Dating is the worst. Or maybe I am just the worst at it – sometimes it’s hard to tell. I’m sure a lot of it has to do with my hatred for small talk. Your mouth is moving about today’s weather and the traffic on the way over here and I just wanna get to the deep stuff. Like, how did you feel when you heard Camille Grammer was leaving Real Housewives? And then how did you feel when you found out she was back? I’m just really bad at the whole thing and I am nearly positive that I will die alone with nothing to show for myself except 550 Big Gulp cups and a large collection of lotions and bath salts. Because I might have some unplanned dreadlocks, but I’m still a damn lady.
The deep stuff is the best. I love hearing about the inner workings of people’s lives. My favorite show was always MTV’s Diary. Ya, T-Boz, I wanna know what kind of jammies you’re rocking to bed and how you act around your big sis. I wanna know all of that. It’s also why I loved Oprah. I’m not satisfied with a 5 minute segment on a late-night talk show. I wanna spend the whole hour with Julia Roberts. I wanna see her house. I wanna hear her talk to her agent on the phone. I wanna find out about the secret ingredient in her famous gumbo. I mean, I live for that behind the scenes mess. But no one wants to get behind the scenes with me on the first date. Get yo’ mind outta the gutter. What I mean is, people keep it all surface for too long. I’m the same way with my girlfriends. We are either best friends and ready to go on a cross-country road trip and start a business together within 5 minutes of meeting, or we are forever stuck in acquaintance territory.
I wish I liked dating. I’m a 26-year-old baller (not the sports kind, the mogul kind) in-training and sometimes I feel like I’m supposed to be all up in the dating world making appointments back-to-back and never washing off my makeup. I mean I have a lot of things going against me: I’m not obsessed with Audrey Hepburn, I don’t like crime dramas, I mouth-kiss my dog on a regular basis and I hate dating on top of all of it. Is there a place for me in this world?
Another problem I have is that I don’t really have a type. Or more like, I’m no one’s type. Recently one of my friends was going to set me up with a guy. I was like, “no way.” And she was like, “Are you sure, he drives a Mustang.” Are you serious? That was your piece of info that was gonna win me over? A Mustang? Unless it’s a million dollar trust fund along with a private island and a fountain soda machine, don’t be mentioning assets.
So to all the dudes that are lookin to get with me (just go with me here, okay?) these are my dream pickup lines:
- “Oh hey, you wanna come back to my place and make a Digiorno and play Mario Cart? I’ll let you be Luigi.”
- “Oh, hey. Love that picture of your dog that you posted on Facebook. You wanna go to KidZone and hit up the batting cages, eat nachos and people-watch for a few hours?”
- “Oh, hey. You wanna have a Kill Bill marathon and eat our weight in popcorn while wearing sweats on my Love Sac? By the way, cool bangs.”
- “Oh, hey. You wanna have a barbecue where I invite all of my friends and you invite all of your friends. Whoa, do you do your own nail art? It’s really good.”
- “Oh, hey. You wanna come over and help me plan an elaborate prank to play on my roommate and then we will go to The Olive Garden? Your blog is hilarious.”
- “Oh, hey. Weird question. Do you like rollerblading?”
- “Oh, hey. You wanna play on my parents’ trampoline?”
- “Oh, hey. You wanna have a competition to see who can drive better with their knees?”
I wanna know: What’s your dream pickup line?
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