I know, I know; I’m way behind on the “Making Friends” column. And it still won’t be up today. Sorry but it’s summer in Chicago and, well, I’ve been living it up. I just got a bike the other day and have been riding it around, writing a bunch of junk, and actually cleaned my place. (First time in over two years.) I will put up two posts next week, the friend’s one earlier in the week. Deal w/it.
I know I’m supposed to put up the friend article and its coming; just taking longer to write than I thought. But that’s in part because I had a bunch of questions to answer this week for Lifetime. That’s right; Lifetime. They have a section on their site called “Ask a Guy” and I’m the guy. Go there, check it out, ask your questions, read my answers. (This is for the ladies, obviously.) (Also, Bernie Mac’s death needed to be written about, along with the advice he gave me, which took some time, too.)
To find it: Go to www.mylifetime.com, click “relationships,” scroll down and click “Ask a Guy” on the right. My answers are posted each Thursday.
That’s all for this week; the friend article is coming next week.
I get this question a lot. I think it really depends on the author and the success of the book. For me, I haven’t changed at all. For guys like the Waiter, whose book has much more media and success than my own, it hasn’t changed him. That’s a testament to his strong character and sincerity.
That’s not to say that having a book hasn’t changed my life; it has. Given the subject, it has changed dating, of course. I like the girl-next-door-types; the book tends to scare them off, while attracting the more trixie-types, who I tend not to prefer. I knew this would happen, so I was prepared. It’s still, tough, though.
Mostly, having a book changes some of the people around me. Some friends feel a need to introduce me with my book-credit (”This is Ian, he wrote a really funny book”), while others keep asking me when the sequel will be written. The friend it changed the most was Cheryl (name changed to protect her identity).
I met Cheryl on New Year’s Eve at a bar called The Avenue several years ago. She had beautiful eyes and a warm smile, so I liked her, instantly. My friends and I hung out with her and her friends for most of the night. Her boyfriend was not at the party, as he was working. I got her digits before she left. We started to swap a lot of emails and got together for several dinners. I told her if she wasn’t dating someone, I would definitely be interested. (Working to steal women away from their boyfriends is immature and lame.) I didn’t like her boyfriend, though, as he spent little time with her. It seemed more like he was keeping her on the line rather than a real relationship. A few times it felt like we could get something going but she was true to her boyfriend and stuck to remaining friends with me. While I enjoyed seeing her and even having her sub occassionally for volleyball (she was only an intermediate player but the level of fun and personality she brought to the team more than made up for any lack of skill), I mostly looked forward to our conversations. Cheryl was intelligent and interesting; unafraid to speak her mind and personable. I had the feeling that she kind of wanted me to push her into having something happen; that if I did, I would be the reason for a break-up with her boyfriend. She didn’t really want to be responsible. That’s not how I want to start to date someone, so I didn’t push or pursue. In short, once I spoke my mind, I respected the friendship and had no problems with it.
If Cheryl had one flaw, it was her breasts. I don’t mean her breasts themselves, I mean her view of her breasts. She thought they were important but they weren’t. She would reference their small size in jokes from time to time. Personally, as I mention repeatedly in God, I am a butt man. Cheryl had a great ass, a nice bonus to everything else about her. When I wrote the first two chapters of God, I wanted to get some female feedback. I wanted women who I knew would tell me their thoughts; who wouldn’t sugarcoat anything. Cheryl was one of the women I asked. She gladly accepted. The first story deals with a woman who had an amazing pair of breasts. While Cheryl seemed to like the humor and candidness, after she read it, she became convinced that I was a breast man. “You’re definitely a breast man.” I repeatedly told her otherwise but she refused to believe me. There was a strong disappointment in her voice. This confirmed to me that she had an interest beyond mere friendship.
Soon after, Cheryl vanished. She stopped emailing or returning calls. No more dinners. No more great conversations. Fearing she thought I was a creep based on the first two stories, I sent her the rest of the manuscript when it was done, including the last couple chapters where I realize what an ass I had become and made changes, finding my balance. Still no reply. To this day I miss our conversations. Again, her vanishing act served to confirm my suspiscion that she had more than an interest in friendship–if she wasn’t interested, she wouldn’t care what kind of breasts I liked.
I have not spoken with Cheryl since the book was released, over a year ago. I still miss our conversations. I’ve never met anyone quite like her. I still include her in emails to my friends about doing dinner or getting together for a movie, and so forth. Why bother? Another comedian gave me some great advice once: He said, “Never change anything about yourself for anyone unless you love them and they love you.” He was Bernie Mac and as you probably know, he died this past Saturday at age 50. His early demise is a reminder of the amount of time we waste on silly things, like a lack of communication or stupid misunderstandings or allowing others to change us when we really don’t want to change. Cheryl is a great example. If she had just believed me or told me what was really bothering her, we could have easily fixed it; instead, we both lose out on a good friendship–that might have been more when the timing became right. For what? For nothing that has any substance or real meaning.
So, unless Cheryl emails me to please stop including her on emails, I will continue to include her. I can’t control how anyone else lives their life but I can control how I live mine. Remember, the only person you have to live with is yourself. You have to be true to who you are; don’t let anyone change you unless you both love each other. (In which case you probably won’t want to change each other… at least not much.) Thanks Bernie; good stuff.
Sorry for the late entry. Things have been pretty crazy. Was best man for a wedding over the wknd–an event that went ran Thurs through Sun and then Bernie Mac died; been talking w/some comics about that. (I met him a few times; real good guy.) So, the column on “Friends” will be written as this week’s column and last week’s will be skipped. Thanks.
We spend a lot of time focusing on trying to meet and date the right person, often overlooking the one relationship that, outside our family, is our most important and constant–our friends.
