What Am I Doing Wrong With Dating
Okay, so, confession time. Spill the tea. I'm pretty sure I'm messing up dating. Like, spectacularly. Have you ever felt that way? Like you’re constantly trying to assemble IKEA furniture without the instructions, and all the pieces look suspiciously similar? Yeah, that's me. Every. Single. Time.
It’s not that I don't want to date, you know? I'm all for finding that special connection, that person who laughs at my terrible puns (or at least pretends to). But somewhere between swiping left and right, and actually having a conversation, things just… derail. It's like I have a secret superpower for turning a potentially cute date into a cringe-fest. Anyone else get this?
Maybe it’s my profile. I stare at it sometimes and think, "Is this even me?" I try to be witty, I try to be interesting, I try to showcase my amazing ability to identify dog breeds from a mile away. But does anyone care about my dog trivia? Apparently not. Or maybe my pictures are all weirdly outdated. I mean, who hasn't had that one photo where you’re blinking in the sun and look like you're being abducted by aliens? It's a rite of passage, right?
And then there's the actual talking part. Oh, the talking. Sometimes I feel like a detective, trying to unearth every single detail about this person. Like, "So, tell me about your childhood dog. Was it a golden retriever? Did it fetch? Did it ever, you know, not fetch?" It's exhausting, I know. I’m just trying to find common ground, people! Is that so wrong?
Or, flip side, I’m completely silent. Just nodding, smiling, hoping my face doesn’t give away the fact that my brain has gone completely blank. It's like I've entered a mental void, and the only thing I can think about is how much I want another breadstick. Anyone else? The breadstick emergency is real, I tell you.
The "What Are We Even Doing?" Phase
This is a big one. After a few dates, you start to wonder, "Okay, so, what's the vibe here?" Are we just casually hanging out, or are we a thing? It’s like trying to decipher ancient hieroglyphs, but with more awkward silences. Do I text them goodnight? Do I wait for them to text me? Do I analyze the length of their reply? My friends say I’m overthinking it, and they’re probably right. But also, am I?
The dreaded "defining the relationship" talk. Ugh. It looms over every budding connection like a storm cloud. I’m not even asking for a marriage proposal on the third date, people. Just a little clarity. Is this a "see where it goes" situation, or a "let's plan our hypothetical honeymoon" situation? Because my emotional bandwidth is limited, and I need to know if I should be mentally preparing for heartbreak or for matching duvet covers.
And the ghosting. Oh, the ghosting. It’s like they just vanished into thin air. Poof! Gone. Did they get abducted by aliens after all? Did they spontaneously combust? Did they just decide that my dog trivia wasn't that compelling? It’s the ultimate silent treatment, and it leaves you with so many unanswered questions. Was it something I said? Was it something I didn't say? Was it the fact that I accidentally wore two different socks on our last date?
The Dating App Abyss
Let's talk about the apps. They’re a necessary evil, right? A buffet of potential partners. But sometimes it feels more like a haunted house. You swipe, swipe, swipe, and then you encounter the profile that makes you question everything you know about human decency. The guy holding a fish. The guy with his shirt off. The guy who clearly used a filter from 2008. Why, oh why, do these people exist?
And the conversations on apps. They’re a whole other beast. So many "hey"s. So many one-word replies. It’s like pulling teeth. I try to be engaging, I really do. I ask questions, I share a funny anecdote, I even try to incorporate emojis. But sometimes, it feels like I'm talking to a wall. A very attractive, possibly-holding-a-fish wall.
The worst is when you do get into a good conversation, and you’re actually feeling a connection, and then… nothing. They just disappear. It's like they were never there. Did I imagine the witty banter? Did I invent the shared love for obscure 80s movies? My therapist probably has a whole file on this, just saying.
And the expectations! Oh, the expectations. You see a few pictures, read a brief bio, and suddenly you've crafted this entire fantasy life with this person. They're going to be brilliant, hilarious, and perfectly match your energy. Then you meet them, and they're… just a person. A perfectly nice person, but not quite the fictional superhero you conjured in your head. It’s a cruel trick of the mind, this romantic projection.
The "Is It Me?" Spiral
This is where I really start to question myself. If I’m consistently striking out, is it the universe’s way of telling me I’m destined to be a cat lady? Not that there’s anything wrong with cats, I love cats. But maybe just one human connection wouldn't be too much to ask for? My cat, Bartholomew, seems to think I’m doing just fine, but his standards are pretty low. He’s happy with a good head scratch and a full food bowl. Humans are… more complicated.
Am I too picky? Am I not picky enough? It's like Goldilocks and the three bears, but instead of porridge, it’s potential partners. This one’s too intense, this one’s too boring, this one’s allergic to dogs (dealbreaker, sorry not sorry). How do you find that perfect balance? Is there a secret formula that I missed in high school home economics?
Am I coming on too strong? Or not strong enough? This is the eternal question. If I text too much, I’m "needy." If I don’t text enough, I’m "aloof." There’s no winning! It's like walking a tightrope over a pool of sharks, and I’m wearing roller skates. Fun times.
The Awkward First Date Blues
The first date itself. Oh, the pressure. You're trying to make a good impression, you're trying to be yourself, you're trying to not spill your drink all over yourself. It's a delicate dance. And then there's the constant internal monologue: "Do they like my outfit? Am I talking too much? Did I just make a weird facial expression?" My brain is a full-time comedian, and it’s not always landing the jokes.
The small talk. It's unavoidable. The weather, traffic, what they do for a living. It's like a verbal obstacle course. I try to inject some personality, but sometimes it just comes out as nervous babble. "So, you're an accountant? Fascinating! I once tried to balance my checkbook. It did not end well." See? Peak conversationalist right here.
And then there’s the "what’s next?" question at the end of the night. Do you suggest a second date? Do you wait for them to ask? Do you just awkwardly hug and hope for the best? I usually opt for the latter, which is probably why I'm still single. A little more assertiveness, perhaps?
The "Why Are We Still Doing This?" Question
Look, I get it. Dating is hard. It’s a jungle out there. But sometimes, I just want to throw my phone into the ocean and live on a deserted island with Bartholomew. At least there, the only thing I’d have to worry about is finding coconuts and not accidentally offending a hermit crab. A hermit crab, I could probably handle.
But then I see happy couples holding hands, and I remember why I’m putting myself through all this. That spark. That connection. That person who just gets you. It’s a beautiful thing. And maybe, just maybe, I’m not doing everything wrong. Maybe I’m just… learning. Slowly. Painfully. But learning nonetheless.
Or maybe I’m just cursed. Who knows? The dating gods are a fickle bunch, I tell you. They giveth, and they taketh away. Mostly they just leave you with unanswered texts and a newfound appreciation for Netflix. But hey, at least I have stories, right? And if all else fails, I can always write a tell-all book. "How I Single-Handedly Ruined the Art of Courtship." It’ll be a bestseller, I’m sure.
In the meantime, I’ll keep swiping. I’ll keep talking. I’ll keep trying to decipher those cryptic text messages. Because somewhere out there, there’s gotta be someone who’s also slightly bewildered by the whole dating scene, and maybe, just maybe, we can mess it up together. Wouldn't that be a story? We could be the poster children for awkward romantic endeavors. Our own little, perfectly imperfect, dating disaster duo.
And who knows, maybe one day I’ll meet someone who also loves talking about their dog’s trivia. Or someone who understands the urgent need for a breadstick on a first date. Until then, it’s back to the dating app abyss, armed with my wit, my questionable profile pictures, and a whole lot of hope. And maybe a backup plan involving a deserted island and Bartholomew. You know, just in case.