I’m Special (14 page)

It was in the middle of a heat wave in Los Angeles, so we were both sopping wet after only a few minutes of hooking up. To cool down, we kept taking breaks and having forced conversation. We'd go at it, get too hot, and have to ask how each other's day was. My gut impression was that this stranger was nice but a little depressed. He was in his late thirties and kept talking about how all of his friends were married and had kids. “I spend a lot of time alone,” he told me. “I use the sites to meet friends, but everyone ends up flaking on me after the first hookup.”

My desire to have a meaningless sexual encounter was not coming to fruition. The more we talked, the more human he became. Eventually we just stopped hooking up altogether. When he left, he kissed me good-bye and asked to hang out again. I lied and told him yes. A few days later, he messaged me on GROWLr, except this time I didn't respond. Here I was, another person who had disappointed him. Here he was, another person for me to forget.

In high school and college, I didn't have to go on the Internet to get my sexual fix, because I dated real, live boys who spent the night in my apartment and got coffee with me in the morning and met my friends and knew my history. Boys who, in my eyes, actively tried to love me but couldn't because I was fighting them every step of the way.

One such boy was named Corey. We met my senior year of college at a close friend's dinner party. (A dinner party in college meant drinking cheap wine instead of vodka and someone attempting to make a kale salad while wearing a sophisticated polka-dot dress.) Corey came late to the party, drenched in sweat from biking over the Williamsburg Bridge. I had stalked his Facebook profile before and thought he was cute.

That night we all got very, very drunk, and Corey and I ended up kissing in the hallway of my apartment. I convinced myself that I liked him. I was doing that thing people sometimes do when they trick themselves into having feelings for someone just so they can feel more a part of things. For our first date, we got stoned and went to a midnight showing of
The Shining
. He came home with me afterward, and we made out until our faces melted off.

“I am obsessed with Corey,” I told my friend Alex over lunch the next day in the East Village.

Alex scrunched up her nose as if she'd just smelled something rotten. “Babe, are you sure? He's an urban studies major and interested in, like, sustainable organic farming. I don't think you two have a lot in common.”

“That stuff doesn't matter,” I protested, stabbing lettuce with my fork. “He's cute, smart, and funny. I have a good feeling about it!”

Corey and I spent the whole week after our first date texting each other flirty nonsense. Meanwhile, I started to project all my fantasies onto him. In my head, Corey was a dream man. He had all the desirable qualities one looks for in a mate. I mean, I thought he did. I didn't actually know because we'd just met, but I had a hunch!

After a few days of texts and light LOLs, Corey invited me to a party on his rooftop in Bushwick. Ecstatic, I texted back a nonchalant “Sure, sounds cool” and immediately began planning the night out in my head. I'd arrive with a nice bottle of wine ($12), in a pair of shorts that provided easy access for hand jobs, and instead of spending all my time talking to Corey, I'd focus on his friends and get them to fall in love with me first. Then, when the party would start to peter out, I'd swoop in and make my move.

Unfortunately, things didn't go exactly the way I imagined them. By the time I showed up to Corey's rooftop, he was tripping on mushrooms (rude!) and mistook me for a snow globe. I wanted to be like, “Um, Corey? Remember me? Your future boyfriend?” but it was clear he was dunzo. Frustrated and medium-drunk, I finally grabbed Corey by the arm and made him take me downstairs to his bedroom.

“So, listen, I'm gonna go, but thanks so much for inviting me,” I said enthusiastically, rubbing his arm.

“Oh, okay.” Corey stared at me with a sleepy grin slapped across his face.

I sighed in annoyance and turned to leave, but then Corey grabbed me and enveloped me in a bear hug. We stood there in his room for almost a minute with his head buried in my chest and our limbs lazily linked together. The balmy fall breeze wafted in and tickled our necks, and I rubbed my palm in circular motions on the curve of Corey's back. His hair was matted with sweat and he smelled like a garbage can, but I didn't care.