I rant on the importance of friends in regard to a healthy dating life in God, so I won’t get into it again here but I will say that most of us take friendship for granted. When I toured as a comedian, dating was impossible. Well, maintaining friendships was nearly as difficult. Sure, I stayed in touch with the friends I had but I started comedy at 18. I had little to no ability to make new friends outside comedians–who I wouldn’t see again for possibly years and once we worked the same slot–headliner–I wouldn’t see them again, ever, save a few nights off or working different clubs in the same town.
This is pretty tough for a people-person like me, especially realizing that you make some of your most important adult friends when you just get out of college through your mid-twenties. Not me; I toured through those years. That’s not to say I didn’t meet a lot of people; I met plenty, all outgoing and loads of fun (typically, only the most outgoing, confident audience members approach the comedian). While I met only a handful of women on the road where we both fell hard for each other and would have liked to have had the chance to date, I met a ton of people with whom I would have been friends, had I been able to stick around. Performing is weird; you go from being the most popular person in the room, the life of the party for a week, make tons of week-long friends, then jump in a car and drive away in total silence, leaving it all behind, only to start the process all over again in a few days. If you get really big, it gets worse–scratch the week-long friends. I learned that from Billy Joel when he stated it best as “You go from being the most popular guy in the room to being all alone in a deftly quiet limo.” Worse, the bigger you get, the less you can trust your friends. Are they really your friends? Do they really like you? Or do they just want something from you? Jamie Foxx told Barbara Walters in an interview after winning an Oscar that he was “Very wary of anyone who wanted to be his friend or date him.” Still think it would be great to be famous?
I’ve had a bit of a rough patch lately with some personal family crap and the friends I’ve made since leaving the road have been a crucial support system–whether they be close or mild acquaintances–offering some great advice, keeping me busy playing sports, getting out, and so forth. I try not take any of them for granted but who am I kidding? I do. We all do. So this week’s column is in recognition of friends. I’ve had a few people email me they have a tough time making friends and asking me for suggestions, as I suggest a healthy diet of friends for a healthy dating life.
I’ll give you those suggestions in next week’s column; for now, appreciate your friends. Far too often I see friendships ruined over misunderstandings, poor judgement, a heated moment, mutual interest in a member of the opposite sex, and so forth. Communicate with your friends, close and distant, and trust them until they prove themselves untrustworthy, then cut them from your life. I once caught a guy making up lies about other friends to me and I simply told him, “You make up stories and lies, I can’t be your friend anymore.” Period. Everyone else, you should be able to patch things up with. When I see friendships fall apart, ninety percent of the time it is due to lack of communication. I’ve seen friends pit friends against each other because they are wary of the other friends building a stronger friendship than their own (which is exactly why that former friend was making up lies). Frankly, it’s all ridiculous.
When I toured, I was jealous of people who were able to see their friends often, just as I was jealous of guys who were able to date the woman I liked in their town but who where too chicken to ask her out. (The grass is always greener is a saying for a reason and, as you readers of God know, the primary cause of my distain for the guy who masks his interest in a woman with friendship.) So, I am always building new friendships and working to maintain current ones. My real weakness is building close friendships. While it seems like I am an open book, I’m actually much more closed than anyone else. What I share is easy to share and comes naturally; it is far easier for me to share with a large group than one-on-one, which is opposite most people. Weird, huh? That’s just me. Guess who accepts it. Yup, my friends.
I’m fortunate because I went for a long time without friendship (read Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up; he does a good job of capturing the loneliness and lack of friendship in standup), so I realize its value and rarely have misunderstandings or disagreements with friends because I’m very communicative and honest. It’s not that hard. I wish I could say this attitude came from myself but I stole it from an amazing guy I had the honor of meeting. I learned from him I can forgive anyone almost anything.
I was in Colorado Springs, CO, and I had to stop off at Midas to get muffler replaced–I had to, people living as far away as Denver were complaining about the noise. I sat down and this elderly black man started to immediately talk to me. He wore a nice suit in the heat of July and was obviously anxious to talk to anyone who would listen. I was wearing sweats and a ragged shirt–my driving-from-one-gig-to-another day attire. The manager warned him to leave me alone but I waved him off; what the hell else was I going to do while waiting? Besides, I had learned seniors have lots of wisdom to share if you just shut up and listen. (Get me talking to a senior and it’s one of the few times I’m quiet, listening.) While everyone who entered scowled at our odd pairing–a twenty-two-year-old homeless-looking kid chatting with a well-dressed elderly gentleman–I had a blast. The guy was fascinating. He was 87 and the only black Sergeant Major in WWII (he showed me a newspaper article clipping he kept in his jacket pocket, proving it). (Sergeant Major is the highest rank an enlisted soldier can earn and it is very well-respected by everyone in the military, including far superior officers.) He saw a lot of his friends die in the war, with whom he had unresolved conflicts that he soon after considered stupid and pointless. He returned home to find a lot of his friends had died while he was gone (disease, etc); those who hadn’t, had moved on and he couldn’t track them down. He was, for all practical purposes, friendless. Worse, his best friend–his brother, and wife had hooked up while he was gone. So, now that he was home, she divorced him and married his brother. He went into a shell for years, making few friends and just going through the motions of living. After his ex-wife died, he finally forgave his brother and spoke to him again, just a few months before he died, too. The Sergeant Major’s regrets were many: “I didn’t forgive my wife. I didn’t move on. I didn’t make new friends because I became afraid of being hurt by them and losing them, too.” Now he was 87. The few friends he had made over the last several years of his life had all died and once again he was feeling friendless and lonely. So, he spent everyday sitting in Midas, talking with anyone who would listen.
If the Sergeant Major could forgive his brother for having an affair with his wife while he was away fighting in WWII, then I could forgive my friends of pretty much anything, save malicious, repeated lying. (Some people just don’t want to be happy and they take misery-loves-company to a whole new level; I avoid them as soon as I recognize the trait.) You can’t meet this Sergeant Major and be his friend as I had the good fortune to be for three short hours but you can heed the advice he gave me. “Make lots of friends, with anyone who is willing. And keep them, always. Friendship is how we make each other happy and I learned that far too late in life. Even if you don’t think you have something to offer a friend, you do. Find out what that is and embrace it. I’m a Sergeant Major and those are my orders.” Who they hell am I to argue… or you?
