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Lennie's bookshelf: read

Choosing Civility: The Twenty-five Rules of Considerate Conduct Blow Me Blow Me Half Broke Horses The Glass Castle Steve Jobs

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Welcome to my blog on dating in Los Angeles.  I hope you find my real life stories and anecdotes on being smart, sexy and single in the City of Angels as amusing (and tragic) as I do.  If you enjoy reading my posts, please share this blog site with your friends, family, loved ones, and less loved ones.  

Please check out my Sex and the City style novel Blow Me—available now in e-book and paperback on my website and lulu.com. Also available in ebook on amazon.com and Google books.


Sexy Shoe Diaries - Part 17

Back by popular demand, it's Shoe Friday. I don't know whether it's my shoe collection or my feet you like checking out... but, whatever! These are my latest cork shoes by Prada. Perfect for all occasions... except maybe hiking in Runyon Canyon. 

If you like my shoes, please check out the rest of my blog. I have a new story coming out tomorrow (April 14th). And if you like what you read, you may also want to check out my Sex and The City style novel “Blow Me" available on Amazon.com or Barnes&Noble.com or on my author website.



Road to nowhere

My favorite poem has always been The Road Not Taken (see below) by Robert Frost. I always thought it meant that taking the more challenging path, the less traveled path, is what distinguished the traveler. And, being that I have always taken the less traveled path in life, I identified with this. I was the black sheep of my family. I was a rebel carving my own way in life. I even used the words Yellow Wood as part of my company name, out of respect for this poem.

Recently I did a little research and it appears that my previous interpretation of Robert Frost’s chef-d’ouvre is not correct. The point of the poem is in the line Though as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same which basically means it was no different than the other path. They were both equally worn. So it was only in my perception, and the perception of the traveler in Robert Frost’s poem, that the road was grassy and wanted wear 

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Skinny Bitch

Photo courtesy of Twiggy Lawson

You're not fat, you're neurotic—or possibly anorexic.

Mirror Mirror on the wall, who’s the skinniest weight-obsessed bitch of them all?  Not me. While I have been labeled a “Skinny Bitch” at times, I’m not and have never been weight obsessed. I’m fit—okay, extremely muscular—but not skinny. I eat carbs. I love to eat. And, knowing this, you likely hate me more. You hate me if I don’t eat. You hate me if I do. I can't win. Believe it or not, over the past 4 years I have gained 8.5% additional body fat, and I fall well within the average weight range for my body size and type. That was not always the case. There was a period of time in my teens and early twenties when I was a little heavier, and not so long ago I was actually twelve pounds lighter than I am. This was due to extreme stress and a death in the family. I looked like a heroin addict—not a Skinny Bitch. 

Women waste so much time and mental energy on judging our own and other women’s bodies (see this great article from CNN). Think of all the things we could accomplish, if we focused on other things. You think Hilary Clinton and Sarah Palin got so far in politics by obsessing about their weight? I can understand how a woman who is severely overweight might call herself fat, but when a thin woman labels herself as fat or obese, it’s nothing less than repulsive. Makes me want to vomit, but alas, I’m not bulimic!

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Crazy, crazy for loving you...

Popeye and Olive Oyl in A Date to Skate (1938).

When I was young, I used to love watching Popeye cartoons. Popeye was in love with Olive Oyl, and they had their pet "Eugene the Jeep" and a baby, Swee'Pea. It was all very romantic, even to a kid. But, I should have paid more attention to what Popeye said. Not just the "strong to the finish, cause I eat my spinach" song, but Popeye clearly stated over and over again, "I yam what I yam and you ain't gonna change me..."

It is said the definition of crazy is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. If that's the case, I'm a certifiable nut job. I've chased a writing career for 20 years, convinced every time that the next project will provide my big break. I've dated the same type of man over and over—a guy who is irresponsible with money and not driven to succeed—believing that if he had me behind him, supporting him emotionally and financially, he could (and would) be my Popeye.

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Man Days

To the men who read my blog: Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Valentine’s Day has come and gone and many of you are probably thinking, “Whew, dodged a bullet with that one.”  Yes, we women can be tough as nails when it comes to special occasions. As I mention in my video blog Three Dates A Man Should Never Forget, Valentine’s Day is rather important to us women.

You may think we celebrate being women every day by pampering ourselves with manicures and pedicures and by getting our hair done or by going shopping, but we are still big on marking special occasions and Valentine’s Day is one of them. Sure, it’s a Hallmark holiday, but it’s OUR Hallmark holiday. We know you hate it. You have to put on a tie (okay, so that’s not the case with all men), you have to plan a weekend away, buy jewelry, or at the very least take us to dinner and give us a few dozen roses and some chocolates. You may even have challenge your penmanship and write a card.

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Here Kitty, Kitty…

Match.com recently rated LA as one of the top ten cities for divorced women with children: making Los Angeles less of a City of Angeles and more a City of Cougars. I’m confused. Does that mean divorced with children is appealing to men? It seems most single men want nothing to do with divorced women—particularly if they have children. Where's the fun in that? Evidently for young men, there's lots of fun in these single Cougar MILFs. 

Lately a lot of 25-year old boys have been flirting with me. When I say flirting, I mean clearly wanting to get it on with me. At least these boys have the cohones to ask me out—more than I can say for 40-60 year old men who seem more accustomed to dialing a number and having a girl show up for an hour than following traditional dating etiquette. Nevertheless, I can’t seem to wrap my head around dating someone younger than me. I guess some people do it—have sex with people half their age—because they can. Maybe it comes from a fear of dying, a quest for eternal youth—like Dorian Gray—or a mere appreciation for beauty, but I think it comes from insecurity.

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