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.