(For those seeking advice on making friends, think about these two questions in preparation for next week’s column: What is the best thing you have to offer? In my case, for example, it’s not actually my friendship that people gain the most from having. Remember, I’m actually pretty closed and truthfully, have little in common with a lot of people I know–I have a very different type of job and personality. Rather, it is the broad spectrum of people I know that gives me the most to offer. Many times people I’ve introduced to groups or other friends have become far closer to those groups and friends than they have to me and than I am to those friends and groups. Also, what is it you seek in your friendships? Again, I’ll share my own. For me, right now, it’s proximity. I’m looking for more friends in my neighborhood because my schedule is so crazy, it’s ideal to be able to call someone up and go grab a beer or flip a Frisbee at the park; doing that with people outside the hood requires planning and coordination. Ugh! I just don’t have that kind of time right now. So, ask yourself these questions; they will help a lot with next week’s column.)
BTW, I get like two dozen emails weekly after each column. A lot of you share lots of personal stuff and I get that you don’t want it to be public knowledge but feel free to post it under “comments,” anonymously. Many of you are sending the same emails and could get some good dialogue going if you just shared them. It’s also easier for me to answer them in a group, instead of individually. Of course, you are still more than welcome to send me emails directly, if you prefer.
Last week was short and sweet. This week? Not so much… First off, I completed Big Bahls, the script I was writing for a couple producers who hired me. It is set to film next month. You can read about it here: http://reelchicago.com/story.cfm?storyID=1992 I look forward to being on-set for it; promises to be a lot of fun. (I should know as the writer…) Secondly, God just got its first major review from a highly respected industry leader–The Midwest Book Review. I gave a sigh of relief when it scored 5 stars. You can read the review on the book’s Amazon page.
Lastly, while I will have access to the Internet the next couple of weeks, I will be in Yellowstone, camping with my nephew and a good friend, so I will be posting three entries to hold you over until the end of the month. The entries all tie together into one larger message. Here we go.
July 11, 08 - The Point of a Date is…
“Tell me you’re not even considering him. If you go out with this guy, I’ll have absolutely no empathy for you when you start to complain about him.”
“Well, I think he’s better than the other guy.”
This is the conversation I had the another night with a friend–we’ll call her Sarah–about two guys: one who approached her in her building after seeing her (his mother lives in her building); another who she met at a concert. The guy at the concert did not approach her directly; instead, he asked his friend to ask his friend to ask her friend to ask her friend for Sarah’s information the next day. (I’ll give you a minute…) Sarah is considering going out with the guy from the concert because she indirectly knows people who know him. She is not considering the other guy because while she has run into him several times in the building, she has not seen him enough times for him to ask her out, she feels.
Over the last few months I’ve received 42 emails from women who prefer to go out with a guy only after they’ve seen him in some kind of group social setting five or six times. (They call this being “friends first.”) They asked all kinds of questions dealing with everything from a lack of passion in their relationship to their guy not being who they that he was before they started to date. There are also a lot of jealously issues once the relationships get going (on the guy’s end).
What does all this tell me? Just how fucked up the dating arena is and a big piece of the puzzle as to why. If you’ve read God, you know my thoughts on the whole “friends first-”concept. If you haven’t read God, what the hell are you waiting for?
The problem with ”friends first” is that it pushes forward the exact type of guy women dislike, leaving the more desirable guys hanging in the wind. While most women know what they want in a guy, many fail to be able to recognize it, often ”misdiagnosing” a man. Remember, the number one trait women want in a man is confidence. It makes a lot of sense, if you think about it. A confident guy will stand up: to outsiders, for his woman, for his kids, for respect; he will speak his mind, have an opinion, won’t be a pushover, and is usually confident in bed, too.
When you prefer to get to know a guy in a group setting and then “fall” into a relationship with him that “just happens,” as many women seem to these days, nine times out of ten he is not a confident guy. I have women friends who play softball. A guy from the other team who asks them out after a game is frowned upon and left in the cold. The guy who played against them three weeks ago and hangs around after his game to chat with them repeatedly each week, starts to see them at softball events, invites them to a few lunches, etc, is the guy they tend to date. In other scenarios, these women won’t consider going on a date with a guy in a softball league until they’ve chatted with him six or seven times, which could take several seasons to accomplish. Yet, they will go out with a guy they met on the Internet or a guy who they met once who gets their info from a friend. Later, they complain the guy they are dating is jealous, whiny, passionless, suffocating, doesn’t have an opinion… Why does this happen? They turned down the wrong guys. Why? These women have forgotten the point of a date.
Somewhere along the way–I don’t know where–a date became something far bigger than it is; it became a monstrous beast to be heeded; a statement of affection that should be avoided except when impossible; something you should enter only with someone with whom you already comfortably know. WTF? This erroneous attitude can be found at the root of many of our dating dilemmas.
Who is confident? The guy who approached Sarah after seeing her in her building, realizing he had to move at the moment, as it may be his only chance; or, the guy who doesn’t ask for her info to her face, instead preferring to go through a family-tree of friends? (Really, I was waiting for her to mention Kevin Bacon in the list of friends.) Of course, it is the first guy who is confident. The latter is so afraid of rejection, he can’t even ask her out to her face. Who is confident? The guy who follows your team around like a puppy for six straight weeks, getting to know you, or the guy who approaches you the first time he meets you, asking you out? This time it is the latter who is confident but again, the wrong guy is chosen. What about holding softball, volleyball, hockey, rugby, Euchre, book club, cooking club… peers to a higher standard before going out with them than say a guy on the Internet or who asked for your info through a friend, because he won’t see you again, otherwise? S-T-U-P-I-D. Why? You have softball, volleyball, hockey, rugby, Euchre… already in common with the first guys. You share a strong interest! A common-denominator; a common ground. Yet, you will only date one once he’s weaseled his way around your defenses, instead of wisely taking your defenses down for one who “seizes the day” and goes after what he wants directly, with confidence.
