Communication Situation

I cannot communicate with men lately. I’m not sure what happened, but it’s just not working this week. Maybe I’ve just met too many of them lately (40 and counting…), or maybe it’s going over and over that same get-to-know-you conversation, or maybe it’s just something in this hot, smoky California air (80 separate fires currently burning in Nor. Cal.!) that’s messed with me. But I cannot communicate with men.

First off, I am disappointed to say the Firefighter did not step up to the plate. I'm pretty certain he never read last week’s blog (so much for subtle hints about flowers, huh?) and the one conversation we had this week went something like this:
Him: When can I see you again?
Me: You’re the man with the busy life, you tell me.
Him (after very pregnant pause) I might be going camping. So, not this week.
Me: (mumbling) Figures.
Him: What?
Me: Nothing. Have fun. Gotta go. Buh-buye.
It’s been two weeks since I last saw him. Even though he continues to say he wants to see me, I have to believe that if he were that interested, he would have found the time by now. As it is, I have to take those Sex & the City words of wisdom to heart and figure, he’s just not that into me.

Which leads me to the second bit of proof that my communications this week are cursed. Michigan Man. We met online and, after a fun phone conversation, I agreed to meet him a few days later. I’ve been working like a demon this week, so we ended up meeting kind of late at night. I’d just come off a long day of rewrites followed by a long phone conversation about more rewrites. I was mentally beat. Not good. I have a condition called foot-in-mouth-itis, and it strikes especially hard when I’m tired. Michigan Man was really cute, very “boy next door” Midwest look about him. Not the type I usually go for, but a really sweet guy and a good listener. Again, not good for my condition. I ended up spilling the whole thing about my January 1st resolution to find Mr. Right, my mis-adventures in dating since, the Pirate, Coma Guy - good lord, I even told him he was number 40! Way too much info.
Me: So, after all that, I’m kind of what you’d call a dating pro.
Him: You mean like a… (long pause)… real pro?
Me: What do you mean, ‘real’?
Him: Like, for profit.
Me: Oh my God, I am not a hooker!
Him: (blushing) Right.
By the end of the night he looked sufficiently scared and kept asking if he was going to end up in a blog. (um… duh!) Poor guy…

And, my communication issues just got worse as the week went on. Mr. Real Estate (remember him from last week? My own personal Mr. Big.) asks if I’m free Wed night. Since he’s so much fun, I answer, absolutely, yes. So, Wed morning he texts me: “How does 7 look?” I answer back that it’s perfect. So, seven rolls around and I’m ready, waiting, and even a little excited to see him. Only he’s not there. So, I call him. He picks up right away.
Him: What’s up, sweetie?
(How cute. He called me sweetie. Squishy feeling.)
Me: Fine. Where are you?
Him: Just driving through the car wash. Why?
Me: It’s seven,
Him: (long pause. Yeah, I’m beginning to dread those by now.) Wait… you thought I meant we were meeting at seven?
Me: Um… yeah?
Wrong. He goes on to tell me that he meant he’d call me at seven to decide what time we wanted to get together. So, basically, that morning he texted me to make a date for a time to make a date? Mental forehead smack. Please, don’t confuse the blond like that.
But, to his credit, he apologizes for the confusion, says he’ll drop everything and be right there. And he did, pulling up five minutes later and getting ready to go out in record time (even for a guy!). Seriously, he was showered and dressed in the time it took me to read just one People’s Best & Worst Dressed column. We ended up going out for wine tasting and Chinese food (which, you wouldn’t think is a very good combo, but actually, it was!) and had a really fun evening, so I guess it all worked out. At one point he even asked if he could take me to a baseball game this summer. Considering that our local team’s stadium is kind of ghetto-adjacent, I hesitated a little. But he assured me that as a “hot blonde” no one would give me any trouble. Mr. Big called me a hot blonde. (There’s that squishy feeling again.)

But, even though that evening ended well, it wasn’t the end of my communication difficulties.

A couple weeks ago this guy wrote to me online. Super blond hair, super blue eyes, super tan. All California boy. (Can you tell my thing for lifeguards is getting out of hand?) We exchanged a few emails, talked on the phone a couple times, and he seemed like a nice guy. Polite, intelligent, a total “manly” man - a little rough around the edges, maybe, but owns his own construction business, so no slouch. We agreed to meet for coffee 11AM Thursday morning. Even set a place and time. Fast forward a few days. He calls, but I’m not able to answer. (Okay, honestly, I didn’t answer because I was out wine tasting with Mr. Real Estate at the time.) So, he leaves a message, says he’s just checking in to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow. It’s really late by the time I get home from my evening of Pinot Grigio and Chardonnay, so I decide to wait until morning to call back. Morning rolls around, but, not knowing him well enough to know if he’s an early riser, I text instead of calling. I let him know that, yeppers, we’re still on for coffee.
So… 11AM rolls around. I head off to Starbucks, grab my latte, sit in the sun. It’s a nice day out (despite the smoke) so let a few minutes roll by. And I start to get that feeling. You know the one – that stood up feeling. I pull out my phone and call him. He’s really surprised to hear from me.
Him: Wow, Gemma?
Me. Yeah. So, did you get my text?
Him: What text?
Me: Crap.
So, I tell him, the one where I confirmed that, yes, I’d be here.
Him: You’re there?
Me: Yes, I’m here. (And, apparently being stood up.) Where are you?
Him: When you didn’t call me back last night, I figured you didn’t want to see me after all, and I went to work instead.
Sigh.
So, after a few minutes of polite chit-chat, I hung up on my California Builder Guy and decided this was just not my week. Instead, I took my latte and myself across the street to the beauty supply store and bought an extravagant amount of scented lotions, bubble bath, and hot pink toe nail polish and decided a weekend in, hanging solely with my girly-girl self, is definitely in order. At least until I get this communication situation under control again.

~Trigger Happy Halliday