Come on, the author of He’s Just Not That Into You should’ve titled his book the truth: He Doesn’t Like You, Chica!
This last week I realized I could star as a character in that book.
Guys want a bird in the hand and two in the bush. Most guys think they’re not a man if they’re not banging a chick, so they’ll lead a woman on and keep her even if they don’t love her. All to prove they’re manly and to have their way.
I still think it’s a man’s world–a guy friend insists women have the power. Rejection is a two-way street.
Certain words should cue us that the guy or gal isn’t interested in seeing us again or in continuing. I found out the hard way that He’s Just Not Into Me. So I decided to call it quits.
Rule Number One:
The guy has your number, so if he hasn’t called, ditch him. He’s not interested.
Rule Number Two:
You can’t make a guy like you. So give up–stop trying to.
Rule Number Three:
Tattoo rules number one and two on your heart.
Years ago I read the book Urban Tribes.
I remembered from the book only the author’s takeaway that single people in America are forming tribes that are their own version of a chosen family not a birth family. It wasn’t that great a book except for his premise about creating a tribe of kindred spirits to stand in as a family.
A friend and I went to hear live music. I started to fall asleep on the banquette we sat on in the back of the club. Then I got a cup of water from the bar. We went outside for fresh air.
I perked up when the featured act started to perform–a fake-jet-black-haired guitarist who’d been touring for 30 years–not all at once that is over the years.
We ate in a fabulous diner at midnight. To get home we has to cross “The Boulevard of Death”–the term for a street where numerous people get run over trying to cross it every day. As I started to cross no kidding a car was speeding down the road.
My friend’s friend had run across the street to flag down a cab to take us home. We followed him like blind chickens crossing the road because we had to get to the other side.
When I was in Rome the tour guide remarked about crossing Rome’s streets: “The drivers are speedy–they’re not going to stop. Just run across the street and don’t look–just run across the street.”
I doubt that outside of New York City people jaywalk and cross the street when the light is green. People who were born in and live in New York City like I was and have do not wait for a red light to cross the street.
Only I cross the street when no car is coming my way. The drivers here are dangerous. They don’t stop at stop signs. They don’t stop for red lights and keep going through the intersection when the light is red.
I take my life in my hands crossing the street every day. No kidding.
I’ll end here with a photo of our divine lemon meringue from the diner:
The number-one predictor of health, happiness, and a long life is creating and maintaining healthy relationships, according to a study going back to the 1930s..
Interacting and doing things with friends, family–and romantic partners if we so choose–is the secret to success in life.
It clicked when I read this week the Internet article quoting research about how having positive relationships inoculates a person from ill health.
Talking with a friend can be better than taking a happy pill.
Having social support in the form of friends, family, and romantic partners is the way to go.
The participants with rock-solid relationships had better health and a lot of them lived to be in their nineties.
Even when I was employed at HealthCentral I made the case for making friends and finding your tribe of kindred spirits.
It’s true that a friend–not a romantic partner–can be a soul mate. And who’s to say we can’t have more than one soul mate linked to different needs each person fulfills in our lives?
After reading the news article about how social support and relationships are linked to better health, happiness, and a longer life I thought: “Sign me up!”
Imagine spending six hours with a true friend and feeling incredibly happy doing so.
I say: Go for It–because emotional riches count more than money.
Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.
I once went on a date with a guy old enough to be my grandpa. I couldn’t get past his eyeglasses–they were cheap cut-rate eyeglasses. (There–you can whack me with a pocketbook for saying this.)
You and I can see the same person and have different reactions. One of us might like that guy and the other isn’t interested.
Readers: I met a guy in person that I’m attracted to. I like looking at his face most of all because he is kind and caring.
Now I don’t care how rich or good-looking a guy is. You might want to date a person who has a good job. I know two women who mercilessly judged guys as “dogs” and wouldn’t date a guy that wasn’t good-looking. That was their criteria.
Throw your diagnosis into the mix and it’s sketchy how a person will respond on a date.
I’m lucky I met a guy I can do things with. He’s aware of the diagnosis yet he’s okay with this. He can hold his own interacting with other people. He’s a Lefty, like I am.
Looking for love is like a numbers game at times: you have to meet a lot of guys or gals before the right one comes along.
Always be hopeful because love is worth the risk.
A roving photographer once asked me “What’s the best way to fight stigma?”
Twelve years later I stand by what I said: “Be brave, and be yourself.”
It’s true: Be brave, and be yourself–and the right person will come along.