The Texty Difference


They seem to think we don’t know.

When a man is confident, he responds to your text messages within minutes…at the latest. If left to his own devices, he’s responding before receiving yours.

When they want us, they’re worse than us when we want them. Don’t let him fool you. He sits on his hands to keep from texting you, too.

I’m the worst kind of guy. I have a half dozen frustrated men twisting in the wind of the uncertainty that floods my inbox. I know they’re waiting. Hell, I know I’ll get anĀ  instantaneous response at any of the hour of day or night if I throw ’em a bone.

But they aren’t the one I want… so they’re probably going to keep twisting. I’d say sorry, but I feel like it’s karmic for some poor knot they tied one of my sisterfolk into along the way.

Because when he doesn’t really care… he can blow you off for days. Spoiler alert… if he can wait a few hours and he’s not a dad or at work, he isn’t that into you.

Dr. Miles is a perfect example. This man is a board certified anesthesiologist, and doesn’t miss a beat in texting me. Noon, no problem. 3:30 in the morning, he wants to know what I have on. I send him one word responses. Never more. Not a picture, not a single sentence. Nada. And the poor man is dying on the vine, waiting for a simple “k”.

The Contender is equally as ferocious and I spend more time annoyed that all the wrong boys have all the right things to say, than I do responding to him. I hardly acknowledge him, if I’m going to be honest. For the record, ignoring them only makes them more passionate about getting a response.




Anticipation is the spice of life and men are equally as passionate over something that lights their souls on fire. Unfortunately, lighting them on fire is a hell of a lot easier if you’re not interested.

Which explains the forest fire currently raging out of control on my phone.

I’ve had to learn new features on my iphone to silence the most diligent of the bunch. He has a tiny grey moon by his name and it allows him to run wild and me to sleep peacefully while he’s on a texty bender…all without disabling the sounds that delight me when the right one sends me a “k”.

I was mid run when my phone started shouting “YUMMY” at me. The text tone that paints a delighted grin across my face. I almost don’t care what his text says. It’s that delightful. Go buy it for yourself and give it to the man you find most delicious. You’ll thank me.

I have them sectioned off by ringtones, so that I know which messages can wait, indefinitely and which are the ones I’ve been waiting for. Welcome to dating.

The boys I like: a wolf whistle.

The boys I don’t: the jaws theme.

The one I crave? Yummy.

The one I want to go away? Silence.

In the same way I hate to be on the receiving end of radio silence, I am quite adept at dishing it out. In some odd way, it’s been comforting wanting most of them to leave me alone, because I’ve realized how easy it is for them to do and feel the same. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work… and no amount of hope or desire is going to change that. It’s either there or it’s not, and it can be there for one person and not both. It’s love, not justice.

To quote my favorite beautiful man: “This isn’t rocket surgery.”

Or science.

It’s supply and demand. Cause and effect. Necessary tools for the hostage negotiation that is meeting someone you could end up wanting to spend your life with.

I miss love letters and voicemails. I miss the genuine gestures that are far more of an investment of your time and attention than typing on a mini keyboard and hitting send. This technological yawn fest doesn’t hold a candle to seeing his handwriting on a page of wrinkled notebook paper, expressing his undying love for you. Hell, even if it was a booty call memo, at least he had to find paper and a pen to get his point across.

Who knew those junior high boyfriends would forever outshine the adult men in my life. Oy vey.

The Bet

I love football. Looooooove it. I don’t generally care who’s playing, I’m just happy to sit and watch a good game. I was turning on the Super Bowl when a text came whistling in from NotCalifornia.

My first impression is that he’s tipsy fabulous this evening because he’s taking things in a direction they have not gone. He’s usually respectful to the point I’m not exactly sure if he’s attracted to me, or my farm skills. I’m flattered, but a bit bored by it as a result. I’m not an attention whore, but after begging a man for his time & his body over the past 6 months, I’m ready for the shoe to be on the other foot. I’d like to be the focus of that same debilitating need.

NC- I miss your pretty smile…… Watching the game? Who do you want to win?

Hmmm…. I do believe this man wants to flirt with me and I’m an Olympic athlete in that division. May I offer my “Biggest Flirt” picture from junior high, as proof and for posterity.


J- I always root for the underdog. I can’t cheer for Tom Brady…

NC- I just really don’t like LA.

J- I’m shocked.

NC- You should think of a wager to make it interesting.

J- Like what??

NC- What are you thinking? Something fun.

J- I’m game. Realistically though, my team is probably going to lose, so be nice. Ideas?

NC- Hmmm. You decide. Something fun. What comes to your mind first?

J- That I need some guidelines, lol…

NC- Hahaha. No way. No guidelines. That’s what makes it a good idea. First thing that came to your mind. What is it?

Lots of inappropriate shit, if I’m going to be honest. I’m not going to be, so I have to come up with a girlfriend answer. I think about taking him to the Follies, but I’d rather go with my friends. I think of a safe answer… which slightly disappoints me in myself, but whatevs… this is how you play this dumb game.

J- Dinner with you.

NC- So if you win then dinner? What if I win?

J- I had to pick, so it’s only fair that you do too. First thing that came to your mind?

NC- Haha. Ok well how about if I win then you have to cook dinner.

J- That means waiting until Grandma is home to collect?

NC- Well I can wait.

He won and my big mouth offered to make sushi. So consider this an invitation to all of you to come on over and help me perfect my rusty rolling skills.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit to having an unfair advantage in this department. I’m a really good cook. My Husband soup was named after the many proposals it garnered and my lemon custard tarts have made me a small fortune. I’m lethal in an apron and I have perfected the fine art of using it to my advantage. One of the first things Miss Lovely asks me when she knows I’m expecting company is:

L- Mmmmmm….what did you make?

It’s a strength of mine… but also an ENORMOUS weakness.

A man in my kitchen?

Elbow to elbow, playing with food and this respectful man who is determined to pursue me?

What could possibly go wrong?