Warning: Controversial material follows
In 2017, I emerged from my 25-year marriage like a walking anachronism, like a befuddled character in a corny time-machine movie.
I was Marty, stumbling out of his Delorian into 1955.
Peggy Sue, reawakening smack dab in the middle of 1960.
Richard Collier, walking out of the Grand Hotel into 1912.
Marty, Peggy Sue and Richard all had their Achilles’ heels, the things that revealed them as the anachronisms that they were. Marty wore a strange, beeping watch, Richard donned a dated and defunct pin-striped suit, while Peggy Sue smoked grass and indulged in pre-marital sex to the great consternation of society in general.
My chronological infirmity was simply one question: how does a widow in her 50’s actually date? Meet men? Acquire sex? I’ve spoken to many single women and men my age over these past three years, and we have all reached the same sad conclusion:
No one meets organically anymore. At least, no one in my age bracket does. We used to think we could get introduced to someone through friends, get approached in the gym, the supermarket, in a bar or restaurant, bond over a cool activity like boating or golf, maybe even meet someone while traveling.
How naïve we were.
I’m embarrassed to say that the picture I had in my head of a man walking up to me and saying, “Want to get dinner this weekend?” was so off-base it wasn’t even in the ballpark. It wasn’t even in the stadium. How about a man getting my number from someone, and then actually calling me? Is there anything better than, “Listen, I hope you don’t mind my calling you like this, but I got your number from John. I really wanted to talk to you, maybe take you out for a drink?” I remember distinctly that men used to do that. It’s so ballsy.
Men don’t do that anymore, apparently. They stare. They walk past your house. But they don’t stop. They don’t ask you out. Because Facebook gets in the way.
Facebook always gets in the way.
Will someone please forward this message to Mark Zuckerberg:
Facebook sucks. You suck. I think you have single-handedly caused the global ruination of the sexual and social dynamic. No one knows how to act, think, socialize, flirt, seduce, or talk anymore because you have made damn sure that the only way people know how to interact is to slap some stupid pictures up on a computer screen with a few insipid captions, and present this false-front to the world. I hate you and everything you stand for.
I’ll be honest, I know so little about Facebook that the following description could be wrong. But it seems to me that in 2020, men request to “friend” you, right? How emasculating. Sometimes it’s not even a request to “friend” you, sometimes it’s just a “suggestion.” Jason is a “suggested friend.” So now what? Now fucking what? Don’t waste my time, Jason. I hate you, too.
(I’m sorry, Jason, I don’t hate you, despite the fact that you probably hate me now for suggesting that Mark Zuckerberg has emasculated you. Nor do I have contempt for men who think Facebook is a good substitute for picking a woman up, walking up to her door, kissing her on the cheek, taking her hand, opening the car door for her, telling her she looks beautiful, having a lovely dinner over great conversation, then having hot date sex. You’ve all just been hood-winked by Mark “Tiny Weenus” Zuckerberg).
Regarding date scenario above: Just because I like sex doesn’t mean I’m not a hopeless romantic.
So the way I see it, if making Zuck even richer than he already is the only way to meet men, I’ll stay happily single, thank you very much. HAPPILY. Besides, any relationship that starts with “friending” is doomed from the start. Friendship, great, but “friending?” What is that? How in the world would I ever get turned on by someone who can’t walk right up to me and talk to me the way a man talks to a woman? What would our story be over an anniversary dinner?
“Oh, remember the day you requested me because of a friend suggestion? I played hard to get and didn’t accept right away, remember? But I finally did, and sent you a friend request, and then you accepted it. Then remember I messaged you? Your message to me was so funny, and I complimented the dress you were wearing in that picture with your college roommate. Then we ignored each other for two more weeks, just posting pictures, like foreplay, then you waved at me, and then we messaged for three weeks before I finally worked up the nerve to ask you out. Good times.”
Puke.
I prefer Tinder. I’d rather have a guy message me, “Wanna f**k?” than wait three days on Facebook for the honor of Jason accepting my friend request just so I can look at pictures of him at his daughter’s wedding.
Facebook is just so…PG.
To Jason: These are just my opinions and are obviously not representative of every woman. There are plenty of women who get off on the harmless and asexual Facebook method of dating cat-and-mouse, complete with the silly games and the sexual innuendo. Alas, I’m not one of them. Sucks for me, I know. So be it.
I envy Peggy Sue. At least Peggy Sue Got Laid.
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