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I smiled in an attempt to thaw the ice, but it only turned the features of her face more severe. Interesting.
Almost as though she could hear my inner monologue, like my mental chattiness had tired her, she stood up, agitated, and smacked the paper to the table before gathering her bags and leaving the shop just as quickly as I’d come. I watched her go, the determined set of her shoulders and the intensity of her step, and then turned back to the table to slide the paper to my side.
The San Francisco Times, folded and destroyed to leave only one column visible: Sex Says.
Very interesting.
The byline read Lola Sexton, and the article…well, that made my head spin.
“Lola!” Joe, editor in chief of the San Francisco Times, greeted as I strode through his office doors. “Just the girl I was hoping to see this afternoon.”
Good God, he was too cheery. I wanted to smack him, but Human Resources would have a serious issue with me assaulting my boss in his office. Stupid workplace rules.
“Considering you demon dialed me at ten this morning until I answered, I’d say it was a certainty you’d see me.” I fought the urge to yawn and plopped my tired ass into the chair facing his desk. The old, overly worn leather seat squeaked and wobbled the second my body made contact, and I rolled my eyes at the absurdity of Joe’s office—stained, orange carpet, a scratched and dented mahogany desk that looked like something from a yard sale, and inspirational posters that said things like, Your attitude, not your aptitude, will determine your altitude, with a soaring bald eagle to bring the motivational quote on home.
For a guy who was considered the head honcho of a reputable paper, his office needed a serious makeover. The instant you stepped foot inside, you felt like you had been teleported back to the seventies, and Mike Brady, along with his wife, Carol, and six kids, would pop out from behind the rust-colored curtains.
It was safe to say three hours of sleep made me grumpy and judgmental. But seriously, compared to the offices around it, his stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Let me guess, you wrote this week’s column at the last minute again,” Joe said with a smirk and, thankfully, pulled my attention away from the Teamwork is the ability to work together toward a common vision poster. Something about the juxtaposition of these posters and Joe’s personality made me think there were actually pornographic posters displayed underneath them.
“No need to guess, Joe,” I retorted and pointed toward my face. “Just take a look at these dark circles and bags under my eyes. They’re all the answers you need.”
Joe leaned back in his seat, far too amused with my current state. He might’ve been my boss, but that didn’t mean I had to like him all of the time.
“I’m trying really hard not to say mean things to you right now,” I muttered and put my head into my hands. “Just tell me what you think of my column. And please, for the love of God, tell me you actually liked it. Because, if you didn’t, I might throw myself out the window. I honestly don’t think I can pull another all-nighter to make drastic changes.”
He chuckled softly, and I looked up from my hands and narrowed my eyes. There was something sinister about the way he was laughing.
“At least tell me you didn’t call me down here just to talk about my column. I mean, that can’t be the only reason I’m here…Right?”
Joe’s soft chuckles turned to hearty guffaws, and my already thin eyes became slits.
“Seriously, Joe?” I questioned. “Couldn’t this have been handled over the phone?”
“You work from home.” He shrugged. “It’s good for your health to get out of your apartment and get some fresh air every once in a while.”
I can’t believe I keep falling for this.
“It’s also good for my health to get sleep,” I countered hotly. He remained irritatingly amused by my annoyance.
This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled a stunt like this. He didn’t do it often, but somehow, he always managed to make sure it occurred after sleepless nights. In my sleep-deprived state, I honestly wondered if he made a deal with a witch to let him know just the right time to make me crazy.
“Are you going to give me the rundown or prolong my misery?”
He steepled his hands on his desk. “I’m quite enjoying your misery.”
My smile was saccharine. “Aw, you’re the world’s best boss.”
He chuckled again, and I had a vision of hurling his stapler at his forehead. Luckily, that vision was closely followed by another of my corpse rotting away in a jail cell, so I thought better of it.
“Shall I end the misery so you can go home and catch up on sleep?”
“Yes. Please,” I begged and felt zero shame in doing so. Mr. Sandman and I needed to reconnect and explore our love for sleep as soon as physically possible.
“Well, I loved it,” he said, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. “I only made a few minor grammatical changes and rearranged a few sentences, but I’d like to read through the article with you to make sure you’re aware of the changes I’ve made.
I wasn’t sure if this was an exercise in compassion or torture, but I was ready nonetheless. I gestured toward his desk with a gallant roll of my hand. “By all means, let the reading begin.”
He grinned. “I honestly think grumpy Lola is my favorite Lola. She’s so agreeable.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah…about the article, Joe? How about we just get on with it?”
“And a bit of a smartass, but I guess I’ll turn a blind eye to that,” he added with an amused tone as he slid on his reading glasses, cleared his throat, and dove right in.
Signs of Mr. Avoidance & Why You Should Avoid Him
The date was right, the signs were there, but when the time came to follow through, he ain’t got none, hun.
A topic we’ve all heard before, but one we can’t hear enough—and quite frankly, spans gender borders.
Listen, I know you know this, but to begin, let’s go over the point of this column in one concise statement.
If someone is into you, it will be obvious.
Seems simple, right?
But we’ve all avoided this simple edict more than once, pretended it didn’t exist or didn’t apply to us, and I’m no different. But when we break it down, really look at it line by line, it’s not as easy to avoid.
Wondering why they haven’t returned your calls or texts? Feel like you need to send out a goddamn carrier pigeon or a blimp in the sky to get their attention?
These questions? They are your answers.
If someone likes you, if they want to progress further into a relationship with you, there won’t be any doubts. They will make it known; it will be shown.
Still need more convincing? I know, it’s hard to accept.
Here’s some anecdotal evidence.
A few months back, I had dinner with two of my closest girlfriends, and the conversation migrated to dating. One of my girlfriends started to complain about a guy she had been on a handful of dates with and how he wasn’t returning her calls and how she could go days and days without hearing from him. “I just don’t get it,” she said. “What’s going on?”
My immediate response? “He doesn’t want to be with you.”
Her jaw dropped, seemingly shocked that I would say such blasphemous things.
But it’s clear to you too, right? Because when we step outside of ourselves, away from those messy things called emotions, it seems impossible not to see it.
Like lust, interest of any kind means contact. And what’s more readily available than that?
Nothing.
It doesn’t mean a trip to the store, a horseback ride, or waiting in line at the post office.
It’s in the phone permanently attached to their hand, the computer at their side, in an app that promises communication in a snap.
The facts are cold. They’re hard. They’re altogether unwelcoming.
But they’re true.
And that’s okay, right?
I mean, we can’t like everyone we date.
And everyone we date can’t like us.
And why wouldn’t we want to see it?
Why would we want to waste our time trying to make sense of mixed signals?
Personally, I want a man who treats all men and women well. Not some schmuck who is a total prick to a woman because he’s simply “not interested in her.”
That’s crap.
If he doesn’t want to be with her, then he should do the respectable thing and tell her. He shouldn’t pull a Houdini move and disappear off the face of the earth. He should have enough respect to call her after that first date and say, “Hey, thanks for the date, but this isn’t going to work out for me.”
There are ways to do this without coming across as a complete toolbag.
There shouldn’t be stringing along.
There shouldn’t be fake smiles and fake kisses and half-assed dates.
There shouldn’t be any of it. There should be truth and honesty and respect.
If you’re not all that into me, tell me.
I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t into me. And you don’t either.
I know when I’m interested in someone, it is obvious. I answer calls, return calls, visibly show interest in arranging the next date and the next date. There is no avoidance or mixed messages. I don’t make that person feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway trying to catch my attention with last-dig-flare efforts.
