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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.  

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Entries in Online Dating (16)


Rat vs. Vol(e)

First impressions can be deceiving.  I recently met a man online who was attractive, highly educated, in his early fifties and relatively successful.  He seemed like an excellent dating candidate.  We had two enjoyable phone conversations and agreed to meet for lunch.  Shortly after the second call, I received this email.  Needless to say, lunch was cancelled.

Dear Lennie

I am getting way ahead of myself and I'm not presuming this is going anywhere, but I thought I'd lay out a deal killer to save us both some time and agony. This is largely about relationships and intimacy.  Other topics like complete honesty and trust can be dealt with later. I shouldn't focus in on the sex stuff, probably doesn't make a good first impression, but at least you know where I’m coming from.

First: I am a Vol not a Rat. Male Rats have random sex, generally only once with a partner and then move on to another female rat, having many partners. Vols find a single partner, have sex nonstop with that partner and bond for life.  Now, I've slept with more than one woman and you are likely not a virgin, but my point is that even at this age, I take commitment and intimacy very seriously. 

Second:  I am 100% disease free and intend to stay that way. I have found herpes particularly prevalent and don't buy off on the Valtrex solution. Of course, there is much worse and many people don't even know they have something until they're tested.  Worse, not all tests are foolproof so it's possible something doesn't get picked up unless there's an outbreak.  So, before things really go anywhere, I insist my partner and I get blood tests and exchange the results.  It's a bit personal, but so is having sex.  If you have an STD, it's just not going to work.  It doesn't make you a bad person and maybe it makes me a jerk but I've dealt with this issue more than once and if I don't address it up front it can get nasty.

Third:  If and when a partner and I decide to be intimate, not to spoil the romance, but we talk a lot about it first. Understanding each other’s likes and dislikes, concerns, whatever and being comfortable about it makes it better. We just need to do it in a way that also gets us in the mood and not out of it.  That said, I am slow to move toward intimacy.  I have to really be sure, and be responsible about it, birth control, etc. I haven't gotten snipped yet because I'm not sure that I wouldn't want to try and start a family again.  I know it's reversible, but I'd rather wait and know if I'm finished or not.  If and when we both want to sleep with each other, we should be certain about it.  As a Vol, I'm much more like a woman regarding sex.  I enjoy the physical part only if there is a deep emotional connection. If I have that, I want sex all of the time, health permitting.  I have a very strong and healthy sex drive. However, if we're not ready or the connection isn't there, I have no interest or desire for sex.  Don't worry.  I make up for that apathy when I'm into it :-).  But if you don't have a similar drive, that will be a problem.

Finally, because this is going on too long, it will be AWESOME.  Physical fitness is important to me and taking care of my partner emotionally and physically is a top priority.  I am very comfortable with my sexuality as long as it isn't harmful or disrespectful to my partner.  I can confidently say that my partner will never have been more satisfied and I know I am making a bold statement.  Test me! :-)

All this said, I prefer the slow approach.  If one is going to be responsible and really find a new level of intimacy, one has to approach it the right way.  There's plenty of time for all of that, no need to rush.  But if and when we get there, WATCH OUT! 

I'm hoping we're both disease free but in this world you have to be extra careful.  If I've upset or offended you I apologize.  I don't mean to be an insensitive jerk.

With all sincerity,

(the Vol)

Where to start with what’s wrong with sending an email like this to someone you have never met…first, (pardon me for assuming his writing style of numbering points), it might land in the hands of a blogger.  Second, he should use spell-check and know how to spell vole, before classifying himself as one.  This would be a particularly effective use of his time if he intends to use this as a form email and send it to other prospective dates who may appreciate proper grammar.  Third, an email like this will never in a million years result in a date, so if you’re looking for opposite-sex repellant, this is it.  Rats versus Voles.  Really?  Did this man admittedly liken his gender to rats and voles?  Rat, vole, squirrel, chipmunk --- I don’t date any kind of rodent.  I’m particularly fond of how he assumes that when we have sex - way, way, way down the long boring road of talking about it to death - we will be having unprotected sex, given he addresses blood tests, birth control and the fact that he has no intentions of getting snipped (rather irrelevant if condoms are in play).  I am not talking the technicalities of sex with anyone ad nauseum.  If he doesn’t know what a woman wants at his age (hint: not an email like this), then no amount of talking is going to remedy the situation.  WATCH OUT, ladies!  Mr. Vol is AWESOME in bed.  He is physically fit.  Translation: he's gonna bang you senseless for hours. Oh, yay!  We all love that so much.  Funny how he doesn’t mean to be an insensitive jerk, and yet…this guy is a RAT, if I ever saw one.


Hands Up, Baby, Hands up…

Gimme your heart, gimme, gimme...(sound of record scratching). Here’s a fun fact for you: straight men have an unwritten rule that raising ones hands about ones shoulders is only permissible when shooting hoops or high-fiving someone on your team for scoring a point in any number of manly sports. However, dancing Club Med style or posing for a photograph with arms raised high is simply not appropriate hetero-male behavior.

Evidently, the man who sent me these photos either never got the memo on ‘hands up’ etiquette or seriously needs to reevaluate his sexuality. His image has been blacked out to spare him any more humiliation than he has already imposed upon himself by the taking and sharing of these photos. What are those poses, anyway? Showgirl 1 and Showgirl 3 from some topless dancing how-to manual in Las Vegas for Dummies? I’m particularly fond of the humming bird that has been photoshopped into the second shot. Everything about this man screams gay, from the spelling of his name to his shaved armpits – yes, shaved…unless he has some rare dermatological condition that renders his chest hairy but his underarms bald. This man believed we were soulmates because we both have cats. His are Siamese, which he spelled siamies – already a reason not to date him. I replied by politely saying I wasn’t feeling any chemistry, to which he responded as follows:

Someone like you, looking for someone with not only external, but internal depth and soul, should know that chemistry is not "felt" with just a picture. I bet you bucks that once you see me, you will melt. But, maybe you prefer to keep looking and looking, confused by all the choices, and, in the end, end up having looked forever and missing the right man. RECONSIDER and you will NOT BE SORRY.

