Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Turf War

Ever walked in a bar and been given the evil eye?

I was told about a bar in Palm Springs, not for its chic cool hipster vibe (you can get that at The Parker) I was told I must go to this bar because of the serious old lady turf war going on. My friend explained to me that it was stuck in the rat pack heyday yet everyone was now eighty and these women circle any male meat that walked in the door.

I couldn’t wait to go.

My sister and her friend *Karen joined me. Now, Karen likes her men a bit older, I will not lie, she’s a beautiful blonde in her um, let’s say late forties, and works as a massage therapist. My sister “the best damn real estate agent ever” was on a rebound, and me, well…I’m always looking for a man.

Palm Springs has its own sense of style. It’s not all khakis and top siders from the Hamptons, nor is it bohemian of say Malibu, or bling-ed out tight t-shirts and designer everything of the OC. Palm Springs residents wear golf clothing and flip flops…year round (unless you are gay…then everything is bright and extra fabulous.) Please note: they also have the best Chicos, Ann Taylor, Talbots, Izod, Coldwater Creek shops one will ever visit.

We were doomed from the outset as we all wore low cut, tight fitting dresses/pants, and heels.

The three of us walked into The Nest as if we were starting a new girl group (I’m channeling Beyonce here folks). And then it happened. The stare down.

Now, let me describe The Nest. It was last decorated circa 1973; smells of stale beer and sweet and sour mix; and has the same bar stools my parents purchased (in 1973). The walls were covered with dark paneling (of course) with low hung lighting fixtures covered in soot from the days when Californians could smoke inside. The tunes were a mix of Tom Jones to Def Leopard (which I’ll admit sort of threw me). The staff were aptly named Bob and Ethel…and the patrons. Oh let’s see…

First, when we walked in, the men all turned their um, wheel chairs, and set their eyes on us. No one was under the age of seventy. And we were the new girls in town. Vroom vroom. Those walkers started heading right for us and I’m sure would have pinch my ass had given the chance. (Yeah Grandpa…that worked in the 60’s…today its called harassment.) The women…well there was Three Week Old Beehive; Making New Lips from Lip Liner; and Walking Stick Shoved Up Her Ass in one corner. In the other was One Step Away from Tracheotomy; Leatherface; and I Go Bunco for Bunco. At the bar sat: Bad Face Lift Circa 1985; Muffin Top in Pajama Jeans.

All eyes beaming on us and not in a good way. Oh crap.

Now, I’m not the type to boast and say I was hot shit at a bar or anything, but with this crowd, we were frickin hot, and this was going to be a riot, “You need help with your oxygen tank honey” – yeah, game on bitches.

We (I’m now calling us Destiny’s Child) get a table and Karen gives a low bend showing her strong toned legs, and ability to dab droll from many angles. Then we wait and wait and wait and wouldn’t you know…we don’t get any service. Apparently Ethel and Bob have a “no tart” policy and want to keep the regular gals in the sticky stools.

From across the bar we get a couple questions tossed at as, “Where you girls from?” and the like from the male geezer crowd. With a couple of batted eyelashes we let them know we “just moved here” – a lie…but so much more fun. My sis finally has to get up and head over to the bar to order up vodka-tonics with orange twists because Bob and Ethel aren’t about to budge to serve us. Beehive instantly sizes sis up and makes a few remarks to her other bridge partners. Unfortunately, I don’t think Leatherface or Facelift could hear her try and make fun of us. Honey our clothes are from boutique shops off Melrose…not in an air conditioned mall.
We were only at The Nest for our one drink and had a lovely chat with some of the gentlemen. But it was the look on the women’s faces as we entered on their turf that was priceless.

Oh and while I’d like to say Karen ran off with 2nd Pacemaker and lived happily ever after…that didn’t happen. We had our drinks, got the evil stares and laughed our asses off while dipping in the pool. So if you are ever in Palm Springs, and you want to give the local ladies a run for their money, dress up and head to The Nest…tell them Heidi sent you.

I love a good turf war, don’t you?

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

The Moment of Weakness

You are alone on a Friday/Saturday/Sunday…hell any night of the week. Making your single serving meal. Maybe have a glass of wine, or two. There is nothing on TV. And all of your friends have lives. Except you.

You cave.

You call/text/send email to him.

You instantly regret the act.

You just had a moment of weakness.

I know you just wanted to see how he was doing because you left everything on good terms. He’s your friend now.

Okay, stop kidding yourself. Anything he will say will not be good. You will analyze every word, letter, sentence structure. Um…you are pathetic. Like me.

Recently my friend *Claire did such a thing. She knew the answer. She had heard through the grapevine that her ex was already online and dating a new girl. For as many “you dodged a bullet” pep talks I could give my friend, I knew she was hurting. She just wanted to know what he was doing…or did she really?

Claire is like all of us single gals. We want them to hurt but we can’t move on until we hear the truth. He has actually moved on and does he still miss us.

I have many exes (do I need to remind you how many?) who read my blog who are utterly confused with how many men I am actually dating at a time. (You sweetheart are the only one…I swear…she says crossing her fingers and toes).

I’m an utter mystery. And so are men.

I simply stopped trying to figure them out.