“Goddamn,” I thought. “I love loving men.”

After that night, I knew I had Corey. I wanted him to be my boyfriend, and now he was. It didn't occur to me until a few weeks in that we had less than zero things to talk about. Oops!

Corey and I dated for four, maybe five, months, but the entire time I felt like I was putting myself through a series of tests. “Ryan, let's see if you can have someone sleep over at your apartment three times a week without it freaking you out.” “Ryan, let's see if you can go to the opera with this man and meet his friends and his dog.” Every time I accomplished a task, I would give myself a pat on the back. Every time I failed to do something (I never once spent the night at his apartment, for example), I would feel like a defective human being.

My relationship with Corey—and any other boy I dated during that time—was never about
him
. It was always about me. I was deeply insecure and narcissistic, which is a lethal combination for anyone attempting to have a real relationship. Being with boys was a way to see if someone could actually love me despite my handicaps. And when I realized that they could and I felt my self-esteem tank getting full, I'd sabotage the relationship and get rid of them. Granted, maybe I would've cared more about Corey if we had something in common. But finding a guy I was compatible with was always an afterthought. I just needed somebody, anybody, to date me. I lacked all the qualities necessary to actually have a meaningful relationship, which were selflessness, desire, and the ability to compromise. I realized this after I graduated from college, but by then it felt too late. Dating postcollege is like entering the Wild West. Ditching your narcissism and growing up won't guarantee you a relationship with someone. It won't even guarantee you a text message.

There are ten thousand rules instructing Millennials on how to date, many of which contradict each other and make no sense. Here are the ones that everybody follows:

1. 
Know how to give good text message.
The definition of a good texter is someone who knows the difference between sending someone an “Okay!” versus an “OK” and who would never dare to send something flirty without consulting a team of experts first. See the following thought process for reference: “If I text this guy I just went on a date with, ‘Let me know if you want to hang again sometime,' do I leave things too open-ended? Maybe I should be more assertive and just text ‘Let's hang out sometime. What's your schedule like?' That would force him to respond, right?” Every word, grammar, and punctuation choice means something. We spend more time composing the Perfect Text than we do working on our résumés.

2. 
The phone call is a major leading cause of terror in twentysomethings.
It's best not to call the person you're dating unless you're dying, and even then it's a little unclear. I mean, do you
really
think you're dying? And if so, is it really worth jeopardizing something that could be special with a human-to-human phone call? People would rather text an ex, eat glass, and self-identify as a hipster than dial numbers on a phone that will lead you to a person's voice.

3. 
Until you have the exclusivity talk, you must assume that the person you're dating is still sleeping with other people.
Even if it's not true, it's always better to minimize expectations to avoid being disappointed. Back in the day, someone was considered a gentleman if they opened the door for you or paid for your dinner. Now it's chivalrous if someone doesn't give you an STD from the person they've been fucking on the side.

4. 
DON'T BE DESPERATE.
If your crush knows that you aren't too keen on dying alone and want to find a life partner, they're going to think you're a clingy psycho, so take it slow. First, open the lines of communication by Gchatting them brief, funny thoughts throughout the day. Pretend the Gchats are like mini–hand jobs being used to get them ready for the main event. After that, you progress to creating inside jokes, which gives the illusion that you are super close. Make sure when doing this, however, that your crush is actually
aware
of the inside joke. You can't just text something nonsensical like, “Okay, DUMPSTER BOY. Ha ha!” when there's no context. The final step is exchanging favorite songs/YouTube clips. By the time you do this, you're basically fucking through the screens of your MacBook Pros. You don't even really need to meet IRL if you don't want to!

