Archive | The Trials and Tribulations of Dating RSS feed for this section

Two Los Angelenos Ladies Serenely Discuss the State of The Bars In Los Angeles.

26 Apr

Dear Certain Men in Los Angeles,

It’s not very classy of you to announce your annual salary or the make and model of luxury automobile that you drive along with your name when introducing yourselves to us, thinking that it will help you get us undressed any faster.

Please cease and desist.

Best Regards,
The Ladies of Los Angeles.

P.S. It’s true what the bouncers say: white sneakers are never a good idea when trying to get into the bars on the weekends. Plus it makes you look like you just got out of gym class. Invest in a pair of Ken Coles.

MatchGirl: Did you ever hear Tila Tequila’s music? Watch this: Two Girls Sing Tila Tequila’s “Fcuk Ya Man”.
LoveMeDeux: No….the idea of her annoys me
MatchGirl: LMAO! her music is wacked!
LoveMeDeux: What the feck are these girls doing?
MatchGirl: They are singing Tila Tequila’s music.
LoveMeDeux: This makes my skin crawl.
MatchGirl: Thats her song “Fcuk Ya Man
LoveMeDeux: This is the stereotypical California girl. people think this is what we are ALL like. wow this hurts to watch. I stopped watching
MatchGirl: Yup! Embarrassing. she’s from Texas, though
LoveMeDeux: doesn’t matter if she is from Texas or not, people think of LA girls when they see this.
MatchGirl: GAH! I hate being stereotyped
LoveMeDeux: I don’t like it either. I have heard a lot of “You’re not like most LA girls!”, and that makes me wince because that means that people judged me–right up until that point where they decided to change their mind for some reason. I hate that.
MatchGirl: Yea.
LoveMeDeux: It’s the sadness of thinking “Hey this girl is juuust like all the others” and I have to prove to them that I’m not a bitch, a golddigger or a bimbo. That’s the triumvirate of LA girl categories.
MatchGirl: We’re not a bimbo. Goldigger. I DONT WANT YOUR MONEY. I am not sucking your dick if you drive a flashy car 😀
LoveMeDeux: LMAO! That’s MY POINT! Why do LA men think that I want to know what kind of car they drive? They offer that fecking information like I asked them their name. “Hi, my name is George, and I drive a Mercedes S Class.” I’m like, “Hi, my name is LoveMeDeux, and I couldn’t give a flying feck.”
MatchGirl: HAHAHAHAHAHAHHA
LoveMeDeux: Is that not true? Don’t you get this when we get out into LA? Is it just me?
MatchGirl: Yes, I do too. You always know what kind of car they have, where they work, and sometimes how much money they make, right away.
LoveMeDeux: This goes back to my number 1 reason to leave a party. Oh, I think it’s interesting to know where they work, what they do. That’s all fine. But I don’t want to know that if the only reason you want to tell me is because you think that’ll get you laid faster.
MatchGirl: Yea, I make 100k. Have a house in Paris, etc. Boat in the harbor, I’M RICH BITCH! Now get on your knees, and blow, ho!
LoveMeDeux: Yeah. no thanks dude. Haha!
MatchGirl: LMAO! You’re not giving me cheddar, So just ’cause you’re rich, I’m not sucking your cock.
LoveMeDeux: LOL!
MatchGirl: How does “I AM CEO OF A COMPANY.” turn into “BITCH GET ON YOUR KNEES!”
LoveMeDeux: I do not know! Good God!

Next weekend, MatchGirl and LoveMeDeux are supposed to go out with some Tweeples and other assorted friends. I’m certain we will be able to give you a great report back. Of course, we know that not all men in Los Angeles are so–we have too many good male friends from Los Angeles that have proven otherwise.

❤ to all our male friends out there who are keeping up the standard.

My Breakup Mix CD Would Contain…

16 Mar

I have often contemplated creating a break-up mix CD. Maybe one of these days when a romance ends and stings me strongly enough to motivate, I will really sit down and do it, but for now, here’s a preview of some of the songs that would be on it…

Dancefloor by Kylie Minogue

The lyrics say:

On the dancefloor
Gonna lose it in the music
On the dancefloor
Got my body gonna use it
On the dancefloor
The best that you never had but now you’ve lost me
So come on watch me getting over you

This girl is audacious enough to say “I was totally in love with you and gave it my all, but you’ve messed it up. So now watch me getting over you by having a great time and you will know what you’ve lost.” The defiant attitude is fantastic.

