It's all happening

Soho Guy... he is asleep right next to me at this very moment. On my couch at home in L.A.

Where to begin? He visited me, I saw him in NY, he flew to L.A. and that was that... He decided to stay - had movers pack all his shit in Manhatten, and has been crashing with me. He found an apartment less than a mile away so I could fel comfortable going to and from work and confident with moving in some day.

Whoa, does he move fast . But for some odd reason, I'm not scared.

I lied. I'm scared shitless. I'm doing that thing I do so well; test after test to see what will make this amazing guy leave, because they all do, right? But this one seems like the real deal. For some reason, he likes me. Not just love, he likes me. My psychotic exploits, idiosyncrasies, meaningless argumentative "points", stubborn antics, awful morning attitude - the whole shabang, if you will.

I've never felt so okay with being so not-ok.

It's amazing how obvious the simplicities of happiness become once it's in your possession.

He is snoring. It's annoying. And I could actually wake him up and tell him, and he wouldn't be angry.
......

Right again.

......

We fit, and things are going to change. I feel it.

I should probably stop calling him Soho guy... but alas, a label is a label, and so it sticks. I hope someday I can shed some of my own.

Two Much

My mother once told me "you should always have three men on rotation... One with money, to take you out and treat you. One with sex appeal, to show you a 'good time' and one that you really want, who you keep at arm's length." The Eastern European adage she often quotes attempts to attach value to "playing hard to get," yet I willingly misinterpret her words to mean "no one guy is good enough, so date three."

Yet, my mother failed to mention the difficulty and complications that arise from this juggling act.

I started seeing Ironic Tattoo guy after having several drunkenly disastrous yet elusively enticing nights with him. He is fun, carefree, covered in meaningless ink that makes everyone chuckle and was growing a beard for a 4-person-wide competition.

I know. Winner.

Then I was having long, late night phone calls discussing the metaphysical connections within our world with the wealthy SoHo Guy.

I know. Long Distance.

Almost as protest to my conscience urging me to cut both un-datable men loose, I met yet another non-option whom I shall refer to as Crazy Psycho Guy.

Long story, short:
He facebook-messaged me that he remembered me from a party four months ago.
He called me that very night and talked my ear off about life for 2 hours.
He met me and my friends at a bar during a friend's birthday party where we all got drunk.
He showed up at another party a few days later where Ironic Tattoo Guy also showed up.
I made out with Ironic Tattoo guy and left the party with him.
I got a 13 paragraph facebook message from Crazy Psycho Guy attacking me for my drunken behavior, my poor judgment and general lack of direction in life.... and that continuing our relationship would put me on the right track again, but only if I get rid of those awful friends of mine.

Needless to say, I ripped his balls off in a my response to his email, outlining that I'm well aware of my disastrous behavior, mythically mad lifestyle and oddball friends and that I like it that way.

Crazy Psycho Guy is gone, Ironic Tattoo Guy is consistently mediocre, and I'm in NYC now for work, staying with SoHo Guy. He is pretty magnificent.

I think?

Hmmm "Think." I should try to do that more often... this whole impulsive dating thing is getting messy.

Make it Rain

There's a new one. A man different than any other I've ever been attracted to. He doesn't look homeless, isn't over-bearingly artistic, has neatly trimmed hair and doesn't slam whiskey at the bar.

I met him the same night I met moped guy. At the time, he was bench-pressing skinny models and offending lesbians at the SoHo Grand Hotel. So naturally, I found the unusual one in the room typically charming. We laughed, partied then off I ran with the doomed sex-less date. In fact, as I held hands to depart with the moped guy, this SoHo guy grabbed my hand, and tried to dissuade me from leaving with the stranger as he thought it was not a good idea. I found it effortlessly caring of him; it was almost brother-like, the interest he took in my soon-to-be where-abouts. I should have listened.

About a week ago I was having a really bad day. One of those rough, confusing, hormone-enduced depression-filled days. As I melted into my couch exhausted, bloated, hungry, angry... my phone rang. It was the SoHo guy. Absent of any self worth or normative decency, I spilled my pathetic guts to the unassuming pursuer, and I was alright with it. Once again, the distance lead to a certain closeness and immediate comfort with fragility.

