Dating in the 90's

Dating is very different now then it was in the 90's, when I was a young buck with big Elvis Costello glasses and a lower moral standard. Women didn't care how much you made, how many times a month you went out and got bottle service, what kind of car you drove.

Everyone was a student, everyone was poor and dressed like they were extras in a Ramones video. They drank $8 pitchers of beer and would occasionally splurge on a round of tequila- back when it was a buck a shot, before the agave shortage of 2004.

(Oh, and smoking- everyone smoked, everywhere; and cigarettes were $5 a pack and women knew how to blow smoke rings in heart shapes and men could put out the butts on their palms without pain. The 90's were THAT good.)

Used to be you would meet a woman in the bar, or at a loft party, hit it off and make out a bit in some shadowed corner, go home to either one of your places and fuck like there was nothing better to do on the planet. Ever.

You would wake up in the morning- one or the other of you may have decided to slink off if they were having second doubts about their drunken choices of the night before. But more likely than not they would go to breakfast at some diner and get to know one another a bit better. Maybe laugh at how drunk they were the night before. Maybe, if they were of the romantic persuasion and thinking they would like to see this random meeting develop into something more, they would touch on when they first saw each other at the bar, what song was playing when they kissed- just so they would know what to play a year from now on their anniversary, 5 years from now- or at their wedding.

You would call the other person again that night and ask them if they would like to go somewhere. One of you would suggest your regular bar, close to the other person's place. There, one of you would be surrounded by the other's friends as you drink more cheap beer and the group passes judgment on you. Stories of the host's previous relationships are skillfully interjected into the conversation and your reactions are weighed. You pass muster and are invited to the other's apartment, less drunk, and more attention is paid to details of technique, tenderness- possible emotional attachment- and decor.

Two weeks of "hanging out" ensue, then you have the going out discussion- which is usually brought about because one or the other almost had a sexual encounter with someone new, or had one and it was terrible and you now feel you had originally made a wise choice. There may be a more general leaving of things at one another's apartments- especially toiletries.

A month or two later one of you will realize you have not been to your own apartment for more than 10 hours in the past month, or one of you may have trouble making rent. There will be a very tactful discussion of finance, pros and cons of moving in together. One person will seem to ponder this slowly and weight-fully, but they are just as excited as the other. You are, after all, in your twenties, your parents can be damned, and this person may be the one.

This living together, of course, is akin to putting two mentally challenged people in the cockpit of a jet. You are thrilled to be flying the jet, but neither of you know WHAT THE FUCK you are doing. You drink too much, you hang out together too much, your school work suffers and one of you is not contributing financially as much the other. Or worse, one of you is starting to resent the commitment this living together has forced on you and you start making life intolerable for the other. You become passive aggressive and manipulative. So does your mate.

As the end of your lease approaches, one of you becomes an adulterer- one of you is cuckolded. One person knows it is over, the other just feels lost. About two weeks before the lease needs to be resigned the bomb is dropped- one of you moves out, or is kicked out. A new person may move in within the next 6 weeks- just for fun, and the cycle begins again.

You don't ever, ever, talk to your ex. You never, ever go to their favorite bar.