Serial Dater

Unlike Star and myself, Melanie is needy, desperate, weak and lonesome, otherwise popularly now known as a "hopeless romantic". Melanie feels like she needs to validate her newly acquired gender by going on dates very, very often. Every Saturday night, she will be wearing the new dress she bought during one of her breaks with full on makeup, hair, shoes, the whole nine yards. And then by Sunday morning, she will video conference Star and myself on Skype, complaining about how nothing materialized from last night's rendezvous. I've known her for more than three years and she has never failed to go out on a date every Saturday night; that would approximately be 144 guys that she has gone on dates with thus far.

"I didn't know there was a market or even a demographic of men who love trannies." Star said yesterday over coffee. I told Star that if she treasures her life, she should never sprout any of that nonsense in front of Melanie.

Star doesn't date. heck, she doesn't even believe in relationships. "I don't need to date or have a boyfriend to get laid," she would always say. "I just wear my bandage dress, no bra, no panties, and I'm on fire."

"But that's not the whole point of dating and being in a relationship. We have a relationship because we need to be loved, to be taken care of, to have a sense of security", Melanie would reply.

"Eww. Then go and have a relationship with the security guard at your condo!" Star retorted. I, myself, personally don't understand the whole dating process. What? You wear nice clothes, spray some cologne, arrive on time, foot the bill, be the best version of yourself and at the end of the day, you just couldn't connect and nobody returns any phone calls or asks for a second date. And the jacket still needs to be sent for dry-cleaning. Too much of a hassle I'm telling you. And even if you do like that person, enough to ask them for a second date and subsequently officially date, there's the late night phone calls, the jealousy, meeting of his or her friends, your friends, the little tiffs, the big tiffs, more jackets to be sent for dry-cleaning; hassle, hassle, hassle. You can meet 1000 Mr Rights, and six months into it, they become Mr What The Hell.

"But that's the beauty of it. You meet all these new people every now and then, and god willing, you will find the right one", Melanie explains.

"That's 144 wrong men, Mel?" Star asks.

"I should stop hanging around with you two", Melanie says, arms in the air, giving up.

I kept quiet because suddenly I got reflective. It is true, the whole dating thing is lost on me. But I also have not been on many dates. And I also have not had the luck to be on a great date either, so I clearly am not in a position to judge anybody who understands and craves for that tingly feeling that one gets from being on dates. Oh well.