The conversation continued, up and down, side to side, for what seemed like a few minutes, but really was about three hours. I haven't experienced such challenging, fun, stimulationg conversation in god knows how long. We definitely have a mental connection, yet there is one problem... he's wealthy. Correction, loaded. I know, I know... "Why is that a problem?!" I feel as though those raised with luxury, stability and ease lack a true understanding of the world around them. No matter how "open minded" a silver-spoon-fed person may claim to be, you can never truly learn to be emotionally self-sufficient because everything was always so easy. Not to mention I feel incredibly threatened and resentful towards them. And okay... a little jealous too.

Long story, long, he's courting me. Yes, he calls it courting. A 28 year old. Un-ironically.

He is really trying to impress me: I mention I don't have a coffee machine, a box shows up at my house with a coffee grinder, french press and Intelligentsia coffee (his favorite). I say my day is a little rough, he sends flowers and a teddy bear to the office. I'm in Vegas with friends, he offers to buy $100 tickets to see Cirque du Soliel with my friends.

I know, what's wrong with me, right? Why am I not in love with this guy?

Well, I'm keeping things going, he's visiting L.A. in a few weeks, then I'm going to NY for work.

More to come. Millions more.

No Bed Moped

Yeah, so this happened.

I was at an uber fabulous party for Fashion Week; you know, uncomfortably refined... enticing in the worst ways...

I was elegantly wasted due to the endless flow of complimentary vodka and champagne, and doubly exhausted from the flight I had just taken 2 hours prior to get to New York. Needless to say, I had to get home, quick. Before that last shot put me over the edge.

My friend I had accompanied was still busy feasting on the fame-filled buffet, and was not leaving anytime soon, and so I stepped just outside to consider my options of escape. Phone dead... shit.

Before I could drunkenly stupor towards yet another bad-idea shot at the bar, a gorgeous man grabbed my attention. "Hello." Well hello! He flirted me up, said all the right things in that perfect raspy, deep, sexy voice. He invited me to another party. I declined, as my debaucherous nature was sure to peak at any moment and I knew I should head back to my place. He insisted, smiled flirtasiously, gazed into my eyes, pulled my hair behind my ear and asked again.

Before I knew it I was on the back of his moped flying through the city, headed anywhere but where I should have been going. Dodging crowds, cabs and stoplights... hair blowing in the wind, heels barely set on the foot-rests. It was all quite perfect. The next party was, needless to say, a blast. And again I insisted I must go. But alas, a gaze a grab and a kiss later, we were on his bike again. This time for a late night dinner.

After he paid the bill, I again insist, "Ok, it's 5am, I must go back. I have no idea where I am. It was a great time, but I'm exhausted" and like clockwork, he held my hand, smiled that dangerous smile and points across the street and shows me his loft. How convenient.

We stumble up seven flights of stairs, giggling the whole way. We get to his door and before he turns the key he looks to me and says the last possible thing I could have ever predicted.

HIM: "So, I just thought I should let you know... we can't bone or anything. I'm sort of seeing someone."
ME: ...
HIM: "Is that cool?"
ME: "First of all, don't use the word 'bone.' Second of all, what... why... um...."
HIM: "I just really like her and..."
ME: "But you brought me here. I wanted to go home all night. You talked me into this whole night every step of the way... I didn't even expect..but somehow... how am I getting dumped right now?"
HIM: "Sorry... it's just getting serious and..."
ME: "You know what, open the fucking door. I need to go to bed."

We went to sleep. He gave me a ride back in the morning.

Did he think that made him faithful? Or made me desperate? What? huh?

That happened.

Big Rotten Apple

As is typical with my work, I was sent off to New York with about 12 hours notice. I was immediately ecstatic as my boss mentioned it wasn't a full blown, crazy work trip and I should enjoy as much of fashion week as I was to cover it for work as well. My first thought was New York guy... as I'd mentioned in a previous post, he was the real deal - the only time I'd actually felt that immediate "wow" that we all think we'll never experience again after a lost love. We met in december of 2009, fell for each other immediately. Upon arrival in Los Angeles after that magical trip, I had assumed the affair was nothing more than a fling. It was serendipitous and presumably real in nature, yet I knew better about long distance relationships... so you can imagine my surprise when I landed in the hell hole that is LAX to find several messages from him proclaiming his regret of withholding his proclamation to me in person the inexplicable feelings he felt for me whileI was still on his coast. "I don't want to lose you now that I've finally found you."

