During the pandemic of COVID-19, I discovered reality TV. I had watched the odd marathon of Hoarders, but it was never something I consciously sought out. Specifically, TLC became my lifeline. Each week, I could hardly wait until 90 Day Fiance. My 600 Pound Life fascinated me with the levels of denial and dysfunction. Dr. Pimple Popper was something to tide me over. Working as a medical assistant, I saw some real life pop-age, so it wasn't as novel to watch the show. This summer, sMothered makes me wonder how these adult women have never cut the cord from their own mothers.
90 Day Fiance is the series that really has me engrossed. It was amazing to me that there were seasons I missed and different variations (90 Day Fiance- The Other Way; Before the 90 Days, Happily Ever After?). Who knew? The thought processes of seemingly sane people was so irrational. I could sit on my sofa with my little dog (who likes to have his neck scratched for no less than three hours at a time) and judge their relationships. I could spot the pitfalls a mile a way. Hindsight is great like that. In a single episode, the desperation was palpable. The end result of each show was the same; a lot of drama, usually some yelling and storming off, and a sense of my own superiority.
Yes, I felt great about myself after each episode. Even when I watch Pillow Talk, I felt better about myself. I didn't need to be co-dependent to feel worthwhile. People who are searching on another continent for someone to date must have some serious issues. So that makes me seem so much more normal. I mean, my only issue is my nine pound dog who is overly attached to me and put his little canine cheek against my mouth to get kisses at night.
The thing that killed me each time someone got on a plane to fly across the world, there was usually a statement of "I'm finally meeting the love of my life". I'm going to meet the love of my life- like it is a destination. The ticket they booked had a layover in some random airport but the final destination was Love of My Life. But you know what, it never had a happy ending. There are a few, but the majority of couples implode long before the last week.
The number of couples that get pregnant in the early stages of their relationship boggles my mind. Early- like the first month they are together. Uh, how did they NOT know that might happen? I truly don't understand that. And of course, a baby doesn't stress a relationship to the brink. Someone you barely know, probably haven't lived with is now trying to establish work, a support network and now you are trying to raise a child together. That is the recipe for drama and disappointment. And I should know, because I have no children, only the nine pound chihuahua mix who continues to steal my socks from the clean laundry before I put it way and cry with joy when he shows them to me.
You would think that all of this judgement would be exhausting. I'm amazed I have the energy to complete anything else during the day. And yet, I'm able to keep increasing my self-esteem at an alarming rate all the while making witty comments about the actions of others.
So here is the self-reflection for the day: All of this relationship watching, is this a signal that I'm considering venturing into the world of romantic relationships? To find the answer, I went to the ultimate source. Match.com. Just reading profiles has me convinced that I'm not. I've said in the past that most profiles are looking for the same thing. Men are looking for someone active, who likes what they like (be it motorcycles, skiing, hiking, cooking, going out to eat, shooting pool, NASCAR, running triathlons) but attractive, fit, funny, a good cook, a social butterfly. They want a man with a vagina. They rarely look for someone witty, intelligent, ambitious, straight-forward, a little chubby. Never do they ask for someone who works hard or gets shit done. Because let me tell you, we are a rare breed. So until I read a profile of someone who is looking for that, I guess I'm not going on any dates.
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