Intuition Only Works When You Listen To It

Remind me to listen to my natural instincts when I feel like I don't want to go out with someone.

Guierrmo and I met up at The Yardhouse after he got off work (meaning he was still in his little Verizon get-up, an ill-fitting pair of trousers and a button up shirt and clip-on tie combo, and amazingly still a nametag... how sexy) where I found him sitting at the bar drinking the last third of a dual-colored beer. He smiled at me but shyly didn't stand to hug me. I asked what he was drinking. I'm assuming he thought I was born yesterday and thought I would be impressed by the name "snakebite." I replied, "I didn't take you for the type to drink pear cider in a bar with the world's largest selection of draft beer," to which he replied with an insincere/embarrassed laugh, motioned to the bartender, and sheepishly ordered a black and tan. I ordered an Anchor Steam. Off to a good start I see.

He didn't have much to say but kept smiling and staring through increasingly glazed eyes, which only made the situation more awkward. But as we all know, alcohol makes anyone look cuter and seem more interesting, so after a couple more pints I started having a pretty good time. Beer tends to bring out the flirtier side of me and this wasn't any exception.

Further into the conversation he mentioned he had a formal coming up and was wondering if I'd go with him. Uh oh.

"You're in a frat??"

"No, I'm in a fraternity. 'Frat' is disrespectful."

Here we go.

As if being a sleazy, pushy cell phone salesman wasn't enough, on top of a totally over-available desperate 22 year old boy, he belongs to a frat. Yep. A frat. I made a point to refer to it as a "frat" at every available opportunity. Why not? This was only going to go south. But not in the cool sexual way. He asked if I wanted to see where he lived. How could I resist?

We took his car, and upon starting the ignition, found that song, "Beautiful" was on. (You know the one... "You're way too beautiful girl, thats why it would never work, you've got me suicidal, suicidal when you say its over...") He said, "Oh look your song's on!" Fabulous.

When we finally got to his 'hood, which turned out to be about 35 minutes away (great), we parked and walked into the scummiest and most run down living situation.... each piece of furniture was being held together with duct tape, there were beer cans strewn generously over every part of the house, holes upon holes punched into the walls, strange colors of unknown matter smeared across the walls, doors broken off hinges... and I'll spare you the details of the kitchen and bathrooms. I held my breath 'til we got out to the backyard, where there was a party happening that he hadn't been aware of. Hot dogs were being soaked in Bud Light (which everyone was drinking as well) and barbequed. I was introduced to the few guys who stayed home to have about 30 girls over, none of which I was introduced to.

One in particular started shooting me mad-dog glares since she saw me walk out with Guierrmo, and I'm assuming they've either been hooking up or she wants to. After a few more beers she walked up to me, standing right next to him, and slurred a speech about how he's a "scammer." What a scammer is I couldn't tell you, but I got the feeling it wasn't good. She told me I should stay away from him. Not a problem!

I finally convinced him that my headache was bad enough to warrant a trip back to The Yardhouse where my car was parked (case and point.... never depend on the guy to get you somewhere, it's so easy to get stuck) and we drove back in mostly silence, though every few minutes he asked what was wrong, and said he got the feeling I didn't like him very much. I didn't respond with anything but, "I'm just tired."

We got back to my car, and he leaned in for a kiss. I gave him my cheek and said I'd call him. I won't.

Moral of the story: If a guy has to put that much effort into talking you into hanging out with him, you probably shouldn't. Go with your gut.

JBF=Victory, according to VO5

Messing around on the internet today has led me to an amazing discovery, and that discovery is a game called The Ultimate Flirting Championship.

This is obviously right up my alley so I signed up immediately. Its an advertisement/game type thing from that VO5 hair product company where you make an avatar of yourself (or at least choose a face and a hair color and style you are amused by), pick a name, and are matched up with two members of the opposite sex (sorry to my gay friends out there) who are now contestants in your own personal dating show, vying for your affections.


You are asked to pick your 5 favorite questions out of 15, and the contestants have 30 seconds to type in their responses. After seeing both of them you pick your favorite answer and the game keeps tally so you can see which guy has the best answers at the end. You pick who you like the best and hearts erupt out of your heads and your hairstyles go from coiffed to (my personal favorite part of the whole sitch) "Victory Hair."

Yes, Victory Hair. Not JBF (or just-been-fucked for those of you who live under rocks or are members of extra conservative religious groups).... because as we all know, if you've just had your world rocked, you're obviously victorious, right?

Sheer genius.

I guess it is the network.

These days, cellphone technology evolves so quickly that a girl's gotta update her phone on a very regular basis if she wants to keep up with what's hot. And considering my entire life pretty much revolves around this wallet-sized piece of technology, I'm picky.

After doing a tiny bit of research and keeping my eye out for the phones I've been seeing my friends getting, and since I have Verizon and not AT&T (sorry iPhoners), I decided on a Palm Treo.

My New-Every-Two deal was up so I headed into the store to get my new pride and joy, thinking I was going to get a hefty deal on it. No such luck. I ended up having to talk to this guy, Guierrmo (who, I'll admit, is kind of a hottie.... but he needs to pick a new name for suresies), for like an hour and a half to try to work out something better (even a tech-savvy chick like myself doesn't feel like shelling out a whole $600 for something I'm going to drop within a month), since I guess its one of their most expensive models.

Not to toot my own horn too extravagantly, but I can be quite the charmer when I want to be, and I definitely wanted to be. It was clear that this Guierrmo guy had taken a liking to me, with all the unabashed flirting and staring he was doing, and I knew all I had to do was be cute and bat my eyelashes a little to get my way.

I ended up with a greatly discounted service plan and an extra $150 off the phone, plus the usual discount for the new 2-year contract. But that wasn't all. When I got home and started trying to figure out how to use my new gadget, I received a text message.

"Hi, this is Guierrmo with Verizon Wireless.
Feel free to text or call me if you have
any questions about your new phone."

Apparently he'd sneakily written down my cell number while entering it into the computer to update my contract. It was a pretty normal-seeming message, and I had to wonder if maybe I was overreacting... maybe this is a new standard of customer service? As they say... "It's the Network." I wrote back. I had to. Maybe I was a little bit of a smart-ass, but he didn't seem to mind.

"Wow.... pretty personalized customer
service you guys offer huh?"

To which he replied:

"Yeah, it's the network. ;-)"

So that settled it. He was definitely flirting. Customer service doesn't involve wink emoticons, if you ask me.

A few days went by and I did have a question about my phone that I couldn't find anywhere in the instruction manual, so I texted him and asked him why it kept turning the word "anything" into "thanksgiving" when I was sending text messages.

Bad idea. Then came an onslaught (we're talking.... 5 days worth) of texts and phone calls (just voicemails... you didn't think I'd answer, did you?) asking me to hang out, and telling me how awesome and hot he thinks I am, and how he hopes I'm having a great holiday and how I'm his Christmas wish. Wow. Has he ever heard of playing hard to get? I could teach him a thing or two. The Art of Seduction (the book and the philosophy) is all about not being very available... he should read it.

Hate to say it, boys and girls, but my arm's pretty twistable....

We're going out tonight.

Deck the Halls with Boys O'Plenty

I can't even begin to tell you how crazy my life has been the past week or so! I have been so busy, I'm sorry I haven't been able to keep up on my blog here... Thank you for all the emails, I promise I will be back up and running after the holidays have passed.

