The Man Trap

12 07 2007

I need a new man trap.

No, I’m not digging a hole and covering it with limbs. I’m not that desperate. Yet.

Here’s what I mean. Ten years ago or so, I decided that I needed to find some non-threatening (to me or them!) reason/way/manner to interact with other guys. I was looking for little more than an excuse, really. I’m shy, and excuses help. And somehow or other, I found myself walking into the nearest Best Buy and coming out with a PlayStation, two controllers, and several games.

It worked. Guys stopped by to play Resident Evil. After dates, guys came in to check out Metal Gear Solid. Gran Turismo lured guys in.

Now that makes me sound like some kind of Twisted Metal slut, but it wasn’t like that at all. I actually got to know several guys over the PlayStation controllers, Tomb Raider, and the like. I connected with several guys, and, hey, some of them even decided they liked me—despite my affinity for kids’ games and my strangely unparalleled prowess at driving anything resembling a boat. In fact, I think the Ex and I fell for each other, in part, over Hot Shots Golf, Devil Dice, and Turbo Prop Racing.

I’m older now. And even if I weren’t, I don’t think PlayStation, or even PlayStation 3, would attract the kind of guys I’m interested in nowadays. At this point in my life, I don’t think I’d even have that much in common with the average video gamer. (Maybe I’m wrong about that.) And I certainly couldn’t impress anyone with my middle-aged reaction times.

But what exactly should I try as my new man trap? I was thinking about Flyers season tickets. There are some obvious advantages to that. First, I really, really, really like hockey. Plus, I have a hard time meeting gay/bi/faux-straight guys who are as rabidly into sports as I am. So if I had season Flyers tickets, I could always be inviting guys—particularly guys whose sexuality I haven’t quite figured out—to join me. Maybe, just maybe, I’d actually click with someone.

The downside, though, is cost. Two season tickets in the non-nosebleed seats cost nearly $6,500. Even for 44 games, that’s way too much money. I could get crappier seats, I suppose, but then I’d have to sit in them. And, of course, the point is that I might want to impress some of my guests! I suppose I could go for an 11-game plan, but that would limit the number of chances I’d have to, er, click. Plus, some of my non-dateable friends are going to want to go once in awhile, too. (And that’s ok, I swear!)

Not too many other ideas have crossed my mind. I could get season Eagles or Phillies season tickets. But I’m not much of a pro football fan, and baseball season is already half over. For that matter, I already have a helluva time getting friends to go to Phillies games with me. (My extra symphony tickets are only slightly harder to fill.) I just haven’t found that nest of gay baseball fans that I know is out there, somewhere, in Greater Philadelphiana.

What else? Short of buying a convertible Jaguar and inviting men to touch the leather seats, I mean. I could go to church more often, take more classes, go to twice as many cheese tastings, join still more internet dating sites. Ack! I’m already doing those things.

Or I suppose I could just reconcile myself to being single, maybe for a long time to come. To doing the things I like to do, when I want to do them, by myself. Sigh.

I miss the PlayStation.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s