It’s been three months since I told (let’s call him) “Ronnie” that I needed space and am absolutely not interested in a relationship … Ok, so I never told him I’m not interested in a relationship of any kind — but I belong to the school of “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” with a major in “Actions speak louder than words,” so when I’m ignoring you, not wanting to see you, and should I be forced to see you — being totally indifferent and otherwise an asshole … It’s because I really don’t like you.     

Well after very much bitching out (ie deleting me from a social network’s friend list) and disappearing a few months I decided to send him a friendly “hello” — not “hello, now I want all the things I didn’t before,” just… “hi!” (I really thought he’d want to be just friends..) Now, in less than a week, I’m back to this awkward situation.

I’m definitely not above playing the role of “Ronnie.” As a matter of fact, I know I’m just as annoying about that unrequited love … Still, at some point it’s time to stop reliving the past.

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Female researchers went undercover at a nightclub armed with tape recorders to capture men’s attraction to skin by noting which women got asked out on the dance floor.

The researchers’ rubric broke down like this: arms counted for 10 percent each, legs earned 15 percent each and naked torsos counted for 50 percent.

Math … and science proved that showing 40 percent of the goods does the trick. Hmm … that’s almost half naked.. Sounds good to me!

The study also found that women that showed more than the 40 percent were shunned. Psychologist Colin Hendrie, the study’s leader, said that showing too much could be perceived as being too available and general sluttiness.

The study offered another tip for getting the guys: in addition to the 40 percent rule, wearing tight clothes and dancing provocatively brings in the most attention. The women studied that did so were approached by 40 men each!

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There comes a point when the persistent contact — no matter how much time passes between texts/pings/drive-bys — becomes stalker-like and you need to realize you don’t appear endearing or sweet.

You’re creepy.

What’s my inspiration for this post, you ask? Well it’d be my pleasure to share.

Met a guy while waiting for a friend at the airport. Seemed cool, gave him my work email to contact me.

SIDENOTE: Offering a work email or phone number in lieu of something more direct is sign #1 that the chick isn’t 100% sure how she feels about you, but is curious enough to give it a try. Keep that in mind — it is NOT a sign she’s totally digging you and can’t wait for you to invite her to Sizzler and a matinee.

He contacted me and we went out for tapas and a movie. Everything was fine until the movie, which I should have enjoyed immensely (“The Hangover”) but was unable to concentrate on as a result of being 1st-base-raped.

His hand caressed and grabbed my thigh (thank god there was a denim barrier), touched my arm and shoulder, and remained in contact with some part of my body for 7/8 of the film.

If this were date #5, and/or we’ve gotten to know each other longer than 20 minutes, it might have felt sweet and sent tingles up my skin.

But this was date #1, and our relationship at that point was comprised of a 15-minute convo at Los Angeles International and three text messages. Get your fucking hands off of me, weirdo.

The guy proceeded to ask me out on a second date via FacebookChat — HUGE NO-NO — and text message almost every day. I told him I’d call him when I had some free time, which was 85% true: I had just begun a two-month streak of travel, deadlines and no free time to date. Thank god I was busy, because I didn’t want to go out again.

So when he continued to bother contact me every day despite my request for him to hold off until I called him, any minor percentage of desire to see him again diminished.

One day two months later, I received a text message:

Cute.

I responded simply and honestly:

“I was never pissed. I told you I’d contact you when I was ready, and your constant contact has shown you didn’t take me seriously and that’s a serious turn-off. I am not interested in pursuing anything further.”

You’d think that’d free me from him. Nope.

Month later:

Uh…

Then twice, one month apart from one another, I get this:

You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m buying mace and a pitbull.

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He checked in, asked about Halloween plans and then mentioned he found a good seafood restaurant we should hit up — “sometime in November.”

Our last face-to-face convo included talk about getting dinner sometime, after finding we shared a mutual affection for seafood restaurants on the coast.

I know we’re both busy, but I’m not super into making plans a month in advance. I advance-schedule dental exams, pap smears and family visits — not dinner dates.

I kinda don’t want to respond to the email. I know I should, it’s rude to just ignore a person, but what should I say?

“Dinner sounds great, but November’s no good for me. How’s your 2010 look?”

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Well I’m over that shit. With that mindset, I’ve found myself giving some real goobers second, third and sometimes sixth chances, hoping that maybe THIS will be the time he does something genuine that gives me that little “twang” feeling and I suddenly find him to be a Greek god stud muffin.

But no. I’ve realized that when a guy lacks certain physical traits, my brain is unable to focus on anything else. I guess this is just a natural thing in all of us. Some men innately are drawn to child-bearing hips and child-feeding breasts. Some women look for a broad back and giant pecs that can fend off intruders and hungry lions.

There clearly are particular attributes that give off a strong masculine or feminine signal, and I think I’ve discovered mine:

• strong, square jawline
• muscular legs (yes, there’s more to the gym than bench presses and bicep curls)
• broad, square shoulders
• piercing eyes

The first three traits subconsciously scream “MAN!”