5. 
Make sure your Internet persona is in top-notch condition.
If you give someone your name and number, the first thing they're going to do is Google the shit out of you. EVERYONE is a Nancy Drew Internet detective, so make sure your Facebook and Twitter are not a colossal embarrassment. Be a minimalist rather than an oversharer. Keep your Facebook photo album limited to your profile pictures and resist captioning them with descriptions such as “At lunch with my friends” or “Skiing the slopes of Mammoth! So lucky!” Potential mates don't need to know everything about you before the first date. Also worth noting: Don't be that person who lists themselves as “in a relationship with so-and-so” on Facebook. It's tacky TMI, and you'll have a lot of fun changing it back to “single” if you two ever break up. Not only will you be living in a bell jar with a broken heart, but you'll have to read comments from people you barely know saying, “OMG, what happened, girlie? CALL ME ASAP!”

These rules are dripping with self-sabotage, aren't they? We've created a dating culture in which we never say what we really feel. God forbid we admit we actually want to be with someone and call them up on the phone instead of waiting six hours to return a text message. We're constantly afraid of being ourselves. Even when I get comfortable with someone, I'm paranoid that my craziness is going to shine through and I'll get dumped. The whole process is so exhausting. And for what? The people we date when we're young are usually awful. They don't deserve our obsession, tears, and neuroses! If you're in your twenties, chances are you have dated one (or all) of these terrible people:

THE THIRTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD MAN-CHILD WITH A HUGE DICK

The man-child is typically very attractive and wears lots of flannel and age-inappropriate footwear. You would never guess he's thirty-five (and newly divorced from a fellow artist type named Ursula), but the bags under his eyes ultimately give him away. A man-child has to date a decade (or two) younger because any girl in his age group would run away screaming. Certain girls love to date him, though, because they claim to be attracted to men who are creative. The real reasons, however, stem from a deep-seated desire to piss off their well-to-do parents and have as much amazing sex as humanly possible. That's the one good thing about dating a man-child—they're fantastic lays and their dicks are humongous, which makes sense because only someone with a Dirk Diggler shlong can get away with acting so immature and helpless. Remember: a big penis doesn't pay the rent. Usually.

THE PERSON YOU ACCIDENTALLY DATE FOR FOUR MONTHS BECAUSE IT WAS COLD OUT

Have you ever found yourself feeling totally bored and accidentally dating a dud . . . for four months? You're not quite sure how it happened—you were only supposed to hook up a few times—but here you are cuddling and watching the snow fall from your window together. You wonder, “How did this happen? Was I really too lazy to buy a new winter coat this year so I used a human body instead?” The answer is yes, you bum. You can only casually date a person for so long. There comes a point where you have to either make it exclusive or get rid of them entirely. In my experience, the four-month mark is usually when you decide if you want to transition into spring with this person.

THE PSYCHO BITCH

The psycho bitch is sort of like Glenn Close's character in
Fatal Attraction
but infinitely worse because he or she is able to send you text messages. Dating someone who's unstable is not only a headache; it's a total amateur move. People usually get them out of the way in their first or second relationship. It's better to experience the highs and lows early on when you don't know who you are or what you want and you actually have the energy to fight. I can't imagine dating a psycho bitch now. I don't even have the stamina to put on my psoriasis medication, let alone validate someone's feelings every five seconds.

THE STONER

It's practically mandated by God that, at some point in our lives, we spend time sitting in someone's crappy apartment and watching them do bong rips while watching
Family Guy
. How do stoners get laid so often? They're so lazy and weird, and yet somehow, they're always swimming in sex. I don't get it. Do I need to talk more about the bizarre shape of a Cheeto in order to have sex with someone?

THE PERSON YOU DATE IN COLLEGE WHO RUINS YOU FOREVER

Having a relationship in college is like living in a dreamworld. You spend every waking moment together and seriously entertain the idea of moving in together. It feels like this could be the one, but—oops!—it's not. After you graduate, the relationship fails to translate to real life, and you're stuck with someone who feels like a soggy appetizer that's meant to tide you over until the main entrée. Eventually you break up and spend the better part of your twenties getting over it.

THE PERSON YOU'RE ASHAMED TO BE DATING SO YOU DOWNPLAY THE RELATIONSHIP TO YOUR FRIENDS AND HOPE NO ONE FINDS OUT