I'm gonna need a second opinion.

When I first moved to Los Angeles, I didn't have many friends that lived up here. Sure, I had a few hipster friends that dwelled on the painfully cool East Side, but I've always been in love with living next to the Pacific Ocean, so being that brand of awesome was never in the cards for me. So I parked myself a few miles from the beach and spent most of my free time watching reruns of Friends on the scrambled 13 inch TV in my studio apartment. Seriously, do you know how long it takes to get from the beach to Silverlake? Not worth the gray hairs or $10 worth of gas spent on sitting in traffic. The only people I really spent any time with were a few girls I had known from before my move up to the city and the people I worked with, one of them being my first LA love.

I hestitate to call him my first LA boyfriend because I don't think that's how he would ever classify it. Well, maybe now he would, but back then he sure as hell wasn't going to acknowledge any sort of attachment he may or may not have had to me. This irritated me to no end, by the way. Because, to me, he was my boyfriend. We liked each other, we hung out (I slept over) every couple of days outside of work, where we spent 50 hours together weekly...when it ended, he had to break up with me, for chrissake.

Later, when he decided to completely deny any sort of relationship between the two of us and referred to our connection as being "coworkers," my argument was that if you have to break up with someone, then you are more than just coworkers. Still, he didn't agree. And what was the point of arguing it, anyway? This person, regardless of what actually existed, did not want the history books to show that we were ever together. As sad as that sounds to me now, I still ended up sleeping with him every few months for 2 years following the breakup, so I guess I can't really say he was the only asshole involved in that mess.

One night, when we were "together," a girlfriend of mine was having a birthday dinner and she invited the two of us to come out. My coworker accepted, and we met up beforehand to get ready, fool around, and buy a present for the birthday girl. We both signed the fucking birthday card, even! The plan was to eat dinner at this place in Hollywood that serves thai food and has some sort of thai Elvis impersonator that, for $5, will sing anything you want, and then we were gonna hit up this psychic on Cahuenga Blvd. for a little post-dinner soothsaying.

The girls and I had been to this psychic before, and she blew our minds the first time we visited, so we thought it would be fun to take a large group over for a collective mind-blowing. Gina was her name, or at least the name she gave us.

When we walked up the stairs to Gina's -- shop? office? what would you call it? -- she was smoking a cigarette in her nightgown, and she looked directly at me and said "I know you. welcome back." It had been about 6 months since I'd seen her last, so the fact that she remembered me so instantly made me think this chick was actually legit. I figured she recognized the spirits that were hanging around me or something. Is that how it works?

When I picture spirits, I feel like it would be a similar scene to that of a Great White and those adorable little pilot fish that can't stand to be away from him for any amount of time. Maybe it's more like the Verizon commercials where there's just a mass of people surrounding that one dude in the glasses. Of course, the crowd (and pilot fish) would be invisible.

I DIGRESS. So Gina asks to see each of us separately so that she can reveal intimate details about our futures to us. I go first, and she tells me that the guy I'm with (my "coworker") is the one for me, but that he's a tough one to nail down, and if I didn't figure out a way to do it, then I would be single until I was 50. (...) Thanks a lot, asshole. I didn't even know how to process that.

My coworker went last. He was trapped in Gina's lair the longest, and when he came out he was awkwardly trying to act like everything was fine and dandy by way of clapping his hands and laughing uproariously about things that weren't funny. He never mentioned a word about it, but I've always wondered what she said to make him come so unhinged.

Despite the fact that I had a bladder infection and was unable to actually "go all the way," the coworker let me sleep at his house...he was a charmer. Still antsy and weird, he was completely detached and actually fell asleep with his back to me. Normally it was a little spoon/big spoon situation, with him being the big spoon more often than not. Not wanting to read into anything, but still feeling the sting of being kept at arm's length, I turned my back to him and let a few tears leak out before I fell asleep.

The next morning wasn't any less awkward...I left before he even got out of bed. He broke up with me the next week. Not to point out the obvious, but it's clear that we didn't have a very strong foundation if he wasn't even willing to admit that we were together. But we "weren't together" for months before that, and everything seemed to be (neurotically) fine. I seriously doubt that whatever that psychic said had anything to do with anything, but still...what if it did?

Also, it's bullshit that I'm gonna be single until I'm 50. I object!

There goes another one...

Ok, so here's what happened with the Sundate from last week... (*sigh*)

First of all, let me preface this by the fact that, leading up to the date, this dude and I were communicating all day long - whether it be via text, chat or missed phone calls - for 5 straight days. A little intense for someone you haven't met in person? Perhaps. But it was exciting and we had a lot to talk about.