I can't wait to catch you all up on all the new happenings!

Merry Kissmas!!

Muah. <3

Mol-e Mol-e Mol-e!

Remember that scene in Austin Powers.... Mole mole mole mole.....

Now picture that character, except change a few details. The mole is actually on his inner eyelid, obstructing his ability to fully open one of his eyes. And his eyebrows are about 8 times thicker.

Well... take that image in your head and imagine me with him, on the date I went on last night.

Yeah. I know. Let's call him Sean.

So it all started when he responded to a Craigslist ad I posted looking for new friends in my area. He sent me a link to his Facebook profile where I found that in college, he lived with this guy Nick who I had a ridiculous crush on in high school, which was a totally random coincidence. All of his pictures were from a pretty good distance and he looked like he was pretty cute.

We played phone tag for awhile and he totally made me laugh, which is a huge plus in my book. We finally found a night we were both free and decided to have dinner. He called me on the way home from the office (he's an attorney... hot!) and said we could go anywhere I wanted... I suggested BJ's Pizza (my faaaavorite pizza ever), which he sounded excited about.

We met there (thank GOD.... great for easy get-aways when necessary) and when I walked into the waiting area I found him there: thick ass brows, obscene mole, college sweatshirt, cargo shorts, flip flops, hasn't shaved in days - the whole enchilada. Don't get me wrong... I'm all for being casual, but on a first date? At night? Out to dinner? With a female? Were you raised by wolves?

We sat there, waiting for a table... with me wondering if I should feign illness, and then him talking about how much he dislikes BJ's (the restaurant, not the felatio, duh!) and how he'd had lunch there today and had no idea what he was going to order because he doesn't like anything on the menu... and then me wondering if I should say I forgot to lock my car and run out the door, and then some more complaints from him. And I just so happen to be very turned off by negativity. And large facial moles.

To make a long and painful story short, he spent the whole time asking me lame questions and then hardly pretending to listen to the answer while he watched some sports game on the screen behind my head, complaining about how boring his job is, talking about how much he hates to be touched (hugs included) and mostly insisting that I was bored. On the other hand, I spent the whole time eating my favorite pizza (spinach & artichoke... try it), chugging pomegranate margaritas, and checking out the hot waiters... which he didn't even notice, not once. Other than him being there, I actually had a pretty nice evening.

Finally after the 8th time of him saying, "you're bored. You're so bored. Are you bored? You seem bored," I snapped back, "if I am bored, saying that is not going to help you any. Trust me." That shut him up about it. He went back to complaining.

Eventually the bill came, but he made no move to pay it. There was no way I was going to consider even paying my share, since this is the worst date I've been on in a long ass time. The bill sat there for literally 20 minutes while I secretly stared daggers at him and his stupid planet-sized eyelid mole and his negative attitude and waited for him to pay it. The waitress came by to pick up the check and he had to tell her it wasn't taken care of yet, and he STILL didn't do anything with it. Did he expect me to pay??

"Thank you SO much for dinner!" I gushed.

He slipped his card into the slot and I smiled because I was satisfied and tipsy. I counted down the minutes 'til the check returned for him to sign and he finished his stupid beer and I could take off.

We walked out to the parking lot, and I was feeling so thankful that I wouldn't even have to hug him considering how he absolutely can't stand being touched. We got to the driveway between the spots we parked in and I said, "don't worry, I won't hug you," and he said, "oh shut up, come here," and gave me this shockingly big, long, and firm hug that I was not expecting nor excited about. I pulled away, said another quick thanks-for-dinner and rushed to my car, jumped in, and sped off.

Minutes later, I get a text message. It's him.

"No goodnight kiss?"

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Ode to the Gay Boy

Spending time in West Hollywood is a reminder that I would be so happy as a gay male.

My recent trips to the area have involved lots of the following:

Big False Lashes

Lots of Dramatic Makeup

Absolut Mandarin and Tonics

....and....
....drum roll please....


10 Million+ Excrutiatingly Attractive Gay Men


What torture.

Don't get me wrong, boys and girls. I'm not really complaining.

I love love LOVE going out. I'm extremely social. I love getting dressed up. I love introducing myself to strangers, and making new friends. I love drinking. I love being with my friends.

But part of going out for me a lot of the time is meeting new dating prospects. And obviously, that's not an option in a sea of knock-out gay hotties. I end up getting tipsy, and after scoping out the scene, brutally crushing on 90% of the surrounding eye candy... but not a single one is into my species. It's so sad!

I've come to terms with it. I totally love gay guys. As it is, I've always gotten along the best with guys, and have about 4 guy friends to every 1 girl friend. I have always had a large number of gay guys in my friend arsenal. Why? They're the best. Here, an ode to the gay boys.

Here's to you, gay boys!
For your stylish fashion sense
and your snarky wit,
that I am never on the losing end of.
For more great and honest advice
than even my girlfriends can give.
You are always there-
as a shoulder to whine on,
to trash the bitches with,
to be the hottest eye candy I'll see all night,
to borrow lip gloss from,
and to give the most heartfelt compliments when I'm looking fly,
and also when I most need them.
(No one can be a 10 EVERY night,
but you know best when to pretend.)

We both know we'll never be romantic,
but you're the Will to my Grace,
the Ken Paves to my Jessica,
the Chris McMillan to my Jennifer,
my own personal queer eyes
when I'm in need of advice,
and for that I am forever greatful.

Thank you, gay boys-
For being beautiful, entertaining,
sexy, fierce,
and altogether
absolutely fabulous.

Relics from the Past

It's funny to look at where I am now, and look at where I've come from, and realize that since the third grade, nothing has changed.

How many frogs has a girl got to kiss in her life to find a prince?


I could literally sit here and list every guy I've ever had some insurmountable crush on, but since you probably don't have 45 minutes to read a list of names you've never heard, I'll save you the time and tell you only the very best.

Timmy Slevin - 3rd/4th Grade

Fig. A - Cursive Practice, circa 1994

Jason Covella - 3rd-6th Grade
He was a year younger than myself, but that didn't stop my daydreamed love affair with the strawberry blond hottie in the classroom next door. At one point the school was putting on a play, "The Will," and knowing he was going to get the male lead, I spent the week before auditions praying to the love gods that I would get the female lead, which he would "kiss" at the end. Unfortunately I got the part of the villian (a much more substantial role, but nothing could console me at that point) and was painfully jealous of this girl Tracy for too long of a time.
8th grade rolled around and I was throwing the Birthday party to end all Birthday parties. At Party Time my mom and I were ordering some kind of balloon-made archway masterpiece from the woman behind the counter, who asked how old I was turning. "Oh, you're my son's age. You might know him." "What's his name?" "Jason Covella." I almost dropped dead.
I haven't seen him since.

Huey Rufenaught - 7th-10th Grade
The first day of Junior High was a stressful one, but upon sitting down in my health class at a table with two very cute boys (A. Huey and B. Nick Rossi [more on him in a minute]) life seemed to be ok again. As it turned out, our table mates were our new groups for all the projects in the upcoming semester, and all the better for me. Huey, a Vietnamese/Swiss wrestling stud, had me at "Hello." I spent every morning waiting impatiently for that class. Who knew health would be so fun? And likewise, who had any idea I was such a wrestling fan? I went to every match I could manage, even through my high school years. Fast forward to the day in 9th grade when the Marines hung out in our quad trying to show all the boys why it was cool to be in the military, and Huey kicked every other guy's ass at both pull-ups and sit-ups. And did so without his shirt on. I was unable to move, let alone look away.

