Newsflash: Men and women aren’t the same. We don’t value platonic relationships the same.

Ah, the old, “Can Men and Women Be Friends” quest is back on the map again. Apparently a whole new generation of people have been watching “When Harry Met Sally.”

Spoiler Alert: They can’t.

Well, not in the way that women want.

First, we need to come to a consensus of what “friends” actually means. I think women define “friends” differently than men do. I know my definition of a friend is someone that I can call on, day or night. They will help me solve problems (like burying a body or fixing a computer issue) and they will usually do stuff with me.

From my experience with women, they (the women) don’t usually want you (the man) to solve their problems. They want you to listen. They want to vent, they want to be heard. They may also want you to do something, like help them move, or kill a spider or something. And when I say they want you to listen, I’m not kidding.

My ex-wife didn’t “have an unspoken thought in her head.” That quote is directly from her. She wasn’t kidding. The woman could talk and talk and talk and talk and then talk some more. The only time she would shut up was when she was sleeping, which was rarely because she had a major case of insomnia; when I was sleeping, which I “played possum” all the time in order to get a few moments of peace, or when one of her favorite TV shows was on. Then she would shut up. Any other time, oh boy. At least at the time, I was fucking her. Until I wasn’t.

I met a woman back in late June and we went out for drinks one night for our first meet up. She verbally vomited all over me. The only way I could get her to shut up was to kiss her. Which worked as long as I was kissing her, but the moment I would pull back, she would start talking again.

We went out one more time where she finally got around to asking me what I was looking for. I told her what I tell all women I meet: “I’m a Lover. I’m not looking for friends.”

Long story short with her: She texted me the next day wishing me well, but she wasn’t into me, at least not sexually, and since I was clear that I wasn’t looking for friends, she wished me the best.

She did me a favor.

I said quite some time ago that I like women, and I do.

But I also like and value my time. I can and I have spent many countless hours and days in the distant past being “that guy” who listened. Who let women verbally vomit on me. Who let them cry on my shoulder. Lesson learned. I won’t ever do that again. While I like women, I don’t consider them my friends, with the exception of one.

I do have one woman that I consider a friend. I met her back in high school, so I have known her, at the time of this writing, for over 32 years. “Back in the day,” she was hot. “Back in the day,” we had a moment in time between us, where yes, I slept with her. So yes, she’s a friend, and she is also someone that I fucked a long time ago.

Would I sleep with her again today if given the chance? No. She’s far from the young, slim, good looking woman that she used to be. My desire for her sexually went away a long time ago. That and I find her mostly insufferable. Her bitching, ranting, and venting is too taxing to do for extended periods of time. So I only talk to her a couple of times a year. We’ll text each other, like on our birthdays, and we’ll get together and “catch up” over breakfast or something. But that’s about it. She’s a friend because I have known her most of my life, and she was one of the few people that showed up for me when my Mom died. I won’t forget that any time soon.

Sorry to break it to you babe, but the great majority of women aren’t “worth my time unless I get to be inside her.”

That female friend of mine that I just mentioned? Yeah, she used to say that same type of shit a long time ago. “Men are pigs. You only want one thing and it’s disgusting.” I won’t lie, it fucked with my head back then. Now? Nah. “I already did the time, I might as well commit the crime.”

The only time that I can think where men and women can be friends is where both parties are gay. That’s probably it. Any time one party is attracted to the other, but the other “isn’t feeling it,” you have “unrequited love.” And that’s a bitch.

I don’t think men and women can “just be friends,” until we have an agreed upon definition of what “friends” is. From my experience, women throw the word “friend” around like it is going out of style. Guys on the other hand, use the term “friend” with a little more discernment and reverence. If I call you a friend, you can reach out to me any time, day or night, and I’m there for you. I’ll help you solve your problems. I’ll do stuff with you. I’ll keep in regular contact with you to make sure you are doing okay. That’s what friends are for, that’s what they do. I have never heard a guy say, “That guy over there? I just barely met him, he’s my friend.”

My time is my most valuable commodity. I can never get it back. There are no “do-overs.” I can’t get more time. So I want to spend my time wisely. Would I choose to spend it with someone who wants to verbally vomit all over me, with nothing given in return? Or would I rather spend it with someone who wants me to “go up inside her?”

