Originally published 04/27/11 Los Angeles is – as expected – a bit of a challenging dating environment, particularly if you are from a culture two thousand miles away.   I grew up in a Southern city and compared to LA, my hometown feels a full century behind normal American cities, both in the dating realm and beyond.  So, after seven battle-worn years of trying most avenues to meet my perfect man in the City of Angels – including a plethora of dating websites and an “exclusive matchmaker” promising eternal love and bliss – I have thrown in the proverbial towel. But let’s talk about one of the dates that got me to this point: It was during my 7 year mark that an unlikely matchmaker entered my world.  She was an enthusiastic businesswoman with a sexy husband of her own – a woman of good taste who described the potential partner she had chosen for me as smart (check one important criteria off my list), athletic (and another), and a business owner with a full head of hair (hair – definitely one of my most important criteria).  After her description of my perfect man, I thought I should dust off my best dating garb and set aside my dater’s doubt to see what this guy might have to offer. There are “rules” to Southern life and especially, to Southern dating.  Rules #1 – always display a pristine set of manners, even when you don’t want to and especially if you don’t mean it.  Rule #2 -Smile a lot and tell those crazy stories about your Blanche Dubois-style mother.  People find that stuff funny.  Rule #3 which is not a Southern rule, but pertains to this story anyway -Open yourself to love.  This rule came compliments...

My hometown is a very small town in a historical area of Virginia.  With the Easter holiday fast approaching, I decided to go home and see my Gram.  She is getting along in years and hasn’t been doing well recently, so it was definitely time for me to spend some quality time with her.  I flew from Florida to the DC area on a red eye and slept in late the next day.  When I finally rolled out of bed and started in on some chores around Gram’s house, I struck up a conversation with the older woman next door as I hauled out the trash. The inevitable question about my love life soon arose, and then she exclaimed, “You should meet my son, Bill!  He will be over at the house later.  Just come on by!” She said her son was a really nice guy (moms always think they have nice sons….experience has taught me otherwise) and proceeded to sing his praises for a moment. As I was walking away from the trash and the conversation, as if on cue, Bill pulled up and parked his car in his mom’s driveway.  He came over to say hi and after a few moments of awkward conversation, he asked me out.  Because I was contemplating a move back to Virginia, geographically he had some potential.  I said yes to the date and we decided on a time. On the night of our date, Bill picked me up at my grandma’s house. (I felt like I was in high school again!)  My grandma answered the door and called for me to come downstairs. I wondered if he had a corsage in his hand as I walked down the stairs (this whole date at grandma’s house felt...

This week I was at the Fontainebleau in Miami being reminded of the good life.  Sure I was there for work and sure, being in a suit at the best beach bar in Miami on Friday around 3 pm wasn’t the best look I’ve ever sported, but nonetheless, I was there. The Lakers were in town, playing against the Miami Heat and the place was already buzzing. A couple cool bars, a couple cool clubs and a crowd that starts to come alive around 11 pm.  One of the clubs, Liv, continues to be the place to see and be seen and there was no way I was getting into that club with my conference badge and navy blue suit. That is until I met Terrance. Terrance wasn’t a basketball player but he was with the team.  I really didn’t get the details because it didn’t matter.  He “lived” across the hall from me and we met in the elevator. Why is it that the elevator is such an awkward yet perfect place to meet someone?  First, you are trapped in a tin can with someone you don’t know. Second, coming in from a run on the beach (and not looking so hot) and being stuck in the elevator with a man that smells so good is just not fair if you are the girl in the equation.  Third, at $700 a night, you know the person beside you in the elevator either has a company paying the bill or is pretty well-off financially.   Awkward, yet a bit perfect. Our eyes caught in the elevator.  He smiled at me and I mumbled something about which floor are you on as I pushed the button for my floor. He said he needed the 15th floor,...

