Is It Just Me, or Am I Getting Bad Dating Advice?

As many of you know, I'm single and have been for some time. I've probably reached the point where people think there's something wrong with me.

Nothing wrong with me at all, I'm a catch.

I'm not actually that fussed about dating. I haven't met anyone who seems worth it. I have better things to do than sit around in restaurants, morosely picking at my cheese fondue while some starry-eyed stranger tries to cram our lives together like the wrong two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

Besides, I know how love happens. Love, like cancer and car accidents, happens when you least expect it. One day, you're going about your business, not bothering anyone, when suddenly, BAM! You're in it.

Ugh.

Nevertheless, some of my girl friends are desperate to see me blissfully happy, whether I like it or not. Granted, I've been known to b*tch about being single, but I have to listen to them b*tch about their boyfriends, and turnabout is fair play.

Their unsolicited advice doesn't exactly bother me, but much of it is just plain f*cking stupid. Such as:

Pressuring Me to Date People I Don't Wanna Date

I guess everyone, at some point, has at least one dismal prospect who just keeps hanging around, no matter how many times you tell them to f*ck off. My girl friends keep encouraging me to go out with one, some, or all of these people. When I say, “Well, I'm really not interested at all,” they respond with things like:

• “But he loves you.” Maybe, but I don't love him. The last time I checked, that was kind of important.
• “Oh, come on, it's only a matter of time.” What the hell does that even mean?
• “Sometimes you just have to make do.” No, sometimes you just have to make do. I, on the other hand, am hot. I do not have to make do.
• “Oh, you know how girls are. Just sleep with him a couple of times, you'll fall in love.” Really? You don't say! Tell me more, divorcée.

You might as well just come right out and say it – “You're lucky to get anyone! You'd better go for it because you might not get anyone else! Ever! Again!” Please, your desperation is driving even me away.

Seriously, though, I thought we knew this was a recipe for disaster. This kind of thing leads to sexual frustration, depressive disorders, romance novels, extramarital affairs and some poor bastard sobbing at the end of the bar. Funnily enough, when I say, “If you like him so much why don't you date him yourself,” all they'll do is shudder.

I can't imagine why.

Telling Me I Should “Make More of an Effort”

I get this one a lot: “You don't even try, Marjorie. Maybe if you made more of an effort, Marjorie.”

To be fair, maybe I could make more of an effort. Maybe I could stick my tits out and toss my hair around and giggle a lot and say things like, “Oh my Gawwwwd, you're so smart!”

Then again, if you're a regular reader, you're probably aware that I don't give a happy f*ck. It's not that I don't care about my appearance, it's that I reckon my appearance is already pretty damn good and I don't need an inch of shellac to bring it up to code. I'm not that kind of girl, anyway. I like not wearing makeup, because it means I can rub my eyes.

And no, I don't see a problem with this. I might as well start as I plan to continue, right? I'm not going to become a totally different person just because some stud waved his magical c*ck wand at me, so there's no point in false advertising.

Pushing Me to Settle

As you may have guessed, I've spent a lot of time with the wrong people. It's left a bad taste in my mouth – kinda like sucking on nickels. Especially if one of those nickels got dropped on a hot sidewalk and spent some time stuck to old gum.

Ew.

Having wasted years of my life hanging out with dumbsh*ts, you can imagine how I feel about the prospect of wasting more time with more dumbsh*ts. I've only got one life, as far as I know, and I'd prefer to spend the rest of it not putting up with unnecessary crap, where at all possible. I'll take this one step further and say that I would also prefer not to find myself giving another person unnecessary crap, just because they're such an ass-kissing little b*tch. Remember, kids, it's hard to respect someone who's kissing your ass.

Yes, I know that I'm Not Getting Any Younger and I Don't Have Very Much Time Left and If I Don't Find Someone Soon, It Will Be Too Late. Because men are like bananas or something – yeah, actually, they are. By the time you get to the shops, all that's left are the black ones and the green ones, ha ha ha.

That's not racist, it's a metaphor. ~ Steve Hopson

But I digress. The next time you're down at the supermarket, trying to choose between the under-ripe and over-ripe bananas, look around for a second at all of the weirdos who have managed to find True Love. That's right – and what am I? Hot, goddammit! I'm sure when the time comes, I'll be able to find someone with two eyes and all of his teeth. Fear not.

Of course, maybe the time will never come. Maybe it won't come until I'm all old and fugly myself. I don't want kids, so it doesn't matter. When I'm damn good and ready, and not a moment before, I'll go down to the supermarket and chat someone up while I'm buying bananas. Two birds, one stone.

And daiquiris. ~ Chilli Club

Encouraging Me to Move Too Fast

I'm going to call it “moving too fast” even though what I'm technically talking about is moving in too fast. A friend once tried to tell me that the deadline for moving in with a man is six months. As in, “You'd better be living together by six months because men won't wait much longer than that.”

Wait...what?

I guess it's normal for a couple to move in together after, like, two months, but I guess it's also normal to have a bad, bitter break-up and block traffic by throwing your ex-partner's crap into the street, only to have them make a Facebook profile under your mutual child's name and pretend that a six-month-old can type, and that nobody knows it's really them making douche-y remarks about you on a public forum. I wish to avoid this kind of thing.

Even without the drama, cohabitation is a f*cking big deal. When it happens, you sort of start to melt together like a weird f*cking sci-fi monster with two heads and no shame. Some people even go to the bathroom in front of each other, for f*ck's sake. I mean, if someone's gonna be watchin' me piss, I've gotta be damn sure it's for the right reasons.

Not tonight, I've got a headache.