Dating is Miserable: & Other Stories From a Stranger Than Fiction Life

I’m meeting “The Man”’s parents tomorrow for the first time if all goes according to plan. I want to be liked by his parents so I’ve been following him around the apartment asking repeatedly “What happens if your mom doesn’t like me?” or “What if your mom hates me so much she punches me in the face and calls me a whore?” or “What if your dad hits on me and your mom storms out and I follow her and I get hit by a car damaging my kidneys while your mother simultaneously has kidney failure and you are a perfect match for both of us and you have to choose between me and her?” . Today I was able to hit a whole new level when he linked me to one of his very good friend’s mom’s blog.

me:  what if [Good Friend]’s mom doesn’t like me?
“The Man”:  umm, I’m sure she will.
me:  but…
“The Man”:  you’re ridiculous.
me:  Isn’t that one of my more attractive qualities?
“The Man”:  not especially : P
me:  oh. what are my more attractive qualities?
“The Man”:  ummm
hot, likes to cook, submissive (TSSST)

Boys are weird.

I had to ban the Dog Whisperer at our house. “The Man” has been watching it too much and has decided he needs to assert his place as “pack leader”. This involves trying to roll me on my side when I’m laying down, going “TSST” at my as often as possible, turning my head to make me more submissive, and repeatedly telling me by admitting he is pack leader it will make me more calm.

It makes me feel like Cartman

I am convinced Barack Obama learned his campaigning techniques from Kate Hudson’s character in How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll still vote for him but in the game of getting me interested Barack is making some horrible errors. In fact, let me point out the basic mistakes both Andie Anderson and Barack Obama are/were making.

1. Ruin something the other person enjoys.
In How To Lose A Guy Andie makes Ben get a soda for her in the last few seconds of the first game of the Knicks playoffs just to irritate him. Barack Obama called me during dinner while I was breading pork chops. I was not amused when I had to stop, wash my hands, pick up the phone and say “uh huh. yeah not a good time. Can you call back. …Uh it’s San Francisco I don’t think you need any more sign peop….no really it’s not…” as my oil started smoking and I had to start all over again.

2. Contact me too often.
Andie called Ben with “I miiiiiissssss yoooouuu”s about 100 times a day. I get roughly 8 emails a day from Barack reminding me to vote for him. Seriously? SERIOUSLY!??! I’m a registered voter in SAN FRANCISO. Google “most liberal US cities” and San Francisco comes in the top 10 in EVERY SINGLE LIST. The odds of me voting for him are pretty up there.

3. Get too close too quick.
Seriously Barack, I need you to back off. You assume because my zip code has projects in it that I care about welfare initiatives that “play into my favor”. You know my address, phone number, and email address and use them way too much. I swear if you start calling my mother and compositing pictures of us to see what our kids would look like I’m getting a restraining order.

4. Leave stuff at my place when we barely know each other.
The flyers, the people who sit outside of my work campaigning for you, the messages, the everything. I know you exist. I’m not looking at another presidential candidate you have nothing to worry about. You don’t need to make your presence known and mark your territory. I’m not going to vote for someone else.

Can someone please send him a copy of How To Lose A Guy or “He’s Just Not That Into You” or ANY OTHER DATING BOOK to help this poor guy out? He’s driving me insane. I feel like I have to get my new boyfriend to kick his ass.

My sister has to constantly remind me that you will keep breaking up until it’s the one. I didn’t think it would happen with this one, or that it would happen this fast, but it did and I figure you should all hear it from me first. No one can accuse me of telling someone before them or lying to anyone. I came home today and told “The Man”. Thankfully, he had seen it coming and felt the exact same way. There were no tears. No long drawn out discussions. We both just fell out of love. It’s nobody’s fault.

Thankfully, it’s San Francisco we’ve fallen out of love with and not each other.

I have been in love with San Francisco since the day I moved here. I used to come back to the city after a trip and feel this overwhelming sense of joy and peace. I had never felt at home anywhere and yet San Francisco felt like home the first day. I’d hear that stupid “Lights” song by Journey and actually get chills. My friends who are more like family are here. A job I love is here. A metropolitan city that has every cultural thing I could ever want is here. And yet…my heart isn’t in it.

Today I just got fed up. The things I loved just annoy me now. The constant hustle and bustle that used to energize me now annoys me beyond anything else. The joy of not owning a car and getting to take transportation everywhere which enabled me to read more now takes too long with too many annoying people on it. The smell of the city used to be better than any perfume but now it all just smells like stale urine. The eclectic mix of people now all looks exactly like the cracked out woman in the TL who pushed her kid to the ground, laughed, and then smacked the kid for not hurrying up. It all just looks ugly to me.