Nick Rossi - 7th Grade
Nick and Huey became friends, and although Huey had some magical essence about him, Nick was adorable and for me a lot less intimidating. He and I talked and flirted endlessly in our Literature class 5th period, and none of my friends could understand how he could be so nice to me when I guess he was sort of a big jerk otherwise. We developed a very innocent flirtation relation, which involved me wearing his sweatshirt. Totes the big deal at the time. Come summer he went away to a camp for a few months but wrote me a few sweet postcards and signed them "Love, Nick". When 8th grade rolled around, we hadn't seen each other in months and there was a flirtation no more. Sigh.

Josh Pometta -10th/11th Grade
After my freshman year I transferred to a different high school in the area, where I found Josh. He was kind of a bad-ass, which is totally not my type, but I found him excruciatingly sexy for some reason. Word quickly got around, and his girlfriend Jessica (who happened to the the captain of the cheerleading squad) was all but excited about it. He loved the attention, apparently, and went out of his way to flirt and hang out with me at every available opportunity, which I absolutely ate up. We always had at least a couple classes together which made school that much more enjoyable, 'til I ended up in a history class with his girlfriend. She confronted me in class one day over a little hot-tub get together I was having that night, which she'd found out he'd RSVPed to. I couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't more mad at him that he had decided to go.
In 11th grade my best friend and I were sitting around joking about this ridiculous crush I had and decided, just as a funny stupid idea, to make a little shrine thing. I bought his football pin (a fundraiser where they take a photo of each of the players and make each one his own pins, which they sell for a few bucks a piece) and put it in there, along with a few pictures of the two of us from different times in class, at parties, etc. He'd left his t-shirt at my house the night of the hot-tub party which I put in there too, along with a necklace he had broken in class and had given to me to fix.
Eventually, when said best friend started dating him (I've never gotten over that, by the way. Thanks a lot.) I threw all that shit in a bag and left it on her doorstep in a fit of jealousy and resentment. Oh high school... those were the good ol' days.

After crushes upon crushes which were nothing but fruitless and frustrating, I finally had my first boyfriend just before I graduated from high school. It was the same old first relationship, I didn't really know what I was doing, but I liked him, he liked me, and we spent every second of time that we had together until we were so tired of being together that we broke up, but kept seeing each other every so often just to help dig that knife in a little further. I moved away to college and he'd come to visit every so often, we would hook up, I would remember why I had grown tired of him, we would fight, and he would leave.
I finally got over him the day I met the next crush, who, to this day, is still the most intense and dramatic crush I have ever lived to tell about.

Rob K. - Freshman year of college
We met online and it turned out he lived a few blocks from my dorm. I was only a little freshman, but he was a senior, with the same major as me, in the honors program, and on the rugby team. He was funny and charming, and in my opinion a total stud, and we had instant chemistry. Our first date, coffee, was supposed to be short and sweet but ended up lasting 4 hours. We realized we wanted to keep hanging out, so we drove to the top of a mountain and watched a meteor shower. I was done for.
The next month and a half were the most magical I had had in my 18 years. Thanksgiving weekend away from him was tediously long and we spent hours on the phone recounting how much we missed each other and how we wished we could fly to one another's houses. When we got back to school I couldn't have been happier to see him, but all of a sudden he felt like he couldn't be in a relationship because he'd be moving after he graduated. In JUNE. I was crushed. We didn't talk for a couple months and I felt I had moved on. After Christmas break it was his roommate's birthday party, and I decided to make an appearance. He spent the whole time staring at me, flirting with me, hugging me, and finally telling me how much he missed me. That's where it all went to shit.
I spent the next 3-4 months staying at his house almost every night, after he'd go out and get drunk. I thought I was completely head over heels in love with him and that he felt the same way. It was one sided.
One night I went over to hang out and a group of girls showed up. He disappeared into his room with one of them, all the other girls left, and I started to feel really odd sitting there in the living room with his roommates, wondering what was going on. When I got up to see, the door was closed and locked, and inside was my purse and dorm room key.
I sobbed violently for the next hour while his roommates banged on his door, tried picking his lock, and tried to climb through his window to get my purse for me. They yelled to him and called his phone and he didn't answer. He finally opened the door a crack and threw my purse out.
I spent the next 9 months on a steady stream of Vicodin from the moment I woke up until I went to bed; otherwise I couldn't stop crying. I sent him poems I wrote, lyrics to songs, music videos, more poems, more songs, letters, entries in my diary, pictures of us.... and whatever totally shameful things you should never EVER send someone who broke your heart. I would drive by his house to see if his car was there. I would look at his Myspace. Eventually I started sleeping with whoever wanted me, including his roommate, with the hope that a night of attention from some other guy would fill up the empty space I had in the pit of my stomach. It didn't.
Two nights before he was going to move to Washington D.C., he called me. I thought I was going to throw up. My heart was racing. He said he missed me, that he wanted to come over and see me before he left. He came over around 1 in the morning, completely shitfaced. He kept trying to have sex with me. I wanted to snuggle. He got angry and picked me up off my bed and threw me against the wall. I tried to get back on and he kept pushing me to the floor. I tried to stand up and he kicked me in the ribs. Finally he noticed I was bawling and let me back on and passed out. I woke up, covered in bruises, to find him scrambling to get dressed. "I have no idea how I got here. I have to go."
That was the last day I saw him, the last day I spoke to him, and the last day I ever missed him.

Sophomore/Junior Year of College
These were tough years for me because I always lived with a group of guys, anywhere from 5-14. And the guys in the town where I lived all looked like they should be modeling for Abercrombie (which a few of them actually did). I ended up hooking up with a few of them, others I would profess my love to and they would say it would never work because we lived together but would flirt to death with me, others had girlfriends... but in the end nothing of substance ever came out of those exchanges. Those two years were kind of a blur but I'm sure I was having a great time anyway.

Since then I've stuck with more normal relationships with guys. More like an actual dating, or serious relationships, and less like a star-struck mega crush that totally consumes me. I'll never forget how fast my heart would beat though, or how one smile could make the rest of my week disappear into obscurity.

Double sigh.

Loose Lips

There always seemed to be something about the wait station at my old restaurant that brings out the raunchier side of my female co-workers.

Let me explain.

I'm all for talking about boys, dating, boyfriends, friends, family, boys again... and what have you. But I'll be damned if I'd ever tell a perfect stranger the intimate details of my sex life (wait, I'm a hypocrit.... let's just say other than in this blog). Apparently not everyone can say the same.

Now I'm not complaining as much as just sitting here (as I was sitting there at the time) in total shock. I have to say that as much as its sort of off-putting, its also totally entertaining to hear way TMI about someone you don't even know.

For example:
It's my third day. I'm sitting at the counter, refilling salt shakers and the cup of straws. This other waitress walks up who works with me but we've never spoken. I knew the color of her hair and her age range (I want to say like.... 39-45?), but had no idea what her name was. By the time I walked away it's likely I knew more about her than I know about a lot of my friends.

She starts off by ho-ing and hum-ing about how she looks like shit, and she's going on a date tonight. She asks me if her lipstick is too red. Does it look too whorish?