We continued speaking, video chatting, emailing consistently and I flew to visit him again in February... out of my control, as is typical with all matters of the heart, he dropped the "L" bomb and I must admit, I got scared. Scared of yet another long distance relationship; stuck in limbo, absent of growth and understanding, filled with jealousy and inadequacy... so I suggested we tone it down and not allow a relationship. He disagreed but obliged... to my later dismay, of course.

I only heard from him two more times after that exchange. Once at midnight on my birthday in March, just a text "Happy Birthday gorgeous." And again in May when he expressed his desire to start speaking again. He explained that he had never stopped loving me, and that he never felt so much that something, or someone, was missing... I couldn't keep my guard up any more because I felt the same way, and agreed. But it never went back to the way it was before I tainted his trust... his openness.

We spoke just a few weeks after that exchange and as had become a trend, he became busy, seemingly nervous about getting too close again, and disappeared... blew me off a few nights in a row and I became upset, explained that I wasn't a therapist - only to be contacted when he was lonely and needing help.

So back to the present.

I flew to New York on a Saturday - apparently the same day he flew in from a long trip overseas to see family. I called him immediately. He expressed the same desire to see me as I had. And then, nothing. For days, he would text or leave a voicemail asking when he could see me, I'd respond and make plans, then he would disappear. I was stood up or forgotten for 6 days in a row. I tried and tried to see him... make him feel comfortable and confident... It was heart wrenching. I freed up one full day for him since I was staying about 3 blocks away from his home. And alas, that day he had disappeared completely. No response, no explanation. No more apologies as he had provided the previous 5 days, such as "I'm sorry about last night. I've been really off. Are you free tomorrow?"

So there I was. A dismal day in Brooklyn, with the worst hangover in my life, irrationally sad and regrettably let down yet again, and so I left the cafe where I passed time for a few hours and walked back to my friend's place where I was staying. And out of nowhere, with almost as much irony and finesse as the irreverent rejection I had experienced thus far, thunder crashed, clouds descended and I begun a faster pace home as I thought it may rain.

I answered a phone call, from my friend. "There's a tornado warning... are you safe?" And before I could really free my drunken mind from the awful bliss of a forever-familiar rejection, the heaviest rain and hail I had ever seen in my life poured onto my already-drowning body. I ran. Fast. Frightened, sad, tired, dehydrated, confused and laughing an uncontrollable, psychotic laugh - the kind that explodes from your aching soul when there's no other way to process the disasters that you feel are only aimed at you. This finally can't get any worse I thought... and with that, I felt some peace.

I ran for bout 5 minutes - the only 5 minutes the storm, lightening bolts and twister lasted. I walked in to my friends apartment looking the way I felt.  I looked like hell. Wet, scuffed up, cold hell.

He never saw me and never wrote me after that stormy day.

I guess I just wish he had said what he thought, or atleast stuck to one action rather than professing contradicting regressions to what we had.

Blow me off completely and don't contact me.
Or follow through and see me.
Or tell me you can't see me.

Silly me for expecting even the most fading remnants to remain ripe... I should have known better.

Now I do. Maybe that was the whole point?

My shoes are ruined. Sole and all.

Y are they so confused?

After continuing our e-courting across about 2,500 miles, I let the Canadian "in" a bit... the first mistake I always make with guys who are actually pursuing anything more than sex. I let him know about my frustration with the distance and how it is obviously a huge obstacle in any relationship - for friends and more-than-friends alike. He called me a pessimist, seemed disappointed at my carelessness with our clear connection and oh-so awesome encounter and insisted we must continue, and that he is willing to try, and why am I not willing?

After hearing what I then-believed to be a genuine portrayal by an adult with desires unobstructed by usual, fickle intrigue, I let myself really like him; mistake number 2. A lowered guard always leads to vulnerability which leads to insistent inadequacy. I mean let's be honest, low expectations are the sure-fire way to being impressed, so why ever believe you'll have more than what you see?

