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He Got Me

Sunday 6, 2008

I went with Erika and Jen to the Huntington Library and Gardens to celebrate a belated birthday for Ms. Erika. We walked around the gardens, gently meandering through the photography exhibit, the old mansion and portrait gallery, the rose garden, and then finally the Japanese garden.

It wasn't until I was carefully taking a picture of a lone painted koi that I felt a hand on my back and a voice asking if there was room for him in that picture.

"Yeah, just hold on a sec." I said. Meanwhile thinking to myself, 'Who is this creep and why won't he just take the picture and go away? I probably know him and can't place the voice.'

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[photo by Ms. Jen]

After I took the shot, I turned around and there was Dave. I was shocked. I wasn't expecting him until next week. "What are you doing here?" I asked, "How did you get here?"

"Wait. I'll answer all those questions, but you have to let me do this first."

Then I couldn't stop giggling and then I realized that I couldn't stop crying either. It's a strange feeling to be laughing and crying at the same time, but when you've been waiting for this moment from this person for over two years it's the only appropriate emotional response.

"I've been running through things to say in my head for the last hour, but none of it matters. I love you and you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. Will you marry me?"

He got down on one knee to take out the ring and I got down with him (I never liked the idea of your partner for life kneeling before you). I said yes and he put the ring on my finger, I held his face, kissed him, told him I loved him again, started crying again, and then we hugged.

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So that was how Dave managed to surprise me and how I became engaged to be married. His mom asked if I was happy with how it happened and I said that I only planned to get engaged once, so I'm glad it happened this way.

A big thanks to my sneaky friends - Jen (with her account of the event), Erika, Alicia, and Tony. You kept the secret all too well and I never saw it coming.

And Dave - I love you, you completely rose to the occasion, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you.

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The Voice of a Winner

Friday 28, 2006

Yesterday Hadashi, Megan and I were talking about our extreme radio crush on Ira Glass and how wonderfully geeky and smart he is, and how we just love listening to him talk.

Me: I'm so lucky. My boyfriend has this fantastic deep and resonate voice. I can just lay my head on his chest and feel his every word. (sigh)

Megan: That's nice.

Hadashi: I have you beat.

Me: Oh?

Hadashi: My husband has an accent. [smirk]

Me: Oh yes. An accent does beat them all, doesn't it?

(pause)

Me: My boyfriend says "Eh." Does that count?

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Shallow Is, As Shallow Does

Monday 27, 2006

On Sunday I had a guy with seemingly great romantic potential dump me after one date for perfectly shallow reasons, and then call me a couple days later in an attempt to convince me that he's really not the jerk I think he is. You can probably tell that this particular argument yielded no results in his favor.

On Friday I had another guy with absolutely zero romantic potential try to sleep with me for reasons with an equitable amount of depth. Is it just me, or am I on a bit of a streak? The one on Friday has a story that bears repeating....

I had just left a friend's birthday dinner around 10pm and considering that I was still a bit raw and teary from my Sunday encounter, had no desire to return home at such an early hour. I needed a drink. I needed tequila. So I called a former coworker, The Chin, who had been bugging me to check out a bar near his house since we stopped working together, and asked if he was doing anything. He was free, so I parked nearby and we walked to the bar together.

At the bar I had a margarita and a shot of my favorite and very hard to find reposado. I talked about my last disastrous working environment. He told me how things were going back at our former mutual place of business. I mentioned my excitement about my new job. The Chin went on about his girlfriend in Orange County. I related my most recent dating nightmare. He talked about his snowboarding weekend with his girlfriend, which resulted in her being diagnosed with a partially collapsed lung. I talked about my plans for the coming weekend with my friends on Saturday and a couple loads of laundry on Sunday, and he told me about how his girlfriend with the partially collapsed lung was driving up to spend the weekend with him.

Chin: Do you like that show, Entourage?

Me: I only caught a couple episodes, but it seems like a good show.

Chin: Do you want to come back to my place to watch it?

Me: (knowing that I could use some water and time to sober up) Sure. [Thinking - He's safe. He has a girlfriend.]

We went back to his place. I got some water and planted myself at the farthest end of the couch and he turned on the TV and took a seat on the same couch with a respectable amount of distance.

By the second episode I was uncomfortably aware of his arm on the back of the couch. By midway through the third he had made the mistake of moving his hand from the safety of the back of the couch to the back of my neck. I was having none of it.

I shot him a "what the f@#% do you think you're doing" look and he smiled sheepishly and backed off. I left soon after.

What kind of fool thinks I'm the kind of girl that would be a party to cheating? It's not like I was some slut he picked up in a bar. We worked together. He knows me and he should have known far better. Now he ruined any chance we have for a real friendship. Well done, Chin. Well done indeed.

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I Know Baby

Monday 20, 2006

Me: He went from laughing and giggling with me to complete shut down mode, Kimi. I don't think he's ever going to get past this.