Upon a polite no, her box (not that box, thank god. I mean I don't think.) opens and details start pouring out about how she "doesn't even give a fuck" if she dates this guy, she just wants some "god damned cock." She tells me she's 34 (which is impossible, sorry) and that she's so desperate that she's even hit on her mechanic. "At this point I'll even fuck a Mexican," she tells me.

I'm completely aghast but choke out a polite response; I ask if she's ever tried Craigslist. She laughs for an awkwardly long time and tells me she's not THAT desperate. She says she and "the Mexican" went for a walk after he changed her oil and everything seemed to be going well until he asked how old she was, she told him, and he told her that she "looks good for her age." She was so appalled by his response (which I think was pretty fucking nice considering there's no way she's 34 in the first place) that she pouted all the way back to the dealership, jumped in her car, and sped off. But now she can't understand why he hasn't even called her, "that motherfucker."

She goes on to tell me that I better "enjoy youth while it lasts" because once I hit 30 it all goes downhill. The guys her age "won't fuck anyone over 28" and no matter how amazing she looks, there's always some young girl to get in the way of her much-needed dick quota. That, or the guys that will fuck her (please excuse my language, I'm only recounting what she said to me) can't get it up or "have a cock the size of [her] ring finger."

I kid you not, this actually happened. I wish I was exaggerating. Once all the napkin dispensers were full, she said, "nice talking to you!" totally cheerfully and since then has acted as if she and I have only just met. Oh wait! That was actually the case. Jesus.

Another example:
A few nights later I walk up to the same wait station (which I'm starting to gather has some sort of smutty aura that makes girls generous with the raunchiest parts of their lives) and into a conversation that two of my co-workers are having about one of their new boyfriends. One is looking in a little pocket-sized mirror, perfecting some totally vampy shade of violet-red lipstick while her friend fills pitchers of ice water. She asks the water girl if it looks even, and she replies, "does it really matter? You're just gonna smear it all over his dick anyway." Here we go again.

They both turn around and look and me and giggle, and then continue on as if I'm naturally just part of this conversation. The one applying tells us that she kissed a piece of paper for him to take to his tattoo artist so he can get it tattooed on his ass. I can tell by the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes that this is by far the most romantic thing that's ever happened to her.

Water girl tells Lipstick Girl that she shouldn't let him do that, because she's going to get tired of him and break his heart. I ask how long they've been together, they burst into a fit of giggles. "They're not actually together," Water Girl tells me. "Well kind of!" Lipstick Girl says. I ask, again, how long they've been "seeing each other." They tell me three weeks. That's not bad. Water Girl says, "Yeah, but tell her how long his girlfriend has known."

Lipstick Girl starts telling me about how he was going down on her (!!!) a few mornings ago at around 9am when his girl friend (not to be confused with girlfriend; apparently this girl is just a friend of his who likes to "cockblock" him at every possible moment.... her word, not mine) called to ask what time he wanted to hang out, although they didn't have any prior plans. She kept insisting that they did have plans, but Lipstick Girl is convinced the Cockblock only called 'cause she knew she was over. The CB went on to whine and complain that ever since "that girl" has been around he didn't have any time for her. LG goes on to tell me about how she just got kicked out of her house and moved in with him, and they are now living together, though they hardly know each other.

Lastly, she tells me about the most perfect first date she's ever had - their first meeting. She met him through some mutual friends at a party where she was pretty trashed, and slept with him.

Yep. End of story. I know... for a hopeless romantic like myself that's almost too much! I think the look on my face wasn't enough to convince her that I was impressed, so she explained, so very earnestly, that it only made sense because she hadn't had GOOD sex in 5 months.

Almost brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

Right before bringing some appetizers to her table, she says it'll have to only be head tonight though, 'cause she's on her period. WOW.

Every time I was standing there with another waitress they end up either telling me or someone else something I absolutely didn't want to know.

What is it about that counter??

Check, Please!

Although I've had more than my fair share of dating experience at my tender age of 23, and may shell out a generous amount of wisdom and advice to my friends who may have a little less, I seek at least twice as much from other sources (can't learn EVERTHING from personal experience, you know).

So I've read lots of books. My favorites so far have been the Art of Seduction (thank you very much to Spencer for that spirited recommendation) and Superflirt (which is really just a thanks to Amazon, who suggested it when I was searching for the former, good work people).

And although I learned a great deal about the world of dating (and how to have anyone wrapped around your finger, by ignoring them and swinging your hips correctly, respectively), I still continue to feel that there is just oodles I don't know yet.

Which brings me to my new book. Hopefully you know by now that some of my favorite things are dating, talking about dating, thinking about dating, boys in general, and celebrity gossip. Now combine that all in a book written by the world's first supermodel, and we're in business.

Check, Please! Dating, Mating, and Extricating is written by the infamous Janice Dickinson, who has dated more celebrities than Paris Hilton (give the heiress some credit though, Janice has got a lot of years on her) and is filled with acerbic wit and tough love, plus TMI about way too many male celebrities.
I haven't finished yet, but so far, Janice has taught me that:

I'm an idiot for "going for my wallet" on a first date.

If a woman breaks out her wallet, she has a problem. Even for the 50/50 split. On a first date, I don't ever want you to say, "What's my share?" He brought the wallet. You brought the girl. Even trade.

I should stop meeting guys on the Internet.

You know how they used to say of ugly actors, "He has a face for radio?" Well, if a guy's out there hunting for women online, chances are he has a face and personality for the Web. Plus, some of those weirdos really could be hunting for women. And remember this: If the camera adds 10 pounds, the Web adds 40.

There are ideal places to meet guys (some of these I haven't even tried! Thanks Janice).

• Park Benches (not bums... the rich one's own the parks, not live in them)
• Men's Clothing Stores (ie: Turnbull & Asser, the nicer the better obvi)
• Bike Paths
• The Car Wash
• Dog Parks (at least you know the men can handle the responsibility of nurturing and interacting with living things.... and are used to dealing with some crap)
• The Gym
• The Bank (only the main branch of one of the most exclusive banks, as approved by Forbes)
• Delicatessens in Wealthy Neighborhoods (Janice is obsessed with Jewish men, more on that in a second)
• The Golf Course on Weekdays (only two types of men can golf on weekdays - rich men and retired men, who are often rich men too. And according to Janice, one of the three requirements of a perfect man is a flexible schedule [the other two being slim hips and a trust fund])
• Car Dealerships (of course, luxury car dealerships. This is Janice Dickinson we're learning from)

Jewish Men are God's Gift.

They make the absolute best husbands -- because they're loyal and because they have the largest units. Jewish men are used to women running things. [They] are also used to women taking charge of the household finances, so you'll control the purse strings -- which are always strings I want to control. They're also less likely to divorce you. They would rather put up with more of your crap than give you the keys to the second BMW and the vacation house in Boca.

All in all, I think Janice might be slightly out of her mind, a little too stereotypical, and overly impressed by a huge bank account... but her book is fun to read and there's no reason why an avid Dating Diva like myself can't try out a few of her theories.

P.S.... Kazakhastan? Really?

Just wanted to mention.... this is awesome.

Thank you to Drew for recommending StatCounter, which provides a recent visitor map, so that I may see how many readers I have in Kazakhastan.

You are all awesome in all that you do, please keep spreading the word, I love you to a million itty bitty pieces. <3333

Could it be... speed dating in bed?

So as you know by now, I love dating. And as some of you may know, I also enjoy lounging around at home on my computer. A good handful of you have read my speed dating post.... but speed dating proved to be fruitless, and let's be honest... was sort of a huge waste of time and makeup and hangover and my sparkling personality.