Love love love,

(a very feminine name)

That sounds a little threatening to me…RECONSIDER and I will NOT BE SORRY. Does that mean if I don’t reconsider, I will be sorry? Should I be hiring a bodyguard? This hairy (except for the pits) Club Med enthusiast does look a little like a terrorist, but he also bears resemblance to PeeWee Herman – no offense to Paul Reubens, who is a fabulous actor. I particularly enjoyed his portrayal of Derek Foreal in the movie Blow. I’ll tell you one thing, it’ll be a warm day on the figure-skating rink before I go anywhere near this guy’s playhouse.

Shortly after receiving his first email, he sent me another:

Fate may have some things in store for us, through thick and thin, sky blue or black... but, some of it is up to us. Not all, I agree, but some. Simply walking away from what could be good is not who you are. You, I’M SURE, are not looking for serial dating. So here's a poem from me to you...And with that, ball's in your court.

Searching the heavens for you,

my one star

that shines in the darkest of the nights

with your blue radiating light

granting me an unflinching peace

and in return

receiving a reflection far brighter

and my adoring gaze upon your very soul

Yeesh! I can tell you one place, the balls aren’t. Poetry may be a lot of things, but it is not masculine and unless it’s a dirty limerick, it’s not likely to warm my heart. I’m sure some women disagree with my opinion and find poetry romantic.  God bless you if you’re into that kind of crap, but I think you’ll agree that poetry preempting a first date is a little creepy. This guy ain’t no Cyrano and there will be no e.e. cummings in his future. Forget the hands up, baby and man up, baby, man up! For the record, I have nothing against gay men, except when they think they are straight and try to hit on me.

Gentlemen, sometimes you just have to take “no” for an answer, so as not to humiliate yourself and end up the subject of one of my blogs. 





One of the many “personalized” dating services I belong to recently introduced me to a man who owns a well-known luxury resort and spa in Northern California’s wine country. That sounded promising – until I actually spoke with him.  He had an annoying, squeaky voice and was too busy laughing out loud at his endless lame jokes to listen to anything I had to say.  Clearly, his self-aggrandizing monologue was far more important than anything I could contribute to the conversation.  So, I sat back and listened to him brag about what great shape he was in and what a happy-go-lucky person he was.  He kept saying he was a really confident guy, a sure sign of being the exact opposite.  In Hamlet, Queen Gertrude says, “the lady doth protest too much,” which means overstating one’s attributes diminishes ones credibility. I wonder how confident he would be if someone told him he wasn’t laugh out loud funny. 

Mr. Confidence invited me to spend a weekend at his resort. He would fly me up, arrange for my accommodations, and since he was out to impress me with all his trappings, throw a spa day into the mix.  After receiving a few more boastful calls, I decided to reply by text to avoid talking to him.  I was finding his über-positive, glass half full, I’m so funny personality irritating and was becoming less and less interested in meeting him.  Then, I received this text:

It’s gonna b gr8.  But any wkend is a gr8 wkend in wine country…ha ha!  U'll want 2 stay as long as u can...LOL ;-) 

It’s bad enough people use all sorts of not-so-short abbreviations when texting, like gr8 which only saves two letters and a millisecond of time, but isn’t it up to the recipient to decide whether or not a text is “laugh out loud” funny?

He continued:  Do u ever call sum1… and talk on the phone, or do 1’s and 0’s do it 4 u?  lol…

1’s and 0’s? As far as I know, I wasn’t using the binary numeral system; I was simply texting. Sure the binary system is used by all modern computers, a cell phone being a computer, but is that really laugh out loud funny? I’m sure as hell not ROTFLMAO. Rule #567 about texting: never author a joke and follow it with LOL. That is the equivalent of a sitcom writing indicating in parentheses (applause) or (laughter), and unless you are a sitcom writer, you shouldn’t be cueing your audience.

Don’t forget 2 bring ur bathing suit, he texted.  I’m sure u don’t go anywhere w/o one.  LOL 

There it was again, the dreaded LOL (groan).  It was October, and I wondered where I was expected to go swimming.  Awesum hot tubs @ the resort, he continued, clearly wanting to get me as near to naked as possible on our first date weekend. It was about then that I decided to cancel our little rendezvous, blaming it on my hectic schedule when in fact, I just felt zero connection and knew meeting him would be a big waste of time. I could buy my own spa weekend, thank you very much!  I desperately wanted to cancel by text to eschew confrontation – and the sound of his grating, arrogant voice – but being a stickler for proper etiquette, I called him.  Thank God, I got his voicemail and was able to take the easy way out.  Moments later, I received a barrage of nasty texts in full, unabbreviated sentences. Apparently, he could write a proper English sentence when provoked. His attack included reference to my age, my being single and my having an over-inflated self-image.  I wonder if Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” was also playing on the stereo where he was at the time. I should introduce him to Skip; they’d make a great pair.  Seems to be a theme that these ersatz confident men are threatened by confident women. Clearly, the confident man scenario was as thin as the veneers on his teeth.  It’s a good thing I have a “personalized” dating service working for me. I’d be hard-pressed to find a winner like this guy on my own.  



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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