Kimi: I'm sorry sweetheart.

Me: I don't deserve this, Kimi. I just don't deserve this.

Kimi: I know baby, but one day you'll find someone who knows enough not to care and then you'll be in a relationship and none of this will matter.

Me: I did the right thing. I know I should be able to take comfort in that, but I feel awful.

Kimi: I know baby.

Me: I just want to cry.

Kimi: Oh honey...

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Dirty Dick Hugger

Wednesday 25, 2006

I made a deal with Hadashi that I would blog this final episode of the Tales of Hollywood story, if she blogged one of her bad dating stories that made me collapse in laughter after an amazing sushi dinner, then I would tell the absolute last installment of the Hollywood series. So here goes....

You can read the back-story here, here, here, and here, but let me give you a little more build up to the situation.....

I wasn't exactly infatuated with Hollywood. He lived in LA, I lived in OC, and we could only see each other about once a week and I preferred it that way. Earlier that week I had interviewed for a job in LA and it looked like I was going to get it. The job was two blocks away from where Hollywood worked. This was when I knew he had to go. There was no way that I could see Hollywood more than once a week. Cold hearted, yes, but there is only so much inflated ego that I can take.

On our last date together, he wouldn't shut up about his brilliant idea to get a chauffer. I'm not kidding. Every other sentence was about how great it would be to have a chauffer. Oh yes, he definitely had to go. There was no way in Hell that I could date a guy with a chauffer and a swollen ego. It was just too much.

I spent the night (and yes, I slept with him) (Why? I hadn't had sex in over 6 months.) (6 months is a very long time.) and woke up early the next morning to meet some friends for lunch in San Juan Capistrano. This was when I finally saw his spacious 1920's apartment in the light of day.

I was getting dressed after taking a shower and he asked me how I liked my bathing experience. He had just installed a new showerhead and was looking for emphatic accolades.

Me: Eh, it was all right.

HW: Fine. All right. Okay. Why isn't anything "great" with you?

Me: You want to know why? Fine. Your place is disgusting. I know that you're really excited about getting a chauffer, but what you really need is a maid.
- There is mold growing all over your shower.
- You have no trashcan in your bathroom.
- There are spent toilet paper rolls all over your bathroom floor.
- There are wet dirty clothes in your bathtub.
- There is a pile of trash up to the ceiling in your mudroom.
- I'm not sure I even want to know when the last time you swept was.
- Is that.... is that a roach?

HW: No! It can't be.

Me: [I walk over to check it out] Okay, it's a dried up moth, but that still doesn't take away from my point. Your place is GROSS!

HW: All right. I'll get a maid.

I left not long after that, never to return.

I told a little bit of the story to Gary a few weeks later. Afterwards he complained about having to see a chick-flick with his girlfriend.

Me: The things people will do for regular sex.

Gary: Yeah. Some people won't even clean.

Bastard.

[Moral of the story - Guys, clean your place or hire a maid. Don't make us poor girls long to be doused in disinfectant after a sleepover.]

Your turn Hadashi.

Comments (1)

The Big Sleep

Tuesday 10, 2006

The Morning News had a link to an article that cited a disturbing trend in the sleeping habits of American couples. Happily married people sleeping in separate bedrooms. What is this? A 50's sitcom? Even Lucy and Ricky slept in the same bedroom.

This just doesn't sit well with me. Mostly because the last two guys I dated had issues with me sleeping over which really ticked me off. I enjoy the feeling of falling asleep in the arms of a man I care about. When I start dating a guy I look forward to that first amazingly passionate night when neither of us get any sleep and that is a good thing. I can't think of a better reason to be dog-tired at work. After all, sleeping over was the reason why caffeine was invented (Celestial Seasonings Devonshire English Breakfast has a steroid-like kick and is offered for free in most office kitchens).

I understand some of the reasons cited. Snoring (earplugs), tossing and turning (wrist and ankle cuffs are not just for bondage fantasies anymore), being able to occupy the entire bed (overrated, trust me), and yes, I can see how sharing the mattress with THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE may at some point become tedious and more annoying than emotionally satisfying, but I can't help but think that these couples are missing out on a lot of the intimacy experienced by a bed-sharing couple.

Who holds them when they come home extra late after finishing that major presentation at the office, which is due first thing the next morning? If they have a fight, isn't it just a little too easy for them to retire to their separate bedrooms and not work it out? If one of the partners is a bit miffed or ill at ease and not sure how to express it, how can the other one tell if that person isn't being a little extra restless while laying right next to them? Do urges felt in the middle of the night simply go unsatisfied?

I may have never been married, or been in many long-term relationships, but separate bedrooms stinks of separate lives to me. Personally, I hope I end up in a bed-sharing relationship, tossing and turning be damned.

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Dear Cupid

Tuesday 1, 2005

Let me start off by saying thanks for the last guy, he was great. Sorry I messed things up by being so insecure. I promise I'll do better next time.

