The Pick-Up Line

"Excuse me, Miss?" said a male voice behind me. I was walking down Hollywood Boulevard near Highland, late for a meeting. I didn't turn around, assuming his request was addressing someone else at this busy intersection.

"Excuse me, Miss," the man's voice asserted again. Hollywood & Highland is a very popular tourist area. It's not uncommon to see two or three Spidermans, a couple of Marilyns or a Michael Jackson posing for photos with vacationers. This particular location is not a great environment to engage in conversations with random strangers.

"Excuse me, Miss!" he said a third time. Persistent bugger, that's for sure. I wondered if I just kept walking, how far he would actually keep following me. I didn't want to find out.

"You dropped something," he said. No I didn't... Did I? But, how could I know for sure? Damnit. I stopped and turned around. A young guy in his mid-30s stepped in front of me, smiling, "If you fell for that, could you fall for me?"

Virtual Men

You would think with all the communication devices that exist today, it would be easy to meet someone in person, but the complete opposite is true. If we're all online, then why does it take so much effort to come face-to-face with a date? What's the point of spending time talking, texting, IMing, or emailing if there's no chemistry when you actually meet?

I got a phone call from an online match Friday night, as he was driving home from work. His first two questions were, "What kind of man are you looking for?" and "What character traits are most important to you?" I had just walked in the door after a hectic day and was feeding my dog. I usually like to start with, "Hi, how are you?" but Rick dove right into the deep end. I know his type of personality though. Rick works in film production so he's used to gathering large amounts of information as quickly as possible, in order to make informed decisions and then move on to the next thing. I was probably one of a few phone calls he was making on his way home from the online inventory. "Rick, I'm happy to answer these questions, but could we meet in person first?" I asked. "Let's see if there's any chemistry between us before we start into such a personal conversation." He replied, "Well, I'd like to understand who you are, before meeting in the flesh."

I could hear my friend Dennis' voice in my head, "Baby, these are the kinds of questions you answer when you're on date four or five, not over the phone to some guy you've never met." I was less than enthusiastic to divulge my wants, hopes and desires in a man, over a speakerphone in a stranger's car, as he was multi-tasking during rush hour traffic.

While Rick was telling me about his five kids and ex-wife, my phone 'tri-toned' with a text from "Todd" asking what I was doing later, and then chirped with an email from "Jake" (A Potpourri of Potential Paramours) wanting to know if I used any IM's. Great, I could spend my entire day on a variety of technological devices, communicating with a bunch of virtual guys, and never actually meet a real man.

"Do you have any questions for me?" asked Rick, bringing my focus back to him on the telephone. I really didn't. We could have driven to a location and had a coffee or a cocktail in person, during the same time we spent on the phone. "You must have some questions about me," he insisted, so I thought a little harder. "Uh, ok, why did you and your wife divorce after twenty years?" As soon as I uttered the words, I regretted asking the question. I didn't care to know why this total stranger divorced his wife. However, his answer was quite informative. After implying she wasn't bright he added, "She wasn't a good representative of who I am." Was I just tired and cranky, or was Rick really arrogant?

Todd texted me again. I have never met Todd either. He's also from an online dating site. We spoke briefly on the phone the night before, commenting that we looked familiar to each other. He was an affable guy, but made it quite clear what he was looking for, "You understand I'm not a relationship guy, right?" he stated. "Yeah, I got it." I didn't need to read between the lines. He replied, "Oh ok, good, you figured that out." Five minutes on the phone with Todd was enough time to know I wouldn't be sharing details of my personal life with him over a glass of wine.

The following night, I was out with friends and received a text from Todd after midnight. "You able to come by?" he asked. This was my first booty text ever. I didn't respond. The next morning he texted me again, "Wow, not even a text back." Funny how suddenly I'm the jerk for not responding to a booty text from a guy I've never met. I wrote back saying I didn't think driving to a stranger's house in the valley, in middle of the night was a recipe for success. He texted again, "Wanna come by today? Meeting me is always a success." I declined. He wrote back, "Unavailable is such an LA thing, big turn off." I didn't need drama with someone I've never even met.