So anyway, we were set to have a lunch date at this little empanada place about 1/3 mile from my house. Dude meets me at my door (10 minutes early, impressive) and we walk to the little restaurant to start our date. Like any first date, it took a little bit of time to warm up, but we seemed to be doing alright for the most part. I only ordered one empanada when we got there because I was too nervous to concentrate on clearing my plate, so I figured I should keep it to a minimum. I was soooo broke on that day, and I was desperate to drink a Diet Coke, but I somehow forgot to order one. Bummers.

The conversation goes alright and we both end up sharing a whole bunch about ourselves - sometimes maybe too much? - and then it's time to walk back to my place. Mother nature is a bitch and she's always had it out for me, so while we were in the restaurant it started raining. Not cats and dogs, by any means, but enough to be annoying and fuck up my hair on the walk home. The shirt I was wearing was sort of this lacework deal that left a lot of my shoulders exposed to the cold, rainy weather. The dude, either being chivalrous or just plain old polite, put his arm around my shoulder as we walked the rest of the way. I went into full neurotic mode and, in my head, frantically tried to figure out if this arm-around-the-shoulder thing was anything I should be taking seriously. It's not like he was fingering me or anything. We get to my door and I completely make it awkward and weird and I think I even turned my face when he went in for a kiss. I have no idea how to react anymore.

- This past year has been so full of manipulations and mindfucks that I honestly can't tell what anyone's intentions are unless they straight-up say it to my face, and even then I'm not convinced - the darling comedian had no problem saying things to my face but not actually meaning a single word. -

Anyhow, I made it weird and he said he wanted to see me again and that he'd call me and I basically just stuttered out some words that sounded somewhat like "goodbye" and ran back into my house. Feeling bad (and confused) about what happened, I sent him a text* apologizing for making things awkward and he texted back right away, not seeming terribly bothered. I went to bed that night feeling like it may have been a success. It wasn't blow-you-out-of-the-water chemistry, but there was enough there to make me curious for a little more.

The next day I didn't hear a single thing from him. He wasn't online. He didn't text me like he had every day for the 5 days prior to our date. That's when the insecurities started setting in. The dynamic had shifted, and I took it as rejection. I mean, that's exactly what has happened with the other douchebags that weren't interested in me in the past, for chrissake. I started flipping out a little bit that day, but decided I'd see what happened the next day.

I got to work and signed online and he was signed on** as well, but it took him like 5 hours to say anything to me. But then we started sort of chatting about casual things like the weather and work, and it seemed like he was just busy. He had apologized for not being around the day before - something about playing video games in his pajamas all day long and disconnecting from the world entirely - so I started to think that maybe I had prematurely decided I was being rejected.

Feeling a little better about the situation, I sent him a link to an art exhibit that I thought he would like and asked if he was interested. His response was "this looks pretty rad." Not...really answering my question, bro. Did that mean he was interested in going with me? Or just that he was interested in the exhibit? Insecurities started to set back in. I felt like he was just trying to be polite by not completely blowing me off right away.

For the record, I still haven't figured out what I dislike more: being completely blown off immediately, or the long, drawn-out polite process of being slowly disregarded. Both are pretty awful.

...this is when it gets bad. The next day he was M.I.A. again. He wasn't online - he was always online before - he didn't text me. By this point I was pretty sure he was either dead, or I was being fucking disregarded by another one, and while I certainly don't wish for anyone's untimely demise, the thought of being blown off AGAIN made me want to vomit...so I didn't know which scenario I actually preferred.

Then (!) I noticed on my Facebook*** that he had deleted me as a friend...or so it seemed. When I clicked on his profile, it said his profile was private and that I had to add him as a friend in order to see any info about him. You know what I'm talking about. I lost it. I was so pissed off. Why the FUCK would he be such a fucking child and delete me on Facebook rather than just growing a pair of fucking nuts and being like "hey, I'm not into you." At this point I was livid, and I was sick of this fucking routine, so I prematurely wrote a "fuck you for blocking me from the internet, you jerk" email (I KNOW. I KNOW. NOT A GOOD IDEA) and fired it off without thinking about anything and just hopped on the bus and seethed the entire way home.

It was done! Fuck that guy. The only thing left was to live in fear of my inbox for the next 24 hours in case he decided to follow up with a nasty retort. But, to my horror, when I arrived home I signed back into my Facebook and I realized that he had NOT, in fact, blocked me. I don't know what the fuck was up with the internet that day, because earlier that afternoon he had clearly deleted me, but now he was magically back in my arsenal of internet friends. Whoopsie. I...definitely overreacted.

At this point, I knew that I ruined whatever existed between the two of us by sending that email. But then I thought that if he didn't understand why I was upset or my anxieties about his unexpected disappearance, then he wasn't a dude I wanted to waste my time on anyway. Still, though. How embarrassing.