I spent the week in a ski town, trying out a crappy, stressful job. The only benefit was the possibility of meeting some good-looking ski guys.  For the first few days, I worked non-stop… 6:30 in the morning until 10 at night. No sightseeing or fun for me. Then on Wednesday night I got out at 9! I could go out! I took the car and checked out the local hotel. It was blue grass night. Tired, I was slightly overwhelmed with the huge group of very un-LA people.  Still tired, I stopped for a moment and sat in the lobby. It was Mardi Gras in New Orleans, so the bar was giving away beads. One guy walked up to me and handed me his beads as he was leaving. Then he just left and said goodnight. Then another guy (guy #1) came out of the bar and asked if I would join him and his friends for a drink. So I did. He was there with 9 other guys and I was the only girl. Loved it! All the guys gave me their beads, so I was bedazzled! Then I danced to country music and had a great time! Then we headed over after hours to another local bar. Here I danced and another guy started to dance with me. He kept trying to dance up against me. He told me he was from Boston. Luckily guy #1 came up and said he was leaving. It gave me a excuse to extract myself gracefully. He asked if we could meet out another night and I said yes. Then I danced again and another guy (guy#2) came up. He was tall and blonde and really knew how to dance. He was form San Fran. He...

The sexual chemistry was thick and brewing when I met him for the first time.   At the table, I wondered where the small talk of a deserted island was going to take us.  To be fair, the whole encounter wasn’t supposed to be taking place, but that was the thrill of it all.  The feeling was enticing and sometimes it just feels good to follow the feeling.  I love the undercover conversation between two people suffering from a mutual attraction that can’t be acted upon.  I’ve often felt those conversations are more revealing that actually talking… it’s the unsaid, the motion and movement of body language that is more honest and real and reels me in quicker and faster than true intimacy can.  Twisted perhaps, but not worth psychological dissection as my attraction gained momentum. Maybe it was the fact that he was from Louisiana and had that inexplicable southern sensuality thing going on.  He was a guy’s guy for sure, but with a sensual hint of tension and brawn that made me want to play around the edges of the idea of actually being with him.  The dark hair, the 5’o clock shadow and piercing blue eyes motif has always worked for me and since my first boyfriend, have proven my quickest demise. Three of the seven at the table noticed the spark somewhere between the plane crash and allowance of 3 items needed for survival. When he discussed his kids, his wife and how love gets lost inside the pattern of school plays and familiarity, Sam from cubical 9 gave me the WTF look.  Why was I being scolded for flirting?  The idea of a bikini and ham sandwich made “just so” seemed so important to deserted island survival – like a...

It’s as if Valentine’s Day threw up all over the city of LA.  I wanted to be in love and have a romantic Valentine’s Day, but being single and without a boyfriend suggested that might not be possible this year.  So, to avoid another sighting of a red and white paper heart hanging in the window of a gem store proudly proclaiming “She’ll love you for it,” I headed to Vegas to find a little trouble. I asked my friend Matt, who is a professional gambler to get me a free hotel room for my stay in Sin City.  Unfortunately, he asked to join me in “said room” once I arrived.  I was hoping to be footloose and fancy free for a couple of days, but could hardly say no to such a sweet guy like Matt.  He had gotten me a free room, after all.  I set baseline expectations, making sure he didn’t expect me to “share” anything else and the platonic, friends-only high-bar was set. Matt worked during the day as a professional gambler, so I thought the set-up was going to be perfect.  He’d work all day and be too tired to party and I would play all day (and all night) until the sun came up and then I would do it all again.   This was all part of the plan to meet someone fun and interesting and most importantly, someone who didn’t require a lot of sleep.  Viva Las Vegas! All was good for the first 7 hours of my Vegas vacation and then suddenly, the texts started rolling in. “Where are you?” “What are you doing?” “Where should I meet you?”  It all became tragically clear that my “benevolent” friend wanted to be connected at the hip.  He...

It’s one thing to be approached by a married man dusting off his game to see if he’s still got it, but it’s another thing to be approached by a reality TV star who is practiced in the art of the pick-up. This wasn’t any “ordinary” reality TV star; this guy actually had a show focused on teaching inept men how to introduce themselves to women with the goal of landing their prey…preferably into bed. I remember seeing an episode once and thinking there was something definitely creepy and rude about the way he showed his minions how to hunt for the female species.    As I tried to register where I’d seen him before, he took my inquisitive look as an invitation to approach. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, I’m sure it is daunting for the male species to sidle up to a girl and engage her in conversation.  I know women can be bitchy, stand-offish and dismissive.  I know because I’ve done that to guys I wasn’t interested in.   I’m sure I’ve doled out my fair share of not-so-nice behavior, but let’s face it, some guys are so strange and some come on so strong that the blunt, emotion-squashing approach is sometimes the only way out of the unwanted predator/prey situation. As the reality star approached, I admit, I’d had a bit to drink.  I made up my mind earlier in the evening that I was going to be open to something happening.  So drink enhanced, there I was smiling and sending out my come hither vibes to any predator that looked like a good catch or at least could almost pass for one.  As he closed in on me, here’s what I remember from the first encounter:   1. He stood...