Moving forward, we need to have a talk about the guys you've been sending my way recently. Men who can't stop talking about their Blackberries, think punk shows are scary, and bore me to the point that I almost fall asleep while talking on the phone are not good candidates for the open position of My Boyfriend. I require a delicate hybrid of mental and physical chemistry and that last one just didn't cut it. I know this is a tall order, but you've done it before and I have every confidence that you can do it again.

I also want to thank you for sending an ex-boyfriend out from New York specifically to cheer me up with a little retail therapy to get over the last ex. It's sweet, but it is more than a little unnerving to hear that our friendship with occasional extras over the past three years is one of the best relationships he's ever had. Here I was not even really considering it a relationship and he has me ranked up there with a girl he almost married. Does this mean I can only be taken in small doses or that we simply have vastly differing opinion of what exactly constitutes an intimate relationship? Or both?

I just hope he's not looking to get back together. It took a while, but I finally feel comfortable with the way things are between us - friends, and only friends.

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Silent Alarm

Friday 28, 2005

I have been dateless for too long. I can tell. How? I have started entertaining fantasies of a certain hot, brilliant, Boston musician who has gone far too long without a West Coast tour. Every time I start having a dry spell of the opposite sex, my thoughts always go back to him.

Is he still in that other band? Has he branched out? Good God Google brings up a ton of accurate hits for his name! I wonder if he ever thinks about me? Sure, that kiss in the parking lot was bad, but we were nervous. It happens.

I wonder if that number he gave me actually works? Should I use it? Long distance is free and I have plenty of minutes. I probably shouldn't. He'll think I'm some kind of crazed stalker and then going to his shows will be awkward. Which would suck because I love his band. I would have to linger in the back and pray he doesn't see me. I hate lingering in the back.

Maybe some guys were meant to stay crushes. How sad.

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The International Language

Thursday 20, 2005

Every day I wake up and thank the good Lord above for France. Without France, where would have learned to deep fry potatoes? Where would we get our fine perfumes and Hermes leather products? Where would the Eiffel Tower be? What would Mr. Armstrong be known for? What country would be looking at US foreign policy and going "WTF?" But mostly I'm just thankful for the French fries.

Now I have another reason to love French people (even if they think we're a bunch of extravagant baboons) (besides, a country which honors Jerry Lewis as a cultural icon should not throw stones) -


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What is Love Useful For?


(PS - If you're male and knew that I was referring to Better Off Dead, the greatest teen romantic comedy EVER, call me.)

(Thank you TMN)

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Songbook

Sunday 2, 2005

One of my favorite sections in McSweeney's is the Songbook collection. Inspired by Nick Hornby some time ago, writers submit stories about specific songs or artists that had a great deal of significance at certain points in their lives. I think it's time I did a bastardized version of my own. For me, right now, it's River by Joni Mitchell.

It's coming on Christmas, they're cutting down trees
Putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river I could skate away on....

The other night, while driving down the 101, I saw a house with a decorated tree outside and a window all aglow with the words, "Feliz Navidad." Call me old fashioned, but I still consider September to be way too early for Christmas. Say it with me people - No justice, no peace, and no Christmas before Thanksgiving!

It doesn't snow here and it stays pretty green
Gonna make a lot of money then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
I wish I had a river I could skate away on....

I was walking around Sunset Junction once and I made brief eye contact with a woman walking the opposite direction. Was that Joni Mitchell?, I thought. It couldn't be. There is no way Joni would be walking unaccompanied around a Silverlake street fair in a simple shift dress and a Camelback. Fans would have bombarded her. But man, she really did look like Joni.

I know she still lives in Silverlake. I guess she never quite made it out of town like she had planned.

He tried hard to help me and put me at ease
He loved me so naughty it made me weak in my knees
I wish I had a river I could skate away on....

At one point while he and I were dating, he was in Vegas and I was dropping off a friend at his house after an evening of fine dining and mediocre music, we had the sweetest series of text messages. Him telling me what a great time he was having, me making a few good-natured sarcastic remarks, and ending up telling each other how much we missed the other person. Momiji Man was there for the whole thing.

Me: This is weird. I've never dated a guy who was this openly smitten with me. I want to believe it, but I can't help thinking it's some kind of screwed up mind game.
Momiji: Just enjoy it, and don't fuck it up.
Me: Wow. You should give relationship advice professionally.

I'm so hard to handle, I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I lost the best baby that I ever had
I wish I had a river I could skate away on....

Here's the thing with being a chronic relationship short termer - You can blame your inability to maintain a serious relationship on the fact that you've been dating a bunch of jerks, but when you finally do date someone nice and worthwhile and that doesn't last very long either you have to start wondering what the hell is wrong with you. Especially when you notice a pattern of self-sabotage throughout the courtship.