After all these missteps, how can you possibly wonder how you keep dating the wrong guys? It’s obvious! How do you correct it? Simple! If you only remember one thing I ever write or say, let it be this: A date is simply an outing to get to know someone better and to give them a chance to get to know you better. Period. If a guy asks you out after playing softball against you, he’s simply saying, “You’re cute. We have softball in common. I’d like to get to know you better and give you the chance to get to know me better. And I don’t want to have to stalk you to do it (hang out after my games to “bump” into you; you know, crap like that).” He’s not saying, “These last seven innings have been the most wonderful minutes of my life. I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you again until next season. I think we’re meant for each other; it was our destiny that brought us both to this league on this day at this time in this sport…” I mean, really; get over yourself. You are missing out on the confident guys who share your interests because you are behaving non-confidently. Knock that shit off! Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier when you remember what a date is for and you’ll have a lot more fun on them, too.
July 18, 08 - Are We Dating?
I have a friend who has been “going out” with a guy she’s been friends with for years. They have been “going out” for ten months. Why do I write “going out?” Well, they haven’t talked about their relationship, yet, so they don’t really know if they’re a couple. She claims they have passion. She claims being friends first is the best way to date. And in a few months, she’ll be pissed and unhappy when the whole situation crumbles apart. If you don’t know if you’re dating someone after ten months (actually, long before), there is no passion. And what does it say about your friendship when you can’t discuss whether you are dating? Fear. Mistrust. Nervousness. All elements of a crappy relationship. Your relationship should ring with confidence. Yes, you’ll have gray areas but they should be things like “Will we be spending the holidays together?” not ”Are we dating?”
This goes back to practicing “friends first,” which favors non-confident men over confident ones. Your weeding out the good apples and tossing them from the barrel. You want to do things the other way around… dah! And the continued practice of “friends first” creates some real monsters, who usually prey upon women who want nothing to do with “friends first…” check out these fiends! (These are all actual accounts.)
Fiend #1 - A popular Chicago personality, whose life moves fast and doesn’t have the time for “friends first,” went out a few times with a group of people. Upon meeting her the first time, “Joe” asks his friend ”Dave” to “let him know whenever she is coming out with the group, so he can be there, too.” (A confident guy would just ask her if he could could call her.) Joe talks to the woman over the next several months among these group outings. Finally, he gives her his email, telling her to let him know if she would like to talk some more. One day she gets last-minute free tickets from work for a concert. She emails Joe “Would you like to go?” Joe picks her up for the concert… wearing a tux, holding a dozen red roses, standing in front of a limo. He declares to a baffled her, “I thought for our seventh date we should do things right.” She mistakenly still went to the concert with him, resulting in ten months of agony trying to get rid of the guy–love letters, long emails, hateful emails, tearful emails, tracking down her cell, having to change her cell, stalking her near work, having to take different routes to work to avoid… it could have very well ruined her career.
Fiend #2 - I met a woman when visiting my godson when he was a baby, years ago. “Athena” was his godmother and a friend of my friend’s spouse. Every time I went over to visit the little tyke, Athena was there, too. (I later found out she had asked my friend’s spouse to let him know whenever I was coming over to see the little guy.) This must have happened like twelve times over the course of two years (I was touring hard for comedy at the time and rarely in town). The last time, Athena suggested we get together to discuss going in together on a gift for our godchild’s birthday. Sure, why not? I called her and we got together the next time I was in town. She invited me to lunch the next time I was in town. Sure, why not? The next time I was in town, I called her and we did lunch. I told her, “Well, we’ll probably see each other the next time we visit (godson’s name here).”
“Oh, no, we better not; they don’t like it when we have our dates at their place.”
WTF?! Dates?! I told her we had never had a date. “Oh.” She sat quietly, looking like she was going to burst into tears. I kept in touch with a few calls, simply because I felt guilty. She invited me to a dance at her Asian community center, assuring me it was no big deal. Sure, why not? The day of the dance, my friend informed me it was quite a serious event. “Did you rent a tux?” Shit! A tux? I didn’t even own a suit at the time. I went out and got a suit, a Corsage, yada yada yada. Her entire family came to the dance, at which she was receiving a major annual award–”Ms. Asian” or something–and wearing an elaborate dress… that she made herself specifically for said dance. She introduced me to everyone as her “long-time serious boyfriend.” I played along, not wanting to embarrass her on her special night and realized for the first time how women could fall into the hands of sappy, spineless guys. I called her the next day and we talked. I was gently set her straight, focusing mostly on “I don’t have time to date, touring so hard for standup. It wouldn’t be fair to you. So, we are not dating but thank you, I’m flattered. Take care and good luck to you.” I never spoke to her again but it took her a year of leaving messages on my machine before she got the message.
Fiend #3 - A popular Chicago media personality shared this story at lunch with me, recently. An out of town assistant producer (AP), along with an entire crew, came in from L.A. to shoot some annual footage of she and her peers, for commercials. They all went out regularly over the next two weeks after long days of shooting. The AP never asked her out, never made a pass, nothing. But he did say some things that sat weird with her, like, ”‘Night, Hon,” when leaving the bar one night. Huh? Nothing was ever followed-up, though, so she let these things go. At the end of the shoot, the AP said he was thinking of sticking around town for a few extra days; would she mind showing him around the city? She replied, “Oh, yeah, if you’re keeping your hotel room, I have a few days off and could do that.” (Note - Given his odd comments, at this point she should have inquired his intent, stating that she was not interested and wanted to make that clear so he didn’t get any wrong ideas.) She played tour guide and he left a few days later, without so much as a kiss or handholding. Fine.
