A sign from above

I got dumped on last night. By a bird. And in a strange way--I think it was some kind of sign--or a cosmic crapping of sorts--as it was the perfect way to end this particular evening. I have a young friend who invited me out, just as I was about to take yet another lonely, single-girl Saturday walk in the park. Ugly shorts, baseball cap, Ipod. When she called--I stripped them all off and threw myself together. I want to meet someone new. And it's not going to happen by sitting on the couch. So when Rachel called--I jumped.

Now--I say she's my "young friend" but this woman is mature and intelligent beyond her years--which is why we enjoy each other's company. I can always teach her a few things about careers and bad life decisions--but this night--I realized this youngin' had much to teach me. Now before I go all Kung Fu master and bore you with talk about old dogs etc--understand this Grasshopper: seems I never really learned that trick of how to show a man you like him. So old dog, new dog, green dog, blue dog--it's a trick I need to learn--to find love again.

After a fun evening of pizza, street vendors and art galleries--we ended up listening to a band in a garage.  No, not a "garage band" but a band actually playing in a mechanic's garage. (I know random, but it was perfect!) As we listened to the music, my friend starts up a conversation with a man next to her, who clearly had a few too many. But she enjoyed his silliness, danced around with him, laughed, enjoyed the moment.

As I watched in complete amazement, standing next to me, was also a man. Now. I couldn't tell you what he looked like at first. I was just watching the band. But then he asked me a question. So I had to look--only I didn't really. I answered in a very sterile way without looking at him "no, I've never heard of this band before." And...that was it. The quick glance I got--I noticed he wasn't bad looking. (See? I'm not a complete loss?)

Rachel continued to chat with her new pal. And now "my guy" got into their conversation. I played it cool--okay--cold. Figured, I talked to him. That was nice. Lynn talked to a boy. Good for her. More than I've done in years. At that moment--I said to my friend--let's leave and get a glass of wine.

As we left the garage--Rachel stopped me in what appeared to be a sidewalk come-to-Oprah moment. She yelled, "What the F is wrong with you? That guy was hot!" To which I responded. "I talked to him." She went on. "He's a doctor! You could have married this guy--he was into you!" Ahem. Excuse me? Doctor? Now I thought she was making things up. "Didn't you see his t-shirt logo? UC Davis Medical School? HELLO?"

I thought. How did she see that? And I didn't? She continued the lesson, "You had the perfect opportunity to ask him about himself! And you didn't." What? Me ask him something? Right. Isn't that his job? My head spun in circles, flying back to the moment I met Mr.PP -- at yet another concert--five years ago. HE did all the talking. But did I make it THAT hard for him too? I mean, I did give him my phone number, so I couldn't have been that much of a flirting failure. But seriously--I don't know how to be attractive to a man who's attracted to me? Why?

Later, sitting outside a cute wine bar, Rachel and I continued to talk about it.  How can I be in the business of communications--even interview complete strangers for hours for major talk shows--but when you put me side by side with a potential mate--I clam up. Turn into Popsicle Lynn. Ice queen. It's not ego? Or attitude? It's just plain fear. Sprinkled with a heavy dusting of NO self confidence. I need to change that. I needed to be reminded by someone still fearless and young and excited about meeting EVERYONE--that it doesn't hurt to be happy around a man who's interested in you. Doesn't mean you have to take him home and cook him salmon. It's the game. The flirting game. You try me on, I try you on.

And then the young one schooled me in something I never saw coming--because I've never had someone do that for me. She said "Girl--I set it up for you! I was your wing man! I made myself look like an idiot so he would glom on to you! and he did! You blew it!" Huh? Is that what she was doing? I thought maybe she liked the guy? A wing man? I've never had someone actually HELP me seal the deal to love!??

And as I continued to tell my friend about how hard it is for me to talk to men, I don't communicate well, I'm old, my dad...blah, blah, blah...PLOP! A sign from above! Sitting outside under a building ledge, discussing the fine art of flirting--or the lack there of--a bird crapped on me. And it went everywhere. Thankfully, nowhere near my drink, my friend or my Coach purse. But still. That bird--and my friend were trying to tell me something. In that moment, we laughed--Rachel joked about getting the bird flu--and as I quietly rolled up my soiled sweater into a ball, I said--"some countries feel that's good luck. To be crapped on." And if it is--believe me I have a heaping load of karma pulling into the station soon, because I had to hose that mother off this morning.

I couldn't help but think I had two wing-men that evening. Both watching out for me--both trying to tell me to get my shit together. The doctor wanted to talk to me. I ignored him. It doesn't matter if I go out every night or walk in the park every night. Unless I lose that idea of fear that keeps me from being the fun, funny, giving person I gave to PP for 3 years--the person that Rachel sees--I'm going to turn into a large lady who keeps parakeets. (no offense to those who do.) And then I'll have plenty of opportunities to be crapped on--but it won't have anything to do with luck.

Thanks R for the lesson in how to be carefree again. I needed that. (I'll also send you my dry cleaning bill. Still cheaper than therapy.)