Wouldn't it be nice if you could Google "my next boyfriend" and his name, age, interests and the day you will meet would pop up on the screen? Sadly, this particular crystal-ball-fueled technology hasn't yet been developed. If anyone has the skills, I have a dollar and thirty seven cents to toss into your venture capital fund. Call me.

Much as I would prefer to write "Meeting Next Boyfriend Today" on my calendar and hang out and enjoy my life until he shows up, this doesn't seem to be the way it works. I hate it when reality collides with my plans. When reality is through, my plan drags itself in, bedraggled, hungover, covered in dog hair and dust bunnies, and begs to be hauled into the street and shot with a cannon.

My Plan: Lounge on a chaise with a daiquiri until my next relationship walks up and sits down and asks me to dinner. He will mention steak.

Reality: Dating is a numbers game.

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Maybe I watched too many Disney movies in my youth (fate! princes! dancing ponies!) and maybe playing games with people's easily bruised hearts is scary. No one wants to trample or be trampled. Plus, the idea of going on anywhere from two to 1,700 more first dates is just disheartening. I can't view dating as a game because that implies a certain blasé attitude toward feelings, but if I take it too seriously ... well, you know what happens. Doom, destruction and profound embarrassment.

So I try to stop with the over-exuberant analysis and chant: "I like dating! I like dating! Dating is fun" until the host body rejects the attitude transplant and I go back to being surly and swearing that I don't need a partner, I just need a dog.

But this rarely lasts long either, because as much as I adore a sweet mutt, I know it won't change the oil in my car. So I'm employing a new strategy, cunningly stolen from a friend whose Always Say Yes policy found her a nice boy, after said policy propelled her unwilling self on their first date.

So I will be instituting my own Always Say Yes policy. Right ... now. It applies to everyone except serial killers. If he's carrying a chainsaw and wearing a ski mask, I get to say no.