Five months later, she went to L.A. with a friend. They stayed with a crew member who was friends with AP. AP, for some inexplicable reason, had to stay with the friend during her visit, too. At the end of her trip, AP announced that he was moving to Chicago; “There are better opportunities for me there.” “Okay,” she replied.
A year after meeting AP, it was time for the annual commercial shoots. AP had moved to Chicago and was excited to see her. One day on the shoot her pulled her aside and informed her, “I’m not happy that our situation is not moving forward as I had hoped. I moved here for you.”
The battle is ongoing. Now that AP is here, they run into each other at industry events. He finds moments to criticize her boyfriend, telling her, “He’s all wrong for you.” He sends her ten page emails of love, followed by ten page emails of hate. Ugh.
These three fiends may sound nutty but if you think about it, it is logical behavior following the “friend first” practice. Their job is to see you as often as possible without ever having to take a risk and invite you anywhere for any reason, lower your defenses, get you to warm-up to them, then boom! They strike. And it works. Larger portions of the population date through this method than don’t. Weird, huh? When you look at it through my eyes, it’s suddenly easy to see a pattern of manipulation, deceit, and non-confidence. You can’t have your cake and eat it, too; you can’t do the “friend first” and not experience such fiends when you choose not to date one. Kill “friends first” and date with passion, zeal, and confidence! Those are strong foundations for relationships; deceit, manipulation, and non-confidence aren’t.
July 25, 08 - Square Peg in a Round Hole
“So what’s the hardest thing for you in the world of non-entertainment?”
“Without a doubt, it’s the pace. Everything is so much slower. There’s no urgency. Most people don’t push to move up in their jobs, they don’t do things on the side to further their careers, and don’t get me started on dating. Man, it’s totally different.”
“How so?”
“When I did standup, I would kill to be able to date someone. Just to be in a normal, healthy relationship. All my game playing wasn’t to date; it was to get laid and to temporarily thwart loneliness. As you know, I quit largely in part because I didn’t like who comedy was making me and I wanted to be able to meet the right person and date. I thought it was simply a matter of asking her out and it all worked out.”
“Ha!”
“No shit. It’s hilarious. I had no idea people played all these games just to date. What’s the point? Where’s the need? It doesn’t exist. It’s self-created.”
“Is that why you are becoming such an expert?”
“You bet. Someone’s gotta point out these errors. That and as I made friends, they told me I should write a book.”
“You always want everyone to be happy.”
“Life is too short for unnecessary misery. It should be expunged.”
Wow. What a totally different conversation with Heather than the first time we met. Here I was, in my apartment with a beautiful woman, just talking with no intent of doing anything else. While I’ve been this way, able to realize when I’m interested in a woman versus when I’m interested in sex with a woman, for five years now, that used to be far from the case. (I was shocked to see Heather; she was in town visiting a friend and she stopped over to see if I still lived in the same building I had lived in when she visited seven years ago–the last time we even spoke.) Want to know how we met? Sure, why not?
I had just finished a twenty minute set at a club in L.A. and I was pissed. It was my third night in a row showcasing my talents at a hot club and not one of the 41 agents who said they’d come check me out had shown. To complicate matters, I was lonely, both for a woman and for friends, as I had been on the road for four months without a break. I wouldn’t be heading home again for another four. So, I decided it was time to get laid. (I always put it off as long as possible; sex was like using duck tape to mend a broken pipe–it works for about a day, at best. And I knew it. But I didn’t have any other options. Yup, I was pretty jealous of the guys who could date, see, and ask out a woman they liked on a regular basis.)
If you’ve read God, this night was ten years ago, a week before I worked with Damon Wayans, where I had a revelation about how big a creep I had unknowingly become. (They say when you throw a frog into a pot of boiling water, it will jump out; however, if you put that same frog into a pot of cold water and slowly turn up the heat until the water boils, the frog will let itself boil to death. That was me. I set out as voted Sweetest Guy in high school to become good with women without becoming a creep. Somehow, like the frog, I got singed without even knowing it.) So, I was at the height of both being an A-hole and at the top of my game.
I wanted sex. I took the easiest route. I went outside and waited. In L.A., the easiest way to meet women was to wait for the smokers to come outside, where they were usually bey themselves or at least in a small, accessible number, as opposed to being surrounded by friends or guys inside the bar. (California’s had a smoking ban for ages. Today, I wouldn’t have anything to do with a smoker.) Five women walked up, all dressed to kill (no surprise in L.A. and instantly told me they were locals). While four went into the club, one stayed out to smoke.
She was very sexy. She stood a leggy 5′8″ in heels and wore short, tight white shorts, which somehow hung on her hips, going no higher. She wore a low-cut, orange top that was at least three-sizes too small. Her chest was falling half out of it and it showed about two inches of her flat stomach. Her makeup was tasteful, far from the over done style of most L.A. trixies, and she had bright blue eyes with long, blonde hair. Yup, I was hooked. Every guy who walked by looked her over.
She caught me looking at her and gave me a good look-over herself. She frowned and turned away in such disdain, I thought, So this is what it feels like to be a cockroach right before someone stomps you out.
I took a few steps toward her. “So, is this your corner?”
“Excuse me? Are you saying I’m a hooker?”
“No, you’re not a hooker.”
“Yeah, you better not think that. And if I was, there’s not enough money in all the world.”
Ouch. Run for the hills, right? It’s amazing what you can do when absolutely don’t care about the result. “A hooker would never wear those shorts.”
“Excuse me? What’s wrong with my shorts?”
“Nothing… believe me, nothing at all. But they’re no good for hooking.”
“Why?”
“A hooker would wear a skirt, only. That way there is easy access. She can jump into a car, do the deed, get paid, and be out in a matter of minutes. Shorts would totally slow her down.”
She thought about it, now intrigued. “That actually makes sense. How do you know so much about hooking?”
“I’m a pimp.”
