“I hate it when that happens. I can tell that he’s talking to me because he wants me to be his girlfriend, but just because he wants a girlfriend. Not because he wants ME to be his girlfriend, but just wants anybody to be his girlfriend. You know, to fill that girlfriend shaped hole in his heart. It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with a faceless cure for his loneliness.”
Which is a sentiment that I whole heartedly understand, but I think that people find themselves in that lonely state of mind after having their childhood delusions of “true love” and “the one” shattered by this ever crushing reality. I guess that people just get old, and, at that point, just about anyone will do. Or, maybe it’s less bleak than that, and, maybe, as you get older, it becomes much easier to love anybody in your life. I’d like to think that it’s the latter, but, the fact of the matter is, rampant disillusionment, disappointment and a sense of self defeat seem to permeate the collective subconscious of single adults. The sexual roulette of OK Cupid being just another example of that, and the roundabout rigmarole of trying to find a someone to buy you dinner and a someone to fuck tonight turns into a child’s game of, “Which one is willing to do this with me on a long term basis for the rest of my life?”
Talking about the concept of “true love” in the modern era seems fairly silly nowadays, and I don’t know if I have enough time to explain why I feel that 9/11 is responsible for that, or maybe it’s Facebook, but something happened recently and “true love” got downgraded to “I’ll settle.”
Maybe I’m one of the last true romantics out there because I try to truly love every man I come across in my life, or maybe I’m the original cynic because I know that sexual pleasure is the only thing I can expect from every man I come across in my life. I can’t decide which one it is today, but whatever answer breaks the monotony is the one for me.
It’s not that I’m saying true love doesn’t exist. It’s just that I’m saying you can fuck as many people between here and true love as you want, and your true love won’t really care because that person’s your true love, right? Although sometimes I live in fear that true love can be applied to arenas outside of the romantic arena, and what if my true love pops up in a platonic or familial setting? That thought bothers me frequently because I am a true fan of fucking, and a true love that I can’t fuck seems like a curse sent straight from God to me, the modern Job. I guess I can cope by slutting, but, holy shit, I hope that’s not the case.
Of course, I’m also of the mindset that a person can have more than one true love. I think that implying a monopolistic attitude towards true love is an incredibly patriarchal thing to do, and I also believe that any guy who gives me a great orgasm is my one true love for the entire duration of that orgasm. Before and after the orgasm, maybe not so much, but any guy who can be my true love outside of the moment of orgasm probably really has it going on for him. Of course, by this logic, my #1 true love in the world is myself, and, no, that’s not the answer I’m looking for, so, moving on.
When I was younger, I learned about a Catholic tradition wherein single women would say novenas for their future husbands, that they would find their future wives quickly and safely. At the age of fourteen, this seemed like a really creepy, desperate thing to do, but, in retrospect, maybe it’s pretty chill. I guess that I, personally, would have dedicated my novena to, “Please, Big Baby Jesus, don’t let my future husband hit me!” But who’s to say that you wind up marrying the right guy, anyways, even if you pray about it?
Anyways, it’s not that I don’t believe in true love, it’s more that I’m aware of the mathematical improbability of me finding true love in this bar tonight, so I might as well cut my losses and fuck this random guy to my right because, fuck it, right? I’ve heard that true love waits, and, if that’s the case, true love will wait for me to finish fucking this guy. And, on the off chance that maybe my true love is the roommate of the guy I fucked, he won’t mind listening to us smash all night, and, then, when we run into each other in the hallway – it will click. In that post-hook up, hangover morning glow, with residual lust in our eyes and the sunshine beaming – well, who knows, right?