For the ladies who might be reading this, let me ask you a sincere question:

“What am I getting in exchange for my time? What are you willing to give to me or do for me? Are you willing to come to my house and fix me dinner or bring dinner with you, out of the kindness of your heart? Are you willing and able to help me solve some of my problems? Are you willing to keep your mouth shut and help me bury a body if that time and need should ever arise?”

You want me to listen to your woes and not offer advice or judge. You want to have a shoulder to cry on, I understand that. You want me to do the “heavy lifting” if and when it should arise. What are you willing to offer to me in exchange? Sorry if it sounds so “conditional,” but it is conditional. The only person in the world who may love and care for you unconditionally is your mother, if you are lucky. Other than that, you are going to have to provide some value. Something worth my time.

I have had some of the most amazing conversations, and done some amazing things with women over the years. But…

I slept with every one of them first.

Matt from freemattpodcast wrote a great post the other day entitled “And The Band Played On.” Yours truly was the subject of this post. In it, Matt went on to talk about me and my band of “Merry Shitpoasters” and about how we laugh and have a good time on the internet, no matter what the hell is going on:

Rob doesn’t seem to let it get him down. He, along with a band of merry “shitpoasters”, are enjoying life when it is here. Engagement is hilarity. Twitter is an opportunity to have fun when it is available.

I made a joke that he was the one guy leaning on a railing on the RMS Lusitania, cracking jokes and enjoying his martini. He wasn’t crying, but enjoying it all as he slowly sunk off the coast of Ireland.

Rob isn’t crying now, either.

I have known Matt for a while now, I’ve even had him in my house at one point, where we waxed poetic about religion, philosophy, women, you name it. He’s a smart man, and I consider him a friend of mine.

He’s correct in his assessment of me, I’m enjoying myself immensely. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s not to take life too seriously. The “Merry Shitpoasters” and I have that on lock as far as I’m concerned. And yes, I’m not crying about shit, either.

But there is one thing that Matt mentioned that actually got me to thinking and to ultimately writing this post. I know Matt was being metaphorical with comparing me to the dude drinking and cracking jokes as the Lusitania sank off of the coast of Ireland, but it’s that metaphor that sticks. Mostly the sinking ship.

Are we in fact, “sinking?”

I’m not talking about the “Red Pill.” At least not so much. I’m talking about our society. With inflation and the recession that is currently going on, the doomsayers have warmed up their voices and turned on their megaphones. According to them, “The End Is Nigh.”

The problem is, “The End Of The World” has been going on since recorded history.

Revelations in the Holy Bible is talking about the end of the world. As far as I know, that book was written around 68-69 AD or thereabouts. The end is sure taking its sweet fucking time to get here.

The Mayan Calendar had us dying off in 2012.

Do you guys remember Y2K? I do. 2000 was a big one. We’re still here.

I can remember back to the days of inflation and gas shortages and people going on runs for fuel back in the 70’s when Jimmy Carter was President.

Before that, I remember hiding under my school desk if and when the nuclear bomb was going to be dropped on us by the Soviets during the Cold War.

You guys aren’t going to die tomorrow. You’re just bored.

Here’s a most likely scenario that is going to happen, and it will be a thing of nightmares for most of you:

Everything will keep going as they currently are, and everything will remain the same.

Your lives of quiet desperation and ennui will continue until you actually die many years from now from old age or cancer. And if it happens to be cancer, you’ll probably welcome it.

We live in a time of plenty, a time that wants and needs for nothing. You want and need for nothing. That’s why you’re bored. There are no great challenges left, and if there were, most of you are too soft, out of shape, and too scared to do anything about it except cry on the internet.

When men can sit around and gossip like an old ladies relief society about girls with tattoos, multi-colored hair, piercings, and hypergamy, you know you got it good. Too good maybe. When you show yourself to the world as the defective women that you are, the end isn’t nigh, you just suck and take trivial shit too seriously. No wonder women are asking, “Where are all the good men?” None can be found when you’re too busy wringing your hands and clutching your pearls.

This is why I laugh and shitpost. I have nothing better to do than make fun of you. Dating for me is at its best. As far as I’m concerned, with what I’m seeing on social media and the internet in general, it’s only going to get better for me. As long as the lights stay on, I’m good. And if they don’t? I’ll worry about it then. I’ll do what I must.

You guys worry too much about things that don’t matter. You’re bored and lazy, that is all. Maybe you all got too many participation trophies when you were younger, or maybe you think the world owes you a living or something.