Mortified, I sat and waited for the email response, which came to me about 5 hours after I sent the initial scathing email. His response was infuriating. He basically said that he did like me, but my overreaction was too much. Nay. To quote him: "even the slightest disappearance on my part elicited a bunny boiler for the save file." HE FUCKING LIKENED ME TO GLENN CLOSE IN FATAL FUCKING ATTRACTION. YES, I should not have flipped out and sent that email, but how the FUCK does that make me a psychotic animal killer? The only thing BOILING was my goddamn blood at that point. But what could I do? Anything more on my end would only prove him right. So I swiftly apologized and let the whole thing go. Done.

I deleted my online dating profile a minute after I got his response. Fuck this dating thing. I'm not good at it.

*Texting is the worst.
**When did people stop calling each other?
***Also, fuck Facebook.

Silence is golden?

I barely went anywhere this weekend, and it was glorious. No getting all dressed up to go out and spend every last penny on over-priced booze. No awkward first dates to over-analyze and pick apart until there's no semblance of hope left. I actually stayed in on Saturday night and watched Lifetime Originals with a girlfriend and shoved my face full of meatloaf and ice cream (not together, of course) and it was totally perfect and stress-free.

This was the first weekend in a super long time that I wasn't stressing over some idiot boy, and I gotta say...I'm sort of into it. Finally there's no noise! I'd love to say that I could take a break from this whole dating scene for a while and enjoy the quiet, but let's be honest...who am I if I'm not hyperventilating over some boy or another? Still, today I'm going to say that I'm quitting this mess until further notice.*

*We all know that "further notice" will be in like 3 days until I fall for a new lanky, big-nosed comic book nerd.

Pearl of Wisdom #3

When making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, always use the knife for the peanut butter first. Then wipe the knife off and dive into the jelly. Never put a jelly-covered knife into the peanut butter, it leaves a big mess inside the jar, and creates tension among the peanut butter purists.Peanut butter is, normally, community property and not everyone loves jelly. Those with peanut allergies are treated so delicately, but what about the people that have jelly allergies? Ok, maybe not allergies, but what about jelly aversions? Don't those people have any rights?

While we're on the topic of community eating regulations, please never (EVER) reheat fish in a shared space. Nobody wants to be hotboxed by the smell of fish while they're trying to work/eat/live. On a similar note, stop making popcorn in the office. The smell of popcorn, if cooked properly, makes people irrationally hungry, thus causing people to become irritable. If cooked improperly, the burnt smell permeates every molecule in the shared space, thus causing people to want do a jack knife off the top of the building.

Knock this shit off, people.

Bullocks.

Ugh, all of the hot british men (there are many!) in my office are wearing wedding bands. Looks like I'll have to go elsewhere to find myself a delicious import.

The only other dude that remotely piques my interest is this guy that is way too tiny for my preferences, and he keeps telling everyone that he looks way younger than he actually is, and he looks 35 to me...so I'm guessing he's actually like 36 but has the misconception that everyone thinks he's 40 or something and loves to "prove them wrong" about it. Basically, he's middle-aged. Yuck.

Pearl of Wisdom #2

Smoking drugs absolutely makes your teeth fall out. I've never personally smoked any drugs, but I wait for the bus at Hollywood and Highland and I see evidence of this every single day. Not pretty.

RE: Sundate

If anything went wrong on my date yesterday, it was because I panicked and made things awkward. I've completely lost the ability to interpret first date behavior. A year ago, if a man put his arm around me while we were on a date, I'd take it that he liked me. Now that I've been confused out of my mind with the last few idiots I've wasted my time on, an arm around the shoulder could very well mean "yeah, I'm not into it." So I stuttered and said stupid things at the end, and I probably came off like a squirrelly mess. Bummer, too. I liked him.

Sundate

I have a date on Sunday. A FIRST date. An INTERNET first date! God, those are the scariest. And it's the trickiest process, this internet dating. You have to be careful about how attached you get to the idea of the person before you actually meet them. If you know too little about the person and jump into a date immediately, it's likely that there won't be any sort of connection. But if you get to know them too well before you meet, it ends up being a bigger bummer if it doesn't actually go well. Right now the only thing that would ruin this date on Sunday is if there was no physical attraction. Otherwise, everything seems to be golden. Saying anything more will only serve to jinx things, so I'm zipping my lips now.

But what the fuck do I wear? Seriously.

Pearl of Wisdom #1

Statistically, the most frequently used stall in a public restroom is the second stall. This has nothing to do with romance or dating in Los Angeles, but it's something to think about.

The ass is greener...

American girls will forgive a man almost anything if he's got a foreign accent. Well, a fancy foreign accent...like british or spanish or... south african! And while I certainly have a weakness for the men within my vacinity, they would cease to exist if a smouldering british/french/spanish/anyone other than american man came into my life. The dude could be fucking homeless and I'd drop everything to hear what he was saying.