I have had so many moments of weakness it would make my feminist lit professor blush. Here’s the thing, we all just want to feel wanted and maybe even loved. I have said it many times…it’s all about the chase. When someone really likes us…they chase us. When they don’t. We obsess over the reason why not. Then we sit home alone slowly going mad. And have moments of weakness.

Oprah moment: Here’s what I know for sure… Men don’t think of us nearly as much we do them. In fact, he doesn’t even think about it until we bring it up.

Now, a weak moment isn’t just in those first weeks/months after a break up. The littlest thing can bring him back into our conscience. In fact, just the other day while sitting around having cocktails with my girlfriends, I nonchalantly asked about a guy I went to college with (moons ago). Then I got his number and called him. Thankfully he didn’t answer, but that was a close call.
Calling men in these moments of weakness all lead to men thinking one thing: We are desperate. (Borderline stalkers too.)

It’s true.

So re-examine that message you are planning on sending. Now imagine him reading your letter to his guy friends over a beer.

What do you see? Right. They all think you are a nut.

Look, I know you are not a desperate nut. I know you just miss him. He was your friend who you spent a lot of time with over the months and years. You miss him. But be strong.

If he’s moved on, you should move on.

He will not answer all of your questions. He will not let you in on his new love life. And most importantly he will not tell you WHY you two can’t remain friends right now. He might be hurting too.

Be strong not weak for you are a great catch. (I’m scanning my rolodex now to see who I can set you up with.)


*Claire is not her real name.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

The Work Date Dilemma

As the summer sun starts to heat up, so does my party schedule. For the perpetually single girl, this brings up the all important: Who will I bring as my date? As I’ve been working in Hollywood since graduating college, there is a blur of work friends and colleagues. I work with many of my friends, and the circle of who knows who is relatively small. Let’s face facts, people talk, so bringing a date to an event, he will inevitably be dubbed “your boyfriend” whether you want him to be or not.

Recently I was invited to a red carpet premiere and was scared to death. Did I walk the carpet with my new guy? (Literally we had been on two dates.) I opted to go solo and had a horrible time. Everyone was coupled up but me and I was utterly bored. Why couldn’t I take the new guy? Did I not want him to meet my friends? Did I think it was too much, too soon? Would he not gel with my friends?

When I first start dating someone, I’m internally thinking of my upcoming schedule and in my head seeing if I could take them to my next set of events.

Here’s some upcoming events: Charity event (will he be pressured to bid on silent auction items?); Babies first birthday (babies and men…no way); Malibu beach party (way too many perfect bodies, and mine isn’t one of them); Cousin’s wedding (ah, my family will be there – no way in hell); Writer’s Convention (he reads the sports page and that’s about it…he’ll be bored); Game night with a bunch of couples (maybe, but they will size us up…he might get the wrong impression); Wine tasting/cocktail party with work friends (maybe).

I’ve decided that married people do not understand how difficult it is for single people to go to these events. They have married their partner and hell or high water it is generally understood that he or she must follow tow and attend events as a couple.

I’ve gotten quite used to going to events solo for fear of the guy thinking we were a couple. (Again, once someone sees you with someone, they assume he is your “boyfriend” until you explain he’s just a friend, he’s gay, or he dumped you later on when he doesn’t show up to the next event.) I’ve always thought men thought the same thing as your friends -- if you take them to an event then I must “really” like him and want him to be “my boyfriend”. But honestly, that’s not always the case.

Can’t I just take you to an event because I need a date? And aren’t we dating?

Back in March I went to a series of fun Oscar parties with my manager. I am NOT dating him. (Repeat, we are not dating.) But I went to several parties with him as my date because I knew he’d know people and could, I dunno, sell my screenplays in the process! I can’t tell you how many of my colleagues asked me if we were a couple. It was as if I was doing my own damage control on the dating scene – “He’s my manager!” (And for the record, I love my manager -- I’m just not dating him.) Why did I take him over another guy I was actually dating? Probably because I knew my manager would push me to talk to business people far more than a “non-pro” date.

But I learned a big lesson: I can’t always go to events with my manager, or best friend, or gay friend, or whoever -- It’s time to actually take a real date. And that brings me back to the red carpet premiere…why didn’t I take the new guy?

Here’s the thing: I am not easily impressed. I’ve done an amazing amount of “cool” things in my lifetime. I’ve been around the world, sailed on yachts, dined at five star restaurants, and have stayed in serious luxury accommodations. So if a guy wants to tell me about his sports car and the amount his Rolex watch is…great. But I’m not overly impressed. (I also think it’s foolish for the amounts of money one can shell out for all these luxuries to um, try and impress women.)

So I guess when I’m inviting a date to a celebrity filled charity event, it’s as if I’m pulling up in my Mercedes – and I don’t want them to think I’m trying to impress them. I’m not…I just want a date. And maybe that’s what I’m grappling with…do I look like a snobby Hollywood girl if I’m taking them to a wrap party for a friends movie?

So what do I do? Do I keep taking my manager or do I go out on the limb and bring the new guy?

I guess there is no real answer here. Just a summation to get married, because then my partner will be forever forced to attend painfully boring red carpet events and he can become “Hollywood jaded” like me.