She laughed hard. “Fuck, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’m recruiting. We just started a health plan and I think I have a skirt in your size.”
“What size is that?”
“I know only by making the shape.”
Without asking I stepped all the way to her and spanned her waist with my hands. God, her skin was incredibly silky and that simple touch just about drove me mad. I pulled my hands away, maintaining the shape. “Yup, I have a skirt just this size.”
She blew smoke in my face–she was playing back. “What’s it pay?”
“All the money in the world.”
She smiled. “That was good. I’m Heather.” She offered me her hand. Later, she found out I was one of the comedians, from Chicago (which she thought was in Michigan–I didn’t correct her, realizing it would come in handy, later) and I went out with her and her friends after the show. She and I drove separately in her car. At the end of the night, she drove me back to my car at the comedy club. We made out but she kept pushing my hand away when I tried to cop a feel of any sort. Finally, I just pulled away, sat back, and–as Elaine said in Seinfeld–took it out. She was semi-shocked but calm. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
She gave me a hand job, despite my increasing pleas for more. When we finished, I whispered into her ear, “I have a secret to tell you.”
“What?”
“Chicago is in Illinois.”
“Fuck you.”
“Oh sure, now you want to do it. You’ll have to wait a while.”
She laughed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Show me around town tomorrow.”
“I have to work.”
“Why do you have to work? You’re an actress and model who’s not on any projects right now–oh, that’s right, you have to temp to make a living.”
“Fuck you!”
“Is it going to happen now? Don’t get me worked up for nothing.”
She sat there, angry. I had gone too far. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, I’m a jerk. I just really want to see you again before I leave town. Can’t call in sick, eh?”
She shook her head. I kissed her on the cheek and go out of the car. ”You know where I’m staying and the room number; if you want, just call me in the morning. If not, nice meeting you. Break a leg. By the way, there’s a nice pool.”
I got into my car and drove away. The next morning my phone rang. It was Heather. She called in sick and was wondering if I still wanted her to come over. Dah! That day she did drive me mad. She showed up and asked if she could change in my bathroom. She came out wearing this little yellow bikini and we spent the day by the pool. She refused to return to the room with me. She knew she was driving me crazy and she was going to play it all the way. I had thrown her a curve ball the night before and now she was throwing one back. She kept having me reapply suntan lotion to her body and so forth. The only time we left the pool was to grab some lunch. I neglected all the business calls I was supposed to make for the day but I didn’t care. The only problem was she was not going to come into my room again. She had won the little game. In fact, she wouldn’t even let me kiss her the whole day. I had to jump in the pool repeatedly to cool off. Just when she started to say it was time for her to go and get up, I displayed just how big an A-hole I had become (again, without knowing). I grabbed her handbag. ”Screw that.”
I took it and headed back to my room. “Hey!”
I went in my room and shut the door. She pounded on it. “Hey!”
“No Ingles, por favor.”
This went on for a while, me refusing to open the door and return the handbag. “I’m going to the front desk to call the police!”
“What are you going to tell them? That you’ve been lounging at a pool all day in a hotel that your not a guest at and that you haven’t paid anything?”
“Dammit!”
I pushed hard. Really hard. I wanted her like I couldn’t believe it and I was determined. I had everything she brought with her–her phone, her keys, her wallet, and she had even placed her shorts and shirt on top of the big bag. I called her names through the door–”Tease, chicken,” and she replied in kind, “Loser, shrimp, shorty.” Eventually, we came to an agreement. I would let her in if she would undo the top straps of her bikini. She did and I opened the door, with her standing in the doorway, holding her top up with hands. Her bag, though, was across the room, waiting for her to retrieve it.
“Bring me my bag.”
“Nope.”
She stepped in and I shut the door behind her. Now, I paid attention. If she tied her straps again right away, I would acquiesce; if not, I would push harder. She didn’t tie her straps. “Sorry, I’ve been kind of a bitch.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been kind of jerk. Too be honest, it’s kind of turning me on.”
“Me, too.”
We started to kiss but again, she stopped me as I tried to take her hands off her straps; however, this time she was left at a severe disadvantage… the bikini had bottoms. I went to untie to the bottoms and while she kept me at bay for a few seconds with one hand, I had two and she had to use both of them to grab onto the straps, leaving the rest of her exposed.
It was exciting sex. Angry at times with her pushing me away, then me apologizing, telling her I how sorry I was but that I just had to have her. A few years later, she visited me in Chi-Town and we had a few great days together. Then she vanished. Changed her email and her cell. That’s how I met Heather. (I later learned how badly she tortured other guys. My favorite was the one whose favorite color was purple and movie was Star Wars. She and he were just friends, even though he was always trying to move it somewhere else. She wouldn’t have it, though; but, because she “felt guilty,” she came over on his birthday and stripped down to a purple bra and panties, then sat beside him on the sofa while they watched Star Wars. He was allowed to massage her shoulders and rub her back but nothing else. The poor guy must have gone stark raging mad! You see? That’s the kind of crap I wasn’t going to put up with and I didn’t.)
So now Heather had just shown out of the blue. She wanted to hook up again but I shot her down. And she thanked me for it.
“Why not?”
“I’m just not there anymore. Haven’t been in five years. No sex just for sex with a pretty woman. I don’t need to ward of the loneliness anymore. And I’m glad you’re here because I’m sorry for what I did when I met you, both in the car and at the hotel, and I never got a chance to tell you after I realized it.”
“I was just as big a part of it as you were.”
She crashed the night at my place–on the guest futon–and left in the morning. I asked for her info to keep in touch but she smiled and said, ”You’ve moved on. Good for you. It’s best to leave the past in the past. You’re definitely a square peg in a round hole, though, right now. I can see you’re frustrated.”