I don’t know what it is, but the start of this New Year has made me want a few things.  First, I really want to bake.  Maybe it’s the cold weather, but cinnamon rolls have been on my mind lately.  Second, I really want to have sex.  Again, maybe it’s the cold weather, but I’m feeling the feeling.   More importantly, I’ve been feeling that I want to be “in it” with someone, and that feeling was intense last night when I hung out with my ex- boyfriend. 2011 is going to be a great year.  Already I’ve re-connected with friends from business school, discussed what was going on in their lives and decided that this year; I’m taking my time back.  No more working my ass off, no more late nights at the office.  If my career doesn’t go anywhere this year, I’m OK with that.  Instead, I’m going to be all about reconnecting with my friends and pouring time into relationships … which brings me back to my old boyfriend. We didn’t work the first time because, well, let’s be honest, he is a bit of a mess. He can’t keep his house clean, he does not have good table manners and his dog gets hair everywhere.   However, I noticed some changes in him last night that are causing me take a second look. One thing I noticed is a general fatigue that has shown up on his face.  I know that sounds rather unappealing, but for some strange reason, this look looks good on him.  Whatever it is has settled in around his mouth and eyes and is making him look like he is someone worth listening to and taking seriously.   My philosophy about this look is this (since I’ve noticed it...

Since all my friends were out of town for the holidays or sick, I decided to go skiing by myself for New Year’s at a local resort.  After a couple of days of hitting the slopes and spending time perusing shops in town,  I ended up meeting a girl named Tracey who invited me to join her and her friends at a local bar on New Year’s Eve.  Since I was tired of my own company and was dying to hear some local ski town gossip, I said yes.  (Plus, it was a better alternative than drinking champagne by myself in my room alone…that would have been downright depressing!) Around 9 pm, I showed up at a local wine bar. Tracey had some friends with her from out-of-town and it was nice to meet new people who were not from the southern California area.  There was Jennifer from San Francisco, John and Matt from somewhere out East, and a sexy Latin man whose name I didn’t catch but should have. We started off the night drinking with the locals and soon began telling stories of New Year Eve’s past.  Truth be told, this was not my ideal New Years Eve; I had hoped to be somewhere romantic with a handsome man.  However, after a few more glasses of champagne, I was able to rally and have a good time.  Nothing like free alcohol to change one’s perspective on the evening! Wanting this year to be different than the last, about an hour before midnight, I began praying that my dating luck would change for the better.  I just finished reading a book about visualization and decided to try out a technique from the it.  So, I began to visualize what I wanted to show...

I was waiting in line at the coffee shop for my caffeine fix when the guy behind me started to talk to me. He seemed nice, well-dressed and average looking. After getting my coffee and chatting with him for about 15 minutes, he asked if he could take me to lunch sometime. Since I’m trying to date more people and spend more time on the dating scene (which let’s be honest, I don’t really enjoy), I said yes and gave him my phone number. He said he would call later that night and arrange a time and place for us to meet. Like the hopeless romantic I am, I thought it would be fun to meet someone new.  Who knows…maybe we’d even hit it off. About 30 seconds after giving him my number, grabbing my coffee and heading out the door, I received my first text message – the standard name and number text. 30 minutes later, I receive not one, but two: Phone call- no message Phone call- no message Then a text.  “It was a pleasure 2 meet u “wifey” lol! And I want us to go to lunch or dinner later this week so we can spend some time 2gether and get to know each other and ill show u that ill treat you like “my” queen lol and if u treat this sexy guy like the king that I am you’ll have a white 4krt diamond with a platinum band on it from “Harry Winston” on your cute finger! Lol” And then, another 15 minutes later: Phone call-no message Phone call- no message Then, another text: “Uh! U don’t even pick up the phone! Wow I haven’t got time for games” And yet again, another: Phone call-no message Phone call-no...