Long story too-short, he'd been too busy to text or call over about four days (because as an executive of a multi-million dollar company, I can attest to the extremely time-consuming and over-bearing task of typing "hello" and the equally exhausting workload of clicking send during a busy day), and so I knew something was coming.

Lo and behold, I was dumped. Again. By someone I was convinced to have more interest in. Again.

I really had nothing to say since I just experienced it with the facebook/post-it dude in April. Although, this was never an actual possibility for anything lasting, with or without the distance. It wasn't "there" and I knew it. It's a weakness I have -It's all or nothing right away with my heart.

But back to my ego and shallow hurt pride: I guess I thought he'd be different. Why do we always think they'll be different?

He claimed he was in "holiday mode" and so he said things that, IN CONTEXT, were true and well-meant, yet the reality of his hard, hard life has set in and truly changed his mind about everything.

He asked if we could still talk, because he doesn't see the point in cutting each other out completely.

I don't see the point in not.

I really suck at not sucking with love. If you ask me, I see too much opportunity with people and what they are all about.

Or maybe most aren't about much more than themselves. Which would be fine, if they even knew who they were.

Apparently this plague is not limited to Los Angeles. Scary...

On an equally doomed note, I met an amazing guy a few nights ago - he's already begun telling me about how I'm so different than his past girlfriends who are just not right for him...

Next!

Blame Canada

I did it. I had a vacation! Two weeks. It was the most random, slutty trip ever.

The plan was a 4 night stay in Vegas for a convention featuring athletes such as myself who are ironically also incredibly heavy drinkers and hard partiers. During one of our all-nighters, we met a gaggle of bougie business types from New Jersey who were there celebrating their best friend's bachelor party. My friends and I were disasters. Sweaty, bruised up from practice and drinking, dressed quite ridiculously - in essence, we didn't fulfill ANY of the pre-req's for "getting in" to this hot spot. But after I exchanged a few ofcourse-eloquent and poised words with the security guard and nearly got the door guy fired, we were all in and treated like some sort of misfit royalty. And for some reason, the group of seemingly stuck up, snotty button-ups took to us. Long story short, I banged the tallest, best looking one. I woke up in a spectacular 5 bedroom suite at the MGM's top floor and had to make the grand entrance into a loud, bustling room of his friends who were already drinking for the next day.

So out I walked, hair a mess, clothing disheveled, phone missing, sans purse, and was myself. I sat down, joined the four robed friends, galavanting in what seemed to be some homo-erotic celebration of their masculinity and self-proclaimed awesomeness. What's funny is, I was embarrassed for them. Fuck my "walk of shame." I wanted to bitch slap the bitchy-ness out of these champagne-sipping pussies and go pound whiskey shots. I refrained from the violence, walked across the street to my party hotel and kept the riots going.

While in Vegas, I received a strange message on facebook: "You keep showing up on my news feed, but I have no idea who you are."

Upon quick inspection, it seemed this guy befriended me about a week prior and I did not accept or deny his friend request, since I had no clue who he was. And so I replied to his message so.

We wrote to each other over the course of 3 days - the messages getting longer, funnier and more in depth with each succession. We exchanged phone numbers and the drunk texting ensued. He wrote that I should go visit him since I was on vacation.

Long story short: He accidentally befriended me since he was looking for his guy friend with my nick name. He lives in Montreal but was visiting Vancouver for a wedding, and I flew to Vancouver to meet this stranger and his best friends.

Safe? Probably not. Fun? Fuck yes.

So off I went. I texted my two closest friends his name and contact info incase I disappeared, and a short message: "This Canadian accidentally befriended me on facebook. He's pretty funny. So I'm flying to Canada tomorrow morning. See you friday."

True to form, I met an amazing guy who it can never go anywhere with... My leading men seem to be growing farther and farther away. If this is any indication of my future in finding a husband, I might as well move to fucking Antarctica.

After three days in Vancouver with the Canadian and his friends, I flew straight to Chicago for my own reunion with a great group of friends. Needless to say, at this point, I had been drunk or hungover for about 10 days straight. Bad decisions left and right... and among them was hooking up with my best guy friend's roommate and good friend who he begged me not to hook up with as it would be awkward for him. I think no one noticed.

