To Text or Not to Text, That Is The Question

Over the Labor Day weekend, I hung out with some friends I don't get to see enough.  I was excited to spend some time with them because they're a blast and they have fun friends, which is always good.  When we got to the place we were going, I noticed there was a guy there I had met before, who I thought was cute.  The last time I saw him, he was funny and seemed sweet - he even asked me to dance (brave guy).  For some reason, I didn't think he would remember me, but he did.  Huh.

As the night progressed, I talked to him a little bit and joked around a little bit.  My first assessment wasn't wrong, he was a nice guy.  Being honest, as I usually am with you dear reader, I even flirted a little!  (Well, it was flirting for me anyway.)  Things were good.

Then, there was an awkward moment.  His (well-meaning?) friend came over and basically suggested he get my number.  Cut to me, looking mortified.  I was blushing and completely nerdy.  I said that he didn't have to do that, but he said he wanted to.  (UH, no you don't, you're just being kind!)  After remembering how to speak English and recalling my number for him, he said something like, "Well, now you have it, text me if you feel like it," rather nonchalantly.

Now, I was never expecting him to ask for my number and didn't feel like he was too interested anyway, so I didn't send a text or call.  He didn't send me anything either.  I figured he was being nice, which he probably was, but after talking to some other people who were there, I think I might have misread the whole thing.

Apparently, he chose to sit next to me, even when his friends went off to play pool.  I guess he was a little flirty too.  And maybe his friend was playing matchmaker because he's a little shy?  Was I just not tuning into what was happening or was I right about the whole thing all along?

Whatever the case is, enough time has passed that sending a text now would be weird.  I've also learned in the past few days that I am a yellow-bellied, lily-livered coward.  I get so concerned about the outcome, I don't try.  I really need to get over that - how is anything going to change if I don't try?

Let's all hope that next time I choose to be a little bit bolder.  And by a little bit, I mean just enough to actually send "Hi" in text.  Baby steps guys, baby steps.

~J

When Stalkers Text: An Actual Transcript

(Ed Note: This is a verbatim conversation between me and my stalker, McStalkerson.  [He is not an actual stalker, obvs, he is simply an overzealous suitor.  If he was a stalker, I would be hiding in my house with all the lights off texting one of you to come help me.] I've left all misspellings and grammar errors alone, so you can sincerely take the journey to Crazytown with me. )

[Scene opens on our heroine, folding her sheets.]

McStalkerson: Hey girl.  what you doin'?

Me: Hiya. Nothing much. Laundry.

McStalkerson: Been thinkin' about ya

Me: Oh, yeah? That's interesting.

McStalkerson: Interesting??? lol  been thinkin' 'bout how your doin'. 

*A few minutes go by*

McStalkerson: so how are ya lol

Me: I'm pretty good, thanks.

*3 minutes elapse*

McStalkerson: that's it then? lol

Me: What's it?

McStalkerson: Your just pretty good?

Me: Yup. As good as it gets.

McStalkerson: ???  whats that? lol

McStalkerson: when are you free to talk

*10 minutes go by*

Me: Aren't we talking right now? 

McStalkerson: lol such a smart alex. i mean, so we can talk talk

Me: Um, I think your version of talking and my version of talking are a liiiiittle different.

McStalkerson: lol i luv how funny you are.
McStalkerson: really think your great
McStalkerson: really want to see you soon

Me: ...

McStalkerson: srsly
McStalkerson: ???
McStalkerson: nothin' to say to that huh?

*1 day later*

McStalkerson: so really, when do i get to you see you??

[End scene]

Keep Your Clothes On: An Argument Against Dirty Texts

2012 is making everyone lose their minds.  It could be that this has been brewing for a while and is just now an issue.  Alternatively, I could blame the invention of the camera phone.  Whatever it is, I'm taking this moment to declare that I, Jeana, do not want your sexts.

That's right gentlemen (and I use that term, very, very, very loosely), I do not want pictures for your half or fully naked bodies.  I am not interested in seeing you in your birthday suit.  I am not interested in viewing your six-pack.  I do not want to know "what you're workin' wit."  I am not going to tell you what I'm wearing.  I am not going to discuss anything of a sexual nature with you.  I don't know you.  I probably wouldn't even tell you what I'm drinking (answer: Diet Pepsi.  It's always Diet Pepsi.) or eating, much less show you any part of my body that is typically covered by my uniform of dress pants and a gently used cardigan.