What happened to making a date and feeling the anticipation and excitement about getting to know someone better? The few successful online dates I've had, resulted from a short email exchange--no long conversations on the phone or multiple texts back and forth. We just picked a place to meet. If there was chemistry, we went out again. Emails and texts can sometimes be misconstrued and cause misunderstanding and heartache without having uttered one audible word.

We all have busy lives and maybe, sometimes, stay busy in order to avoid starting a new relationship. But no technological device in the world could ever duplicate chemistry between two people and... what our eyes see and our hearts feel.

"I Know the Perfect Guy For You"

I learn a lot about people by the type of man they fix me up with.

I have friends who are happily married and are genuinely interested in introducing me to a great guy. However, over the years, I have discovered that most blind dates aren't really for my benefit, but to fulfill a need for the person fixing me up.

For instance, Angela is 45 and has been married for 20 years. She loves her husband, but he is quite a bit older than her, and intimacy has waned over the last decade. So if a handsome man flirts with her, she gives him my phone number, hoping romance will develop, so she can hear all the juicy details.

Other women fancy themselves matchmakers and like to take credit for all the successful marriages they have arranged. Then, there are the women who are so miserable in their own life, they want you to be miserable too.

"Carolyn, oh my god, is that you?" said Cynthia, surprised to see me at the grocery store at 7:00 am on a Saturday morning. Cynthia was a former development executive, who was high-maintenance to the nth degree. I used to wonder how she ever got any work done, since her life revolved around pedicures, spa treatments, waxings, botox injections, hair appointments and shopping trips. She left the entertainment industry after she met a producer and got married.

However, a handful of years passed since I had last seen Cynthia. She put on some weight, her hair was wet and she had three small kids crying and pulling at her clothes. I'm guessing she was grocery shopping early in the morning, hoping she wouldn't run into anyone she knew.

"You're still hopelessly single, aren't you?" she screamed to anyone within three aisles of us. She always had a knack for embarrassing and belittling people, in order to make herself feel better. I imagine seeing me solo, happy, with a book in my hand and headed for the airport for a weekend trip, reminded her of the time when her life revolved around... well, her.

"I know the perfect guy for you!" she exclaimed. Cynthia had always been competitive and she had never been particularly nice to me, so her sudden urge to fix me up on a blind date raised a few flags. I proceeded with caution. When certain people are unhappy, they like to make sure that everyone around them is unhappy too.

"His name's Peter," she said. "He used to be an accountant but now has his own film company. He's smart-- just like you" she added. Cynthia never complimented anyone. "Sure, let me know," I said, hoping she would never follow through.

Two days later my phone rang. "Hi, Carolyn, this is Peter. Cynthia told me I had to call you up and ask you out, before someone else snatched you up." Cynthia never did anything nice for anybody. She was clearly working both angles really hard in an attempt to get us together. I was convinced nothing good could come out of this date. "I've got two tickets to the hottest place in town," he offered. "Oh really, where is that?" I asked. "Well, you'll just have to come with me and find out." A blind date who doesn't want to tell you where he's taking you is a bad sign. However, could all these negatives turn into a positive? Ok, Cynthia. I'm game. Bring it on.

The following Thursday, Peter picked me up at my house right on time. Upon laying eyes on him, I wondered if he was wearing a toupee, or if his hair was an expensive weave. He did, in fact, look like an accountant, wearing a brown suit and tan shoes. He was probably 15 years older than me and had bad breath. But he seemed nice and was a gentleman. "Are you ready for the time of your life?" he asked.

Peter opened the passenger side door of his new Jaguar for me and I got in. I was carrying a small handbag, so I placed my keys underneath the passenger side floor mat. "Please don't let me forget I put my keys here," I asked.

My anticipation about where Peter might be taking me, was cut short by the quick drive and left turn into The Magic Castle, a private club and training ground for aspiring magicians. I can appreciate the amount of time and talent it takes to become a David Copperfield or Criss Angel, but I have never been a huge fan of magic, magic shows or magicians-- and this particular night was 'aspiring magician kids night'.

