Just not into the games

It was the second time I’d heard it in the last three months. I was on a date at an overpriced Beverly Hills eatery when she said it: “I think you’re just not that into me.”

The comment was based on the bestselling book “He’s Just Not That Into You.” Whatever I did -- forget to call to confirm, perhaps take a bite of food while she was speaking -- it was clear there was a new phenomenon that was messing with my life. So I decided to read this book that was smothering my dating regimen under a crush of apparent faux pas.

I admit the authors made several good points early on. They state, “A man would rather be trampled by elephants on fire than tell a woman he’s just not that into her.” On “Fear Factor,” some people were trampled by elephants on fire (while eating muskrat dung), and they came out OK. So, yes, I agree.

The authors go on to say, “A man will ask out a woman of higher status if he’s into her.” I have an MCI bill with dozens of unreturned calls to Margaret Thatcher to vouch for that. (I go for the intellectual type. Let’s not even get into my unanswered e-mails to Condoleezza Rice.)

The format of “He’s Just Not That Into You” basically consists of the author duo answering letters from perplexed women writing about their relationships. They usually respond with a simplistic answer, delivered in a semi-condescending tone, then end with an even more condescending, “Jane -- He’s not just that into you.”

A slightly exaggerated, made-up example: “Dear Liz and Greg (Tuccillo and Behrendt, the authors): My boyfriend once left the toilet seat up. Signed, Confused in Cleveland.” “Dear Confused in Cleveland: You should leave him. Leaving the toilet seat up means he’s just not that into you.”

Occasionally the authors interject anecdotes from their personal lives. The male half of the team discusses the night he asked a bartender he was flirting with for her phone number. In keeping with the underlying theme of the book, instead of making it easy for him, she said, “My name is Lindsey Adams. Find me.” So he called all nine of the Lindsey Adamses in the phone directory till he got the right one. And women are taking this type of “find me” advice to heart. That’s why I missed out on a date with my potential soul mate, Mary Johnson.

Several times the authors make the point that if a man is into a woman, he will somehow locate her. How? Greg and Liz, you’re talking about the gender that cannot locate the TV remote that was in his hand five minutes ago. In addition, 70% of the women I know keep their personal information on the down low because of those pesky student loan people.

The authors also claim, “If he doesn’t want to spend time with your family, he’s just not that into you.” Hmm -- are exceptions made if you’re dating Kelly Osbourne, Lindsay Lohan or Janet Jackson?

After reading “He’s Just Not That Into You,” it’s hard to conceive of any relationship that would withstand the rigid standards outlined here. If Camilla Parker Bowles got her hands on this thing I have no doubt the wedding would have been called off -- a man who devotes that much time to polo and hanging with his mum? He’s just not that into you. And thank goodness Joanne Woodward didn’t read this! Paul Newman racing cars and mixing salad dressing when he could be with his wife? Honey, I don’t care how long this charade has been going on, he’s just not that into you. And Laura Bush, your husband claims he’s too busy defeating terrorism and staving off recession to call and tell you he’s thinking about ya? Laura, Laura -- he’s just not that into you.

As this was the first (and last) relationship book I’ve purchased, I’m wondering if they’re all this silly and pat. Note: Everything men do doesn’t mean something bad. If I cough or fail to make eye contact as you tell me about your day at work, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. (If I nod off face first into the bean dip, that’s different.)

I’m finishing this essay on a Saturday night. I have time because my date -- the one from the Beverly Hills restaurant -- canceled after leaving a cryptic voicemail message stating the latest problem has to do with something she read on page 112.

Greg and Liz, I have to say it: After reading your book, from a male perspective, I’m just not that into you.

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Brad Dickson can be reached at weekend@latimes.com.