I fucked up, he will not forgive me, and I don't blame him. I keep trying to rationalize it by saying that if I really mattered to him, then what I did would have been of little consequence, but then again why put up with someone else's BS when you don't have to?

Oh I wish I had a river so wide
Teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
'Cause I made my baby say goodbye....

Funny how rejection makes you want to get away from everything you know. You crave a vacation, a road trip, anything just to escape, because all those things you are trying to get away from are all the things that make you who you are and that was not good enough for someone you thought was wonderful and important. I cannot change who I am, but I am strong enough to adapt and adjust and make myself ready for the next great guy who has the audacity to sweep me off my feet.

I am a firm believer in the fact that therapy only works for people who really want to change. Right now there is a vast disconnect between the confident vocal woman I am when single and the insecure piece of spineless jell-o that I am when in a relationship. I want to reconcile that. I want to change, so I've decided to take advantage of one of my benefits from work and start going to therapy. I hope it helps before I ruin the next good thing that comes into my life.

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Devolution

Saturday 24, 2005

Kimi: Boys are stupid.

Me: Girls aren't much better.

Kimi: Humans are stupid.

Me: You're right. You never see animals doing anything idiotic, like blogging about their relationship problems.

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Another One Bites the Dust

Thursday 22, 2005

It's officially over with JDate Guy. I got the break-up via blow-off this week and I can't say I didn't see it coming. When you're establishing whether or not you and the person you are dating are seeing other people and your reasons as to why are as divergent as say... this:

Me: I don't want to see other people. Where am I going to find anything better than this?
Him: I don't have the time to see other people.

You start to wonder just how serious he is about you, and when you don't hear from him for a few days you begin to realize that he's not that serious about you at all.

I just finished my cleansing exercises. Well, more like "Deletion for Completion." I had saved all the e-mails and text messages he had sent me over the past month and a half. I jokingly referred to it as "evidence," but looking back, I'm not really sure what it was evidence of. Everything that had so much meaning a few weeks ago seems pretty devoid of any significance now. Delete. Delete. Delete.

On another note, just to complain, because I can. The break-up via blow-off has got to be the worst way to dump someone. A friend of mine once got dumped via text message, and I found that method far preferable to the blow-off. At least there wasn't days of worry and wondering as to what hell was going on.

The blow-off lacks spine and any kind of respect for the other person. You didn't even care enough to end it properly. Heck, I'm a girl and even I had the balls to call Hollywood and tell him that I didn't want to see him anymore. Why? Because it was the right thing to do.

Rant complete.

___________________________
Adendum 9/23/05:

This was probably the most painful lesson in non-reactionary behavior I have ever had. Apparently he never wanted to break up with me, he was just too bogged down with work to call. I just got an e-mail from him asking why he thought he was breaking up with me, why didn't I call to talk to him about what was going on, and why on earth did I blog about it? [because I'm an insecure nitwit who's dated so many trolls I don't know what descent male behavior even looks like]

Now, unless he's the absolute most forgiving person in the entire world, it really is over and I have no one to blame but myself.

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Guessing Game

Sunday 18, 2005

Me: Let's say you have a blog, and you've been dating a guy that you really like for roughly six weeks. What is the worst thing that could possibly happen?

Jen: He reads your blog.

Me: No. I can say from experience that your significant other reading your blog is not that bad.

Jen: Your coworkers read your blog.

Justin: He finds out about your side gig as a tranny whore and is actually kind of excited about it.

Me: Um, no, but you're right, that would be pretty bad.

Jen: So?

Me: His family, who only has a vague awareness of your existence, finds your blog.

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It Has Been Over a Week...

Monday 5, 2005

since my last confession, and you're probably dying to know what that last post was about. I had good reason; I was busy with work and having a social life (yes, a real social life, not one of those fake ones).

Okay, so here goes. I called JDate Guy after helping a friend of mine clean her house for the realtors coming the next day, for no specific reason, just to say "hi" and chat. We talked for a while about nothing important, but it was still a great conversation because there weren't any awkward pauses or moments of boredom. It was one of those phone calls I rarely have with a significant other that just made me feel good about the chemistry between him and I.

At the end, we were saying our goodbyes and he slipped up with, "Goodnight Sweetie. Uh, I mean Lauren! Goodnight Lauren!" He is now well aware of my hatred of pet names, but old habits die hard. I took this as an opportunity call him by a few sickeningly sweet terms of endearment, "Goodnight Pookie! Love ya, Pooh Bear!" I stopped myself halfway through that last exclamation, but not before the dreaded words of "Love ya" had already been uttered with misappropriated glee. I then got off the phone as quickly as I could and began to wonder how much time I had left to live.

I hadn't even been dating this guy for a month and I was already dropping the L-word. This was firm ground for a break-up because I had suddenly turned into a clingy psychopath in the span of one sentence. I think it was a new record - from sane to crazy in two words.