I sprinted to the bar, but before I could utter my drink order, an older woman with blue hair, wearing an evening gown, pulled me aside and asked, "How did you get in here? There's a very strict dress code. Women must wear a skirt or a dress in order to gain entrance to the Magic Castle." I was wearing pants. "Fine by me," I thought. "Peter, should we go somewhere else?" I asked, praying we would leave. "Don't worry," he responded. "I'll defend you, should a staff member cause a ruckus." I appreciated his chivalrous gesture, but unfortunately, he wasn't my idea of a knight in shining armor. He took my arm and ushered me into the lounge.

After a cool shot of vodka entered my bloodstream, I took a mint and offered one to Peter, which, gratefully, he accepted. We then entered the theatre and took our seats. As we waited for the show to begin, Peter took a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and performed a decent card trick. "Wow. That was very impressive," I commented. "Do you want to know how I did that?" he asked. "Sure Peter, how'd you do that?" "Give me a kiss and I'll tell you." The older woman seated next to me, who had been watching the card trick over my shoulder, nudged me. "Come on, give him a kiss so I can see how he did it." I kissed Peter on the cheek. He grinned and said, "A good magician never reveals his secret." "Ahhh, you're very clever," the woman responded.

The house lights went down. A twelve year old magician-in-training took the stage. For two hours, kids ranging in age from 8 to 15 years old, performed magic tricks. Every molecule in my body was screaming to get out of there, but no one was allowed to leave during a show. I longed for the bar and another cocktail, but was confined to my seat. So, I focused on the stage curtains and transported my mind to another place. I fantasized lying on a beach in Bora Bora and getting a massage by a young, handsome, muscular man. I thought about flying to New York to visit friends. I designed my dream house. I reminded myself to pull weeds in the back yard, clean out my closets, return those emails that I never finished and to floss my teeth. In between fantasies, I occasionally glanced at Peter, who was completely enraptured by the show. I nodded and smiled, acknowledging what a great show we were witnessing together, before returning to my drive along the Amalfi coast.

Two hours later, we made our way to the exit. I stood with Peter at the valet stand, waiting for his car to come around. It was a typically warm, L.A. night, so Peter put the top down. I prayed that his slightly skewed hairpiece would stay on, despite the breeze.

As he pulled up on my driveway, I reached under the floor mat for my keys. They were gone. I lifted up the mat and searched everywhere, anxious to put this night behind me. I scoured the entire car. I would have pulled up the floor boards if it was possible. I asked Peter if he had them. "No," he assured me. My keys were nowhere to be found.

I gauged the distance between the ground and my bedroom window and how I might gain entrance to the house. "No hidden spare key?" he asked. "Unfortunately, no," I said, as Peter grinned, watching me take off my shoes and hike my leg high up onto the ledge. "I'd give you a leg up," he offered, "but I threw my back out recently."

I hoisted myself up to the window sill and was able to pry open the window. I squeezed my way through the narrow opening, and landed hard on the floor. As I straightened my clothes, the doorbell rang. A few moments passed and the doorbell rang again. I opened the front door, thanked Peter for the evening and said goodbye.

The next day, Peter called my office. "Carolyn, I didn't know to what great lengths you would go in order to see me again." "Excuse me?" I asked. "I found your keys," he said laughing. "Right under the floor mat. Exactly where you put them." I didn't need to kiss him to know how he managed that sleight of hand. "Some magic trick," I thought.

I haven't seen Cynthia since she arranged my blind date with Peter, however I suspect she enjoys a good laugh each time she thinks about it.

Franco and His Ferrari

I had a glass of wine with a girlfriend yesterday at a restaurant in Santa Monica. We caught up on each others lives as we watched the sunset on the beach. When we asked for the check, the waiter told us that a gentleman named Franco had already taken care of our bill. I only know one man in L.A. with that name.

