I’ve had enough mind blowing conversations in my life time to know quality over quantity. Exchanges about government cover ups of extraterrestrial life. Stories of military battle for a country I’m too chicken to fight for. Struggles of overcoming addiction and disorders. Gabfests about fates misfortune. Even discussions about the meaning of unconditional love. 

I don’t want to know How Harry Met Sally, or how Stella got her groove back, or which Full House character we both need to fan-girl over in order for us to become best friends. Your movie quotes are unoriginal; not punny. I don’t care about your breakfast. Your lunch. Or a photo of a steak-adorned-dinner-plate you took while on your third date this week. Your good morning and your good nights are like two pieces of 7 grain bread with a slice of still-wrapped Kraft singles in the middle. Nutritionally inept

You’re wasting your time with the fluff, kids. Monotonous, time-consuming, “hey” “hey” “how’s your day” “good, yours” “fine” *radio silence* is becoming painful. I almost wish some of these people got hit by a bus or had a dog die. You know, just to have something to connect to. Call me crazy. No wait, dont fucking call me crazy. #startingafightoutofboredom 

Naturally, I receive, on average, ten to twenty messages a day on my online profile. (Half of them can’t spell their names, don’t get too excited). Mixed with one to three vendors at work asking if I’m married…that makes for a multitude of conversation starters. You’d think 1 out of 23 would be response worthy; you’d think wrong. 

Even with that quantity firm, the fuq are my intellectual stimuli?! I’m so incredibly under stimulated that I find myself literally deleting, blocking or just blatantly walking away from some of these people. Did you just say “Do you want to go grab a beer sometime?”. No. No I don’t. Because beer is literally the most boring fucking thing “to do” on the planet. Do I want to go camping with you in the woods while we ferment Kombucha and write songs for each other? Yes. Man I sound like a god damn hippie.  

I’m not usually this effervescent about not showering on a first date, but some of my most memorable moments have been in nature, or amongst a less rigid crowd. I like beer, don’t get me wrong. But I can purchase, drink and love it any day of my adult life. What I can’t do is stand under some stars next to a fire built by someone less dainty than I and find a sense of wanderlust in a relationship as it unfolds. 

Textually I’d rather lose my phone to a body of water than have to manually discard some of this severely unenthusiastic correspondence. I don’t get the “enjoy life’s little and unexpected moments today, live it wisely and don’t forget to smile” texts. You know, smart shit. The stuff I GIVE TO PEOPLE. Because, I know that plain is boring and if I send you one more clock work good morning your gonna blow your brains out. Or maybe not, cause you’re all robots with erections brought on by the sound of a single text tone. 

The fizzle is real my friends. You had me at “my mind works in mysterious ways” and then you lost me at “so, wanna see a movie?”. Ugh. I dare each and every one of you to make a date jar. And then put that next to a quote jar. And then court the fuck out of some incredible women. If they don’t want to make babies with you in the end, at least you left little Pinterest footprints of encouragement along the way; something more than the guy who read like a real life interview every day of his existence. 

Moral of the story is: if you don’t have anything exciting to say, don’t say anything at all. Memorize a fact, learn a joke, master a metaphor. Nobody ever caught the good fish with a dull hook. Rod’s up! 

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