Dating? Nah, I'm Good. Netflix and Chill? More Like Netflix and Thrill.
Alright, ladies (and maybe a few adventurous gents), let's get one thing straight: I'm done with dating. Like, officially retired. I've hung up my "eligible bachelor" jersey and traded it in for a "professional hookup connoisseur" robe. Silk, obviously. Because comfort is key. And speaking of keys, you're welcome to use yours to get yourself in and out of my apartment. Efficiency is also key.
Look, I'm not trying to be a jerk (okay, maybe a little). But let's be real, the dating scene is a wasteland. It's all "getting to know you" and "sharing your feelings" and "meeting my mom." Hard pass. I'd rather wrestle a greased pig in a phone booth. Actually, scratch that. I'd rather watch someone else wrestle a greased pig in a phone booth while I enjoy some General Tso's chicken. (Side note: if you're coming over, feel free to grab some on the way. Just sayin'.)
So, here's the deal. Think of my place as a pop-up shop for pleasure. You come, we have fun (because, let's face it, I'm amazing), and then you bounce. Like a well-executed reverse parallel park, you're in and out. No lingering, no breakfast in bed, no discussing your hopes and dreams. Unless your hopes and dreams involve the perfect orgasm. Then, by all means, let's chat.
The other night, this guy comes over, right? Cute, decent conversation (for the first five minutes, anyway). Then, BAM! "So, do you see this going anywhere?" Dude, I barely see you going past my living room. And then the cuddle request. Cuddle? I have a weighted blanket for that. And it doesn't ask me about my "emotional availability." Which, by the way, is currently somewhere between "nonexistent" and "actively repelling."
I swear, it's like people have forgotten the art of the discreet exit. Do your thing, put your clothes back on, and vanish like a ninja in the night. I'm not running a bed and breakfast here. I'm running a… well, let's just call it a "temporary entertainment zone." And the entertainment is strictly R-rated.
Is it selfish? Maybe. Do I care? Not even a little bit. I'm living my best "Sex and the City" life, minus the drama and the Manolos (because, let's be honest, those shoes are ridiculous). I'm all about getting mine, and if that makes me a bad person, then so be it. I'll just be over here, enjoying my Chinese takeout and my… "me time." You know what I mean. Wink, wink.
