I’m midway through this New Yorker article, What Old Age Is Really Like (yeah, that’s right, I read The New Yorker), because I’m legitimately fascinated by old(er) people. Then I stopped reading and realized, “Oh THAT’S why I NEED a relationship!” – I don’t wanna die alone.
Two weeks ago I tried out Tinder (the soul-less-have-sex-with-strangers app) and within a week gave up on it. Not because the horniness went away, but because (and with all honesty) I am a better human being than any of the guys who messaged “‘sup”.
“Teena May, that sounds harsh/rude/prideful/narcissistic….” but if you’re a true friend of mine you KNOW its true. I’m talented (musician, songwriter, funny, etc), not a troll, my body’s still bangin, I have a college degree and earn a middle class income. Oh and I have morals and self-respect which used to be high on the totem pole but in today’s standards are simply relegated to “the cherry on top”.
The guys who’d talk to me didn’t have real jobs, lived in areas of town I don’t go to (which, listen, if you DON’T live on the Eastside we clearly have COMPLETELY different priorities so why waste your time. And if you live in the valley…….*insert blank stare here*).
So I gave up on it. Plus I still had faith I can face-to-face meet a decent human being at bars/parties/shows on nights or weekends.
Then I started thinking “well, you know, I like my life, I like me, I like my friends,
I like my job, I like where I live, I like my roommates….I’m good without a relationship.” So last week I didn’t really meet anyone (there’s this one guy but….I highly DOUBT anything GOOD will come out of it.) Plus I’m goin to New York tomorrow. I could meet, flirt (and other things) some guys out there on my work/recording/vacation for 10 days. I’m kinda back at “lets just see where the wind takes me” attitude. Then this fucking article.
Its not even about love, or anything like that. Its about a novelist having difficulty creating believable elderly (85+ age) characters. But that lead me to think about myself 50+ years from now. With most of my friends either dead or dementia-ed (I hope not but, life), I thought “am I gonna be the weird old black lady with cats and no one to help her onto the bus/subway?”
The rate I’m goin’ and the non-guys I’m attracting this MAY be true. I mean, I don’t really have any solid relational track record, (*insert the sad violin score here*) I either scare guys or guys admire/dream about me from afar. I’m NOT the girl guys think “Oh, I’m gonna marry her”, I’m the “oh, I’m gonna try to go home with her and when she turns me down, forget about her” girl.
I don’t have a resolution. Just a random thought. So Ima get back to that New Yorker article cuz its SUPER fascinating.
Til the NY blog post…..