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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.

Entries in Dating at 40 (11)


Mini Me

Like Vegas, Los Angeles is a town full of slutty women wearing inappropriately short, inappropriately tight clothing. Cleavage is spilling out onto the sidewalks of Beverly Hills and it ain’t pretty. It’s like the entire city is one big strip club. And you know how it is at strip clubs. Why pay for a dance when you can enjoy the one your neighbor is getting for free?

Recently a date of mine asked me what I see for myself at age fifty. I replied, “more of the same, but better.”  I love life and I have no fear of aging. I believe that like a good wine, age is making me better—smoother, more balanced, with tannins that are less harsh. But enough wine references. Let’s just say I am no “Peter Pan” or the female equivalent. I plan to age gracefully without excessive plastic surgery or the insecurities that accompany such beauty obsessions. Evidently, that’s not what he meant when asking what I see for myself. He was asking about my attire and whether I’d still be wearing mini skirts.

Let me start by saying while I live in a city where the women are known for wearing ridiculously short, tight dresses that stop just below the water line and look like they’ve been spray-painted on their surgically enhanced figures, I am not one of them.

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Going The Distance

A friend of mine met her husband when she was traveling in the South of France. A few days later, she was introduced to his family and shortly thereafter she entered into a long distance relationship with him. Within a year, he had applied for a work visa and moved to Los Angeles. They have been together seven years and tied the knot three years ago. While her husband applies for permanent citizenship, she is becoming fluent in French, and they are planning on starting a family. Had my friend not ventured out of her comfort zone in both traveling and dating, she may still be single. I asked if either of them were concerned when they met about the distance and how it would impact their lives. Hell, yes. They knew there would be obstacles, but they would work them out. They could not ignore how perfect they were for each other and were willing to take the risk of having loved and lost than never having loved at all. Embracing love outside their immediate geographic zone worked for them and it has worked for others.

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Don’t Die Tink! He’s Just Another Peter Pan.

In 1983, pop psychologist Dan Kiley coined the term “Peter Pan Syndrome” in his book, Peter Pan Syndrome: Men Who Have Never Grown Up.  Not only have they never grown up, they have all migrated to Los Angeles – Never Never Land.  Kiley was ahead of his time, as the “Peter Pan Syndrome” appears to be on the rise.

A wannabe Hefner, Peter Pan is an aging Playboy in his mid-fifties that throws “lingerie” parties at his Venice beach house. His entire life revolves around training for Ironman competitions, sticking his butt cheek with a daily dose of HGH, and dating women 20-30 years younger than him. He has never been married, or has been married several times without duration, and says he may want to have children in a few years. Despite his desire to remain young forever, in a few years Peter Pan will be a grandpa. While men don’t lose their ability to reproduce the same way women do, there are health concerns (downs syndrome, for example) that increase drastically when a man reaches the age of 55. The Botox, mini facelift, and celebrity-style hair transplants by the notorious Dr. Walter Unger cannot disguise the fact that he is genetically old. Why is this man even considering having children, to pass on his superior personality traits?

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40 Love?

Forty love. In tennis, it means one person is on the verge of winning the game while the other is on the verge of losing - badly, I might add. On my recent visit to the Australian Open, I heard these words mumbled over and over by the referees of the matches I saw. It got me thinking about these two words - forty, love - and what they mean in the modern world of dating. In the Renaissance period, we would be dead of disease (consumption being my favorite as it encompassed pretty much everything) by the age of forty. But in this era, many of us are just beginning our lives or starting them over - post divorce, post children, post economic setbacks, post career challenges. 

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Skip to the loo, my darling...

Pure and simple, online dating sucks.  It is like going to war.  One needs a take no prisoners mentality.  You have to go in knowing what you want and get out fast before you're hit with a million IM requests from inappropriate suitors who stopped on your photo only long enough to determine that you're attractive, but never bothered to read your profile...perhaps they never learned to read.  Regardless, it says something about the average IQ of the men on these sites...on the evolution chart, they are neanderthals caught somewhere between ape and man, and often a little closer to ape.  If they could get away with it, they would probably club a woman over the head and drag her back to the cave.