Nice! She got the last word and left. Heather is right. I do get frustrated, mostly with the “friend first” attitude. All the maneuvering, all the bullshit I had to learn to get my moment with women like Heather, it was necessary, mostly for my sanity. I had minutes to build desire and chemistry when it wasn’t there; to tap into these women quickly. I hated it without even realizing. A week later, when I observed Damon Wayans as we worked together, I saw myself and realized even worse, I hated me. It was time to make some changes.
What annoys me about “friend first” is that it’s unnecessary. It’s adding drama for the sake of drama. It’s creating barriers where they don’t exist. I see so many unhappy who are a product of their own design. I want to grab them buy the shoulders and yell, ”Stop it! You have no idea how lucky you are to be in your position and how badly you are screwing it up!” (I find that leads to jail, though, so I stick to sharing my stories and whatever advice I can offer.)
Date honestly, date who you want, and learn how to identify the traits you want in the opposite sex’s behavior. You’ll be so much happier. See ya when I get back from Yellowstone!
Life is short–it waits for no one. Remember that the next time you hesitate about going up to that woman you want to meet or you are about to give a guy the wrong number because he doesn’t have the right shoes. If I died today, I would die happy, knowing that I have always put the best foot forward, made myself go for it when I was nervous or self-conscious, and “sucked the marrow from the bone of life.” Can you say the same? If not, it’s time to make some changes, don’t you think?
Might be a little late w/these week’s column; vball tournament on the beach today. Priorities… but, I’ll try to use something that happens in the tournament for the column. Enjoy yourself and try not to blow off all your fingers.
I am currently talking with a popular women’s magazine about doing something with my top-50 list idea for their FOB (”front of book”) section, which led me to a list of women’s mags. I play beach vball on Wed nights w/a team of all women. They spend a great deal of time scoping out other girls on the beach and complaining about their bodies. If they see too many tight hotties, they decide not to eat or drink after the match. Eventually the conversation blames men for them not being able to eat and so forth. Really? I never said a word. I never pointed out any other women on the beach.
You will never see men scope out other men at the beach. We scope out women. You will never see men buy a magazine that has a man on the front instead of a half-naked women, an athlete, or a car. Women do all these things. So who puts all that pressure on you, ladies? You or us? Here is a quick link to a list of the top-20 mags for women. Notice the pictures on the covers:
http://www.allyoucanread.com/Top20/index.asp?idCat=20
Now a link to a list of the top-20 mags for men:
http://www.allyoucanread.com/Top20/index.asp?idCat=13
Notice any similarities? Both sets of mags feature scantily clad women on the front covers. In fact, the ones on the women’s mags are often even more scantily clad, revealing, and frankly–from a guy’s POV–sexually more appealing.
So again, who puts the pressure on you? Us or you? Come, you know who it really is; quit blaming us.
I was recognized the other night (a rarity). A woman came over to my table while I was on a date and complimented me on my book and advice. She told my date, “It must be very refreshing to be out with a guy who never makes a mistake and has all the answers.”
Huh? Experts don’t have all the answers; experts continually search for the answers and share the knowledge they gather on their journey. It’s easiest to see in scientists such as Einstein and Newton–always searching for answers and changing equations and hypotheses as they learned more about science. While it’s true I haven’t made any big mistakes in years, I did make one just within the last month.
In February I met a pretty woman at a friend’s birthday party at a bar. She mentioned she was looking for more competitive volleyball so I got her email and told her I’d let her know when I needed a sub (I play three nights a week and constantly need female subs). I didn’t talk to her much but when I needed a sub two days later, I sent her an email. She subbed but I missed the match because I took a date to the Blackhawks’ game. The scouting report on her (we’ll call her “Sheree”) was that she was good and very personable; I should pick her up full-time when a spot opened. I am always somewhat skeptical of scouting reports because guys will often give a pretty woman rave reviews because they want her on the team so they can hit on her; no doubt Sheree has experienced this and is wary. (From a team captain’s perspective, people dating on a team is a pain in the ass! Fights show up on the court, one refuses to play or set the other or some dumbass thing. Sadly, most people aren’t mature enough to make it work. I always tell guys who ask about a woman, “Remember, if it doesn’t work out, you’re far more replaceable than she.”) I became curious to see her play myself before inviting her to join full-time and invited her to sub a few times a week for like two months straight. Of course, we chatted back and forth a little in our emails–”What are you up to this wknd?” “My father is sick,” “How was your wknd?” and so forth. I threw in some harmless flirting (can’t help myself) and we got to know each other a little. I threw a few invites to get some food during the week her way to help keep in touch but she was always on the road for work. (Of course, I couldn’t very well tell her I wanted her to sub in particular because I wanted to see if she was any good!)
Finally, she was able to sub again and I got to see her play. She was a good player and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone have more fun playing volleyball or met anyone who was easier to get along with on the court. She never got frustrated or irritated. Yup, she would be a great addition to any team. That night I asked her where she lived because I had a feeling she lived in a zone for which I wanted parking passes (in Chicago, many neighborhoods are zoned and you can’t park without the proper parking pass; residents in that hood can get daily parking passes and I live right on the border of two zones, so I like to get daily passes from zone residents so I can park as needed). I also asked for one of her friend’s last name, as I have plenty of “Jen’s” in my cell and needed to start putting in last names to know who the hell was who.
The team hit the bar, where Sheree was just as personable as she was on the court. For the first time, I found myself kind of interested in her; however, I was jabbering with my buddy Mike and didn’t really give it too much thought. As she was taking off, though, I did ask if I could give her a call, just in case. “Sure.”
Now came one of the most hated dilemmas in the dating world for guys–you haven’t talked to someone enough to gauge your level of interest and you don’t feel like you’ve had quite enough conversation to ask her out, even if you did. If you snooze, you lose–suppose you don’t see the woman for another four months and then find out you are interested, only to learn she is now dating someone? (Sheree is pretty and personable; not the kind of woman to stay single for long.) It’s one of the few situations I detest. Also, because I wanted Sheree for future volleyball teams, if I was interested I wanted to ask her out before she joined a team, not after; I didn’t want her to think I put her on the team with ulterior motives in mind. I figured I wouldn’t worry about it. If I didn’t see her over the next few weeks, I’d invite her to a simple dinner on a weeknight or something innocent that popped up. End of story.