Ten years ago, Franco and I met at a bar when we were both waiting for friends. We spoke briefly, realized we knew a couple of people in common and then exchanged business cards. He called a week later and asked me out to dinner. We met at this same restaurant in Santa Monica-- Sushi Roku.

Franco was in finance. He worked at a large corporation for fifteen years as a self-described 'thug'. They send me in to close the deal," he said. He made a lot of money for this company but was frustrated, knowing they would never promote him to the top ranks. He was good at closing deals, but the company didn't think he had the chops to be a corporate officer. So he left and started his own venture capital company. "Gotta keep moving, gotta keep shaking," he said, as he snapped his fingers on both hands, simultaneously.

While we waited at the bar, I examined Franco more closely. He was tall and muscular with requisite salt and pepper hair. He was wearing an expensive suit jacket and jeans, Prada loafers, a thin gold chain around his neck and sported a ring on each pinky.

The bar was so crowded, we could barely hear each other speak. Franco pushed through the crush of people and ordered a couple of drinks. He turned back and gave me the once over. "Nice tits. They're a little on the small side, but that's ok." A few moments passed before my brain actually computed what he had just said.

I wondered why, during the course of history, clothes were designed to promote and enhance a woman's breast, but not a man's genitalia. I lamented a world where women could behold the family jewels before committing to a date.

Dare I retort with "What a dick!" and add, "Even though you're average in size"? Since the conversation had begun at such a low, there was no point in responding to his statement. It could only go downhill from here. I bit my tongue. I understood why Franco had never been promoted.

He handed me a martini and immediately started in, "I rolled the Ferrari," raising his voice unnaturally with an emphasis on Ferrari. I understand a man's fascination with high-powered cars. Driving a sports car up the coast on a beautiful afternoon can be a transcending experience. The smell of the leather, the feel of the clutch, the sound of the engine and the power at your fingertips is seductive and sexy. However, when a date grinds the clutch or doesn't accelerate about 65 mph, I suspect he didn't buy the car for the ultimate driving experience.

"You got in an accident?" I asked, not sure what 'rolled' meant. "Nah, nah, nah. I flipped it. I turned it over. I rolled it. I'm getting a new one. I've put too many miles on the one I got."

I listened as Franco leaned against a stool, describing the intricacies of owning a Ferrari. Both guys on either side of Franco listened to his pontifications, before turning around to scrutinize me. "Franco, sushi bar for two," rescued the hostess.

Franco ordered enough sushi to feed a large family. He wanted me to try at least one piece of every kind of fish on the menu. This was fun, until he insisted on hand feeding me. "No, really that's ok," I protested, as he shoved a piece of fish into my mouth. I pulled away quickly. "That was too fast," he said. "You gotta do it slower." I fantasized sitting across from Johnny Depp and hearing those same words. Being tipsy on sake and a handsome man feeding me sushi could be an erotic experience, but not with Franco.

When the valet pulled up, I thanked Franco for dinner and sprinted to my car, but he grabbed my arm, pulled me in close and kissed me so hard that my lips parted and he got my teeth. Once free from his grip and safely inside my vehicle, I heard the roar of his engine revving behind me. I quickly pulled away from the curb, happy to finally be on my way home.

... Years later, here I am at the same restaurant. We turned to thank Franco for picking up our tab, but he had already left. I looked up the street and saw a bright red Ferrari. He waved and then peeled off up the coast and into the sunset.

A Different Point of View

I met Nick at a memorial service last October. He walked up to our group, just as a former co-worker asked me in an inappropriately loud voice, "Are you dating anyone now or are you still single?" I cringed. We were there to mourn the death of a friend, not talk about my dating life. "There's no good men in L.A.," she shouted again. "They all suck."

I turned to Nick and introduced myself. He worked in the entertainment industry, but was taking some time off to help kids in a third world country. We exchanged business cards, but I never heard from Nick until he started following my dating experiences online. We emailed back and forth a few times and then six weeks later, we met for drinks. He offered to write a piece for my blog, so I happily accepted. Here it is:

"These words, are truly, sincerely, really being written by a boy, mid-date with the infamous Carolyn. It's true.