My liver is shot, my dignity is dwindling, my slutty phase has now peaked and heartbreak for the Canadian is on the forefront.

Why do guys get so attached to me so quickly when I don't want it? Or ateleast when I'm trying not to?

"Marry me" he says...
"I'm flying you to Montreal" he proclaims...
"I haven't felt this way about anyone in over 3 years" he insists....

No pressure, right?

I'm a mess.

Typical

As much as I claim I wish I'd find an awesome guy here, my trend of connecting with geographically unattainable men continues. I'm beginning to start to maybe, perhaps, kind of, plan to consider the idea that deep down, I don't want a relationship right now... because if I did, it would just happen in L.A., right?

As much as I defend this city I love so much, the dating scene is, needless to say, a fucking fiasco of lack-luster love and lust. A collection of continuous skits of predictable play-by-plays.

My career has me traveling to much of the country for a few days at a time - instantaneous opportunity for hitting it and quitting it; A simple idea that for any man is a lascivious dream come true, but for a woman, puts her in a position of sexploration disguised as feminist prowess. Truth be told, these short stints in random cities are just an unapologetic course to slutting it up. From hoteliers in Chicago to Captain America in Boston, I've definitely enjoyed myself in my travels. It's all good and fun until one of them falls. And yes, there's always one. It's almost as though stating a blatant disinterest in any real commitment is the most promising way to gain such deflected interest. This paradox of rejection leading to more interest is yet another reason the male species will forever confuse me. But again, at least it's a simple theory - you say you don't want them and they want you. You say you do want them, and they "aren't wanting a relationship right now." Two plus two equals four, and running away makes them chase.

I was in Hawaii for a month for work. My boyfriend at the time had just moved to Los Angeles from the East coast, despite my very honest appeals to the move. I thought he would lose himself, crowd my space, resent me for leaving his home town, and I would feel suffocated. Two weeks in, I knew I was right and tried to break it off with this too-nice guy. He pathetically tried to hold on, but I was done in my head and heart. I was his muse - his escape - his excuse to run away... and I'm exhausted with trying to fulfill these lost boys with a hope and fantastical idea when really, I'm just looking for my own peace of mind.

Anyway, while in Hawaii, my fabulously gay associate and I stood at the bar and poked fun at the douchiest guy in the bar. Women were throwing themselves at him. I admit, he was one of the most attractive men I have ever seen, and under usual circumstances, I find this ultimately unattractive (shallow assholes). But, four Ketel Tonics later, he approaches me. And I did what any insecure, confused girl would do, I made fun of him. My dry humor and sarcasm were ill-diagnosed, as it actually turned him on and only made him pursue me more. Three more Ketel Tonics, a few shots and one heated political debate later, we were making out and headed to his place. We played all night long, me withholding actual sex so to maintain a false sense of modesty while he did all the work and loved every minute of it.

Waking up bleary-eyed, missing all my clothing and most of my dignity from the night before, I re-evaluated his sex appeal and was pleasantly surprised to learn he was indeed still hot. But as we spoke, I was shocked to see more and more of a personality that I would never be attracted to. He is a navy seal, sleeves of overly-masculine tattoos, a closet filled with Affliction, guns galore, heavy metal cd's, cheesy hot-chick posters... I started to become disgusted with the fact that I have joined the ranks and hooked up with a total frat boy. Shoot me.

The long drive home was breath-takingly beautiful. We spoke. I was wrong about him. For the first time ever, I was open minded about this "type" of person, and was genuinely shocked to learn of all his layers. He also explained he was shocked to be with a girl like me (big geeky glasses, quirky, strong, and just plain "different."). We transcended the typical Friends with Benefits ruleset  and it was beyond orgasmic. Sunsets on the Hawaiian coast, private yachts, long scenic drives, shooting rifles illegally; it was a full-fledged affair that we both enjoyed and gained from. But he seemed to think it was more. I received an email from him, proclaiming his undying love for me. Yes he "couldn't believe he was falling in love with me, but it happened." I never reciprocated and when I left, he explained his heartbreak to me in a final letter.

This one still confuses me. I couldn't get treatment or a reaction like that from a guy that there's actually potential with if my life depended on it. If anything, I learned to be open about the kind of guy I can see myself with (which for now is, just simply, someone not here). Awesome. So far, so good!