 

How Can You Mend A Broken Heart by Al Green

With lyrics like so:

And how can you mend a broken heart?
How can you stop the rain from falling down?
How can you stop the sun from shining?
What makes the world go round?
How can you mend this broken man?
How can a loser ever win?
Please help me mend my broken heart and let me live again

How can you not listen to this song post-breakup? Al Green’s soft, tenuous singing just stabs me in the heart every single time I hear this during post-breakup. This song encourages wallowing in the pain of the situation, but sometimes you have to have some Tanqueray & Tonic, shut yourself inside your house, and blast this song at too loud a volume to flush the pain out of your system. Embrace the pain to purge it!

 

Goodbye To You by Michelle Branch

I am not a Michelle Branch fan in any way, shape or form. But this one song just gets me.

Goodbye to you
Goodbye to everything that I knew
You were the one I love
The one thing that I tried to hold on to

It’s actually a painful song in that she’s talking about everything being taken away from you. The line “Goodbye to everything that I knew” is the best as she puts her heartwrenching gut feeling into it. And isn’t it true that when a romance ends, the part that hurts the worst is that you’re giving up everything that you thought was real and tangible? Also, this may be strange, but whenever I know in my head that a romance is ending or about to end, I hear this song in my head. It’s almost like my head and heart know before I know it, and starts playing the theme song for me. The final nail in the coffin. Sad, but true. It’s like the “Ringtone of Impending Romantic Failure”. Ha!

 

A Faux-ku For The Rainiest Day In Recent Memory.

5 Feb
An Aric-facilitated, heartbreak-inspired, Gtalk-manufactured Faux-ku for your reading pleasure.
I actually cried
When I was on the phone with him
I’ve met on Tuesday, It’s Thursday, It’s raining
And I can’t stand to not talk to him
But I can’t stand to talk to him
So it’s over.
It’s all over.

 

Somewhat later, Aric says the following, which I have deemed Quote of the Day:

 

“This is all a bit too soap opera for me. I would have ignored him and his beautiful jaw line today.”

My Friend Elliot, The Anomaly

15 Oct

So I have this friend named Elliot.

And let me be frank at the get-go. We’re friends because we can’t date.

And we can’t date because he has a girlfriend, who happens to live out of state.

I am somewhat puzzled by the whole situation because usually, when I meet a man and am attracted to him, but then find out that he isn’t single, I very quickly, but very politely, sever the relationship. What I mean by this is that I won’t endanger his relationship by flirting or being a big tease with him. I just don’t believe in it. Thereafter, if he is ever confused by my sudden temperature change and the boundaries that are the byproduct, I just tell him,

“You’re really great, and the problem is, I’d like to date you. But you’re not single, so I am keeping it at a comfortable distance.”

So far it has worked out well. No one’s feelings are hurt, and no harm is done, but at the same time, the outcome is that usually the man and I will drift apart. We don’t keep in contact. We stop frequenting the same places where we’d run into each other. Occassionally there’ll be an e-mail or a Facebook wall post. But that’s it. We hide from each other and the feelings that exist by isolating ourselves.

However, strangely enough, Elliot seems to be an exception to this rule. 

Though we have clearly ruminated about the way things might have gone if we were both single, I still talk to Elliot almost everyday via chat. Occasionally we text. I share with him the important things about my life, like my ongoing job search, how I felt about Los Angeles when I came home from Chicago, how I feel about the (painful) MBA application process, etc. He knows a whole lot about me, because I am not one to mask myself and hide parts of myself from true friends.

It is obvious that we have a real friendship, not a superficial fabrication based on two people pretending that they like each other.

But it isn’t like we don’t have boundaries.

