Dont Mince Words

When I was signing my lease, the assistant, a lifetime native of Santa Barbara, warned me, “Whatever you do, just be nice to everyone.  Even ex-boyfriends.  This town is small.”  I realize this falls under The Golden Rule crap my parents taught me.

I haven’t seen The Schnauzer since the infamous hot tub/back shaving incident.  My Golden Rule is Out of Sight/Out of Mind because I just wasn’t that into him.  Hairy back aside (have you seen my thighs? I know about embracing heritage), when he admitted he had a porn addiction and thought beer was a waste of money, I knew he wasn’t the guy for me.  When he said he was conflicted because he wanted to marry a girl with little-to-no sexual history, I knew I wasn’t the girl for him.  Nice getting to know you, but we aren’t right for each other.

Next.

Imagine my surprise when I received a text message from The Schnauzer Friday, “Hi Marna, I saw you walking with your date yesterday.  Its OK I understand. I was hoping we could still be friends I thought you were interesting.”

I’m not sure where this communication is coming from since it’s been more than a month since his clipping.  I realize this is a small town, and I will be polite if I ever seen him squeezing the melons in Trader Joe’s, but I really don’t need another friend.

My friends have great communication skills.  And they don’t mince words.

I was recently told that I was living my own romantic comedy.  Dot com-crash-to-Wall Street girl leaves New York for Los Angeles for personal growth.  Discovers the emotionally unevolved, focuses on health, gets laid off more, and then moves to a small town where she has a job and a sensible romantic life.

This is finally my fucking movie.  Finally.

Living in New York was truly one of the greatest experiences of my life.  I connected with a lot of smart and wonderful people.  But I also saw the evils.  I lived in fear for nearly nine months after I turned a dirty cop in to internal affairs.  After 9/11, I figured if I was going to get whacked by the mob, it would be a better death than burning in a building.  Needless to say, it all worked out and I happily left corporate slavery and chose LA as my backup plan when San Francisco was still in flames from the dot com bomb.

As I continue to look forward, it’s easy to reflect with the benefit of hindsight.  And I am one of those people who wouldn’t change anything in my life because even the bad stuff shapes the future path.  All those awful Los Angeles dates served some purpose (I know what I don’t want).  My odd projects, contracts and jobs all taught me that no workplace is perfect (I know what I don’t want).  Working is a fool’s errand.  You just have to try to pick your fools wisely.

The same holds true with dating.  When I was in the beginning interview stages in Santa Barbara, I went to the online personals to get a sense of the mid-40s dating scene in Santa Barbara.  Call it socio-romantic ethnography.  My random how-much-does-it-suck inquiry revealed dating there wasn’t much different than anywhere else:  crazy ex’s, drama, kids, liars, and the chemically altered.  And from that honest baseline, I developed a friendship with SB Man through a very, very long interview process.

But that’s not all.

My girlfriends in Los Angeles squealed when I told them that I saw SB Man four times in one week after I moved.  “It takes about six weeks to rack up that kind of time with one man in LA.  No one wants to make that kind of time commitment for fear of looking….available,” one admitted.

In New York, you knew your life was good when the trifecta of job-apartment-love was in balance.  Here, I know that my patience and perseverance prevailed.  I just don’t know how the movie is going to end.