Guess what, the world doesn’t owe you shit. But you are finding out, or you will find out eventually. Just hope it isn’t too late for you when you do figure that one out.

Meanwhile, I’ll be sitting on social media with my friends, drinking beer and talking shit. When I’m not doing that, I’ll be fucking the women you’re too scared to fuck because of “red flags.”

Here’s a spoiler alert:

They all have “red flags,” and they are all crazy to one degree or another. It’s just a matter of degree and of what you will tolerate and put up with. I don’t think you want a “sane woman,” you just want to fuck a dude because there are no “sane women.” So just own it.

Other than that, I’ll be riding my motorcycles, eating the good food, and enjoying my life.

See you around.

“Sphinx” is a new woman that I’m currently working on. I’m trying to get her ass out of the house and in front of me, because if I can, if I do, her ass is mine.

I call her “Sphinx” because she has three of those hairless Sphinx cats. The early call at this point is that she is pretty interested. Time will tell, and as the Rolling Stones sang, “Time is on my side, yes it is.”

It’s ironic that I met her on a dating app and she asked the question above that I screen shot for you.

Why the dating app, Rob? Why indeed?

I could “mind-read” her and think, “Oh! This has to do with my looks and my personality. The way that I’m a smooth motherfucker when it comes to texting, flirting, and bantering. She asked that question because clearly she thinks, ‘why is he on here?'” And maybe this is the case. The truth is, I have no idea, and nor does it matter. I could speculate until the cows come home. But then I would be no better than the dudes on the internet whose knowledge of women is in the abstract. Postulating and speculating. “Monday night quarterbacking” from their gaming chairs in the basement. I gave up all that shit a long time ago.

You don’t really know her and you never will.

Back to the question at hand though, “Okay seriously, why the dating app?”

Why not? I like to maximize my opportunities and options. Guys, I have been doing online dating, off and on, for over 20 years now. I started back in 2000. If I only went with women that I had met from cold approach, the bars, the grocery stores, and through friends and family, my “pickings” would have ended somewhere around the year 2000. I wouldn’t have met half the women that I have.

But why the dating app? Where else am I going to meet women? I’m 50 years old. I work 40+ hours a week. I’m tired when I get home. I don’t “shit where I eat,” so dating women from my job and from my customers is off the table. Bars are expensive, I can get drunk far cheaper at home. When I go to the grocery store, sure, I’ll approach a woman if she is showing clear indicators of interest. Otherwise I’m there to buy my food and whatnot and get out of there.

Most of my friends live out of state, and the ones that do live here would hook me up with their wives’ friends. Trust me, I’m not interested. Slump busters are a thing, but there’s only so many grenades you can jump on before you completely blow yourself to hell.

So where the hell am I supposed to meet women if not online? I’m asking this question to you, Gentle Reader, in all seriousness. I work full time, I have activities I enjoy doing that usually don’t include women, and I have only so much money in the bank. Where am I supposed to meet them? I’m looking high and low, and no women to be found.

Why is that? Because of Uber Eats and Door Dash? That and most of the women that I have met in the last couple of years have taken multi-year sabbaticals from dating.

“Go to church, Rob!”

Church? Don’t make me laugh. I haven’t been to a church for religious reasons since I was twelve years old. I’m not the religious type, nor do I tend to attract the religious type. So that’s out of the question.

The real question is, “why NOT the dating app?”

Why not? I can meet women from around my area. Sure there’s a “ceiling” to how good looking they are going to be, but I’m fine with that. Ultimately, those “9’s and 10’s” that you seek? They don’t exist except in your fantasies. Most women are “mids.” Isn’t that the new term you guys have come up with for average women?

Well guess what? Most women are average. Top of the bell curve. I’m okay with that, how about you?

Why NOT the dating app?

The great majority of the women I have met in the last twenty years have come from there. It’s a world of easy opportunity, abundance, and convenience. You match with one and it doesn’t go anywhere? No problem, there’s always another woman.

You meet up and things don’t pan out? No problem, get back on the app and start swiping again. There’s always another woman.

Every face, every profile, every “right” swipe, is a new opportunity. You meet enough women over time, you get to a point where if things don’t work out with one woman, there’s always another one waiting in the wings. There’s always another woman.

I’ve had three different women that I was dealing with decide to tell me, within a few days of each other, “I want more, Rob,” and they left. It sucked, but… There’s always another woman.

So why NOT the dating app?