As luck had it (or possibly misfortune), I got a voucher for two to a musical (free passes from my editor). I invited Sheree, never stopping to think she might see that as a big date. (I never use a voucher, offered to me all the time, for a first date; it’s tacky! What woman wants to think a guy thinks so little of her that he doesn’t want to spend any money on her for a first date? I only use one for friends or innocent engagements. It never occurred to me that Sheree might not have the same reasoning.)
Sheree declined but thanked me. Suddenly all emails stopped and she didn’t reply to any of my offers to sub. (Until then she had always promptly responded.) Uh oh… Even when I emailed her that a woman we had chatted about who was like a second mother to me died, she didn’t reply. Not so much as an “I’m sorry.” (It actually pissed me off for a little while; that’s pretty cold.) That seemed very out of character for her. I thought about it and realized from her perspective things looked weird. I asked her to sub all the time, I asked where she lived (then the conversation took a different direction and I forgot to mention the parking passes), and I asked for her friend’s last name (was I trying to find out where she lived, too?). Then I invite her to a musical the first chance I get after only the second time I met her. Um… yeah, I look like a creep who had ulterior motives all along, which she’s probably experienced previously. Suddenly, every email I sent, every call, every question, was merely an insincere excuse to have contact with her. As soon as I saw it from her POV, I shot her a short email joking about it, clearing it up, and inviting her to sub. (Typically, when I have miscommunications, I just point ‘em out and usually they resolve.) Unfortunately, she still didn’t reply and so it probably served only to make matters worse.
Okay, as an expert, what do I do next? Nothing. I’m totally screwed. Any email I send her will be interpreted as an excuse to talk to her and stalkerish; however, if I stop communicating with her, it is proof that I was only interested in her all along because as soon as she declined the musical I stopped emailing and calling. Even if I email her to get the parking passes, it’s an elaborate ploy to connect. So, I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. All I can do is hope she sees me in volleyball circles on the beach over the summer, where she notices I’m having a lot of fun and socialize and play with a lot of women. (Hell, I even have several teams on which I’m the only guy!) Over time, along with a few friendly brief conversations on the beach, she’ll hopefully realize I’m not some sort of goofy, insincere creep-of-a-guy who just screwed up by showing his cards too soon. Actually, the entire incident will give me more insight into her personality–is she understanding? Does she take a moment to see the situation from the other side’s POV, as I did? I’m guessing “yes” to both of those, since I’ve already run into her a few times on the beach. She’s been friendly and social, although I could see she was a little hesitant and skeptical (probably a little afraid I was going to recite a sonnet I wrote for her or sing or something, revealing the love I’ve had for her since we met! Ah… no). It’s a little uncomfortable (actually sucky) for me because I can’t be my typical flirtatious and outgoing self.
So, if this happens to you, that’s my advice: sit and wait. Let the woman see you as your normal self and you’ll resolve any misunderstandings. Do not continue to send emails or call, trying to fix things–you’ll just look more and more stalkerish and she probably won’t even read the emails or listen to the voicemails. Do not ask mutual friends to put in a word for you–you just look non-confident (if they speak up on your behalf on their own, that’s fine; you just don’t want them to say, “Ian asked me to…”). I’m not saying it will be easy; it won’t. No one knows that more than me. I’m extremely tenacious (you have to be to get a book out, be one of the most sought comedians of your day, etc), so when I anticipate or see a problem, I want to fix it immediately. Remember, though, your actions will be met with a lot of mistrust by many women.
I must admit, it’s pretty sad for me to make such a basic oversight. I am usually very good about considering POV because I had to as a comedian in order to have some kind of normalcy in my life. (Most entertainers–musicians, comedians, actors, whatever–who start young in the biz never find normalcy in their lives; enter eating disorders, alcohol, and drugs. At most, you’re only on stage for a few hours a night. Without normalcy, how do you fill the rest of that time? For guys, you turn to drugs, aclohol, and empty sex; I wanted to avoid those pitfalls.) It’s the little things that provide normalcy, so I focused on them. I had to consider POV to be effective. My biggest challenges were birthdays, Valentine’s Days, and Christmases. I made sure I had a date for every V-day and my birthdays. Those are typically big deals for dates. They become amplified when it’s going to be your only date, you know? So I had to learn to work with women to get them to realize that they were just ordinary days and all was cool. I didn’t want them latching onto me and didn’t want them to think the date was something serious for me. Around Christmas, I like to hit A Christmas Carol at The Goodman Theater in Chi-Town. However, that’s a huge first date for a lot of women but when you’re only in town for three days and you want to see the show, see a woman you met, and see your family and friends, it’s not like you have time to have a date and see the show separately. I found success only by considering POV. Once you realize someone’s POV, you can usually squash it as being built upon nothing. For example, a date would think hitting The Goodman was a big first date loaded with pressure because of the price of tickets. So, I invited my date with a simple, “I hate to be cheap but let’s hit The Goodman for Christmas Carol.”
“That’s not cheap! Those tickets are expensive.”
“Naw, that’s only in your head. It’s like $100 to go; if we go to dinner and have wine, I can easily drop over $200. So, I’m being cheap and I apologize.”
That’s all it took for a woman to see the misconception about hitting a nice theater for a first date. So, you can imagine how stupid I must have felt when I realized my oversight with Sheree.
I’ve become good friends with women who I’ve had such miscommunications with and even dated some. Only once the issue wasn’t resolved and that was because the woman was immature, not understanding, and completely self-absorbed. In her case, I dodged a bullet; she’s not someone who would make a good friend or anything else. In any case, if you take the prescribed route, it will turn out for the better… although it may not seem like it right away.
God is a Woman
