And just like that...
With my bleeding, bruised heart in my hands (which I’ve learned are prone to holding on to things too tightly,) I am re-entering the queer dating scene.
At the ripe age of 23 (almost 24, I don’t want to talk about it) I am emerging from almost three whole years of being off the market, and I do not!!! know what to expect of myself, or of others, romantically, sexually, or otherwise. However, I do know that I am an insatiable lovergirl, and I like to spend evenings shared with attractive others, especially in cozy wine bars or on long lakefront walks. Perhaps with a pina colada. Maybe even getting caught in the rain…
Despite the fact that I am certain that I am not ready to become a part of any sort of committed partnership right now, I am looking around and waking up to the fact that beautiful people surround me, and I am inclined to flirt with them. I’m an oversharer, especially when it comes to love, so I invite you to sit in the passenger seat of this new life chapter.
I’ve watched the original Sex & the City almost four times over now, and despite the fact that I absolutely cannot fucking stand her for most of the series, I am undeniably a “Carrie.” My friends often debate over their own SATC identities, which are often Frankenstein-like hybrids: “I’m a Miranda-Samantha…” “I’m a Charlotte-Carrie,” et cetera. I’ve yet to meet a Carrie-Samantha, but if you are one, let me know. Sometimes, and this is really up my alley, we’ll talk about these identities in tropical astrological terms– “I’m a Samantha sun, Charlotte moon, Carrie rising.”
If you’re wondering about me, I think I am a Carrie sun, Charlotte moon, Carrie rising. Samantha mars. Miranda mercury. Sorry, sorry. I’ve put a lot of thought into this.
I heavily identify with Carrie for several reasons. For one, we are both writers. Done, easy. Secondly, we are both incredibly neurotic, often to the detriments of our interpersonal relationships and bank accounts. Third, we are constantly hoping for the absolute best version of the people we fall in love with to be easily uncovered. We are hopeful, we are bratty. We are hypocrites, we are fashionably eclectic. We fall in love with the unobtainable, and we are unobtained by the most lovely. We are both charmingly disheveled. We both have a habit of saying stupid shit to people we care about. On my part, I am exponentially more open minded on sex and sexuality than my heterosexual counterpart, but she was born in the 60s, so I’ll give her a pass.
Another major difference between Carrie and I– I am not interested in dating cis men. Is it completely off the table? No. Is the person I envision spending my life with a cis man? Also no. So, if any Aidans, Seans, Sams, Bens or (God forbid) Bigs do come forward, they will most likely not be… Aidans, Seans, Sams, Bens, or Bigs. Does that make sense?
I don’t have enough money to buy a new pair of shoes every week– more like every six months. I don’t chain smoke (it’s the asthma.) I don’t have curly hair, or my own column that miraculously pays for a one bedroom in the West Village, either. But I do have this Substack.
And, I have a date this Saturday.
I’ve been asked out (swoon) to a two-hour pottery lesson. The individual, a person I met at a queer picnic in Humboldt Park, and then later again on the patio at Sleeping Village during Slo’mo, was admirably straight forward. They asked, I said yes, and they bought the tickets minutes later. It’s BYOB, so I’ll be BYOB-ing as my contribution. Mercifully, I haven’t felt pressure to keep DM’ing back and forth in the week leading up to my date (I didn’t like doing this when I was single in 2020, and I still don’t like doing it now.)
Pottery is an activity that feels exclusively gay and hot. A lot of hot and gay friends/acquaintances are doing pottery these days, and I was starting to feel a little left behind. My hot and gay friends who do pottery have informed me that it’s best to wear “pottery class clothes,” old things that I don’t mind getting splattered with liquid clay, so I can’t really wear anything cute. I’ve been considering reaching out to my date ahead of time and letting them know I won’t be in the best outfit, and to suggest that they follow my lead.
On top of having a date on Saturday, I also have a newly active Hinge profile. I forgot how strange it feels to get comfortable with swiping through… people. I know that the perils of online dating and its psychological ramifications have been think-pieced to death, so I’ll spare you of my own complaints about it. I would like to, as almost everyone does, meet my soulmate 90’s rom com meet cute style, which is so romanticized. Call me on the landline using the telephone number I scrawled on a gum wrapper! Let’s pick a bar and leave our homes with no way of communicating with one another until we are sitting face to face! But also, in 30 years from now, the twenty-somethings of the 2050s might just reminisce on the sweet, organic prospect of meeting someone on a location-based dating app! How romantic!
Is there a goal of this Substack? It might have the same effect of Carrie’s column. To gab about dating norms, sex, woes, cultural phenomenon, and so on. I will say, one thing that I was definitely not prepared to face is just how many lesbians own cats. I knew this was a stereotype, but the last time I was single, most of my dating options were still living in college dorms and unable to own a pet. As someone terribly allergic to cats, this proposes the first big challenge.
Is there a goal of me dating around right now, just one month after a two-and-a-half-year relationship came to an end? At present, not really. I can say with confidence that it is not to rebound, make anyone jealous, make anyone feel badly, win anyone back, or any of those toxic reasons. I genuinely enjoy going on dates and meeting cute people, and having cute people tell me that I’m cute. I’m also definitely interested in having more sex. I want to try more restaurants. I want new connections. Those all seem like sound, harmless reasons.
I’m hoping to keep this Substack updated weekly or biweekly (demiweekly, panweekly, polyweekly), with updates in tow. So, expect an update this time next week. I’ll tell you how my date went on Saturday.