Alas! I have found the solution to this dilemma:

ONLINE SPEED DATING.

I know. I was surprised too. How does it work, you ask??

When you sign up, you provide a username, a picture, your location, age... a few other details. Depending on the website, you can either start "speed dating" the other people who are online at the time, or you are emailed about "events" that they throw, where everyone is invited on at one time.

You also tell them your preferences based on location and age, and they start matching you up with people they think would be suitable.

So OBVI I signed up, stat. I was instantly matched with 8 different guys, each one of which I had the opportunity to spend a timed 3-minute videochat session with. Shockingly enough, there were 4 guys that were VERY cute, funny, nice, and live in the same state (ok I know a 7 hour distance is a stretch... but let's cut this thing a little slack).

Unfortunately for me, I can't find the disk that goes with my webcam (thanks again, Ben.... more about him some other time), so I can't get it to work... but the website allows you to have an instant message conversation at the same time, so it posted my picture and I was able to see them typing to me.

Yes... it was a little weird. I'm not going to lie. But it was also extremely entertaining and kind of exciting. The other good news is that you can immediately dismiss someone if you don't like them based on "no chemistry" or "not my type," to name a few. At the end of the three minutes the system cuts off your session and asks you for a YES or a NO vote. If you both vote YES, you are able to contact each other... if either one says NO, you never see or hear from them again.

Genius!

I'm not the only one to find out about this, though. I originally heard of the idea from Facebook, where WooMe had a paid advertisement. I signed up for that site and was notified days later that I was selected for their beta testing group, or something. I guess its not totally up and running yet. To be honest I wasn't totally thrilled about having to return to the site at different times to be able to speed date (again, I like the convenience of being able to sit at my dining room table whenever) so I haven't really looked at it since.

Being totally intrigued by the idea, though, I googled online speed dating and found a great article written on the New York Times website about the boom in online speed dating websites... apparently this is kind of a big deal.

Read: Does This Webcam Make Me Look Fat?

After finding all kinds of websites for this stuff (hurrydate, speeddate, woome, digg, 15minutedate, YesNoMaybe, and speeddater, just to name a few), I settled on SpeedDate.com which I have tried a couple times.

Though admittedly there have been a few winners (4, to be exact), a majority of my "matches" have been... well... jokes. To be honest with you, readers, most of the satisfaction comes from having a little fun with the absolutely worst daters.

Example:

Me: What do you do
Him: I work at Safeway as a meat clerk
Me: that's hot
Me: I like a guy who knows how to handle his meat
Him: really?
Me: oh yeah

The worse the date, the more I try to either inflate his ego or inspire inappropriate thoughts. Another one was the dweebiest looking dude in a completely ill-fitting Sears suit, standing in front of a cheesy background uncomfortably.... looked like he had his portraits taken at the mall. (So sorry... wish I had saved the picture for you.)

Me: Wow! You're a model??
Him: No.. I'm a performer. :)
Me: Oh cool! I've never met a male stripper before!
Him: haha no no I'm a pianist.
Me: Oh... well close.
Him: haha. what are you into?
Me: whips
Me: you?
Him: i'm into online stock training
Him: whoa! its too bad a pretty girl like you doesnt live out here in ND!

You get the picture.

All in all.... this website kicks ass.

If you do decide to visit it, PROMISE ME you'll watch the little example videos on the main welcome page..... they would lead any normal person to believe that what they are about to encounter is more scripted, forced, and awkward that it actually is or could ever be.



One more thing.
Let's be honest with ourselves, SpeedDate.com. We aren't so "busy" that all we have time for is a 3 minute date and a granola bar on our lunch break. We just like the naughty anonymity we feel when we watch other people's webcams.

Sin City here I come!

The girl in the mirror is off to Vegas to have a few very sinful days!!

Keep checking back though, I'll try to find a few minutes to keep you guys entertained.

'Til next time.... Ciao!

Rich guys and Kelly Clarkson.

One of my favorite ways to spend a day off is to sit at home at the dining room table with my roommate. I think it's one of those "you'd have to be there" things, but we sit around on our laptops, watching tv and iming each other links to funny things.

Today was no exception. We've spent many a day off (and some evenings into the wee early hours of the morning when bottles of wine are involved) signing up for dating sights, only to find that the others enrolled are some of the most unattractive and socially-stunted people possible... unless you're into bottom feeder types. We basically spend most of this time sending each other links to the worst profiles we can find.

So we're sitting there, with Tila Tequila on in the background (why does she get a Shot of Love? She's a hoebag in the body of an 11 year old Asian girl) and my roommate somehow stumbles upon a website called "Millionaire Match."

Now, boys and girls, before you get your lacy underthings in a bunch, I wouldn't date someone just because they were rolling in dough. However, I am human. And I'm a girl. And I'm 23. And there is definitely some allure to dating some wealthy, handsome entrepreneur who wants to sweep me off my feet in his Maserati and whisk me away to Monaco. I'm just saying.

So of course, we did as we usually do, and signed the hell up for this thing.

Now, just like you I'm sure, I was expecting to find nothing but old, unattractive, married pervs who were looking for a "sugar baby" or whatever other sickening name you might use to describe a girlfriend who you pay to love you. But what I found completely shocked me.

I can't tell you how many especially good looking, positive, funny, intelligent, very wealthy, and NEARBY guys are on this thing! It's unbelievable. So we start browsing through these profiles and find MORE than enough guys to decide that this website is right up our alley.

I've found around 10 totally stellar guys who I "winked" at.... the website only allows you to initiate email conversations if you are a "premium" member (and I make it a policy to NEVER pay for an online dating website, that's just a whole new level), and a few of them have already emailed back. A male underwear model, a hot Persian Fashion mogul, an adorable blue eyed Psychiatrist working at the UCLA medical center... I could go on. And they're all under 32!

Pinch me?

All the while, we're listening (/belting) to Kelly Clarkson's "Miss Independent." Oh the irony.

Miss independent
Miss self-sufficient
Miss keep your distance, mmmm

Miss unafraid
Miss out of my way
Miss don't let a man interfere, no

Miss on her own
Miss almost grown
Miss never let a man help her off her throne

So, by keeping her heart protected
She'll never, ever feel rejected
Little miss apprehensive
Said ooh, she fell in love

(Chorus)
What is this feeling taking over?
Thinking no one could open the door
Surprise, it's time, to feel what's real
What happened to miss independent's no longer need to be defensive?
Goodbye, old you, when love, is true

(Verse 2)
Misguided heart
Miss play it smart
Miss if you wanna use that line, you better not start, no

But she miscalculated
She didn't wanna end up jaded
And this miss decided not to miss out on true love

So, by changing a misconception
She went in a new direction
And found inside, she felt a connection
She fell in love

(Bridge)
When miss independent walked away
No time for love that came her way
She looked in the mirror and thought today
What happened to miss no longer afraid?
It took some time for her to see
How beautiful love could truly be
No more talk of why can't that be me
I'm so glad I've finally seen

P.S. I would just like to say a huge THANK YOU to all of you who have been spreading the word about my blog.... I went from around 7 hits a day to 97 already today! You guys are awesome, I really appreciate it. Muah muah muah!

This is just too sad.

Wah.



