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.
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.
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Entries in Dating Tips (30)
Sadly, I’m a bit of an expert at online dating. Having navigated a variety of dating sites on and off over the past several years, I have seen everything – and I mean everything! Thanks for sharing, guys, but there are some things I’d rather you just leave to my imagination.
There are profiles that impress a woman and those that repel. To impress, your profile must stand apart from the others. It’s amazing how many guys put no effort into their profile. Hot tip: no effort into online profile translates for women to no effort into relationship. It’s a good idea to personalize your profile and not just check off the “likes” and “dislikes”. You don’t want to let your ‘lazy’ show. If you’re going to invest hours in surfing the sites looking for that special someone, start out by investing five minutes in writing something about yourself. Make sure it’s sincere, original and be sure to employ spell-check.
How many times have you gone on a date, assumed everything was going just great, and never gotten a second date? We know it happens, because we women make it happen. Women are really good at pretending we’re having a good time (it’s called being polite), when we’d really like to choke on a piece of steak and get rushed to the hospital than endure the rest of a bad date.
Gentlemen, if you don’t know why you’re not getting a second date, here’s a list of “dating don’ts” that might help you figure out where you’re going wrong.
1. Expect Your Date To Pay For Half: Leave “going Dutch” to the Dutch. It does not fly in the United States. A gentleman always pays. If you don’t like this rule, consider a sex change or moving to Amsterdam - or both.
2. Complain About The Price Of The Meal: If you can’t afford the meal, you can’t afford the girl. If she chose the restaurant and it’s too expensive for your taste that tells you something about your compatibility.
Long before The Secret, I had a boyfriend who made me a “vision board” by pasting photos, words and magazine clippings on a big piece of construction paper. It represented who I was and where I wanted to go in life. While this man never supported me financially (in fact, it was the other way around), he got bonus points for being emotionally supportive of my career. Without him, I would have never become a writer nor would I have moved to the United States.
He was the little voice that said “you can do this” as I wrote magazine articles for 50 cents a word and copy for medical brochures (yawn) and real estate brochures (more yawns). I would come home after a long day at my ‘paying gig’ of producing commercials, and he would have music playing, champagne to toast the sunset together, and a bubble bath drawn and lined with candles for me to unwind in while he prepared a gourmet dinner. For years I had the vision board on my wall, probably right until The Secret became popular. Then I tucked it away somewhere, a little embarrassed that it was now the thing to do.
One of my biggest pet peeves is an inappropriate act of intimacy on a first date. In my books – or blogs – groping, kissing and talking graphically about sex (or one’s virility) are top on the list of first date no-no’s and are only acceptable if the woman overtly leads things in that direction – in which case she is likely either drunk, a slut, or both.
I recently met a 53-year old divorced man from Del Mar who was willing to make the 2-hour drive up to Beverly Hills. Sadly, driving more than 20 minutes for a date is considered impressive by L.A. standards. Most men aren’t willing to drive across town. I have one friend who will only date women who reside within a half-hour driving zone from his home. Consider this: there are roughly 310 million people in the United States. If the odds of meeting your soul mate are one in a million, and you are looking only at members of the opposite sex, then you have roughly 155 chances of finding this person. The chances are slim to none that even one of those potential soul mates lives within a half-hour of you. Any man who is not willing to drive across town, or drive up from Orange County or San Diego, is an inconsiderate ass and will wind up a pathetic, single aging Playboy dating women half his age, like Charlie Sheen and his Two and a Half Men character Charlie Harper.
Mr. Del Mar was attractive: tall, intelligent, fit, and a stylish dresser, which earned him an A+ for accuracy of his online profile. But – there’s always a ‘but’ – he had a bit of a smooth-talking, snake-oil peddler quality to him, which reminded me of a used car salesman (albeit luxury pre-owned). Despite saying he was a foodie, he confessed to not liking wine and obviously didn’t know jack-shit about food given the generic chain restaurant he suggested as a meeting place. You know the type with plastic menus, factory-processed breadsticks, generic wines by the glass listed only as Cabernet, Merlot and Chardonnay, and a TV visible from all angles so one can follow the Clippers losing streak while chowing down on fried calamari. Once upon a time, men sat with their backs to the wall as a protective stance incase any unsavory types entered the restaurant, now they do it for optimum vantage point of the TV. Any restaurant with televised entertainment is not appropriate for a first date, or any date for that matter. I vetoed his choice in favor of E. Baldi on Canon Drive where I also ordered, since he didn’t know how to read “menu Italian”.
Before our wine arrived, my date put his hand on my thigh. Smooth. Too smooth. I’m not a rent-a-date. Keep your mitts to yourself! thought I, repositioning my chair to be further away. This SoCal Casanova was all for fast-tracking right past the unwritten third-date rule that runs rampant in this town. A rule that states that it’s uncool to make sexual advances before the third date, but is widely misinterpreted as expect to get laid by the third date. Before we finished our crudo appetizer, he leaned over and French kissed me. I’m sorry. Did I miss something here? I don’t recall saying that he could touch me, let alone cram his tongue down my throat. Talk about inappropriate first-date conduct. Honestly, gentlemen, that behavior would be the equivalent of me taking a credit card out of my date’s wallet and buying a pair of Jimmy Choos between dinner and dessert. While there are plenty of women in this town who would think nothing of doing that on a first date, I’m sure Mr. Del Mar would not take kindly to that kind of behavior given he had already questioned why all women covet expensive designer shoes. So we look great with our legs in the air, dumb ass! And since that’s for your benefit, you should buy the damn shoes - and the lingerie.
I don’t care how attractive, successful, or fit a man is, he has no right to touch me, let alone swap spit with me, on a first date. How about reading my signals – which were nothing like Ooh, baby…grope me at the table and then bang me silly in the restaurant bathroom before dessert. I know all men are looking for a little tongue-down-throat, hand-down-pant action, but can they at least try to wait till after the entrée is cleared before helping themselves to dessert?
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.
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!