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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.

Entries in Dating in Los Angeles (44)


Sandra Bullock’s Blind Side

Photo courtesy of Made In Hollywood TVA successful screenwriter friend of mine always says that I would make a great actress if only for the fact that I have large eyes, a large head, and a tiny body. In his opinion, most celebrities look like a cross between an alien and a Tim Burton character; their large heads (often filled with even larger egos) teetering on fragile, insecure spines. Take one look at Angelina Jolie’s orb-like eyes and gangly limbs and you might wonder if she fell to earth in a pod.

I find this amusing as I am often told I look like Sandra Bullock. Last year I was actually photographed as the scorned Sandra - anorexia thin from stress - by some tabloid paparazzi photographer. It was either a photo of me or America’s sweetheart has the same dress, sunglasses, shoes and watch, lunches as the same restaurant as I do and dropped 20 lbs within a week after she claimed her Oscar and dumped her husband.

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Wine and the Single Girl: Hit & Melisse

I am a single girl who loves wine and appreciates a good list. The first time I experienced Melisse in Santa Monica was on a date. The garish purple décor had me worried, but one look at the scruffy sommelier who vaguely resembles a younger, sexier Gerard Depardieu had me reassured. My immediate thought was: if the food and wine are anywhere near as French as this guy, we’re in for an amazing evening. A few minutes later, he walked over to our table and introduced himself in the thickest Michigan accent as Brian from Detroit. All ambiance was lost, but my confidence was immediately regained as I perused his impressive, well-balanced wine list. 

We started the evening with a glass of brut rosé Champagne. This allowed me time to peruse the list, while my date could peruse me.  After spending a good fifteen minutes jabbering with Brian about his unusual selection of Northern Rhone wines, I suddenly realized that I had become the a**hole who obsesses over the wine list and has esoteric, haughty conversations with the sommelier while completely ignoring his, or in this case her, dinner guest. I had become a pretentious wine geek; part of me was embarrassed while another part was proud of being able to speak this elite language of wine. Needless to say, my date had been left in the terroir dust.

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My First Video Blog, or Vlog?

I thought it was about time people got to know the woman behind the words, so I figured I'd say "hello" in a little video introduction. For those who are new to my blog, I post a story every Saturday morning, and so far, I'm keeping up with also posting on Wednesdays as well. My Saturday blogs are usually a dating horror story, and my Wednesday blogs are usually more advice oriented or heart-felt in nature.I hope you enjoy the new layout of my site.I wanted to convey Los Angeles and love - a tricky combination at the best of times - which is why I used red and some Los Angeles images.In the upcoming weeks, I'll start video blogging on a more regular basis, sharing some dating tips and providing insight into the LA dating scene.  


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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Catch and Release

Spill wine all over my coat and handbag and don't offer to pay for cleaning, complain about the price of the duck a half-dozen times, make several references to sex and your dick size, talk only about yourself and never inquire about my life, don’t offer to pay for my parking or even walk me to the valet and then text me at 4a.m. after I told you I hate it when people text me between the hours of 11p.m. and 8a.m. Do just one of these things and you’re not likely to get a second date, but all of them in one evening? I hit the jackpot – all this from a man near fifty: from a generation where most mothers stayed at home and raised their children. He has no excuse for being an asshole.  Why are people so completely lacking in social graces these days? Do I have to move to the Midwest, or perhaps Europe, to find a courteous man? 

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Salt of The Urth?

It took only a few months of living in Los Angeles to learn that many unemployed actors and writers spend their days at Urth Caffé, hopelessly hitting on women. Over the past decade of stopping for my morning coffee, I have watched the same faces grow older and more pathetic with time. It seems their dating strategy has failed.

The other night at Osteria Mozza, a man with an English accent approached me. He was divorced, lived in the Hollywood Hills (not in the Bird Streets, like DiCaprio) and worked in finance as a consultant – an entrepreneur of sorts. What’s that expression?  Entrepreneur is French for unemployed? I don’t know what vocations he was currently entre, but it was obvious he wanted to get entre the sheets avec moi. For those who didn’t study languages, that would be a French/English dictionary you’d require at this time. I like Brits. They are salt-of-the-earth people who know how to make a proper cup of tea, so I gave him my number in exchange for his card. He was going out of town until Tuesday and promised to be in touch upon his return.

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