Sunday Roast: Why dating sucks

Sunday Roast: Why dating sucks

Nov 6, 2011 |  by  |  Art
About the author
Sabrina (who is old as fuck) has more energy than a Duracell bunny, and uses it to dance in the newest clubs, eat too much junk food, play all the videogames, examine apps and shop - even though she has more than enough clothes. Sorry Earth.

It’s Sunday and you’re hungover, angry at the world, at bartenders and most of all: yourself. No worries, we feel the same. That’s why we’ve invented a new item on Sunday Roast. A bi-weekly ‘column’ that’s in fact more a conversation. A written one. Online. Every other Sunday, Mark and Sabrina vent about the horrible burdens and ungodly mishaps of their 21st century life. Usually reserved only for bars, we bring our problems right into your home. Sharing is sexy, and a problem shared is a problem halved.. You are cordially invited to our pity party.

Dear Mark,

Lately I’ve been seeing red flashes before my eyes, having anger attacks at the supermarket and becoming generally pissed off at any couple holding hands. I have developed a profound hatred for dating*. As you know, I suck at it. I’ve been asking myself why and I think I’ve found the answer.

You see, the one thing that really bugs me about dating is the insincerity (as you know, I’m Miss Pure of Heart). You get stuck trying to ‘sell’ an overly positive version of yourself. This way, you hardly get to know one another. Not because you didn’t listen enough or he didn’t share much, but because you only tell the good stories on a first date. Until you get a serious reality check one morning, that is. While you’re serenely reading your newspaper and sipping your coffee, it hits you: you are in a relationship, and you don’t even really know the guy.

If it weren’t for my college education, I would definitely be a level 80 Warlock instead of a level 60 one

Cue to a random first date. ‘So, how would you describe yourself?’ (Dude, you might as well say: ‘Here’s your jacket, this isn’t going to work anyway because my social skills –pardon my French– suck balls’). Of course the answer is always nice. If I were to tell a date the absolute, sincere truth it would be this: ‘Well, I curse like a sailor and eat like a baby dinosaur. I still play Counterstrike and if it weren’t for my college education I would definitely be a level 80 Warlock instead of a level 60 one. Oh, and I have an unhealthy obsession with fashion and kittens.’ The point is, that I know he’ll hear this: ‘I curse…eat…negatives, more negatives.. bla bla, spends a lot of money, CATLADY’. He’ll then kick into emergency mode thinking if he can get away with ‘I have a class at 9 am tomorrow’ on a Friday night. (No.)

What’s even worse is that he’s doing the exact same thing! He won’t tell you he calls his mom five times a week, he’ll tell you he’s in touch with his ‘feminine side’. That he likes getting obscenely drunk every weekend will sound like: ‘On Saturday night me and my old friends always meet up. We don’t want to lose touch in our busy lives.’ There is only one thing they’re always honest about: The Football Obsession. Football comes first and no game will be missed. So you’ll better get your facts straight about off-side. Still, you’re one big mystery to each other. You may find out a thing or two, but as long as you are too scared to do a ‘number two’ at his house, you literally don’t know shit.

Therefore, dating is nonsense. Because when he finds out the truth, he’s already smitten with the idea you gave him and vice versa. So instead of the truth he’ll hear this: ‘Well, I’m one of the guys, I have a healthy appetite, I like playing video games with you and your friends and I may even beat one of them. Also, let’s try some LARP in the bedroom, I like dressing as a Warlock, MEOW!’ 

I rest my case. There has to be an alternative to dating. Bringing back long, perfumed paper love-letters has my vote. Or is that just stupid? Sunday, oh, bloody Sunday. Shine a light on this Obi-Wan. Successful in love, you are.

Peace out, brother from another mother.


* To whoever I am currently dating, was dating, or will date: this is not about you. And I don’t play World of Warcraft. Well, not really. Ok, sometimes.

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