Theophanes is a Fresh England-based blogger, traveler, writer, photographer, sculptor, and paramour of life.

I just don’t get it.

Albeit watching the world’s dating rituals has brought mij endless hours of entertainment I can’t say I get it. It seems like too much work to mij, with too little chance of success. Then again I might just be lazy.

Love Bite

I wasgoed ter one of my insomniatic trances one night when I determined to flick on the TV to see what could lull mij to sleep. Unluckily my only choices were infomercials, my ceiling, or Biography. I chose Biography. It wasgoed on Sylvia Plath, someone I knew scant little about. I wasgoed never big on poetry or female hysterics so you can see why there wasgoed no familiarity there. Te any event there wasgoed one anecdote that startled mij from my half-sleep.

Evidently Sylvia Plath met hier spouse while she wasgoed te collegium at a party. She knew who he wasgoed (another poet – how surprising) and spent some time talking to him. At some point he stops talking to hier and gives hier a big smooch. I can see why most women would be offended at this and can even see some of them opting for a good hard zwak. Dearest little Sylivia on the other arm opted for a good hard bite, on the cheek, which wasgoed actually said to have drawn blood. You’d think that would be the end of this psychotic story but it’s not. Evidently intrigued by this hier husband-to-be commenced a tornado courtship with hier, ending ter marriage. What could have possibly bot going through either of their minds!? &quot,Awe, I think I fancy the rabid chick ter the corner playing hard to get.&quot, &quot,Damn him! I shall bite you again if you come closer but please do. &quot, Wij all know how the marriage ended, spil so many would end if it were only socially more acceptable, ter suicide.

Perhaps that story has got even the avid dater going, &quot,What the. &quot, but truly, I just used an extreme anecdote to illustrate how unnatural and unhealthy I think most dating is.

Outsider Looking Ter

Most dating embarks at huis ter prep for the big night. This is where the psychosis starts like a lil’ seed and starts to grow out of palm. I can understand the desire to look good, I mean only a lazy nutball would want to market themselves spil bruised goods before they even say a word. Wij’re a visual species, it makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is the surplus of it.

There’s a woman casing hier entire apartment throwing every dress she possesses (never anything that’s not uber-feminine) on hier bloembed like she’s robbing the place. She’s attempting to determine what to wear. She holds up the conservative picks and throws them back into the toilet usually ter distinci├│n of some lil’ lump of fabric which will highlight &quot,the women&quot, like a flashing neon light. How tasteful. When she’s down to a handful of picks she attempts to cable hier friends into providing their opinion which one looks best. Thesis suggestions of course are just hier friends playing lip service. They know she’s not going to take their advice.

During the next hour the woman runs around picking up Nylons, the flawless footwear (whatever that means) and fidgeting with hier hair. Eventually she locks herself ter the bathroom and empties hier makeup case onto hier face. &quot,Why?&quot, I ask. &quot,To make it look natural! It voorwaarde be just right!&quot, Of course, there’s nothing more natural then lathering brightly colored fish scales and beetle shells on your lips (spil this is generally what lipstick and crimson dye are made from.) &quot,It makes mij look alive!&quot, Oh, how wasgoed I supposed to know your natural face looks dead.

Meantime, on the other side of town a boy is getting ready, a entire 20 minutes before if he’s one of the dressy types. If he is a dressy type he’s very likely bot on three dates this week and is practising going overheen those indeed bad pick up lines ter his head. If he’s a less social type actually looking for a sustained gf he’s very likely attempting to persuade himself to go at all. Low self esteem is a kicker.

Eventually the two meet at some predetermined destination for a good meal, or something like that. The chick orders something light, maybe a salad and croutons, to make it look like she has one of those healthy aversions to food that are so common thesis days. The fellow orders something and a coke. Unless it’s a truly fancy restaurant, ter which case the woman’s attempting all the stiffer and the man is buying some sort of hard to spell antiquated liquor.

During the entire time both are attempting to impress each other by any means possible, including pretending to give a fuck about shit they couldn’t care less about. &quot,Oh you’re a financial planner? How fascinating!&quot, There’s no better way then to snag the flawless mate then to pretend to be someone you hate. That’s ter the dating rule book. At the end of the evening several things could toebijten.