In light of her entertaining blogs, I half-seriously offered to make a contribution from the male's perspective - even during the same night.

The glugs of Jack Daniels made me think this was a good idea, but honestly, I'm having my best (date) time in recent memory, and this exercise gave me extra time with her.

I knew Carolyn in a very quick and random way and although hopeful, could not bet the farm on this date -- I'm younger (and if the navy seal couldn't cut it...) jetlagged, just home from more than a month on the other side of the world, and well, whatever else... life. Sparks rarely fly, so the odds were against us.

This being my side of the story, I only get to speak for moi, a needy Cancer. I fished for some positive feedback throughout the night, as my own enthusiasm grew, but like a poker player at the final table, I could read little from Carolyn.

She kissed me back and I'm still sitting next to her. You would think that would be all I need to know, but strangely that's not the case.

On the page, and in person, Carolyn is what we all say we want-- smart, funny, soulful, and attractive -- that more or less is the magic combination, and in cities like LA, two out of three is a win. At 37, and never married, I'm now holding out for three or more, which leaves me with combinations like a Mensa member who volunteers a lot at the Laugh Factory, but looks like Harvey Keitel. I'd like to wait for all four, but that seems a distant dream with the sense of humor being the Lochness monster of the group -- often spotted from a distance but, in reality, only a rocky outcrop in the mist.

Along comes Carolyn and indeed she is all four. You'd think I'm a friend helping her out at this point by writing this, but no. It's the truth. For some reason, I love the idea of sharing this as it's happening, for better or worse -- either way you were here."

I read Nick's piece to my friend Ivan this morning, asking if he thought it was a good idea to post his very complimentary words online. "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "I pay someone $800 a month to tell me how great I am. Post it."

Thank you Nick.

A Potpourri of Potential Paramours

It's not every day I receive an email from an online dating site with multiple photos of a handsome, muscular guy in his underwear, swinging a tree branch on the beach... but "Jake" certainly put a smile on my face yesterday. His message read, "I found your profile interesting and would like to hear from you." Damn, this guy lives in New York. I wonder if he ever travels to Los Angeles?

Dating can be hard work. The amount of time that goes into booking a date can vary from one email exchange, to more than two weeks of emails, texts, phone calls and voice mails back and forth. Sometimes plans are made, then canceled and then made again. All this energy and effort to meet a total stranger who posted online what could be an outdated photo and his own personal, glowing written review.

Some of my friends, all of whom are in relationships, think making dates is really fun and easy. "Carolyn, why are you online? Meet someone organically. Go to parties." I do go to parties, but couples only know other couples and rarely invite attractive single men or women to their parties, since they are all married. Or, they invite one single guy and watch all night to see if any chemistry develops between us. I am constantly working, traveling and meeting new people and rarely connect with someone who isn't already married, or gay.

"Don't talk to guys for too long on the phone," said my friend Dennis, "I guarantee you they're watching a game, reading a magazine, or checking out more 'inventory' online, while you think they're getting to know you better." I had already discovered talking to guys on the phone for hours before meeting them, was a complete waste of time (I See You But You Don't See Me). There is no way to tell if there is chemistry between two people by talking on the phone. Our mental images, hopes and desires rarely measure up, to who shows up for the date. Not to mention, the anonymity of the phone is a free pass to divulge intimate information to a complete stranger, that you haven't even shared with your own closest friends.

A few seconds is usually enough time to reveal whether or not there is any chemistry. And, of course there are times when I have more of an attraction to him than he does with me, or the guy is more attracted to me and I'm planning my escape route.

Online dating connects me with many men who I would not typically meet. I generally receive 10-15 emails or 'winks' a day from men around the world. One guy sent me 5 photos of himself, all with his shirt off, making muscle man poses in different cities around the world. A 21 year old kid sent me multiple complimentary emails, so I wrote him back, thanking him, but stating that he was too young for me. He changed his age on his profile to 44 and continues to write. Other men pitch me story ideas. One guy from Belgium constantly 'winks' at me, but never writes anything. And many guys look like they spend way too much time at home alone, in front of their computers, posting photos taken on their cell phones, with their arms stretched out in front of them.