I’m not quite sure what the fourth screams. Maybe a guy with eyes that can bear into your soul could be a partner who pays attention, is nurturing and truly able to see the “real” you…

…*snicker* sorry, I’m not fooling anyone. Piercing eyes can simultaneously melt your heart and undress you with just one look, and that’s hot.

Screw hunting and gathering — stare into my eyes, flex your calves a bit, and stand up straight, and you’ll have me at “Wassup.”

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I met Dude on a Plane last night. I forgot how nice his eyes are…and how short he is.

We talked for several hours, and I still am having trouble grasping why he has been so determined to maintain email contact and forgo any and all verbal communication. He’s very friendly and easy-going, and I can’t see any reason for him to hide behind spell check and the “undo” button.

Because I’m such a slick and witty gal, I slipped in a comment about this generation’s dependence on texts and email — James Bond-style, inspired by the dry stirred martini I ordered — to see how he’d respond.

He attributed that dependence (which I equate to HIS dependence) on convenience.

Then he inadvertently explained why he initially suggested a crowded dive bar locally known for its heavy pours and kitschy theme as our first meeting place. It appears he truly loves the bar, it reminds him of simpler times surfing in Hawaii (yes, he’s an avid surfer and that’s kinda hot) and has tremendous amounts of fun each time he goes.

OK…maybe he wasn’t trying to knock me out on our first date. But you’d think maybe, seeing as though we had such a nice conversation, he’d be ready to hit second base and give me a call.

Nah.

He emailed me at noon. It appears our mutual love for the ocean is the inspiration for our next date.

“I’ll find us a good seafood restaurant.”

Can’t say no to that.

I accepted via text. Two can play at this game.

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“What? Are you crazy?” you might be asking. Well yes, probably, but that’s another story.

Following my cancellation, Dude on a Plane emailed me and asked to reschedule. I said sure, but asked that we maybe meet up someplace less focused on alcohol/date rape.

“Sure, why don’t you choose a place that you feel most comfortable with,” he said.

[TAPE SCREECHES TO A HALT.]

That was enough to reverse (almost) the previous gaffes made during the last two months of random contact.

Not only did I choose a place with comfortable seating, it also has a piano player on a rotating stage (I’m a classy broad) and a list of cocktails served in tumblers and stemmed glasses — not a coconut in sight.

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I was planning to write a follow-up to Monday’s announcement that I was going to make physical — and verbal, GASP! — contact with dude on a plane. But after investigating where he wanted to meet, I wished I had never stolen home plate.

SIDENOTE: At least my regret inspired some useful advice from our Chief Editor.

So yeah, dude on a plane suggested we meet at a crowded bar the size of a broom closet that’s known for loud noise and tropical drinks strong enough to knock out an elephant.

I can fathom 2 possible reasons for this suggestion: a) he wanted desperately to appear like a fun guy who likes bitch drinks; or b) he thought that because I took the reigns after 2 months of him beating around the bush via email, I was looking for a rum-filled romp.

I can’t speak for him and his beverage preferences, but I hate rum and am not into drunken sex with men with Yahoo! email addresses.

So I canceled the date. Via email.

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The way you initially make contact is judged. The way you go about asking the girl on a date is judged. And you’d better believe that the place you choose to take the girl on that date is judged and can often make or break the rendezvous.

Example: A girl meets you at a coffee shop. You talk for a half hour and, once she confirms you’re not a serial killer and/or animal abuser she gives you her number and suggests you call her sometime.

After the customary waiting period (which is stupid; call her when you want to) you call (NOT TEXT) and ask her out after work that week. This will be your first date — DO NOT take her to a watering hole known locally as the bar you hit when you want to get royally fucked up and wasted.

Because when you say, “Hey, let’s go to the Snake Pit, you know that place?” you’re inadvertently telling the girl that you want to get her royally fucked up and wasted. And unless your previous 30-minute conversation included discussion of her joy of alcoholism and herpes scares, that’s not the best impression to give.

So please select wisely when deciding on a place to have your first real conversation with the girl you like enough to spend half of a Benjamin on.

Avoid:

• Loud places
• Crowded places
• Places that don’t have chairs
• Places that only serve drinks with umbrellas and twisty straws
• Places that smell like meat
• Places that smell like sex

Follow this criteria and you’re more likely to go out on a second date. I promise.

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Dude on a plane

After more than two months of occasional neutral “Hey, how are you, ttyl” type emails, this gentleman has taken our relationship to the next level by sending a “Hi, just keeping in touch” text!

Whether this is the modern male’s way of e-courting, I have no idea, but I’ve noticed a common theme in each of his messages:

Never has he hinted to the idea of going out on a first date, or being interested in anything more than being pen pals. There have been suggestions to go to places that he and his friends might be, but never a, “Hey, want to come to this movie that I’m also attending? Maybe we can sit next to each other, and possibly even speak?”

Even this latest text clearly stated he was sending it to me in order to keep in touch and say hi, but nothing more.

So I wrote back: “Great to hear from you! I’m doing well. Would you like to meet up sometime?”

He wrote back immediately. We’re going out on Wednesday.

But wait — following these rules of first-base email, second-base text, did I just steal home plate? Does that make me an e-slut?

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