I didn't hear from him for a couple days after that, which is normal, JDate Guy gets very busy with work towards the end of the week and it's very rare that I hear from him during that time, but that didn't stop me from wanting to crawl the walls in anticipation waiting to hear if we were actually going to go out on Sunday or if I was going to get the break-up via blow-off. Because I just couldn't stand it anymore, but I couldn't allow myself to call him, I called my friend Kimi and told her what had happened.

Me: I didn't mean it! I swear I didn't mean it!
Kimi: Lauren, you're acting like you called his mother a whore.
Me: I dropped the L-word, Kimi! I can't be dropping the L-word now!
Kimi: [deep sigh] (because I was in a state deserving of a deep sigh) Lauren, you were joking. Of course you didn't mean it, and if he doesn't get that, then you're better off without him.
Me: I know, but it's like I'm trying to sabotage this. I finally met a guy who doesn't act like he's scared of me and I can't help but push it to see how much he can take before he actually does start to freak out on me.
Kimi: You're good like that.
Me: [deep sigh]

JDate Guy ended up calling me a few hours later, not to break-up with me, but to make plans for getting together the next day. He acted like nothing had happened and everything was normal, much to my infinite relief.

He still calls me "Sweetie" sometimes, but I'm getting used to it. That happens when you've suddenly lost the nerve to fight back. My spinal reconstruction is currently a work in progress.

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Have You Ever?

Thursday 25, 2005

Ever get so caught up in a joke that you end up saying something really, really bad, but you at least manage to stop yourself half way, only the really bad half that should have never even entered your brain was the half that came out.

Yeah, I've done that. I'm still losing sleep over it. Litterally.

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I Am Lauren's Imploding Insecurities

Tuesday 2, 2005

I know I should be writing about how wonderful BlogHer was, and how much fun I had, and all the cool people I met, and if I ever had an Indian name it would be Dances With MommyBloggers, but I've been sitting on this for the past week and a half and I need to get it out.

I had been dating The Elitist for about a month and was having trouble keeping my feelings on the slightly detached side because he was very effectively keeping me at arms length and I was becoming more and more frustrated by his barriers to intimacy.

Exhibit A:
After an hour or so of intimate relations we were laying together, basking in the afterglow when he suddenly became very concerned about the time.
Elitist: What time is it?
Me: 11:30, why? [jokingly] Is it time for me to leave?
Elitist: [seriously] Soon.
For a moment I was stunned.
Me: Are you kicking me out?
Elitist: Well, not yet.
Me: You're kicking me out?! Is this like Charlie Sheen and whores? I don't pay for the sex. I pay for them to leave.

At this point I can almost hear my mother telling me that this is precisely the treatment I deserve for hopping into bed with him so quickly. With my self-esteem about to hit record lows, The Elitist and I continued making hooker jokes until midnight when he determined it was time for me to leave.

He got up to see me out, but with hesitation. His neck and shoulder had stiffened and were causing him discomfort.
Me: Oh, I'd help you with that, but you're kicking me out.
Elitist: I'm never going hear the end of this, am I?
Me: Pretty much.

It was after this incident that I came to the conclusion that he didn't want me for a girlfriend and I wasn't sure how I felt about just being used for sex. I had never been able to keep my feelings separate from my sexual activity before, but I was willing to give it a try in this particular instance. I'm a modern woman, right?

That was a mistake.

Exhibit B:
He would only call me once a week, if that. He only wanted to see me once a week, and if we missed a weekend, then too bad.

He lived less than a mile away from me and wouldn't even come over for a booty call. Which was offered a total of twice. Here was a guy who didn't seem to want a serious relationship with me, but when I was offering sex without the pretense, he didn't want that either. Now I was confused. Repeatedly rejected, frustrated, and confused. A bad combination.

Exhibit C:
He didn't like to kiss me. Enough said.

I need to be fair here. There were a lot of good qualities as well. He was strikingly handsome, exceptionally bright, and one of the best lovers I've ever had (yes, even without the kissing (yes, I would be skeptical too)). We also had a great time together. Even when we were just sitting there talking about the most inane subjects, he always made it interesting.

All this left for a situation I didn't know quite what to do with. So when we had made plans to see each other one Saturday, after we had not seen each other for two weeks, and he had to reschedule for the next day at the last minute, I was a little put off. When Sunday came, and he called to tell me that he couldn't do dinner because he was with his parents and asked if we could just see a movie instead. I wanted to tell him to shove it, but I melted when I heard his voice and agreed that just a movie would be best. I hadn’t seen him in two weeks for no particular reason and all I get is a documentary about penguins?!

After the movie, he drove me home and parked the car outside my house. This was when I made the poor choice of unleashing my pent up Atomic Bomb of anger and neglect. Didn't he care that he hadn't seen me in two weeks? Didn't he even notice? Doesn't he want to come in so we can "make-up?"

