Vol. 3, Post #102 STARVING and RAVING and probably a few more "ING" words too
(Some) straight men should take cover. I am FURIOUS. My sex tips for girls (or folks who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds (people with readers).
While I spend very little, if any, time in Modern Pop Culture Land, even I saw clips from a recent episode of “Love Is Blind,” a reality show (already I have hives) in which singles meet virtually, form love connections while in some kind of isolation from each other, and then, if they’re feeling the magic (please shoot me) GET ENGAGED before actually laying eyes on one another. Ultimately, they are finally introduced, face to face, and sent on a mini vacation to connect for real and to gauge what will happen ahead of the blessed nuptials.
Forget that it’s Reality TV, which, as we know, is based in almost Zero Reality (I’ve had enough PR clients get pitched to appear on RTV to know this all too well). The Reality is, this show has exposed something truly insidious in modern dating life. Get yourself a snack (or a barf bag, your call) and keep reading.
I am almost comically bad at watching TV. I’ve got at least three besties SCREAMING at me to watch “My Brilliant Friend,” given that I love anything Italian, and the only episodes I have watched to date are the ones I queued up when my friend Susan was here (she saw the entire series already and was loving it even more the second time around, enthralled as she sat there with me, while I itched to turn off the TV and do something else. YES, SUSAN, I WILL FINISH IT. I PROMISE! You too, Steve and Suzanne and Meigan and the rest of yas!)
Bear this in mind, as I have no idea what the rest of “Love Is Blind” is like and I’m sure that, like many other things I’ve attempted to watch on television, if my face were to freeze whilst watching it, it would be similar to this modern interpretation of everyone’s fav Scream.
I wasn’t going to even POST the show-stopper in this particular episode of “Love Is Blind” and instead make you do the heavy lifting and Google it yourself, but OK, fine, here you go. Keep in mind that this woman is a DOCTOR, and, well, I don’t know what he is, other than a total piece of shit. And an absurdly inarticulate one at that.
Again, I’m not writing here with an intention to unpack the show. Nor am I planning on endlessly posting what therapists have said about this dickless wonder — well, OK, just for a nanosecond, I’ll summarize: She’s a successful, beautiful, accomplished woman and apparently all of this “love” started to unravel for him once he saw how and where she lives after they returned from their little vacation. Bro must live in some sort of “less than” hovel, and got triggered, and then it spiraled out from there, leading to him letting her know she wasn’t bangin’ enough for him.
Actually, lemme let our pal @therapyjeff do the talking. THEN we can get down to MY point, which is separate from all of this, even though all of this IS a special kind of hell in which we find ourselves living (modern society and all) that allows this kind of thing — wait, allows it? PROMOTES it!
OK, so, to my point?
I decided to take this to social media and posited this to my friends and followers:
“If you are a single woman, have you been on a date with a man who either made a comment about how much you are eating and/or your appetite, or your body while you’re eating or ordering, or commented that the photos you posted on your dating profile don’t actually look like ‘the real you’ as a way to insinuate that you were trying to fool him regarding how much you actually weigh, or what size you are, or similar? Have you gone out with a man who did any of the above on a first date? I’d like to hear about it if you have.”
Want to guess how many women messaged me with stories?
Oh my GOD, the stories…ranging from the “loving grandpa” who advised grandma to make their granddaughter (the now grown woman who told me this story) a snack before she went out on dates when she was a girl, lest the boy taking her out would think she eats too much and therefore, he couldn’t “afford” to keep her/feed her. Or the woman who wrote to me, “I’ve never dated that man outright, but I’ve been with men who I’m sure were thinking it as they watched me order a meal.” Or the woman who said it happened to her so many times that she began to police herself when she was on dates, ordering and eating daintily as to give off the impression that she lived on salad, water, and air. Or the woman who told me that she had been regularly in the habit of taking herself out to a SECOND dinner after eating with her boyfriend in the early days of dating, since she was still hungry after splitting an entree and a salad with him — enough food for him but definitely not enough for her. Or the woman who said that once, as she walked across the room naked, getting up from a lover’s bed, he told her that her body was nearly perfect except for that “one little part,” motioning to her upper thighs. Or the woman who said that her boyfriend was constantly buying her gifts that were geared to upping her fitness level and that when she asked him to buy her something more romantic if he felt like getting her a gift, he responded by saying, “But I love you and I want you to feel better about your size.” Hey, Bro…newsflash. SHE ALREADY FEELS FINE ABOUT HER SIZE.
I could go on.
The thing is? Most of these women told me their stories with a fairly “resigned” attitude, kind of like, “Well, men will be men and that’s what society has taught them.”
Not acceptable.