Bruce was an investment banker and had potential. However, when he called for a date, he was not pleased when I told him that I was about to go on a 5-week yoga retreat.  Bruce seemed to be a highly aggressive type “A” personality, so I was not entirely surprised when, two weeks into the retreat, he called and asked me if he could come up and take me out on a date. He stayed in a very high-end hotel that had a gothic gate and guard, and he made reservations at its restaurant. It was an oh-so-very-pleasant surprise to discover that not only was the restaurant located right on the beach, but that our reservation time guaranteed that we’d be eating at sunset with one of the most beautiful vistas as our backdrop. The host took us to our table where my date pulled back the chair facing the oceanfront for me to sit down. I unfolded my napkin and began to place it on my lap. Glancing to the other side of the table, I expected to see Bruce enacting the same ritual, but the seat was empty. He was standing over me with a peculiar, slightly worried look on his face.  “Is everything okay?” I asked in a low voice. Bruce glanced around the room, making sure no one was looking at us, and then steadied his gaze into my eyes. My mind reeled in confusion.  What did he want?  He wasn’t going to get down on one knee, was he?  That would be a bit premature. But instead of revealing a ring, Bruce gave an awkward smile and said, “Sorry. But I think that’s actually the man’s chair. You’re in my seat. You need to move to the other chair.”...

He was the man of my dreams…probably because I hadn’t even met him yet.  So I guess you could call him the “potential” man of my dreams. I try to walk into each first date thinking, “This date won’t suck.” Optimistic? Sure, but I always try to be more hopeful than hopeless. I met Chad – we’ll call him that because, well…that’s his name– through a friend of a friend and decided that, even though he was in the biz, there was the ever-so-slender chance that he might not be exactly the same as all the other entertainment guys I’ve dated (e.g. needing their mysterious prescriptions to get through the day). After calling to ask me out, Chad suggested a great new place that just opened up on Sunset. It’s always a good sign when they at least have a plan for the date and you don’t have to hear, “I don’t know, what do you want to do?” The new restaurant sounded good to me, so we agreed to meet for dinner at 8:00. While selecting just the right dress for dinner (sexy, but not too sexy), I went through my pre-date prep ritual where I reminded myself of why I needed to be excited for an evening that usually consisted of, in most cases, spending two hours of talking to a complete stranger and eating calories that are hard to burn off at the gym.  In this case, it boiled down to four words: tall, dark, and undeniably handsome. Dating “industry” guys in the past had left me a little pessimistic about the internal qualities I would discover underneath that handsome face, but at least Chad was a “producer.” And, as long as “producer” wasn’t code for porn producer, his vocation at...

“Can I go to the bathroom?” “No problem. I’ll get us seats.” Steve and I had just begun our date and my enthusiasm was already in single digits. We had met online and the fact that he was a scientist at a local research company intrigued me enough to agree to a date. I could only hope that his laboratory was more organized than his real life – he had arrived nearly twenty minutes late and his first words upon meeting me were not something along the lines of “Hi. Sorry I’m late,” but instead “Hi, I’m Steve.  I’m going to the bathroom, be back in a second.” I made my way through the gathering of typical characters found in swanky L.A. hotel bars – like wealthy cougars on the prowl and their high-priced escort “prey” lurking at the bar. I found a table with a nice ocean view and Steve re-appeared and ordered us drinks. The introductory chitchat was a second sign of trouble. Instead of smartly giving me his best opening “pitch,” Steve listed off a litany of boring past jobs and bad dates he had been on that year. Steve eventually dialed down his side of the conversation and I was beginning to talk about my career when he interrupted, “Do you mind if I go to the bathroom? Alcohol goes right through me.” “Oh. Sure.” I said, hoping that my response came out sounding matter-of-fact and didn’t reveal what I was really thinking– Didn’t you just go to the bathroom five minutes ago? While hoping that Steve had already eaten dinner so we could have a one-drink-and-go evening, I glanced toward the door and saw, out of the corner of my eye, a man, dressed in a sleek dark suit,...

