Whoever said it's better to be nice now and naughty later, to be friends first and lovers second, was wrong, wrong, wrong.

And I'm saying this not as an angry dater, but as a bewildered friend.

I’ve always stuck to the friends-first system, committing to long conversations, birthdays and be-theres, with the hope that one day a good-bye will last a bit too long, sparking that itchy look, that desperate closing-in, and finally, a smashing embrace.

But instead of happily ever after, when I date a good friend, things fall apart.

Perhaps my expectations for that new love are too high. Not only do I imagine a passionate romance, but if I don't get it, I have no bone about ending things and reverting back to the romance-free friendship, but isn’t friendship what’s supposed to make the other stuff work so well in the first place?

Further, while real friendships over-expose the soul, playing friends in hopes of dating a man only frustrates it. Not to mention, college is over, and I don't have semester after semester to hit-it-off with a guy before luring him to love.

Living in New York City, my friends-first knack for platonic emailing and passive-aggressive banter has been fruitless. In the modern-day battle against over-stuffed schedules, assertive dating seems to be the only thing that works. Plus, the friend charade is dimming my sex appeal.

True story:

One night this past March after a late dinner, a guy friend and I were standing under a sheet of rain, waiting for his bus. Only the patter of water and our screeching laughter could be heard, until suddenly, the guy froze and said: "For some reason, I have the hardest time telling a girl on a date that I like her."

In retrospect, I now know that by date he meant dinner with me, and I was the girl was too afraid to tell he likes, but instead, I asked, “Why is that?" with the sharp diction of a friend trying to help tackle a problem. Not very sexy.

"I'm insecure, I guess," he said.

"Oh, don't worry. You're smart and amazing.” I left no evidence of my attraction, but hoped those gorgeous eyes had x-ray vision to see right through me, to my true intentions.

Seconds seemed like several, floor-scrubbing imprisoned years as we breathed in each others' nervousness and kissed only with our eyes. But our angst-ridden exchange was quickly interrupted by the arrival of his bus.

"Should I stay back and catch another one?" he inquired.

Again, me with the friend antics: "No go, you have to get up early."

Even the bus driver was waiting for us to lock lips, holding the door open and nudging us on to make things happen.

But instead, he hopped onto the bus and rode off as I forced a smile through my self-kicking, and waved goodnight to the rear end of a mega-ton engine.

Dancing around gets us nowhere -- not an honest friendship and not an honest romance.

As frustrated as women are with the increasingly "call me later" casual hook-up scene, men are just as likely to enforce it, putting things on trial, and allowing half-baked dates to work out the verdict: to go steady or not to go steady.

But I can't recall the last time a friend, a man I could really talk to, asked for my heart, and in return, promised me a river of ever-streaming, make-me-wanna-have-your-baby love. But don’t I get both? At least that’s what Hollywood says.