Now, I know I’m a 58 year old twice-divorced woman with circles under my eyes and what is most certainly a post-menopause belly that no amount of Pilates will flatten again, unless I want to give up cheese and croissants and smothered pork chops and bbq potato chips — and I do NOT want to give up those things, nor will I unless my doc tells me I’ve crossed a line with regard to health. But guess what? I am fucking gorgeous and sexy and smart and accomplished and NO ONE WILL EVER TELL ME how to look better (for them) or implore me to eat a different way (to appease them). NO. ONE.
I know there are a ton of beautiful, enlightened straight guys who read this column, many of whom I know personally, one or two of whom I used to fuck, and a bunch of other ones who I only know through this digital world. So, Good Guys, please…take this back to the locker room, the fishing boat, the sports arena, the seat next to you at the dive bar where y’all throw darts and yuck it up with the young women who waitress there while convincing yourselves that “you’ve still got it” since these ladies smile at your jokes in order to get bigger tips. Maybe you do or maybe you don’t do any of those things, or frequent any of those places — either way, if you’re the good guys — and I know you are — tell those OTHER GUYS to STOP IT RIGHT NOW.
Tell them what women already know — that these dudes who think they should be dating Phoebe Cates circa “Fast Times At Ridgemont High” era need to find some new jerk off material because, Hey Brad, did anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a nice not-so-little bald spot on the top of your head, a soft belly that partially hangs over your dick, and, speaking of which…you might want to consider a blue pill?
Didn’t think so. (Most) women aren’t wired to be cruel like that, particularly when they are looking for love, sex, and companionship in their Young Old years. They look in the mirror every day…do YOU? I’ve seen plenty written about “Love Is Blind” Chris and his ears, so no need to hit below the belt on that, but I’d sure like to grab one of those ears and twist it while I scream at the top of my lungs.
Dumbo? Maybe Dumb Bro is more like it
Most Young Old women have compassion for their male comrades with the bald spots, the flabby bellies and Mister Softees, because they’ve given up on correcting the insane double standards handed to us by society — a society which tells them that men get to age gracefully and women get to be policed about portion control and whether or not they fit into their high school jeans. NONE of this is news to me, or probably to you. But in today’s world (and with every passing moment in which we women discover some new indignation to behold, some off-color insult, to say nothing of downright abuse), well, we’re busy fighting for our lives and don’t have time to explain this to some Brozo who thinks he is The Catch Of The Day. And we’re sure as fuck not going to humor you when you tell us that you like a more Pilates body. We’d like a man who knows he’s not fooling anyone by wearing a baseball cap 24/7. Cry me a river, Baby.
I guess that’s it. Some stupid fucking show called “Love Is Blind” is what tipped the scales (ha, pun intended) for me this week. It’s not enough that women are physically sickened by the news and the war on anyone with female reproductive organs — now we have to suffer through the idiocy of some insecure guy (and his bros like the ones my Dear Readers told me about), who actually thinks a Crossfit model on his arm ups his IQ, his societal standing, his potency as a man?
I know that I sound angry — I am angry. Every bite of food that I enjoyed this week was more pronounced and powerful than the previous morsel I forked in my mouth, as I felt myself dining on rage for what these women shared with me, my appetite literally out of control, wanting to be satiated with a sense of relief that we as a society know a dumb fuck when we see one. But that’s not true. Not by a longshot. It’s got me furious AND ravenous.
Before I sign off, let’s note the irony that “Moving In Stereo” is the soundtrack for that Ridgemont High pool scene^^^^, because the former Mrs. Cars, Paulina Porizkova, is engaged to THIS guy, below. Listen to what Jeff Greenstein says about when he was online dating, thinking he was all that and a bag of chips…
If you don’t follow Jeff or Paulina on IG, do! It’s a lovely scroll. They “get” each other and she is ABSOLUTELY unafraid to post photos of herself with gray hair, no makeup, wrinkles, et al. He still looks at her like she’s the Second Coming of Pheebs in a red bikini. I’m wishing them every happiness. Because he’s one of the Good Guys; yes, the good guys DO exist. I think I may be dating one or two of them right now in these early days of coming out of hibernation and getting my groove on again. The other night, I had dinner with one of the men I’ve recently met and he asked me if I wanted to split a second cheeseburger with him after we polished off our meal. I did not, but we had another order of fries instead.
So, to my Good Guys — it’s probably a lost cause for me to think you’ll knock some sense into the douchebags of the world who would most certainly tell me that I didn’t “need” the first (or second) cheeseburger. But a girl can dream.
To any of the women who shared these tales with me this week, just wait til bikini season…meet me at the Good Humor truck. Hot fudge sundaes on me. Extra wet nuts.
And tell Mister Softee to go fuck himself.
Absolutely brilliant Abbe!
Therapy Jeff is the absolute BEST! Thanks for turning me on to him.
As for the Love is Blind guy- whatanass.