It's not that I'm bad at dating; it's just that I'm bad at dating the way a person of my maturity should be dating.
If I were twenty five again, or even thirty, my dating skills would be great.
But guess what.
I'm a few hours older than that. And my dating skills are really baaaad, dog. (Sorry, it's been a week of American Idol festivities and vote-fixing.)
Ten years ago, I was a rainmaker. I could bring those guys in the door no problem. I was so disinterested - or incapable - of committing to someone that guys were actually interested in me. The more disinterested I was, the faster they flocked to my sofa.
And that was a pretty good method of getting guys.
I'd meet a guy. We'd share some eye contact...maybe some telepathological chemistry...and then that special moment would arrive: either he'd ask me out or it would be clear that he wanted to ask me out.
That's when I'd break the news. All I wanted was a movie partner.
Ten years ago - and fifteen years ago - and twenty years ago - I lived for movies. All I cared about, besides myself, my family, my friends and my nails, were movies.
So I was honest with guys. No games. I didn't need to be wined and dined. I just really needed a good movie partner.
But not just any movie partner.
I needed a movie partner willing to sit on my sofa (it was a great sofa) for hours on end without shoes. The guy had to be willing to watch videos (this was pre-Netflix) and eat ice cream from the carton and make out.
It wasn't a bad deal if you think about it. Guys seemed to like it.
And it wasn't a particularly difficult gig to get either. The guy just had to pass two tests:
First, he had to be kissable. I had to be able to look at him and imagine him as someone whose face I could get really close to really often.
Second, the guy had to know that, given the choice of watching Fletch or Belle de Jour one should always choose Belle de Jour. Even if he would rather have watched Fletch, the guy had to be smart enough to say he'd chose a Catherine Deneuve film anyday.
It was a pretty good system.
I never had to get dressed up or style my hair. All I had to do was supply ice cream and videos. No cooking or baking necessary. Guys were discouraged from bringing flowers. Encouraged to bring Twizzlers or Junior Mints if they really felt like showing affection.
Best of all, there was no driving or being picked up. No complicated plans or reservations. No complexity of phone tag or calculating of routes to avoid rush hour traffic. It was just "head over whenever...I'll be on the sofa."
Yeah. It was a pretty good system.
The best part was that it was always the guy's idea to get more serious.
I'd be enjoying life on the sofa and the guy would be moving his belongings and emotions in little by little. All I had to do was keep the place stocked with Blockbuster and Chunky Monkey. And of course I fluffed the pillows on the sofa regularly.
So now, all of a sudden I'm forty. And the movie thing isn't working for me.
Guess what happens when you're forty and you invite someone over for a DVD with an ice cream - make out sundae?
Short answer: nothing good.
I should correct that.
It's not that it's not good. It can, in fact, be quite good. It's just that it's really not that smart.
The thing is, when you're twenty five or thirty, it's okay to just watch movies and make out. It's particularly fun to imagine that watching movies and making out is all you'll ever have to do in your life.
But at forty, there's a little more to life than watching movies and making out. I'm not sure what that is yet, but everyone swears there's more to life.
And as much fun as the sofa is, it probably is better to get to know someone before they transition from their shoes off to their clothes hanging in the closet and their name on the lease.
The problem is that the sofa is a magical place where you cuddle up against the person and you feel like you know them as well as you'll ever have to know them. You think you know them even though - I admit - it's probably not possible to fully know a person based solely on his sofa performance.
The other problem - and a far more slippery slope - is that when you're actually on the sofa, you feel like you never have to leave the sofa again in your life. I guess if I were to spend the rest of my life on the sofa, I could spend it there with just about anyone who loved kissing, popcorn and the Cohn brothers. Love on the sofa is really simple.
But - and this is the big pain in the butt about being mature - I'm realizing it might not be possible to spend the rest of my life - or the entire life of a relationship - on the sofa.
And so, depressing as it is, I have decided that I'll have to start dating the way other (i.e., normal) people date.
Yes, I'm going to start going to restaurants.
And I'm going to try movies in theaters.
Ugh.
I've resolved to go on official dates with shoes on in public places where there's no choice but to talk to the person I'm with and get to know him.
No matter how hard it is to stay awake.
And no matter how early I have to run in the morning.
And no matter how good it would feel to be in shorts and a t-shirt.
And no matter how much more appealing a big bowl of Frosted Flakes seems.
And I further resolve that no matter how clearly I can envision life with any one person on the sofa, I will continue to go on regular dates with him until I know what he's into, what he's about and what his name is.