This Friday night, I invited Elliot to come with me as my date to go see 9 to 5. Of course, I have no intentions of seducing him or have him endanger his relationship with his girlfriend. I just see it as a friend inviting a friend out to the theatre, especially after we had a conversation wherein he mentioned that he had not seen any of the film musicals I dearly loved, such as “Singing In The Rain” or “Funny Face“. I sense that Elliot is weirded out by this invite and he hasn’t said anything definitive about it, aside from “I’m not dateable,” to which I replied, “Well, it’s not like a real date.” To which he replied with silence. To be truthful, if I were someone’s girlfriend, I might be a little bit weirded out by some woman they don’t know inviting their boyfriend out for an evening event. I get it.

It sometimes makes me frown to know that Elliot and I would most certainly hang out more if we didn’t have to worry so much about “what might happen”. 

But oh well. Ça va. Instead, on Friday I will take another guy friend, a single one, in fact, who happens to be moving up north to San Francisco within the month. It’ll be a nice farewell. (And no, it’s not a “real” date.)

Early in my dating career, I used to be naïve and think that women and men couldn’t control themselves enough to be friends when they had that urge to date, but obviously, my friendship with Elliot is challenging this. And despite the fact that it is a friendship that will endure a few more trials than one that has only purely platonic feelings, it’s probably for the best.

After all, just like Charlie Brown, I need all the friends I can get.

Definitely Maimed.

11 Oct

This made me tear up maybe a little bit.

Fine, I admit–a little bit.

Okay, so maybe the hopeless romantic still resides somewhere inside me. But she’s definitely maimed and losing hope at a faster rate than most 28 year olds are.

X-Nay On The Ating-Day

7 Sep

It’s just not going to work.

I thought about it for a long time, and this e-dating momentum between myself and Brooklyn has petered out beyond repair.

I’m sure it is mostly due to my fault.

Of course, Brooklyn said all the right things, like “I just like you so much, I’m willing to hope that this will work out,” but I just don’t feel the same way. There were too many thing complicating the situation, and most of it had nothing to do with the fact that this was a long-distance communication.

I mean it when I say that I hope our friendship maintains itself as effortlessly as it has until now, as Brooklyn has been a confidante of mine.

That Extra *Bah-Bump* of a Beat

24 Aug

Right.

So I am e-dating this guy.

Having seen an aunt get pretty well addicted to a dating chatroom and other related trials and tribs, I always thought online dating was quite…well, “pathetic” is not the right word. “Futile” or “unresolvable” aren’t right either.

It’s just that I always viewed her as a sort of sad character, eternally crouched over her computer keyboard, staring at the monitor, waiting for some guy in Podunk, California, to write her back. I just didn’t understand it. When the wait was over, she’s only be getting a few cold pixels of black on white on a computer screen and nothing else. What about the tangible electricity in the air when you catch the eye of a guy across the bar/produce section of the grocery store/park/beach/wherever? What about your heart beating that extra bah-bump of a beat as he walks over to you and asks what your name is, and, if it would please you to have dinner/coffee/cocktails/concert with him? What about all the awkwardness involved in that first kiss goodnight on the front stoop?

What about all that? I just didn’t get it. Circumventing all that, how could you deem something a “romance”? Sure, we have You’ve Got Mail to exemplify how it can end happily ever after, but come on, even Nora Ephron, the Writer/Director Extraordinaire of Iconic Romantic Comedies (Does When Harry Met Sally ring a bell?) couldn’t keep the e-spark lasting well enough through the first act that she had to have Meg and Tom meet up at a literary party and initiate a spat over the caviar being served. “What is that?,” Meg says, looking rather cross, “What are you doing? You’re taking all the caviar? That caviar is a garnish!” to which Tom merely gives a charming, but flippant nod of the head and scrapes it all onto his plate in one elegant, fell swoop. The audience is sold, and waits patiently through the second act of “they-hate-each-other-but-are-really-actually-falling-in-love”, to get to the final scene shot in front of a flowerbed in technicolor-gorgeous Central Park where Meg tearfully declares, “I wanted it to be you!”, the violins swell, and a solemn, courageous Tom gathers her up into his arms as all errant storylines get swept up into one romantic and tidy pile.

Okay wait. What the hell does caviar have to do with my e-dating? Let me back it up.