But, seriously, what gives?  Is this what we've regressed to?  I want to have a conversation with you, get to know you.  I want to know if you grew up here, if you have siblings or a pet, if you are as much of a music nerd as I am.  I want to find out if we're compatible, not if you have a tattoo on or around your naughty bits.

The fact that these men I have a causal acquaintance with are sending very personal pictures is, at the very least, disconcerting.  Moreover, there are women that engage in this very activity.  I'm just going to assume that these guys were hoping I would return the favor.  Someone please explain to me why anyone would think that I would gladly take a picture of all of this *hands waving all over myself* and send it to a person I've had very little interaction with.  Please, tell me.  I wouldn't, for that matter, send anything to anyone I knew well!  It's just dumb.  It's a bad policy.  Women and girls who engage in this behavior need to be weary - it's not going to work out well.

And if you happen to send me a dirty text, you'll probably get this picture in return:

~J

 

If I Were a Boy

I ran again yesterday, on a different trail in a different part of the city, but the results were pretty much the same.  During the hour I was out there, huffing and puffing, I had some time to think about how things would be easier if I was born a boy.  I mean, they really would.  I know ladies are hard to understand, so maybe I'm being biased because I'm a girl and I understand me.  All I want is to have someone think of me as important and make time for me - there's no mystery there.  I'm sure I could figure it out if I were a dude, because I think I'd be a sensitive, artsy type and the girls would swoon.  

Know that I have no desire to actually BE a guy, but I know that if I were a boy version of me, I would be a catch.  Think about it:  I own my own car, I have a good, steady job, I'm good with kids, I'm sweet, I'm complimentary, I'm tall, I have a good relationship with my parents, I'm not hairy, I can sing well, I play the guitar, I love Jesus, I have good friends, I'm sociable, I'm funny, I can deal with crying, I don't pick fights and I love animals, just to name a few things.  I'd basically be Ryan Gosling, minus the beard and questionable fashion choices.  I would be in high demand if I were a boy.

But, I wasn't born a boy. I am girl and I am a dork.  I send pictures like this to the guy I'm smitten over:

What a nerd-o. 

Yes, I did actually send this.  I made the sign, took the picture and sent it.  Where were you to stop me?  After the text went out, I groaned.  "Gah!  You're a complete moron. *headdesk*"

If I sent a picture like that to a girl, she would die of cuteness overload.  You send a picture like that to a guy and he, well, he probably groans too.

Surprisingly, he liked it.  I guess my dorkiness has won at least one person over - and my favorite person no less.  Yay on that. 

Idle Hands Do the Devil's Texting Work

I'm usually an advocate of texting.  It's an easy form of communication for short things - pick up this at the store!, are you here?, here's the address - and it's usually how I talk to people now (except when I'm driving, of course).  But could there be anything worse than trying to date in the age of texting?  I think not.

When I send a text to a friend, I don't care when or if I get one back.  When I send a text to a guy, I watch the phone like it's going to do some sort of magic trick.  Every time a phone within ear shot goes off, I'm checking my screen to see if it was me, even though it obviously wasn't.  (Did it just buzz?  I thought I heard it buzz!)  I hate the whole thing because I, friends, am impatient.  If you just texted me a second ago, what is taking so long to send back a response to my witty comment?!? <- See?  Crazy! *le sigh*   

Oh, the agony of waiting for a response!  After 10 minutes of no communication, I'm reasonable and think "Oh, he's busy, right?"  After 20 minutes, I'm a little less reasonable.  "He's busy" turns into "He's ignoring me.  Did I say something wrong?"  When 20 minutes turns into an hour, I'm dying.  "What did I do?  Am I that awful?  I'm an idiot.  I'm being stupid, right?  Yeah, I'm being silly, but really he probably thinks I'm a weirdo dumdum who smells."  (I have a lot of internal dialogue; I really hope that's normal.)   

I tend not to text first, at least in the initial phases.  I know this seems counterintuitive, but it's how I do it.  (Sidenote: A friend's husband once told me that "eager beats pretty," so maybe I should rethink my texting policy.)  Once I actually text first, I spend some time concocting what I consider to be the perfect text.  Breezy!  Light!  Funny!  I'm a fun girl!  Just checking in, no pressure!  Then I send a text out into the universe and it's gone.  It hangs out in the air space while I die a slow death caused by the anticipation of a response.  Oh, Tom Petty, you were right - the waiting is the hardest part.