Yes, I've had some sort of proclamation of love after less than a week of friendship from men in Pennsylvania, Germany, Hawaii, Chicago, Atlanta, Oklahoma, New Jersey and Boston... but no one will compare to New York's experience. The connection was magnetic, the attraction immediate and the desires unmanageable. But I cut it off. I'm here. He's there. Why try? I'm still trying to convince myself that one wasn't a mistake.

New York I love you, but you're bringing me down.

It's still never happened in L.A. And I'm from here! At this point, I'm thinking that setting up camp in different state for the sole purpose of a dick hunt is the way to go. Some call it skepticism... I call it being a bitter bitch sick of trying.

When it Rains it Pours

I feel like this always happens... dry spell... no guys... no lovin'... no NOTHIN'... And then, all the Ex's reach out in some strange, pathetic act of wondrous reminiscence of what could have been between us. In two nights I got a text from Concert Ex (which I transcribed in the last post), Nice Guy Ex, Married Ex, Hipster Ex, Pretty Dumb Ex and even, First Love Ex.

Ah yes... I haven't heard from Pretty Dumb Ex in quite sometime, close to a year now. He is a hot one, in the most typical kind of way; chiseled jawline, dreamy eyes, impeccable physique, flirty smile, tattoos that show he is both a badass and a momma's boy with a spiritual side. He is in fact the most perfect example of how beauty can overshadow imperfections in all other vital qualities a partner should have... say, like, a personality. And thus, it never turned into more than purely physical - usually only when I was buzzed enough to alleviate my physical inferiority to his well-advertised and widely-recieved good looks. I remember the last time we had sex... I woke up (on his air mattress that cleverly posed as an actual queen-size mattress - did we actually function on that thing last night)? Anyway...

I woke up to the sensual strokes of his wandering hands and couldn't bare the taste of sour Jameson and stale beer in my mouth, so I rolled over him (nearly flipping over the whole "bed"), slipped on his sweats and a hoodie and stumbled into his bathroom. As I splashed water onto last night's made-up face, I tried to remember what had happened, and giggled at the remembrance of our heated rendezvous. I stood up, bleary-eyed from the running mascara and noticed something was blocking my view of what was sure to be a horrible site in the mirror... What's this? A photo? I lean closer and see a girl. I yell to Ken Doll on the bed, "Hey (name)?" He answers in a raspy, sexy voice "Yeah babe?" ... I ask, ever curious... "Who's this in the photo?"

"Oh. That's my Girlfriend."

I stare closer at the plain girl in the wet photo, notice my awful appearence poking from behind it, realize I'm far too hungover to process anything, and hurry to grab my things and leave. Casually. Almost as casually as he revealed that he is in a very serious relationship then kissed me goodbye: "You know how it is... Let's do this again, sometime. Soon."

I ignored his calls after that. He asked for his sweats and hoodie that I left with that morning for a solid 2 months after that.

Pretty Boys...

Who needs Post-Its when you have facebook?

Ok... so I have thing for musicians. Who doesn't? Some promise of sensitivity, talent, understanding of emotion - blah blah blah.

Most of the time they're losers. But THIS guy... he actually was pseudo-successful. Tour manager, plays with great artists, 2 yrs older, born and raised in LA like me... I met him at Coachella. Drunk. We bonded over superficially-deep music talk and colorful cigarettes (neither of us smoke)... early signs of poser-dom. I blame it on the boogie.

So the whole festival he tries inviting me backstage, uber exclusive after parties, and the oh-so-popular "my place." All to which I say no... I'd rather spend time sneaking in booze with my friends and meeting the freaks amongst the masses and actually listening to the music from where I can hear it. I guess he found this rejection to his usual tactics a turn on... he continued his pursuit of me - we went on a few dates when we got back to town- a bar, dinner, movie at his place etc. We really hit it off... and thus, I showed all the typical signs of a smitten single: Gleamed in awe at the intellectual superiority of the most idiotic stories I've ever heard told, forgave every instance proving any lack of chivalry, read and replied to every meaningless text with careful precision that would prove my interest while hiding my actually superior whit and intelligence.... you know, the usual shit.