Elitist: I can tell you're really mad about this, so I'm going to be proactive and not come in.
Me: [Proactive? Did he just use a business term on me?] Are you breaking up with me?
Elitist: Um, yeah.
Me: All right then. Bye.
[I move to get out of the car]
Elitist: Wait. Let's talk about this.
Me: If we're breaking up then I really don't see the point.
[I continue getting out of the car]
Elitist: But I really like you.
Me: [You have a funny way of showing it] I really like you too, but I want to be with someone who wants to talk to me more than once a week, who wants to see me more than once a week, and who doesn't keep me so damn scheduled.

He didn't have an answer for that one, so I closed the car door and marched myself inside without looking back.

At first I felt really good about it. I didn't cave. I didn't settle for a relationship that could prove emotionally unsatisfying. I handled the dumping like a pro. Then, after a day or so of distance, I began to have my doubts about how I dealt with the situation. He didn't really want to break up with me, but after he affirmed my question I just couldn't let it go. I bit into the words "break up" like a rabid pit bull and reacted the best way I knew how - walk away, don't ask questions, and don't look back.

I consulted a few of my more level headed friends about what happened and pretty much got the same answer - You pulled that BS after only dating him for a month? What were you thinking?

So, I screwed it up. Dysfunctional Single Girl triumphs again! I wish I could talk to him again and tell him that was sorry for losing my temper, but I can't. I'm too stubborn and far too proud. He's not much different. All I wanted was to see him more often and I completely failed that negotiation.

We MBAs call that a zero sum. Nobody wins.

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Con-Text

Wednesday 6, 2005

Back in April, I attended a very hedonistic bachelorette party and lived to tell the tale (not that the events which transpired will ever be recorded on this blog). During the course of activities, I met a guy who seemed nice, if not a little too preoccupied with his own coolness. We exchanged saliva and phone numbers, and I never really heard from him again. So, I deleted his contact information, like any smart girl should do unless there is a possibility of stalkage. In such cases keep the number for all eternity because you never know when that guy you blew off for good reasons wants to reminisce.

Two months later, I received a text message from someone not in my address book with a 617 area code with the following message:

We have unfinished business.

I knew that 617 is a Boston area code, because I've had a crush on Zack from the Kings of Nuthin' for the past two years and his number stored in my phone since their last West Coast tour (he's dreamy). But I knew it couldn't be him, because I have his number and he's far too much of a gentleman to leave me a message that ambiguous. So now I'm scared of either spammers or stalkers with Southie accents who didn't care much for my review of Mystic River.

After deleting the message and proceeding to give my attention to other matters, I suddenly realized that the texter was the guy from the bachelorette party and was a day late and more than a dollar short. I found his number on an old cell phone bill and texted him back letting him know that I thought our business was over and that two months was way too long to wait for a follow up call.

We must have texted back and forth at least ten times, before I got sick of it and wrote him to "Quit dicking around and call me." He never did.

Three weeks later I get another text message asking if I could go out two weeks from then. This was my response:

Learn to use the phone.

This was his response:

What's that?

I am officially over texted by the Boston Texter. He gets no date.

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Confession Time

Saturday 2, 2005

I'm not entirely sure what planet aligned with which star, but (not to jinx myself) within the span of a week I got offered a new job with a sweet raise, a new apartment (for a little more money than I was looking to pay, but utilities are included and I have my own bathroom), a time slot to ride on Saturdays with my old trainer back in LA, two horses in Norco to ride whenever I want, a Tom Jones concert (expensive but worth every penny (you better be reading this, Occulator)), and not one, but three dates with a guy* I actually happen to like.

Now, out of all of these incredible events, the ones with the most significance are the job offer and the dates. The importance of the job offer has been explained previously, but the guy and dates have not. This being the case, I have a confession to make - I rarely date and my sexual activity is limited to an annual event. I joke around about being a slut, but that's just my Jewish/Puritanical inheritance of guilt and the fact that the punch line to the story reads better that way. People should always read this blog with the knowledge that I have a natural gift for sarcasm, which is also a part of my Jewish inheritance. My freakishly thick yet carefully groomed eyebrows are a part of my Russian inheritance (Thanks Dad).

Being asked out by two different guys within the span of two months is as unheard of as my side view mirror being taken out by two different guys in the same amount of time. Yes, this also happened.

Sure, there was a time when I was going on at least one date a week, but those numbers were artificially influenced. I was on JDate. It was a truly pathetic time in my life, which I will hopefully never repeat.

As for the New Guy, I'm trying not to get carried away with the rush of newfound infatuation. I like him, I enjoy the time I spend with him, but it's still very early and I really don't know him all that well (yet, he does come with a fine reference, being the friend of well respected friend). Clearly I need to keep my wits about me with this one and analyze his actions objectively. So far, I'm thinking casual short termer, but I could be wrong.


*I need to eventually give him a nickname for the sake of continuity in the dialogue, but he hasn't earned one yet. So for now we'll just call him the New Guy.
Speaking of nicknames, Occulator came up with a fantastic new nickname for Hollywood - DickHugger. Man I wish I could go back in time and change all the Hollywood entries. DickHugger is brilliant and ultimately appropriate.

