A Cliche Within A Platitude Within A Bromide

Is it cliched to discuss just how cliched dating is? Ever since I became single, my life has turned into an everlasting episode of Seinfeld. I go out on dates, put on a show and reiterate every detail to my friends. We dissect each person relentlessly, pointing out subtle flaws and insignificant foibles. There's the flip flopper who can't decide what she wants. How does one go from "we can't kiss" to "hop in the shower with me" in a matter of seconds? There's the girl who tells me she can't stand sarcasm. Has she paid attention to a single ironic quip I've made or does she just not understand what sarcasm is? There's the girl who insists on analyzing how serious we are after a week. Let me take a stab at it and suggest that we're dating casually. There's the crazy older woman who, as it turns out, spent her adolescence in a psychiatric institute. And she tells me this while we're lying there in bed like the revelation is going to bring us closer together rather than scare the crap out of me. Amazingly enough, a history of psychosis doesn't constitute sexy in the way she thought it might.

But the cliche goes beyond the unseemly characteristics of my dating partners. On every first date, I feel like an actor playing a role. Reciting my life like the dating handbook proscribes. I have my spiel edited and scripted so well that I can virtually do it unconsciously. As I tell the Nth person about how I'm an attorney but not particularly satisfied with my work I feel my mind drifting away, looking down at myself from above. It's become a veritable form of meditation, the description of my goals and desires my spiritual mantra. My heart rate slows, my breathing steadies, the desire to stretch into "downward dog" is inescapable. Heh heh, downward dog. The only problem here is that I'm still theoretically interacting with another person. A person I supposedly want to get to know. Honestly, if I've gotten to this stage of enlightenment, any desire to get to know them has significantly waned already. Apparently nirvana = no next date.

If only this revelation was actually sufficient incentive for me to end the pseudo-relationship at its inception. But, no, I insist on going out on subsequent dates which involve more talking and more rote descriptions of "who I am" and "what I want" not to mention the monotony of having to hear the same from the person across the table from me. All that for the possibility of some physical contact and a potential realization that my initial evaluation of our chemistry was misguided. I've calculated the pot odds for this scenario again and again and I'm pretty sure folding is the best approach every time. My only consolation is the knowledge that my date is probably experiencing the same thing and suffering in a similar way. Except for the part where I'm awesome and a total catch.

Now that we've been on several dates and had some intimate contact things get dicey. If I'd ended it after the first date when I was virtually certain that things weren't going to work out I'd be free and clear and have a guilt free conscience. But, no, the prospect of ass and my apparent inability to act reasonably and rationally results in the inescapable need to have a "talk". Well, not so much a talk as an awkward, rambling attempt to never see the person again without saying anything offensive or insinuating that there's anything wrong with them. Sounds simple, I know, but I'm pretty sure it was one of the methods used to torture inmates in Abu Ghraib. No wonder there was a congressional investigation. Talk about human rights abuses.

You'd think this would deter me from future dates or at least inspire me to end the futureless relationships I'm currently involved in. Who wants to suffer this abuse on a regular basis? Apparently I'm a bit of a masochist.