I was actually scared at how fast it was moving - and all without sex! He said all the right things: "I really see this going somewhere.... you're the most amazing person I've ever met... I'm totally falling for you" and I was the dude! I played it cool! I didn't respnd with his sappy shit... he always called, he proposed the nights out, he said we should wait with sex (WTF).

He traveled to record for a week, I traveled to shoot for a week - we spoke the whole time - cute texts, pics and fb mushy shit from him... and two days before he got home - it vanished. EVERYTHING STOPPED. No calls, texts, nothing. Made plans for dinner, he never called. Bar the next night? Again disappeared two hours before. I've never been so slighted! or fooled! Was I one of many to this guy? I thought I'm not like those girls - somehow smarter... or with a keen eye for the douchery L.A. has so successfully engrained in most of it's men.

I thought over the options: A. a recent ex reemerged B. He met someone more awesome. C. My lack of reciprocated verbal affections saddened him to rejection.

Never heard anything. Saw on facebook (creepy, I know) his new photo with his achingly pretty new chick and her default photo matching his. Solved.

Over one month passed.

And last night... A TEXT....

HIM: (just my name)

ME (knowing who it is. but lying after the 10 minute pause): Tis I... and you?

HIM: I'm (his name). Hi! How are you? I'm in echo park.

ME (lashing out - fed up with the nonchalance of pretty much dumping me on a post-it): lol Are you fucking kidding me? You fell off the face of the planet. With no explanation. What do you want from me? Not interested.

HIM: Did I? I think I sprained my ankle when I fell.

ME(now unimpressed AND grossed out): Don't you have a girlfriend or 3 wives or some shit? It's all I could think of to explain what happened. Whatever. I don't care. Why are you texting me?

HIM: Four wives. Two girlfriends and one child. Don't know why. Just wanted to say hi! Sorry.

ME: You are strange... Strange Brew.

HIM: But it tastes good

ME: If these eloquent texts are all you have to offer, I must say goodbye. To be honest, I don't care for guys like you. Fare thee well.

HIM: I'm a good chef too. Ciao ciao

I went to bed empowered. Happy that I finally got my words out - no matter how deaf the audience... I guess that's the difference between guys and dolls. But at least I feel I got the final bow. Curtain call on that guy... And I never even got any, ugh...

I win?

Pride pride pride... At least I have you to keep me warm at night....

I mean really...

This is just ridiculous... this whole "dating" or "finding the one" thing. This ever-looming pressure that has grown over the last 2 years from being a hopeful goal for the future to a blatant "what the fuck is wrong with me" feeling. No gray. Just black.

I mean, don't get me wrong... I'm not an irrationally bitter or jaded 20 something who has given up on dating... but I am more perplexed than ever and am beginning to think that with age, I become even more confused about the complexities of guys and what they want.. well actually, what I want. Because as much as I don't want to admit it, guys are simple. I am not.

So much has happened in my (lack of) love life and (intricately loose) sex life in the past year alone that I've decided to keep this blog... almost out of necessity. I'd like to avoid the ridiculousness of my past by keeping tabs on these mistakes, heartbreaks and fantasies in hopes of clearing out the path I'm facing and closing the one behind me... no matter how blatantly apparent its scars may be.

I guess I should introduce myself. I'm 26 years old, born and raised all over L.A. - from Hollywood to Downtown, to Korea Town, to Northridge to Sherman Oaks, to Silverlake to Westwood - a short Jaunt to NY - and now in Hollywood. Yes, I'm actually from L.A. I'd like to give a shout out to all the star-gazing, fame-hungry transplants who have taken over so much of the city I love so dearly and thus contributed to the stereotype of L.A. shallow bastards. I'm attractive enough to get some attention from guys and smart enough to make them turn away after the first conversation. I've been told I have great style, I think i just dress weird. I drink like a fat sailor and sometimes curse like one too. I'm successful beyond my years and love music, art, traveling, laughing and loving...

I'd like to share my very honest stories with other girls like me... and those who aren't...

let's laugh, cry and cringe together, because let's face it... Dating in L.A. is quite the feat. And at this point, I feel like a fucking warrior, never prepared for the battle, but always ready for war.