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Tales of Hollywood, 3

Wednesday 22, 2005

Same weekend, but now it's Sunday. My day to clean the house and get the small stuff done. Hollywood calls mid-day and asks what I'm doing that night.

This makes it three nights in a row! For me, that's unheard of. What kind of loser wants to see me three nights in a row? I just met this guy last Friday! I'm a little unnerved by his overwhelming attentions, but I'm not really doing anything that night, so I agree to make the drive to LA to revisit the scene of the crime - The Lava Lounge.

I walk in pretty much on time, and true to form, he's late and it's Karaoke Night. If he was thinking romance, he missed by miles.

After ruminating over the song list (and finding maybe two songs I thought were worth singing) and a couple drinks, the call of nature urged me towards the bathroom which I obliged due to lack of choice in the matter.

On the way, I was pulled aside by the woman who will forever be known to me as the Queen of the Rednecks.
Queenie: Hi! You're purty. My friend, Steve here, is having a horrible time tonight. Will you flirt with him?
Me: Um, thanks, but I'm kind of here with someone, so I really shouldn't.
(I have never been more grateful to be on a date in my life.)
Queenie: Oh, that's too bad. I really like you. You seem so down to earth. [She proceeds to introduce me to her redneck entourage] You're so purty and so down to earth.
Me: Well, I've got to use the facilities, so if you'll excuse me..

I was sitting with Hollywood, going over the song list when the Queen spotted me.
Queenie: Is this your boyfriend?
Me: No! We just started going out.
Queenie: Well, are you an item?
Me: Uh, yes. Yes, we're an "item." That will work.
Queenie: Well I'm really sorry about what I asked you to do back there. I didn't know you were with someone.

Hollywood, Queenie, and I shout back and forth at one another before I realize the MC is calling my name. It's my turn to sing "Venus" by Bananarama. Yes, I am fully aware of my lack of shame, there is no need to rub it in or dwell on the matter. So just keep reading.

Hollywood goes up next to sing "Roadhouse Blues" by the Doors with a rich gravelly voice and perfect execution. I've got to admit, the man can really work a microphone.

I turn over to soda water while Hollywood continues his binge of Jack over ice. To his credit, he doesn't get sloppy drunk, just blissfully over-buzzed.

Suddenly, Queenie is in front of us again. Only this time, thankfully, she is giving us her goodbyes and well wishes. Well, more like shouting them with brute force.
Queenie: And my niece, OotieCutiePie, is an actress and she's been in commercials and TV shows. She's going to be big! Watch out for her.
Me: Wow, that's great.
Queenie: I KNOW!!! Eleven years old. Can you imagine?
Obviously she has never seen an E! True Hollywood Story and doesn't realize that in five years, little precious OotieCutiePie is going to be arrested for selling her body in exchange for some low grade smack. I guess some people just need to learn the hard way.

Queenie then made a move to kiss me goodnight. Her intention was clearly not to hit my cheek, but to go straight for the lips. Thank goodness for sobriety! I turned my face at the last minute and avoided her wish for some hot lesbian action.
Then she went to kiss Hollywood goodbye. He was sitting behind me so I didn't see what happened, but after Queenie and her minions left, Hollywood leaned over and whispered, "She just tongue kissed me." Gross.

On the drive home, Hollywood started doing what most drunks do when it's time to sober up - deep introspective thinking out loud. My favorite.

Hollywood: Now that I have my own successful business, they can't fuck with me anymore.
Me: Who's "they?"
Hollywood: You know. My friends. My family.
Me: [Holy crap! What kind of friends and family does this guy have?]

Then there was a long stretch of silence as he pouted over the fact that I wouldn't let him smoke in my car.

Hollywood: So, do you want to come in. Maybe hang out and watch a movie?
Me: No.
[Extended, pondering pause.]
Hollywood: Are you mad at me?
Me: No, but last I checked you still have a girlfriend and I have no desire to be the other woman.
Hollywood: She's not my girlfriend and you wouldn't be the other woman!
Me: Yes, I would, and this is the same girl who just got done telling how much she needs you and that she loves you!
Hollywood: She only loves me because she's twenty three years old and I have a big dick!
Me: [Sudden coughing fit]
Hollywood: Oh, I made you choke.
Me: [Trust me. That should never be a source of pride.]

I drove him the rest of the way home and dropped him off outside of his apartment.
Hollywood: Are you sure you don't want to come in?
Me: Yes, I'm sure.
Hollywood: So, [gesturing back and forth between us] what are we going to do about this?
Me: I, am going to drive home. You, are going to go inside.
Hollywood: That's not what I meant. That's not what I meant.
Me: [He cannot be asking me about the status of our "relationship" when I just met him two days ago.] Tell you what. Ask me that when you sober up.
Hollywood: You're right. You're right.

