E-Manners

What happened to mailing a thank you? What happened to the courtesy phone calls? I know how archaic these things are. But I miss them. At first our communication was replaced by email, and now…all communication has been reduced to texts, pings, and blips.

In this age where there is some new platform popping up every six months that I have to manage – who has time to communicate with all of them? I could spend my days on twitter, facebook, scoville, foursquare, google+. Its nuts. Add dating to the mix…and you have a recipe for disaster.

I have had more than one guy I was dating break up with me via text. Were they afraid to call? An email too hard to compose? A text? It’s just too easy.

I have never been one of those people who go out and buy the latest electronic device right when they come out. After all, you are reading from the gal who once proclaimed that “if I got a cell phone it would make me too accessible. I’ll call people when I’m home and near a phone. Who needs to be that available?” Apparently I need to be “open” 24/7.
After I left my celebrity assistant position, I needed a detox from my cell phone. I’ll be available when I can be available.

Which brings me to my latest issue. Recently I went on a lovely five-hour drinks date. Nice guy, and thought we clicked, after all, we were out for five hours and he was interesting. I knew I had a busy schedule coming up so we were trying to plan our second date, but when we couldn’t figure out a date, I said “text me.”

Big mistake. During a texting frenzy, we had made plans for a Monday night date. On Sunday, he sent me a text that said, “Thinking of you ” – no question, no change of plans…but a nice “Thinking of you” with a smiley modicum.

That particular Sunday, I was babysitting for a friend whose husband had fallen ill and she needed to take him to the hospital. My date didn’t know this, but then I didn’t think I needed to respond to a “thinking of you” smiley face. I continued in “kid mode” and played a game of monopoly.

Two hours later, my date had sent me another message.

“I sent u a txt message earlier. Seems like your busy…on a Sunday night…playing the dating game. I get more attention from someone overseas than u. Sorry. Good luck, I’m going to pass on dinner tomorrow night. Hope your other guys r real 4 u.”

You’ve got to be kidding me? (Was my first reaction.) And then I got pissed. Did you ask me a question? Did you seek a response? No…you said you were “thinking of me”. Did you want a response of “um, busy with Monopoly and a seven year old”? And why did I need to respond at all?

There are plenty of times I forget my cellphone. Especially when I’m writing at the library for example. I can’t make phone calls at the library, and I need to focus on work. I’ll call/text back when I get in my car.

In this example, yes, it was a Sunday night, but really, who needs to be accessible all the time? Doctors? Maybe. But last time I checked…nothing is “life threatening” in my line of work. What if I was at a movie? I think it is utterly RUDE (with a capital R) to text in a movie theater.
Needless to say, I think I dodged a bullet with that guy. He did tell me he was sorry and that he thought that in this day and age of e-dating…people responded more frequently. And my bottom line is this… Don’t instantly judge someone by their lack of response. Don’t accuse them of having a full date card. Allow yourself to always have time for yourself and detox from electronics from time to time.

And… NEVER turn on your phone in a movie, live theater, reading or any type of live performance. I don’t care who you are dating.

The Sleeper

Ever been with a control freak? (Yeah, I usually don’t give them a second date either….but) What if he was a “sleeper” creep?

Not long ago I went out with a seemingly normal guy. His details: Well mannered, good job, home owner, divorced, had a dog…. I interpret these things as: loves mom, not cheap, knows about investments, broken in, and capable of love.

What I soon learned was, he wanted full control. (How do I tell him “No one puts Heidi in a corner?” Clearly…he’s not reading my blog.)

I was introduced to The Sleeper from a friend of mine so I could always ask her the important questions when something would arise. First issue happened on our first date. We went to a The Hungry Cat, a lovely restaurant in Hollywood. It’s exactly what you’d expect. He was trying to impress me with his culinary knowledge (little did he know I have produced shows for The Food Network, and I knew the chef Suzanne Goin) but of course he wanted to order for me. “We’ll start with the caviar, and then have the salad of baby lettuces, then the Alaskan Halibut …” He ordered the most expensive things, which isn’t what I would have ordered if allowed…I was kinda eye-ing the burger. But he insisted… “You will love it Heidi!” Whatever!

Conversation flowed the first date (as it should) …What do you do? Why are you single? How long have you been in LA? Blah blah blah.

I will admit, I was charmed. His answers were on par with what I liked, and he was interesting. So I put the “ordering for me” on the back burner.

Then he took me to a basketball game, my second ever Laker game. Pointing out players, telling me moves, and where guys went to college… blah blah blah. Again, fine date and a good game.

We did this for a few more dates, and then I opted to invite him up to my place. Now I was in control. He was on my turf. With options of chicken, beef and seafood stacked in my fridge as well as a plethora of fresh veggies I picked up from local farm stands, I was prepared to impress him with my culinary knowledge…for once.

No joke: he walked in and said “I went on Yelp and found five different restaurants I’d like to try…what are you in the mood for?” I was deflated but went for seafood (and I knew his days were numbered.)

I phoned my friend the next day, “Isn’t he great?” she boasted through the phone.

“Yes…exactly what I’m looking for…” except, he does everything for me and treats me like he’s known me for years. We’ve only been on a couple dates.

One thing I always tell my dates is… I have mastered the art of being single, but I need some help with being a couple. So bear with me…I’m new at relationships. I told this to The Sleeper, but I don’t think he really listened to that. He was too busy planning our next date and the date after that. Wild locations, new restaurants, museums, movies to see, urgh. Here me…I want to get to know you…not visit the latest five starred reviews on Yelp.

We were at The Ahmanson House off Pacific Coast Hwy when I finally blurted out that I wanted to meet his dog. “That’s too personal,” he told me. Say what? It’s a dog. And who was I? Chopped liver you just wanted to wine and dine all over town? Clue number two…he didn’t want me in his personal space.

My date was fine when I was out at nice restaurants and he could show me a good time, but allow him to see his personal side and he shut up as tight as a clam shell. Then he asked me, “do you always want to work? What if you had kids?” Ah yes, the kid question. I love writing, I love blogging, writing is in my soul…tell me I can’t write, would be a horror…afterall I can do it anywhere at anytime…I don’t need a desk job to work.

So I answered fairly and honestly, “I will always be a writer even if have children.”

Well…you would have thought hell froze over.

“I don’t want the mother of my children to have work stress.” In my head I’m thinking, and you make how much? What part of…I work for myself and have flexible hours do you not understand?

Then as he ordered my coffee drink for me, I started to piece it all together…I am with a control freak. It wasn’t that obvious at first, but he definitely wanted to fit me in his box.

And again, no one puts Heidi in a corner.

We broke up a week later.

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?

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.)

HC

*Claire is not her real name.