I recently read on someone's facebook page, "What you think about, you bring about". Have I not been thinking hard enough about who the right man is for me? Just then an email popped into my box. It was from "Jake" the guy on the beach in his underwear. "I'm relocating to your area at the end of May." Hmmm... maybe I have been thinking hard enough.

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

"Your relationship with your father directly affects your decisions about your romantic partner," said James, a long-time friend who has been married for 35 years. "It's as simple as that and it's the most fucking complicated thing in the world," he continued. "Great," I thought, "I'm screwed".

In the 70s, cocktails swirled and emotions simmered just below the surface. Quiet lives of desperation were housed on every block, including ours. For better or worse, couples married young and discovered later if their decision was a life sentence.

For anyone on the outside, looking in, I had a decent childhood. We lived in a nice house in the suburbs of St. Louis. Money was tight, but I had my own room, my siblings and I went to private schools and there was always a box of Hamburger Helper in the cupboard. But, you know what you learn and I certainly didn't grow up learning what a loving, supportive relationship looks like in my dysfunctional family.

Dirty dishes and clothes piled high, as my mother sipped white wine, painted and listened to soap operas on TV. I imagine she suffered from depression, wondering how she went from a beautiful debutante and college co-ed to a mom with 6 kids and an unfaithful husband.

My father was really sarcastic. He came in with a smile and jabbed you with an insult. Sharpest tongue won in our family. It was every man for himself. We were trained to expose the weak spot, divide, go in for the kill, conquer.

Normal every day occurrences were land mines for emotional survival. Even the car ride to school could be an emotionally taxing ride. One particular morning when I was ten, I was running late, trying to straighten my frizzy hair. My dad was in the car with my siblings, honking the horn repeatedly. I lifted my head from the ironing table and unplugged the appliance. The horn blasted again. I ran through the kitchen to the back door, past my mother, who says without looking up from her fashion magazine, "Try putting on some lipstick."

As my dad sees me round the corner, he honks the horn again for emphasis. I cram into the back seat with my brothers. "All this time in the bathroom for that?" he shouts, angry for making him wait. "Great!" He throws the car into reverse and screeches out of the driveway. "I think you look pretty," says my oldest brother. "Don't lie to her," says the other. "Yeah, she might believe you!" chimes in my sister. My father turned around and smacked my brothers on their legs, "Shut up!" he says, "The world needs brains too."

Talking about men and failed relationships was easier to swallow eating Kaya toast and Thai rice noodles at The Street on Highland. James was giving me advice about how he has been able to keep his marriage going for 35 years. "You have to learn how to love and trust, especially if you didn't have that as a child."

I've spent my entire adulthood studying relationships and how to build one. I watch how couples respond to each other. All of my happily married friends had strong male role models in their life, and in most cases their own parents are still married. Love, support, trust and guidance was (and still is) a part of their lives. My friends Tom and Susan met each other later in life and I am constantly inspired by how lucky they feel to know each other. I hope one day to have that same experience. What a wonderful feeling it must be to have someone in the world who knows you deeply, understands your strengths and weaknesses, still loves you and wants to know you even deeper.

I thought about Mike (Fool Me Once) and I asked myself why am I trying so hard to get to know this person who doesn't want to be known? And then I realized he's emotionally unavailable for me just like my father was. On a subconscious level, I was familiar with this territory. What I grew up learning was seeking love, acceptance and understanding from a man who was incapable of giving it, and here I was falling right back into the same mode, reaching out to Mike for the same emotional connection I never received from my father. Hadn't I invested enough time and money in therapy over the years to have moved on from this shit? Am I really 44 and still dealing with father issues? Ugh...

If I didn't grow up learning what it's like to be in a loving, supportive relationship, I certainly wonder if I will ever be able to recognize a man capable of such a relationship.

If eyes are the window to the soul, then I will heed my friend's same advice he gave for me walking the red carpet, "Just keep your head up, and look into people's eyes."