I don’t think it’ll be a good break up. I’ll have to see San Francisco everywhere I go and we all know how awkward having to deal with exes is.

How awesome are my grandparents? After 58 years of being married it appears they can still be in the same room. They help remind me that dating isn’t always miserable.

My friends seem to be full of profound thoughts about dating lately. I just got back from lunch with my friend Quinn where he pretty much hit the nail on the head about what people are looking for in a partner.

Quinn and I were discussing an event we’re going to on Sunday that will serve roast pig, antelope, and 3 cheese macaroni. Quinn is an amazing cook and began ranting about how even though he makes his mac & cheese with only 2 cheeses he is sure it is far superior than the 3 cheese version.

Quinn: People think just because it has a large variety of cheese that it’s better. It’s not. The people who use more cheese just lack commitment.
Me: So, ideally, you should date someone who makes macaroni and cheese with only 1 kind of cheese.
Quinn: Here’s the thing, you don’t want to end up with someone who has only been with one kind of cheese but you don’t want to end up with someone who has been down the whole dairy aisle either.

Quinn’s side of the story.

I’m up right now completely unable to sleep.  A guy I used to date just jumped online and with no precursor or formality in greeting he uttered what may be the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

“dude so i was thinking
the definition of slut changes throughout time. like a slut back in the day was a girl that banged her bf before marriage.
in essense if i bang sluts now, im like a future pioneer in women rights“

There are just some things men and women shouldn’t do together for various reasons.

1. Work out together.
2. Buy expensive apparel or electronics.
3. Go to the doctor.
4. Interview any kind of maintenance person.
5. Go grocery shopping.

I have my very strange quirks. I lose my friggin mind trying to pack for a trip with a significant other. Everything, excluding necessary toiletries, absolutely positively must be packed the night before the trip. I have spent many a nights screaming at past significant others and even once threw a plastic cup through a sliding glass door. (I warned “The Man” about this and I must admit the packing for our recent trip to Washington for my niece’s birthday went by without so much of a hiccup due to the actual packing logistics) But the one thing that will always drive me insane is grocery shopping with a significant other.

Tonight “The Man” and I went on our first actual grocery shopping trip. Sure we’ve run to and from the store (since there is a grocery store literally 50 feet from his apartment) hundreds of times but until tonight we had never done full on grocery shopping Amanda style before. I have lists. I like to go aisle by aisle looking at new stuff and getting dinner ideas I hadn’t thought of before. I enjoy taking my time and getting the free samples. I actually ENJOY grocery shopping.

First, I should point out the complete differences in our food tastes.

I have, on numerous occasions, thought I had given myself water poisoning with the vast quantities of water I drink every single day. Since writing this post I’ve consumed 3 4 pint glasses of water. I love water.
“The Man” ’s typical fluid intake includes either Sunkist Orange Soda (Fanta Orange Soda gives him headaches)/Dr. Pepper/Mountain Dew/Pepsi, orange juice if I can get it in him, Gatorade if he’s feeling dehydrated, or beer (though he really isn’t that much of a drinker).  The one time I thought he was going to drink sparkling water he poured grenadine in it.

My favorite food is a tie between broccoli or hummus.
“The Man” ’s favorite food is fried chicken.

I try to cook from scratch, organic, and local whenever possibly.
“The Man” is perfectly contented with McDonald’s.

I had to actually look up the correct spelling of McDonald’s (For some weird reason I thought it was Mac. Don’t ask me why. The 2/3 times I’ve had it in the last 5 years were with “The Man”).
“The Man” would probably be disgusted with this.

I feel like Paula Dean and I are long lost soul mates with our belief that “Everything is Better with Butter!”. Seriously, let me loose in Cowgirl Creamery and see what happens!
“The Man” is lactose intolerant.

I cook dinner for us almost every single night.
“The Man” has the number of the burrito place across the street on speed dial.

If you can’t tell already the trip turned out to be something of a disaster. During the Muni ride over there his ankle got injured by the bus door. He was not too pleased to be hobbling around a packed Trader Joe’s as I bombarded him with “Did you like the [insert name of something I made]?” and received the standard answer of “Not really. It tasted funny”. Considering I’m not that horrible of a cook his stock answer kinda stings. I know a large portion of it has to do with the fact he’s a picky eater but it still bruises my ego quite often.

I finally hit my grocery store breaking point after:

“Did you like those sausages I made with the garlic lentils” (Sidenote: I hate Rachel Ray but her garlic lentils were the shit.)
“Not really. They tasted funny.”
“Do you want to go grab a frozen pizza for dinner? I don’t really feel like cooking so we’ll just eat that and a big salad.”
“Nah. I don’t like frozen pizza.”