I guess I consider myself a bit of a catch.  The well-educated girl next door type must – eventually – be able to find her version of Prince Charming.  With that attitude in mind, I went out on a blind date the other night with the best of intentions.  The “advert” served up to me on this guy seemed promising.  He was a writer on a hit show, the kind of guy that should have potential – at least enough potential for several dates.  He came from a good Jewish family, grew up in Monterey and had even gone to grad school out East.  That was exciting information for me –maybe he actually read the paper and knew a bit about politics.  Intellectual hope springs eternal when dating in LA. I met him at a cheesy Mexican restaurant for flour tortillas and drinks.  As I crossed the crowded bar, there he was, just as my friend had described him. An average-looking guy, but with an inquisitive mind and a flair for knowing how to blow up boats in the Miami Harbor and make it look sexy on TV.  At the very least, I thought, he must know a thing or two about how to make a bomb.  A girl must be prepared if she finds herself stuck in a refrigerated cooler with nothing to help her escape except a piece of barb wire, electrician’s tape and an oil drum. I was looking forward to an enticing conversation. As I got closer to where he stood at the bar, I watched him slowly open his arms for a hug…..as he also went in for an open-mouth kiss.  “Eeew,” I thought. “I don’t even know this guy and he wants to tongue tag.” After the awkward...

I had a first date with a music producer/writer named Jon at one of those hot new Hollywood restaurants that get all sorts of buzz and attention, but are really nothing more than haute dining chains for the rich and famous when they are in trendy cities. Most women would swoon at the thought of eating at such an “it” place, but I was not too impressed.  I learned that it’s not easy listening to your date’s story about growing up in Peoria while Kim Kardashian nibbles on Peking Duck at the next table.  Frankly, I needed to get a good look at the heels she was wearing and his story about the French explorers who settled the Illinois town was not that riveting. Anyway, since Jon was in town for an awards show, we were able to circumvent this potential hurdle by eating on the day after the ceremony, when everyone in Hollywood was nursing their post-party hangover. The restaurant was not even a fourth full and the only real celebrity in attendance other than Kim Kardashian, was Kathy Griffin, sitting in a corner table, munching wearily on chicken satay. Without any distractions (minus Kim K’s shoes and wondering where she bought them and hoping for a chance to ask her before we left the restaurant), the man I got to know over those two hours of food, conversation, and sake was confident, smart, savvy and surprisingly sensitive. I was hooked. At the end of dinner Jon invited me back to his studio to listen to his music. I agreed, secretly hoping that “listening to music” wasn’t code for some weird, new sexual experience. When we entered the studio, there was a bubbly intern standing in front of a large, neatly organized stack...

The Incredibly True Tales of Two Women Dating in L.A. “You’re going to love our date.” Marco said, stepping on the gas of his new Mercedes sedan. The car gave out a smooth purr and accelerated as we made our way west on Washington Blvd. toward Venice. Marco was Italian, good looking and, after about the first twenty minutes of riding with him, seemed altogether fabulous. Marco pulled into a run-down mini-mall right near Main Street and slid his car into a tight parking space. I looked at the row of faded neon signs above and thought that unless we were eating dinner at Little Caesar’s or Subway, I had absolutely no idea what we were doing there. “Come on.” He said, getting out of the car. “I thought we were going to dinner? “Dinner later. Now, we go …” He pointed to a sign in the corner of the mini-mall emblazoned with large purple block letters: Mani Pedi Palace. “For me?” I asked, wondering if, in lieu of first date flowers, Marco had decided to treat me to a mani/pedi. “No.” Marco said, “For us.” For us? Our first date was going to have a his/her mani/pedi? “What?” “I like to get weekly mani/pedis. And since you’re with me, you will too. My treat.” Marco said. I acquiesced and for the next hour Marco and I sat in matching salon chairs, trying to make small talk while petite women busily soaked, filed and massaged our feet and fingers. During the course of our “digits” grooming, the woman taking care of me leaned in and whispered, “Oh, you know Marco long time?” “Ah…no. It’s a first date.” “Ohhh. Marco. He come in a lot. Very wealthy man.” If “Marco” came here a lot, did...