I let my guard down the other week.  This guy named Skip was pestering me for a date, telling me that he too was a foodie and oenophile and that we had much in common, despite the fact that I saw nothing remotely appealing on his profile.  His photo was small, indistinguishable and, I realized the moment I laid eyes on him, a good five years out of date.  I initially agreed to a quick phone call, and while I was not impressed by his unfaltering Brooklyn accent (despite having lived in LA the greater portion of his 50 odd years of life), he was a good salesman and I succumbed to a brief date.  A drink at Thomas Keller's Bouchon Bistro...downstairs, not upstairs where I might run into someone I know.  I do this every once in a while.  I suffer through a miserable date to prove to myself that my instincts are indeed right, that I can, in fact, determine from a simple email exchange or a five minute phone conversation that someone is not right for me.  My friends seem to think my standards are too high, so I lowered them for Skip.  I said, okay, I won't be hasty in my judgment. Maybe I am not giving these men a chance to shine.  I gave Skip a rope and he hung himself.Photo: Patrick Demarchelier for Vanity Fair

I arrived at the bar looking intimidatingly hot in a skintight black dress and my Gucci Helena boots - the ones Angelina Jolie wore last summer in a Vanity Fair spread shot by Patrick Demarchelier (see photo). I went through great strides (pun intended) to get those boots on my birthday trip to Paris last July, so I was intent on wearing them on every occasion I could. I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I was going to be interested in Skip. Nevertheless, I wanted to look amazing.  Not for his benefit. For mine. It was my little way of saying "thank you for playing our game; this is what you don't win!"  To set the bar impossibly high, I also wore the 3 karat sapphire and diamond heart-shaped pendant my former lover gave me for my XX birthday not long ago. I wanted there to be no misunderstanding about the manner in which I aspire to be accustomed to. 

I poked my head in the bar and saw Skip sitting in a corner, nursing a glass of nondescript red wine, and I quickly ducked away.  He was not as he represented himself and looked like an unemployed, 60 year old actor who couldn't afford the entire bottle of wine. Shit. What's a girl to do?  I texted. "Are you there yet?"  He replied, "One thing you gotta know about me babe...I'm always on time."  Babe?  Did he just call me babe? The way I saw it, I had three options:  I could simply never show, I could fake an emergency and never reschedule, or I could do something bold - something I have never done before - I could go in there and end the date within 10 minutes or less. Why should I fake enthusiasm, waste calories on a glass of house wine and suffer through some lame attempt at trying to impress me.  I chose door number three.

I introduced myself to Skip and took a seat opposite him.  He complimented me on being "a hottie" and looking better than my photos.  I was speechless. Not from his compliments, but because I could not say the same about him. Always better to understate than overstate oneself in one's dating profile.  Skip offered to buy me a glass of generic house wine, but I declined and he immediately got his guard up sensing the date was going to be brief. After three to five minutes of chit-chat on how the whole online dating experience was going for each of us, I politely told him that I was not feeling much chemistry.  He said it felt like the date was over before it had even begun. Bingo! He was a sharp one, I'll give him that.  I complimented him on being in great shape and obviously taking good care of himself (oh, how I can lie when I want to), but told him I was looking for that certain spark that happens the minute you meet someone.  He began to attack.  How could I possibly know after five minutes.  I hadn't given him a chance.  Please.  He got five minutes of my time.  That's ten minutes more than he deserved!  Did I really need to defend myself to this bozo? I think not.  And, so I departed as gracefully as I arrived.  A moment later, I received this text:

Good luck.  You would not be right for me either.  Like you said, you find it interesting how guys seem to enjoy a date and don't stop to consider if there is reciprocity. Well let me tell you.  That was uncomfortable and you will probably never find "it".  You love yourself too much. I could never be with someone like that. Carly Simon's "Your so vain is on the music system here now :) how appropriate.

PS:  one more thing: you do look 40ish.  It is clear the biological clock is ticking. Bye peace out.

I left the punctuation as is, so you could appreciate the entire effect.  Little did he know I was just outside the restaurant texting a girlfriend on how I averted a disaster date, and I could hear what was on the music system.  It was not Carly Simon!  Do I want to be with a man who thinks I love myself too much?  Clearly he is accustomed to women with low self-esteem.  I am particularly fond of the you do look 40ish post script, because I told him I was almost forty, and admitted to being at peace with the fact that I probably won't have children because the biological clock is ticking loudly and the batteries are running low.  Did he think reiterating what I openly stated would somehow hurt me?  What hurt is that I wasted 10 minutes of my life and by the time I arrived at Angelini Osteria for dinner they had sold out of all the specials! 



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