If you can't see what this chart says, let me sum it up for you. I'm averaging about 4.5 hits a day. I know that a lot of you reading this are probably reading it from other portals (facebook, technorati, etc) but for the love of blog.... I can't write for four freaking people. And the only way I know how many people are reading it is if you actually click on the link to look at it.

I was ranked in the 700's about a week ago, now I'm down to the 2300's.... ahhh!

So if you happen to know people who you think would be amused, delighted, inspired, mildly effected, or even traumatized by this blog..... AND I KNOW YOU DO, please tell them about it. Spread the word. Shout it from the rooftops. Heck, even smoke signals can be tre chic in the right circumstances. Help a girl out.

I may be a little crazy, but I don't particularly enjoy talking to myself.

This is an A. and B. conversation, so C. your way out of it.

I had an interesting conversation at work today on the topic of "who pays."

In my opinion, whoever asks for the date pays. If a guy asks me to go out, I think he should pay for the date. If I ask a guy on a date, then I'll pay (or offer to pay) for the date.

Now the way that I get around that (because of course there's a way.... I am a girl you know) is that I don't usually ask a guy on a date. I have gotten really good at making guys think that they are the ones that wanted to go out in the first place. But rules are rules, and if I do actually do the asking I will for sure assume I'm going to pay.

The other thing is that if I want to be really charming, even on the first date, I'll start moving towards my wallet when the check comes. That way, the guy will see that I'm going towards money to pitch in, and will almost inevitably be totally impressed that I am willing to pay/say "Oh no way, don't worry about it!" This definitely scores me some points in the way of being an awesome girl and not a gold-digging moochface. Plus he scores some points by not letting me pitch in (usually...).

The second date usually goes as the first does. This is kind of a crossroads for the budding relationship on many levels; obviously a second date meant I liked him (and he liked me) enough to want to see each other again. On the subject of who pays, if he again pays for this date, chances are he's either A. a keeper or B. has more money than most of the guys his age. If he lets me pay this time, I will either A. not mind because I'm totally digging his chili, or B. be kind of turned off and not see him again. Hopefully it will be option A., as I have a hard time changing my own mind after it makes itself up.

Going dutch (ugh... even the phrase turns me off) is a whole 'nother ball game. It is the world's biggest turn-off to pay for my own meal. I would rather take us both out to dinner, or the movies, or bowling or whatever than have to just pay for myself. If I wanted to pay for myself, I would have gone out by myself. Going dutch to me means that he A. was raised by wolves or B. does not intend to see me again. It most likely means that he isn't expecting to take turns, as in I will pay next time, because he doesn't foresee a next time. In the event that we go dutch, I don't foresee a next time either.

By the third date, I'm more than happy to pay if he'll let me. I don't expect a guy to pay for every meal, show ticket, bucket of popcorn, or pair of rental skates for me for the rest of our relationship. I think that's unrealistic (unless, of course, your name is Holly, Bridget, or Kendra.... you lucky bitches). I am a mostly-modern girl and I do find pleasure in taking someone I like a lot out to dinner. I will, however, never turn down being treated, unless its like a birthday or something.

My friend at work has a different strategy, and its mapped out quite nicely by date number. I hope I get this right (please feel free to correct me if I miss anything).

First Date: She expects him to pay. She doesn't make a move to chip in, but says a big thank you after the check is taken care of.

Second Date: Again, she expects him to pay. But this time, she will ask if he wants some money. Hopefully he doesn't.

Third Date: By the third date, she will offer to chip in, and if he doesn't let her, she'll buy him a drink or something later on.

Fourth Date: By this time she thinks its fair to pick up the tab, and is totally willing to. Although I don't think she's be too upset if he didn't let her, she's happy to pay for this one.

After that, I think its kind of up to the guy to offer to pay, but she'll pick up some too. We both agreed that its a big turn on when a guy pays a lot of the time, but she put it well when she said, "guys our age either can't pay all the time or have rich daddies."

I think that about sums it up.... that's actually a pretty good method. I think I'm gonna try that next time there's a new somebody to try it with. :)

Old News... New Reminders

If you hadn't figured it out yet, I'm sort of ballsy.

Around 6 months ago, right around the time I was moving here, I posted a craigslist ad somewhere along the lines of, "woe is me, I'm new here and don't know anyone, I am a hot modern day damsel in distress, can a cute boy please come rescue me from a lonely life to show me around and then make out after?" .... Basically. In so many words.

As usual, I got about 50 responses an hour (little tip: if you really want a LOT of responses, just post a picture), most of which were the usual, ridiculous, sad, and unbelievables that tend to haunt craigslist in the wee hours of the morning. I got one that perked up my little online dating senses, although I will tell you with the utmost honesty that I would never date anyone with the premise that they would pay me to do so. Unless I would want to date them regardless. And I don't know if I could actually take money from someone anyway... that's a world I don't think I could cross into, ever. Still, intriguing. Curiousity killed the cat.

... It went something like this:

Him: I'm a Mediterranean venture capitalist with stakes in oil and real estate. I also have strong ties to the entertainment industry. Does 8k a month sound like a reasonable allowance?
Me: Hmm...
Him: What are you hmm-ing about? Sam N*********, look up the name.
Me: did.... so you've produced some movies, you've got some clubs, restaurants, hotels, you're on the younger side of the spectrum, fun, business minded, and living in j.lo's old pad.... explain to me why you are on craigslist? thats my only question. :)
Him: I'm tired of dating within the Hollywood circle. Simple as that. If you're really interested, write back with your number and we'll go from there.
Me: Yeah I can understand that. I bet you've got a bunch of interesting stories, you'll have to tell me some. :) My number is ***-***-****, guess I'll talk to you soon? I'll be busy for most of the night tonight and working all day tomorrow so if you call and I don't answer leave a message so I know who it was.

(A week goes by... nothing.)

Me: How 'bout this.... call me if YOU'RE for real.
Him: I did call. You didn't answer.
Me: Try again. Leave me a message if I don't answer so I know who called.
Him: I called again today, no answer.
Me: Sorry about that. I don't always answer calls if I don't recognize the number, so if you leave me a message I'll call you back, or if you want to give me yours so I know its you when you're calling you can do that too.

(End scene.)

So basically that was it for our dry email exchange. Though the idea of dating the guy responsible for some of the hottest clubs in Hollywood and some of the nicest and trendiest hotels and restaurants in the country is fascinating and tempting, I'm not one to chase someone all over the place. I forgot all about him......

UNTIL TONIGHT.

I'm driving to meet up with my friend for Maki Monday (which rules by the way), and for whatever reason all my favorite radio stations are playing crap music. So... coincidentally enough, I decide to turn on Indie 103.1, which I NEVER listen to, to find that the DJ is interviewing the proprietor of Bolthouse Entertainment.

I am too amazed and shocked to really hear what they're saying, but I keep hearing this and that about this guy, THE GUY, I was emailing some months back. They start a friendly banter about the most recent parties, and music, and whatever other bullshit they were discussing, while I'm scrambling to dial 411 to get the number for this radio station.

411 connects, "Los Angeles, CA please" (I'm so distracted trying to listen and talk at the same time), "Indie 103.1 please? No that's Indie with an 'i-e' not a 'y,' yes that's right, thank you," I'm connected, the phone is ringing.... what the HELL am I going to say to this guy??

The DJ answers as if I just called his cell phone.

"Ya, hello?"
"Is this Indie?"
"Yeah... wuddup."
"Um.... is Sam there?"
"Hang on a second."