Several months ago, an L.A. friend of mine with whom I partied on the weekend and corresponded on Twitter during the workweek grind, told me about Plurk, the latest and greatest in online fun. I have never been much involved in such a site based on such randomness, without my friends already having been established on it. I say random because it really is–you post your life on Plurk in little status updates through the day, and random people comment on your status updates. It sounds so flat when I write it like that, but really, it can be quite a sociable, even enriching experience. [For example, I randomly stumbled across and made friends with a fellow Plurkster who really loves films, more than I do, and we Plurk with each other about that film that we want to see make it out of development hell, or who gave an exceptional performance in what, or which director said what to which other producer, what what obscure foreign film is the soupe du jour. Okay wait, I still sound like a total dork. Never mind, you get the drift, moving on.]

Somewhere in the fray of random bePlurkfriending, one of these particular Plurkers stood out to me. His writing employed dry, crass humor, which hinted at the obvious intelligence required when writing in such a fashion. (Sigh*, it’s always the wit that does it for me. Nothing is sexier than a sarcastic, self-deprecating guy, à la Conan O’Brien. Pompadour not necessary.) One night, when it seemed right, after a long string of steady interaction, I privatePlurked him on a whim:

“Okay, I have to know. Are you single?”
“Haha. Cute. Yes, I am single.” He writes back.
“Is it insane to say that one could be attracted to a Plurker based on, well, Plurks?”
“Nothing is insane anymore, I don’t think.” he writes.

From there it goes on to more privatePlurks and then e-mail. With me on the Blackberry and him on an iPhone, we’ve got our push e-mail working overtime throughout the day. I’m getting a rental at Blockbuster and a fro yo from the store next door, he gets a mobile photo of the concoction I’ve made up and an update on my Rental of the Day. He’s taking a nighttime stroll on the boardwalk, I get a mobile photo of the peacefulness of the darkened sand landscape stretching out towards the open sea. We find out that we’ve got similar views when it comes to relationships, how they should work, et cetera. We’re refreshed, we’re incredulous, we’re surprised.

Around the same time, one of my best friends, “Nelle”, opens a Match.com account.

“I never thought you’d start on one of those sites,” I said, surprised. “You’re so nice and popular, I don’t think you have trouble meeting people.”
“Yeah, I don’t,” she says, “But it’s the kind of people that I meet that matters.”

I know she’s becoming frustrated with the lack of dateable guys in her neighborhood. Nelle is a sensitive, highly-evolved type, who oftentimes finds the behaviour of people her age, male and female, slightly juvenile. She would never settle for just any guy from just any bar on Saturday night. I tell my bestie about my e-dating. I don’t want her to feel like she’s the only one who has turned to the Information SuperHighway to find the connections that are lacking in our local circuits, because she isn’t.

“Have you met up with him yet?” she asks.
“Oh no, Nelle,” I say, “I can’t. He lives in New York.”
“Oh my God!” she says, “So, tell me about him.”

I tell her.

“Hah!” Nelle laughs triumphantly, “He’s so your type.”

Ha ha. Through this all, I did realize that I have a “type”, and he’s it. And she hasn’t even seen a photo yet. I rejoice in the fact that my bestie, who really knows me, sees the relevance and the connection that Mr. Brooklyn and I have.

Still, occasionally, logistical reality sets in.

“This is insane,” I think to myself. “I’m in Los Angeles, he’s in New York. How did Meg and Tom deal with it again? I need to go re-rent Sleepless in Seattle.”

But maybe it’s not insane. Maybe it would only be considered insane if we weren’t real people, really connecting; we are, and we do. I consult my favorite cousin, “Amette”.

“These days, it is way easier to get to know someone online,” she says, matter-of-factly, “There’s less of that self-imposed barrier that happens when you meet someone face-to-face, that comes from being scared about what the other thinks about you.

I agree with Amette, but it’s still a new and tenuous concept for me. Of course, my Blackberry dings just then. Yes, I’ve Got Mail, and it reads, quite simply:

“I hope you are it, because I am tired of dating.”

I am defeated. All preconceived notions of e-dating are thrown out the door.

Because no matter the delivery method, whether in-person or via e-mail, such a phrase, such a thought that you could be someone’s “it“–has the unadulterated power to make a heart beat that extra bah-bump of a beat.