Well it’s not a billion dollars, so that was a given.

I think I’m past dating “cool” people.

Too often the notions of “cool” and mean are all too inextricably tied. This should be one of those no-brainers, right? From day one, not dating mean people should kind of be the goal. “Cool” people are in many ways unavailable and/or unobtainable, that’s how they maintain that sense of “cool”. They “dropped the ‘the'” and never cashed out. It’s something of a misnomer and usually linked with values we’re putting on others. I’ve found the idea of “cool” shifting as I’ve grown. “Cool” was always a basket in which I dumped the people I considered too good for me. There was this exclusivity I’d given them, based on strange pop-cultural norms. Did they keep me in the dark about their intentions? Have me constantly guessing and attempting to redress how I acted around them? Wondering about the gulf between them liking or merely tolerating me? Why did they even want me around in the first place? Did they?

Done with it.

Entering the atmosphere of 30, I’m tired of holding those early 20s values. It’s not cool to be stumbling over how I feel and crippling analysis paralysis of but what do they really think of me? Instead I’m falling back on Fuck Yes or No as my mantra. I like me, most of the time. If I’m sharing Korean with someone, I want to make damn sure that they’re there because they enthusiastically like me too. I don’t want someone judging how many times I send back for refills of the kimchi side plate. I want them for both of us to be testing the limits of how much time we can spare for the date, because the alternative is to not be in one another’s orbit.

I’m at the point where I’m ready to start dating again, but to be honest, there’s this pervasive sense of futility that’s hard to get past. I don’t know when people became so disillusioned at the prospect of forming connections and touching butts, but it’s awfully contagious. I had a couple of replies recently and it’s blood from a stone kind of stuff. People are reticent to divulge much about themselves, what makes them excited or lights up their synapses, as if ceding a glimpse of joy and passion is eroding their personal mana. Reflexively, if they’re not into it I have a hard time giving a shit. Is it that they have too many options and are afraid of being spread too thin? Or is it a case of who cares first loses?

Once again, done with it.

I hope this isn’t coming off like some entitled white dude telling women that they owe me something. It just seems bizarre to be interacting with people who’d just as soon be somewhere else. In truth, it’s likely symptomatic of an entire dating schema that I fail to see on the basis of gender. My issues are half-hearted replies, theirs are fears of physical, emotional or sexual assault. Which probably result in giving half-hearted replies.

You know what? That’s the least cool thing of all.


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