I hear him in the background getting Sam on the line. My heart is racing. I have NO IDEA how to even start this conversation. Does he want to try calling me again? Does he remember emailing me off of Craigslist? Will I sound like a stalker nut-job?

"Hello?"
"Hi... Sam?"
"Yeah, who's asking?"
"My name's B*******..... um.... well I met you about 6 months ago, and we exchanged a bunch of emails.... we sort of lost touch, I 'd.... like to be in touch again..."
"Huh."
(There's some awkward silence.)
"Well... why did we lose touch?"
"I'm not sure.. we just sort of stopped writing."
"Yeah... to be honest this isn't Sam... He's not actually here in the studio. This is Brent.... B********."
"Oh... ok well, can you maybe give Sam my email address?" (More silence) "....Or phone number or something?"
"Here's what you should do.... here's my myspace, its myspace.com backslash ______ ________, go on there, email me your phone number or email or whatever, I'll give it to him, and he can do what he wants with it. Fair?"
"Sure..... Thank you."

Strangest interaction of my life.
But... lo and behold, I did find him, I did email him, and hopefully my number did make it back there. And if not to Sam, maybe Brent. :) Truth be told, he's kind of my type. (See photo insert, but try to ignore the girl with the orange arm and the MJ nosejob.) I almost see a little Adam Brody in him... except a little more geeky hipster chic. So hot right now.

To Bro or not to Bro?

Remember a few days ago, when I told you about that bro that posted on craigslist?

Originally, I said, "Are you for real?" (There's no way, bros don't care about substance.) To which he replied, "of course."

That's where it got weird.

Me: Interesting... what city are you in?
Him: I live in Newport. I work in marketing. What about you? Any more pics?
Me: I live in Aliso Viejo. I'm 23 and a makeup artist. I have lots more, do you? (Attached 3 pics)
Him: Here are a few. (I kid you not.)
Me: what you say in your post and the pictures you send are pretty
inconsistent.... if you're looking for something "lasting" and "with
substance," may i see something other than your naked chest? do you
have a face?
Him: Ya ok


Me: Alright, I guess you're legit. What do you do for fun?
Him: lol.. do you have a myspace?
Me: yeah, http:www.myspace.com/___________, its private you have to add me.
Him: Just added.
Me: You sure? What's your name? (I had two adds, neither of which looked ANYTHING like the pictures above.)
Him: Casey. (Very much in my friend request folder, and very much NOT the guy above.)
Me: Yeah... Are you kidding? 1996 called, they want its sending fake pictures over the internet back.
Him: Well it is Craigslist.
Me: Then why POST on Craigslist in the first place?? I sent you real pictures, are you saying I shouldn't have? As it turns out your real pictures would have made me want to talk to you far more than those lame ass fake ones. I thought you were a bro.
Him: A bro?

At this point I just stopped writing back, I think I got busy, or at least too busy to continue such a pointless exchange. I later tried to find his page again so that I would be able to link to it for this blog, only to find that he'd deleted me. Serious.

Me: Interesting.... I can't seem to find you on my myspace friends list.
Him: Ya, well I don't know what a "bro" is, but I don't think I like it.


WOW.

And the search for a non-WEIRDO continues.

Ironically, he was actually cute.

Bro? Party of one?

I can't say I'm exactly the type of girl who goes for the bro look. Actually, not at all. Especially because the term "bro" is usually interchangeable with prick, douchebag, asshole, and scumsucker. In my experience, bros have 0% personality matched with an overactive libido and an elevated level of testosterone. When mixed with bad taste in clothing, music, and vehicles, these guys don't typically rev my engine.

Plus, I can't say I've ever met a bro who was actually looking for a girl "of substance." Bros are well matched with "bro-hoes" (like the OC Blonde Mafia, or the 909-er to the left) who actually make their bro counterparts look intelligent and classy. Bros go for these girls because they make them feel like more of a man, and because they don't take much... well... effort.

Anyway, the point I'm getting at is that cruising OC Craigslist today, as I sometimes do, I found a bro. While this is no surprise, his posting was. Normally it would say something along the lines of "Any girls out there want to get crunk tonight? Holla!" Followed by 5 shirtless pictures where he is obviously flexing his 'roid-pumped 6-pack, taken somewhere like Glamis or "the river."

Somehow, though (despite the shirtless pictures... dead bro giveaway) this posting was nothing like that. I thought I'd give him props by posting it, and highlighted the most surprising parts.

Since your browser may not give proper resolution to the image, I'll help you out:

• He's looking for something "successful and lasting"
• He is definitely "not one of those guys that feels inferior around girls who are smarter" than him
• He wants someone who is "witty, sarcastic" and has "a great sense of humor" (redundant, but I'm throwing him a bone because its hard to find a guy who appreciates a sarcastic sense of humor in a girl, I've found)
• He "does not do well with ditsy, materialistic fake girls" (so then, you're saying you're not into these?)

Hmm..... truth be told, I actually responded to it, just to see if I hallucinated or not. Yeah, my response was literally, "are you for real?" So far he's written back, "of course." We'll see. I'll be sure to post the results. :)

Um HELLO.

I can’t believe I’ve been so blind.

Let’s review the sitch. I meet this great guy. He’s totally hot, definitely stylish, has the best sense of fashion ever, fantastic dancer, outgoing personality, good morals, funny, always up for going out, all my friends love him, even my gay friends….

Wait, hang on. What?? Yeah. YEAH. He’s freaking gay!

Hello?! How did I not notice this before? Am I really that oblivious?

Of COURSE he chose gay clubs when we went out. Of COURSE he hasn’t kissed me after TWO freaking weeks of sleeping practically naked only inches from me. I feel like such an idiot for not realizing this before. Ah!

It isn’t like he’s come out and said it to me, but he really doesn’t need to. It’s pretty obvious. Oh well…. Let’s be honest, I’ve never been one to turn down a gay friend. You can never have too many if you ask me! And at least I have a super fun new shopping/dancing partner right?

In other news, I signed up a few days ago for speed-dating for tonight, I can’t wait. I wonder what I should wear??

A week without an inch?

So a little update on Nick D…. it’s been an interesting week. We’ve spent so much time together lately; we’ve driven down the coast to have dinner, gone to movies, gone dancing (many, many times), gone shopping, and he’s spent the night at my house literally every night with the exception of one, and only because he had to go to chapel in the morning (his college is extremely Christian… its actually required every day but he finds ways to get out of it).

And every single night it’s the same thing. He comes over, we watch TV on my bed for awhile, somehow end up getting into a super sexually-charged tickling match, eventually decide its time to go to sleep, strip down to underwear and get into bed-- where we sleep facing each other, arms and legs entangled, with our faces about 2 inches from each other. AND HE STILL HASN’T KISSED ME.

I even started making little comments about it… apparently I’m not bold enough to just kiss him myself, but I keep trying to hint about it. He finally said something last night to the effect of “I don’t want to rush things,” because it’s great how it is and he doesn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. Too fast?? Are you kidding me?

I guess I should expect this from a guy going to pretty much the most uber-Christian school in the country right? But still.

It’s almost a little charming. Almost. But really its just frustrating and weird.

Adam Brody would never be like this.

In other news... my roommate went to a Speed Dating event a few nights ago and I am SO intrigued.... we all know how much I enjoy dating, and having 10 dates in an hour, or whatever it is, sounds like it'd be right up my alley. I signed up for one for next week, though it's kind of weird but they do some kind of a screening process, and don't tell you the location of the event until right before it starts. Sketch!