I do not know if deep love is attainable for me, or if I find it, it will last 'until death do us part'. But what I do know is that I am willing to take that risk for as long as I am living on this planet.

Fool me once...

Ugh... why did I fall for it again? I've been on a couple of dates recently, but I haven't met anyone I'm interested in and, since I've been working on a production, my work life has been really busy and stressful. So, late one night, when I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, I heard my cellphone beep with a text. I am not a fan of texting and I typically text only for work-related reasons, or to let someone know if I'm running late. So, I had a pretty good idea who was writing me this late at night. I saw Mike's name on the screen.

"What are you doing?" it read. I had finally gotten the 'idea' of Mike ("Dating Sucks") out of my system. I really liked him but he had flaked on me too many times. I didn't want to open that door again by returning his message so I didn't reply. He texted me again, "Oh, I see," he wrote. Really? Did he? I rolled over. Damnit, now I was wide awake and I knew I would not be falling asleep anytime soon.

I am compulsive about returning emails and texts, whether they are work related or personal. I am consistent in business, and with my close friends and with family members. I do what I say and my friends are the same way. We know we can count on each other. Our word is good. However, sometimes I forget that most people aren't wired the same way and that many people are inconsistent and flakey. I had grown accustomed to Mike's flakiness, and he was used to my consistency. So, when I stopped returning his texts, it didn't take him long to figure out I was pulling away.

The next morning Mike actually dialed 11 digits and called me (lol!). My friend Dennis was right. "If a guy is interested, I guarantee you, once you stop texting him, he'll call you." The only problem was I stopped texting Mike because he was all talk and no action. He was constantly pulling at my heart strings with his complimentary words, but consistently falling short on action :( But, I suspect he liked having me around. I am "the real deal," according to Mike, a honest counterpart he can trust vs. the superficial, materialistic world in which he skims along the surface.

"Did you meet someone?" Mike asked. What an odd question. This guy flaked on me half a dozen times. Why would he care if I met someone? "Here we go," I thought. Mike was toying with me again.

Dennis told me a couple of weeks ago, "Listen, Carolyn, if a guy wants to get to know you, tell him he can talk to you on the phone or make some time to see you in person. You can't get to know someone through text messages." Such a simple sentence that makes so much sense. I had been accommodating Mike's wishes and not being true to myself. When I asked Mike why he didn't like talking on the phone, he told me that he didn't like being in a position where someone could ask him a question he didn't want to answer. "I'm kind of a pussy that way," he said.

I was happy talking to Mike so another week of texting and late night conversations took place. I knew I was descending into what would certainly be disappointment for me again. But what if it wasn't? We made plans to get together yesterday, and as I was driving back to L.A. from Palm Desert Saturday afternoon, my cellphone beeped with three consecutive text messages. If Mike was consistent with one thing, that was flaking on plans. I didn't have to reach for my phone to actually read his texts to know he was canceling. When I arrived home three hours later, my thoughts were confirmed. The first message was him canceling, the second message was him apologizing and the third message was him saying he would call in 'a bit' to profusely apologize and that I can't dare be mad because he "kind of had no choice with this one." Btw... he never called... lol!

Any decent guy who needs to cancel plans would have picked up the phone, explained the situation and offered to arrange for another time. Easy. Everyone feels good. Done deal. But the self-described phone pussy clearly does not have the emotional maturity to discuss an easy matter over the phone.

Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Since Mike has been consistent in flaking on plans, I cannot possibly be mad at him for staying true to his own behavior. However, I am upset with myself for allowing myself to be in this same position yet again. I had given far more credit to Mike than he deserved. I was clearly looking in the wrong place for a mature relationship.

"Carolyn, love isn't perfect or easy," says my married friend Ivan, "You are eloquent and compassionate and charismatic, with the right values. Anyone who gets to grow old with you is lucky as hell... and because someone will". Now those are words based on a twenty year friendship that I can hold onto and thankfully, march forward. Thank you Ivan. I really needed to hear that. :) :) :)