Frustrated, tired, and head-achy I grabbed the necessities I needed and hightailed it out of there with a sigh because most men I know, outside of my friend Quinn, would be perfectly happy with takeout, fried meat, or frozen food with little to no contact with vegetables which is why men don’t know how to grocery shop. Sometimes I get so frustrated with the food thing that I’m convinced there is absolutely no middle ground. I see my future self fat (”The Man” has the world’s fastest metabolism) and greasy. I picture our wedding photos looking more like the number 10 than the happiest day of our lives. Then I realize that there is a middle ground. Everything about relationships is about compromise. Which is why tonight’s dinner was ground turkey sloppy joes with spinach, cranberry, walnut, & goat cheese salad with a basic vinaigrette dressing.

Sometimes I have to remind myself not to sweat the small stuff. Food is food and one day we’ll find the perfect balance. Now you’ll have to excuse me as I go get all mushy and cuddle up to Mr. Picky Eater. He’s so cute when he’s sleeping and can’t fight back.

I think I’ve proven that I’m not always the most pleasant of dates. I think the second worst time I was a miserable date, or anything resembling a date, I’ve ever had was with, Mr. T-Critic himself, my friend Karl. (Don’t worry Karl this is about how dating me is miserable not you!) My favorite thing about Karl to this day is his sense of adventure and flexibility (not in the yoga way). I swear I can call that man up any time of day and say “Hey my friends and I need to drag you to a Scavenger Hunt as one of our items” or “You know what we should do? Let’s go check out that art exhibit featuring blood, go bar hopping all night and end with an Arrested Development marathon” or even the words I will probably dread until my dying day “Hey it’s gorgeous out today! Do you want to get out of the city?”.

So Karl and I embarked on a journey to Muir Beach one happy Spring afternoon in his completely awesome Mini.  The weather was unsterotypically gorgeous for Bay Area Weather and nothing could go wrong that day. We were cruising up beautiful Highway 1 just enjoying the day, some Regina Spektor and Colin Hay, and each other’s company…..that is until my ever well timed motion sickness set in. I remember clinging to his car door praying that I wouldn’t vomit and he wouldn’t realize how horribly I needed the car to stop.

Finally we stopped, hiked around, he took pictures and I enjoyed being in the sun despite my ridiculously pale skin. My friends have been overheard saying “If i ever need a tan, i can lock myself in a room with black-lit room with amanda”.  It’s pretty scary. After awhile the sun was getting to me and I was starving. Karl suggested we drive towards and hit Hog Island Oyster Company. Considering if I knew I was going to die tomorrow I’d drown myself in my mother’s shrimp spaghetti, friend clams, and raw oysters I couldn’t be happier with the suggestion.

We got our bucket of oysters and start cracking them open when it happened. 2 oysters in I started feeling funny. I suddenly got really dry mouth. When I went to the car to get my bottle of water I felt really dizzy. When I sat back down my chest started feeling really tight. I scarcely recalled that shellfish allergies set on in your mid 20s and the first time can be only mildly anaphylactic which is when I really started to panic and the tightness in my chest started to become too much. Karl and I started to leave which is when I puked.

We got in the car and started speeding towards the nearest town as I started to feel worse and worse and worse. We finally found a small general store off to the side of the road and I chewed two Benadryl and completely passed out in the car. Important Fact: If you’ve having a really bad allergic reaction two chewed Benadryl (not chewable Benadryl. Two hard cased ones that you crunch into pieces) should knock it out or at least keep you alive until you get to a hospital.

Poor Karl. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody so white, so scared, or so worried in their life. I puked, almost required medical attention, and completely passed out on him. He deserves some kind of award for lasting through that date. I deserve an award for never getting to eat oysters again

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

If you can’t tell from this blog that I have some experience with men I suggest you call House (Hugh Laurie is totally my new man crush. I have NO idea how in the world it took me this long to fall in love with him and the show). Not only have I dated a lot, most of my roommates have been men. Most of my friends growing up were male. I have a father and a brother. I’ve lived with two of my exes. I am familiar with men and their habits. Despite my in depth knowledge of men, I still am completely unable to explain the absolutely baffling phenomenon of men lacking the ability to change the toilet paper roll. It’s not hard. It takes 2 seconds.  In fact here is all the information you need to do complete this complicated task.

Is this problem somehow related to men getting water EVERYWHERE when they shower? I mean I understand the differences in men and women when they shower.

How To Shower - Men Vs Women - Funny blooper videos are here

I just don’t get the rest