... I'm not sure it's going to help me to meet a reasonably normal guy, but worse comes to worst at least I'll have something fun to write about. :)

All the cool blogs are doing it.

Technorati Profile

Hot cookie!

So tired…. I went out again last night with Nick D. (my favorite Adam Brody impersonator) He wanted to go dancing, which is of course one of my top three favorite activities of all time (second only to flirting and sleeping) so I was more than happy to go.

The interesting thing, though, was that of all the clubs we could have chosen, he happened to choose the one that just so happened to be hosting gay night last night. And although I am a big fan of the gay boys (many, many of them are my good friends), it was a bit of a surprise that a guy, who I so happened to be on a date with, would want to go dance with a bunch of them.

I couldn’t help myself and had to ask why he would choose this club out of all the choices, and was even more surprised when he had known ahead of time it was gay night. What?? He said that he likes it the best because everyone actually dances, and there aren’t just a bunch of awkward wallflowers nursing their drinks all over the place. And that he likes the energy. And the music.

I guess I can settle with that answer… right? He’s so hot. And he loves to dance. Although his dancing style is sort of… hard to vibe with (doing the robot, the moodwalk, and the worm don’t exactly leave a lot of room for a partner) he’s a lot of fun and always willing to go out.

So we danced into the wee hours of the night, during which he got hit on more than a few times by sexy gay boys, and the girls who “go to gay night to get away from the pressure of going out to meet someone,” (why you hitting on my date then, ladies?) but at the same time was a good reminder of the fact that I was out with a definite Hottie McFly. After working up quite a sweat (him more than myself, since a lowcut tank isn’t quite as hot as layered T’s) we stopped at this awesome 24-hour diner on the way home and shared cheese fries.

I had a really good time. I’m not going to lie. But it did feel more like two friends hanging out than being on a second date with someone I’m really attracted to, physically at least. So I was kind of shocked when we got back to my house around 3am and he wanted to stay over. Hey, I wasn’t gonna argue! The weird part was when we undressed (down to underwear… don’t get any ideas), got in bed, and got all snuggled up… but somehow our first kiss never came.

Is it just me, or is it kind of bizarre when a good-looking 24 year old guy can sleep within inches of the face of a 23 year old cute girl, wearing nothing but underwear all night, arms and legs wrapped completely around each other, and never kisses her??

Huh.

We look good together, no?

I’m sure most of you have seen The OC right? I mean I think it’s cancelled now, but 90% of the people I know used to watch it religiously…. Anyway, my point is, remember Seth Cohen? Played by Adam Brody? Drool…

Well basically he is the guy of my dreams. I don’t know what it is about him (well, besides the fact that I’m painfully attracted to him)… I like the fact that he’s nerdy but totally charming in his own way, and doesn’t really make any excuses for being such a dork. I’ve been swooning over Seth/Adam (I like to believe he’s actually like that in real life, totally unlikely but a girl can dream) ever since I started watching the show a few years ago. I realize that he’s sort of out of my league, considering I’m not a fellow celebrity and have come to terms with the fact that I will probably never meet him. (Sidenote: if you have any way of making this happen I will be forever in your debt)

Somehow, though, my most recent posting on Craigslist produced his identical twin. I’m in total disbelief.

I got the usual absolutely awful, nonrelevant responses, and out of all the unattractive 56 year old married men looking for “yoga partners,” I got one from this guy, Nick D. He’s 24, a student at a super prestigious private school about 20 minutes from my house, and is without a doubt a mirror image of Seth Cohen… big brown eyes, curly brown hair, hot clothing style, great taste in Indie rock… could I ask for more?

Well yes… I can’t say our first date was all I had dreamed it would be, but it was nice. His idea was breakfast and I actually agreed to waking up early (crazy). He looked really hot in a white hoodie, sexy jeans, converse, and a burberry scarf. He’s definitely stylish. We made small talk over omelets and I can’t say that we had all that much chemistry at that point, and I was pretty unimpressed when they bill came and he accepted my offer to pay for half. I never want to assume someone’s paying on the first date because I don’t want to seem presumptuous, but going dutch is such a turn off if you ask me. But nobody’s perfect right? Then we went downtown and did some window shopping and he seemed to loosen up a lot, and I actually started to think we were making a connection. We ended up finding the most ridiculously Euro-trash style shades, getting matching pairs, and walking around in them looking pretty hot if I do say so myself.

Then he drove me to work, met my co-workers (who were totally impressed), and said he wants to hang out again…. Guess we’ll see what happens!

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Hi! Thanks for stumbling upon my blog.

I’m your average 23 year old girl living in Southern California. I like going to the beach, shopping, eating sushi, reading celebrity gossip magazines… and all that other nonsense girls my age tend to do with their time. I’m really outgoing and love to go out because I tend to meet people wherever I go. I love to people watch and analyze body language, and I’m probably the biggest flirt that I know.

I do have this one kind of embarrassing habit though…

Before I get into that, the backstory is that I’ve always been a little boycrazy. Well maybe a bit more than a little. From the time I was in 3rd grade, I’ve always had some major, all-consuming crush on some shy, unassuming boy. What started with running around the blacktop trying to kick Timmy Slevin (a not-so-stealthy attempt to get his attention) has blossomed over the past 15 years into what some might consider a total addiction to the entire male population. But I like to think it could be worse.

When it comes down to it though, what I’m really addicted to is dating.

I wasn’t always like this. I had a few serious boyfriends between my high school and college years. Nothing really serious ever evolved out of them… until one day when I met the boy of my dreams (I thought) and fell head over heels in love with him.

Two years later, after 24 straight months of the I-feel-like-I’m-floating-on-a-cloud kind of love, he dumped me. There are no words to express how upside down my life felt. He’d gone to the trouble of detailing romantic ideas about how we were going to get engaged in a year, married in two, settle down, start our family, and live happily ever after… he loved to talk about it, and I loved just as much to listen to it. I fell for every word and really believed that I’d found the love of my life.

As it turned out, he was lying out of his ass (as men often do…. Sorry guys, but its just statistics) and I was left in a crumpled pile of damp tissues and self pity. And it changed me.

Somehow, that event has led me to believe that there really is a Prince Charming out there somewhere, that is sitting on his white horse waiting patiently for me to find him so we can ride off into the sunset.

Here’s where that habit comes in: I’ve become kind of a serial dater.

My friends would all tell you that I date way more than any one person should. Because I’ve developed this constant need for a steady flow of dates, I’ve broadened my horizons on where to find them. Many of my dates come from posting personals ads online (gotta love http://www.craigslist.org/), some come from work, others are mutual friends, a few even come from the grocery store. Whatever it is that happened on that painful July afternoon last year has given me some heart-shaped glasses and 20/20 vision… and my eyes are always open.

I realized eventually, after spending countless hours on the phone recounting the details of my dates (and very often, disasters) to my ever-so-patient friends, I needed to start documenting this stuff. Who knows… maybe someone out there can learn from my mistakes (and victories… if I ever have one).

So here goes. I’ll try to give even the juiciest details, though to protect the innocent, I will never use full names (sorry Timmy Slevin… oops that’s twice!). But other than that, I’ll give you as much info as I can muster.

Feel free to comment and share your opinions, I know you got ‘em.

Stay tuned… there’s plenty to come!