I want that!

(Originally published 12/2/2005)

Recently I’ve had the good fortune of meeting a few different boys while out and about. I’d consider all of them to be viable candidates, considering that they each held jobs, appeared presentable, and most importantly found me attractive. Dating is tricky. Dating turns us into the 3 year olds we’ve seen frantic and screaming at Target. The 3 year old is calmly contending to his or her own thoughts, riding comfortably in the front of the basket making attempts to pick Mommy’s nose, when suddenly it appears before them: some exotic, colorful, beautifully complicated toy that the child has NEVER seen before and therefore NEVER wanted. But by God if you don’t get them out of that f*cking basket and let them have that thing then they will kick and scream and cry and make your life a living h*ll.

That’s how I feel about dating. Most people that know me can contest to the fact that I’m a man of quite simple needs. But dating throws a brick under my wheel of contentment. Most times when I meet a boy out I am standing in the crowd minding my own business when suddenly it’s there. And I have to have it. Although I’ve never seen it before I immediately cannot live without it. I have to hold it and touch it and to see what it looks like sitting in my bedroom. I want it I want it I want it I want it I want it!

Then the dance begins. And although at Charlie’s around 2am on a Saturday night I may appear to enjoy dancing, in all actuality I do not. I do not understand the rules. I do not understand the conversations. I certainly don’t understand the games or what sort of reactions people are expecting from me. Dating is like a job interview. For example, in a job interview you should never blame leaving your last job because "my boss hated me." This makes you appear paranoid, secluded, and bitter. On a date, you cannot tell the truth when the jerk inevitably asks that loaded question (and, by the way, they ALWAYS ask) "Why are you single?" You cannot tell the truth, that "my last boyfriend decided after 2 years that he was tired of having sex with me and sometimes I still sit in the dark and drink Bourbon and wonder what he’s doing right this very second and if he ever really loved me in the first place." This makes you appear paranoid, secluded, and bitter. In a job interview, you should respond with "I am looking for greater opportunities." You could apply this to the "Why are you single" question as well.

But the rules are like little games we’ve all made up in our heads, little versions of Scrabble or Battleship. We want other people to play with us, but we never bothered teaching anyone else OUR rules. So we sit there across the table from our opponents in some trendy sushi bar and start playing, you playing your version, them playing theirs. And again, we resort to being small children.

"So, how many people have you slept with?"

"Foul! You can’t ask that! You lose your turn!"

"No! According to MY rules I get to ask that if you ask about the cold sore on my face. AND, I’m going to sneak away to the bathroom when the bill comes because you took a cell phone call while we waited at the bar!"

"Your rules are wrong! My rules say that I have to take at least one call during our date so that I don’t appear too needy and that I exhibit my own life and individuality because that’s attractive…right?"

"Well, my rules say that that means you are disinterested and bored."

"Oh. Well, what do your rules say about sleeping with someone on the first date?"

"They say that it’s OK whereas I wouldn’t want to continue a relationship with someone I wasn’t compatible with in bed. It’s important to investigate that right off so we don’t waste each other’s time. What do yours say?"

"Um, they say that, too!"

My theory is that most people that are in relationships are in them not because of their sets of rules or how they played the game, but because they were so beaten down after years of what can feel like trying to play tennis by yourself on a basketball court. No one’s on the same page! You’re serving tennis balls while they’re shooting foul shots. Eventually you give up. You put down your racket and ask the person that you’re with to teach you how to play what they’re playing. It could turn out that you either love or hate basketball, but either way you’ve got access to someone else’s checking account.

So, after a decent 3 weeks and a couple of dates with some non-psychotic individuals (what else can you ask for?), I still wind up where I started. Except now while I stand around in a bar with my friends on a Saturday night or eat chips in front of the television by myself on some random Wednesday, 2 acts with which I was 100% content not even a month ago, I sometimes think of that toy at Target. I wished I’d never even seen it. Because I would’ve never known how much I wanted it in the first place.