He finally got out of my car and I made the long drive home. Christ, he was even too metro to drive. He may have been mightily impressed with the size of his own appendage, but I assumed I would find him sorely lacking in the balls department.

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Tales of Hollywood, 2

Tuesday 21, 2005

When Hollywood said he wanted o to see me again, I figured he meant at least a few days from then. Silly me. He called the next day and asked if I was doing anything that night. I found this behavior strange and unwarranted, but who am I to judge?

I called him when I got to his place.
Hollywood: You're on time.
Me: I am the on time machine.
Hollywood: I'm standing here naked. I've never dated a girl who was on time.

He met me outside in his bathrobe and apologized for the mess, saying that he was going to clean up before I arrived, but I was on time. I looked around at all the junk, the scrap paper laden counter tops, and the Christmas decorations hanging in the living room, and thought to myself, "There is no way this place could be tidied up in a matter of minutes. This guy is just a slob."

I watched a little Deadwood while he dressed and spied a VERY THICK book on his coffee table. The Guide to Getting It On. Can I fault him for learning? I think not.

Hollywood: Do these shoes look too metro with this outfit?
Me: You look fine.
Hollywood: Are you sure?
Me: Really. You look great. Can we go now?
[Crap. I'm the guy. I have already been given the male role and that's just not right.]

I may pride myself on being a low maintenance woman, but that doesn't mean I want to wear the pants in the relationship. I like men who are masculine and confident. Men who don't seek me to validate their egos, who don't pay more attention to their wardrobes than I do, who are well groomed but stop short of a manicure and highlights, who can scuff their hair, put on a crisp shirt and a sharp pair of shoes and be ready to go, and who don't make me late for everything.
I hate being late for anything. It stresses me out.

We're finally about to leave the apartment -
Hollywood: Are you sure I don't look to gay?
Me: No, you don't look too gay.
[pause]
Me: You look just gay enough.
Hollywood: [laughing] That's funny.
[Actually, I was kind of serious.]

We ended up going for Thai food and a movie. I realize this is very cliché, but I swear we made up for it. We ended up seeing Jet Li play a retard and kick serious ass in Unleashed. I love martial arts action flicks. You better not be judging me.

Again he wanted me to come inside and again I told him he needs to dump his girlfriend. Is it so hard to date one girl at a time?

Hollywood: Do you want to see me again?
Me: Yes. Now get out of the car.

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Tales of Hollywood, 1

Friday 17, 2005

I met Hollywood at a Blue Hawaiian's show back in May and we dated for a couple weeks after; which is why I couldn't post this earlier. I'm really easy to find on the Net, and if he read any of this while we were still going out I would have been really embarrassed.
Sorry for the delay, but my sense of decorum delayed my timely nature.

Anyways, I usually try to avoid dating people in what Los Angelinos refer to as "The Industry." This means I have elected to reduce my potential dating pool by a good three quarters. Sure, this hurts my odds tremendously, but I find the trade off to be worthwhile.

Hollywood was what I call an Almost-Reformed Actor. He used to be an actor/producer and now he has his own business, which has nothing to do with the entertainment industry, but he still retains the egomaniacal qualities inherent to most people in the performing arts.

The night we met, I drove him home after the show and we started talking about the band. He called himself their groupie and that he was using his former industry connections to get them higher profile gigs in the area.
Me: That's really nice of you. A lot of people wouldn't do that.
Hollywood: Yeah, a lot of people say that about me.
Me: [My! What a big ego you have. I like how you didn't even try to fake humility.]

He started asking questions about me - Where I'm from? Was I Jewish?...
Hollywood: Do you have a boyfriend?
Me: [That is a ridiculous question considering you just had your tongue down my throat.] No. [small pause] Do you have a girlfriend?
Hollywood: [Pregnant pause]
Me: [You have GOT to be kidding!!!][I let go of his hand]
Hollywood: I'm trying to break up with her, but she cries and tells me how much she loves me. What am I supposed to do?!
Me: [Dump her like a man.] Fine. Let me know when you break up with her.

In front of his place, we kissed good night and his cell phone rang. He answered it. Apparently some things can't just go to voicemail. Hollywood talks for a while in broken Italian, says his "Ciao Bellos" and returns his attention back to me.
Hollywood: That was Timayo.
Me: I don't think I know him.
Hollywood: Oh. He's (famous actress's) brother.
Me: [Yep, I'm pretty sure I don't know him.]

I turned down the offer of a tour of his apartment, but agreed to see him again. Maybe it was the fact that I haven't had a date in the last six months. Maybe deep down inside I really did like this guy. More likely, I sensed that this guy was epic blog material in the making.
The things I do for you people (and a good dinner out).

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Post Coital Questions NOT to Ask

Monday 13, 2005

"Do you like my cock?"

"Will you hug me?"

Yes, they were both asked by a man. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a man.

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