The games we play (aka I eat my own words)

I am quite fond of making lists, especially lists of rules. Possibly because it’s an easy way to fill a blog post, possibly because it’s a lazy comedic device (see Letterman, David) and possibly because I’m an anal retentive, megalomaniacal control freak who really enjoys pretending I can impose my will on the universe simply by proclaiming certain things to be Correct. This blog post was going to be yet another list, this time about the dating games we play. I intended to take the position that certain games were not only allowed but a necessary part of the foundation of our society. But it didn’t seem quite right so I decided to mull it over for a few days. (See there is a creative process at work here beyond me sitting at the computer typing whatever pops into my head.) Anyway, I’ve scrapped that idea and will present my new thoughts on this matter in a non-list format.

I recently started attempting to date again. I say attempting because most of my ventures so far have fallen rather flat. I blamed this on the fact that I am clearly rusty, having not practiced my romantical skills in over a year. (I said romantical…which granted isn’t a word, but should not be taken to mean sexual. I’m cynical and jaded, not pathetic.) In short I believed I wasn’t playing the games well enough anymore. Because let’s face it we all play those little games don’t we? The Is it too soon to call/text/email him? game. Or the Does he want me to kiss him? Or should I wait for him to kiss me? game. And of course the I don’t want to see him again, but I don’t want to be an asshole so I’ll just be “unavailable” for a few weeks game. (This one bit me in the ass recently with someone who couldn’t take a hint. STOP blowing up my phone with texts. You KNOW who you are.) Then there’s my personal (least) favorite, the How long should I wait before we have sex? game. (I originally wrote these as bullets but then I remembered I promised no lists for this post so now it’s in paragraph form and it doesn’t count. Ha.)

Note I was using masculine pronouns here, but you could easily substitute the feminine. By my observations straights and lesbians play just as many games as gay men. And those bisexuals. Don’t get me started. There is a reason I won’t date bi boys anymore, and his name is…well ok I won’t publish his name because he’s probably happily settled down with his girlfriend by now and shagging a guy or two on the side but that’s his business. See? I told you not to get me started.  

Returning from our tangent, if these games don’t sound familiar to you then you are either a liar, a saint or asexual. And you know what? It’s bullshit. We should all just be honest with each other. If you want to kiss me then kiss me. If you find me boring (unlikely) or batshit crazy (highly probable) and are turned off let me know. If you like me and want to go on another date then say so. If you want to have sex with me please make those feelings known. If I ask you out a second time and you aren’t interested it’s ok to say no. That’s how I finally got rid of my text message stalker. And you know what? It worked out fine and I wish I had just been honest in the first place.

Let’s take this last one as an example. Let’s pretend you and I went on a date. (I know, be still your beating heart, or possibly ick if my sister is reading this.) Anyway we have a lovely evening. Possibly there is some smooching at the end. Fast forward a few days, and I, being the outgoing and initiative-seizing person that I am, ask you out for a second time. You, being charmed by my good looks and witty banter (shutup this is a hypothetical and I can make up whatever I want), agree. But then something comes up and oh no! You have to cancel. I accept this with good grace and suggest we reschedule. You say you’re free tomorrow so we make plans to get together. Tomorrow comes, and whoops, fate intervenes and you once again have to cancel.

Now in my new, ideal world, the one where everyone stops playing games and is upfront and honest, I would understand that shit happens and assume that you genuinely do like me and you do want to hang out again. In our current world, however, I am thinking something along the lines of “What a dick. Why is he wasting my valuable time? More importantly why am I wasting my valuable time? Screw you.”

Meanwhile, you don’t know this and are waiting for me to contact you to reschedule. You could of course pick up the damn phone and ask me out, but you’re probably also playing hard to get (another game I despise). A week goes by. Then two. Drifting occurs. One of us meets someone else. Since this is my blog we’ll say it’s me. Maybe me and my new guy don’t click quite the same way you and I did, but hey, this one is available, and a bird in the hand and all that.

And thus we have yet another tragic case of What Might Have Been. All because of silly little games. Doesn’t my world sound better? Now please excuse me as I have to resume staring at my phone to see if this guy has texts me because I can’t text him first because I initiated our last conversation.