To say I have “a wall” up when it comes to dating is quite a bit of an understatement. My wall is made of bricks, covered in cement and barbed wire, and surrounded by bulletproof glass. Just like everyone else out there, I’ve had my share of bad relationships, unbelievable dates, and horrendous one-night-stands. OK, maybe more than my own share, but give me a break, the weekend is three nights long.
You know what does it for me? Beard/glasses/plaid shirt who loves music, reads and is generally a nice person who cares about others.
You know what doesn’t do it for me? Thirty-year-old men who still live with their parents (we’re talking never moved out…like, ever), guys who accuse you of being a Communist because you like Tom Hanks, and men who forget your name in the middle of a make-out sesh. All situations that I‘ve actually lived through.
I don’t think I have crazy expectations. In fact, I like to think I’m a little more relaxed than some of the girls out there. But just because I’m laid-back doesn’t mean it’s OK for you to celebrate your ex-girlfriend’s birthday by getting drunk with her (without me, by the way) and spending the night in her bedroom even though “nothing happened.” And for the last time, “fun” to me is not defined as a threesome with your neighbor.
Whatever happened to dating? Is it all that surprising my wall has become so impenetrable? I can’t even remember the last time I was asked out on a legitimate date. It’s always “Wanna hang out?” or “Let’s chill sometime.”
Um, hi, I’m not 12 and I’m also not a character in a Bill and Ted movie. Call me on the phone, or -gasp!- ask me in person if I want to go to dinner. Pick me up at my apartment, take me to a nice restaurant, open doors for me, and for God’s sake please don’t wear a shirt that has a cartoon on it.
Still, I’m not totally jaded. I do believe in love and that I will find it someday. I’ve had my share of mind-blowing dates – seeing “The Sound of Music” on the lawn at Wolftrapp, miniature-golfing at a glow-in-the-dark monster themed arcade, skinny-dipping after hours in a community pool while it’s raining. One of my favorite dates of all time was when a guy and I sat on my couch talking for hours while he tried to teach me how to blow a bubble inside of a bubble with chewing gum (I still know how to do it). I know the magic is still out there.
So it’s not to say the wall can’t be taken down by a patient Converse-sneakered gentleman. I’m not asking for that much. But I will require some actual old-school effort before I let you dip into the honey pot. And no, a text message does not count as effort.
(Feature photo by Larry Luxner: Jamaica: Sunset over Montego Bay.)