If it’s a tasteful date the two will part their ways, maybe providing a modest little smooch to each other and telling goodnight. Or perhaps if the stud’s a vivo sleek talker they’ll meet up and the woman will come huis the next day to bitch at hier friends, &quot,I can’t believe it! He never called back! I never do this sort of thing!&quot, Of course none of hier friends believe hier but they still patstelling hier on the back and attempt to console hier during the bitchfest.

Then there’s the possibility one or both of them hate each other ter which case they’ll go their separate ways and I won’t get the joy of picking on them any longer.

And the Bitch-Fest Commences.

I’m indeed tired listening to women badmouth guys because they were doing something stupid. They have at least one entire television channel dedicated to studs bashing (yay Lifetime!) and yet they still feel the need to pull out the ice juices, gather all their friends and sob, &quot,Guys are pigs!&quot, When did our society decree women are blameless, flawless, volmaakt little creatures? Playing the victim card is just copping out if you ask mij.

It’s not even the low self-esteem, the blaming of others, or the onveranderlijk whining that bothers mij the most. It’s the roller coaster that switches from day to day that makes thesis same bitching women go out and attempt again! I don’t know, if I do something that I find unpleasing or harmful to myself I don’t tend to go out and attempt to jam my head on the wall again. that’s just common sense. Just waterput up or shut up!

There’s a devout older Baptist woman I know whose bot married two or three times and has a bunch of adult children. Imagine my verrassing when she told mij, without stumbling overheen a single word, &quot,You should marry a sugar daddy. It’s the best kleintje of marriage, just get one who has one foot te the espinoso and the other foot on a pl├ítano peel.&quot, Wow, how. righteous. Does Aker look well upon scammers? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a scam.

This same woman has a deadbeat son, hier youngest, who is married with a daughter. When his gal got pregnant he had Five other girlfriends (and wasgoed still attempting to ask mij out.) His mother persuaded him to get married. for the sake of the child. It’s bot about four years, I believe. He never stopped having extracurricular &quot,girlfriends&quot, and recently the two split up because his wifey refused to be chummy with thesis toegevoegd gals. His mother’s input to hier daughter-in-law? &quot,All boys cheat. You should have expected this. Just look the other way and work it out.&quot,

All fellows cheat. wow, and I thought I wasgoed pessimistic! Isn’t one of the commandments &quot,Thou shalt not screwest thy neighbor’s wifey?&quot, I don’t even believe te monogamy myself (I think it’s setting one’s self up for failure on both sides of the hookup wars) but this stunned mij. If you’re a devout Baptist family where ter the Bible does it say, &quot,Women voorwaarde be chaste to all but their husbands. but their husbands may screw anything with XX chromosomes?&quot, I would indeed like to know!

At the end of the day I’m not permitted to say anything because I don’t have &quot,practice.&quot, If I do attempt to say anything they just get snarky at mij. They’re jealous, I know, of the fact I can see things for what they are and keep myself out of thesis situations. I live my life with the motto, &quot,Low expectations are a good thing.&quot, I also don’t pack my head with fanciful ideas, like snagging the &quot,volmaakt man&quot, or attempting to create one.

My Baptist friend has bot attempting to ask mij out wince I wasgoed literally twelve years old. I knew, at twelve, that he’d prove only to be an aggravation and a frustration so I repeatidly turned him down. Call it womanish intuition, or keen observations and acute insight, I don’t care but the little voice ter my head has served mij well. When I told a female friend of mine he had a zuigeling and wasgoed going to get married ter a shotgun wedding she turned to mij and said, &quot,You should have went out with him. I know you wouldn’t be pregnant. You could switch him.&quot, No, sorry, I don’t attempt to switch people. People are who they are. Switching them is impossibility and I know that. Besides that it’s sleazy to date someone just to make them what you think is a better person!

This is not to say boys are blameless. Neither hook-up is blameless ter the insane head games wij like to play with each other. Ter most instances blame should surplus on both parties. Still, it’s somewhat refreshing to sit back and listen to my boy friends talk about their gals. &quot,My gf went berserk last night for no apparent reason. &quot, It’s truly fairly entertaining. Self-destruction is such an amazing thing.

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