Being that I’m single and (ready for a pringle) have no major obligations to stay in one spot, this is an excellent route for me right now. As I’ve sort of explained in prior posts, this is really a temporary thing until I can get settled where I want to be. I’ve come to the conclusion that I probably won’t be flying for a living for the same reason I think driving truck isn’t conducive to any sort of life I want to live long term. Enough with the reasoning.