I started a new job yesterday and declared that there wasn't a single guy worth enough for me to spend my next crush on, and then today this dude (who I didn't think twice about when I saw him yesterday) walked by while on the phone and he had a british accent, and all of a sudden I think he's my soulmate.

And the best part is that whenever I travel abroad, all the foreign men adore MY accent. When I was in New Zealand I could have picked any dude I wanted down there. I honestly could have paired up with the hottest guy in the country and he would have been stoked to be with me. And then I get back here and I can't even pay a dude to give me a high-five. Sounds like I'm living on the wrong continent, eh?

Scent of a Wo(man)

It doesn't matter who's wearing it, whenever I smell Old Spice: Pure Sport I am rendered powerless. Bruce Vilanch could walk by me wearing Old Spice: Pure Sport and I would want to beg him to take his shirt off so I could get a better whiff. I think it's probably because my first real crush wore that back in the 1800s when I was young, and the sweet memory has forever been attached. For that very same reason, I always make it a point to smell exactly the same when I see a former love/crush/gentleman caller. I've literally got an entire of shelf of perfumes that I've collected over the years, and each one belongs to one man.

No revenge is sweeter than making a man that has broken your heart long for the days when he first loved you, and the effect is so easily achieved! Humans are so predictable. We're all animals, after all.

But it can work against you, too. My first love in LA broke up with me over the phone while I was in the middle of working an 80 hour work week. Immediately upon hanging up I got online and spent my entire tax return on a ticket to London to see my best friend. All I wanted to do was drink whiskey, listen to Paul Simon's Graceland on repeat, and cry into my falafel. I was heartbroken.

I remembered that I left my camera at my ex's house, so I used that as an excuse to meet up one more time before I took off. I thought this could be a chance to, pathetically, win him back. I went out and bought a new dress and shoes, made my face extra pretty, wore my hair the way he liked it...I even went out and bought a new perfume. This particular man was driven wild by this perfume I had that smelled like apples. I later learned that strippers also smell like apples...should have been a sign. But this time I went with Chanel Chance: sophisticated, young, and new. Plus, the name said it all. This was my chance! I thought if I could look amazing while seeming a little bit changed, I would be irresistible and back in his arms in no time.

That's not exactly how it all worked out. I did see him and I looked absolutely fabulous. So fabulous that I ended up spending the night again. Technically, I was back in his arms. I was set to leave the next afternoon for London, and I figured I would sleep in and we'd have some breakfast and share a sweet goodbye. Instead, he woke me up at 7am and removed me from his apartment as soon as humanly possible. Not even a kiss goodbye.

There I was, standing on the curb of his apartment building, wearing a new dress and heels, makeup smeared all over my face, and I was totally dejected. I felt used, naive, sick to my stomach. And as I walked to my car, all I could smell was that goddamn Chanel Chance. Chance, my ass, I thought. There was never any chance. I should have stuck to the classics.

It's been years now and every time I smell Chanel Chance my stomach instantly drops and I feel an overwhelming sense of desperation. I'll never wear it again, but I still have the bottle on my shelf for some reason. I guess I've been hoping that I could wear it again one day with someone new and the bad memories would fade away. Scent is a powerful creature, man. Be careful with it.

"Never date 8-1-8"

That was one of the first pieces of advice that I received upon my big move up to Los Angeles. Once I'd settled and gotten comfortable, I somehow forgot that little tidbit and let a few valley area code toting boys work their way into my heart. Without fail, the boys with the 818 area codes have proven to be the most disappointing wastes of time. From now on I will stick to only those who boast a 310, 323, 949 or maaaaaybe a 714, and I suggest everyone do the same. It's just safer to preemptively strike on this one. As far as out of state area codes...those can get tricky, so it's up to your own discretion.

Note to self...

Never wear mismatched sweats anywhere outside of your house. Tonight I went to dinner with a friend while wearing velour navy blue sweat pants (don't ask) and a bright red cotton sweatshirt with a white fleece-lined hood that makes me look like Santa. I literally almost had a panic attack as we walked into the restaurant because I was convinced that every guy that I've ever liked/gone out with/tried to impress was going to be sitting at one giant table waiting to point their fingers and laugh at me. Thankfully I came out unscathed, but was it worth it go through all of that? No way, man. Next time I'll make sure my sweat suit matches. Or, more important, I won't leave the house in sweats.

How cliché.

Ugh, It was the windbreaker dude from NYE that was calling me and not leaving messages. Eventually he left one, but before he did, he called 4 times and hung up. I didn't call him back, and I don't plan on it, making me exactly the sort of person that I've been complaining about for the past godknowshowlong. If he didn't call, I'd have been pissed, but he did and it totally turned me off. The worst part is the realization that I now know exactly how the people on the other side of my own situations feel. Why is it that the second a person likes me I find them disgusting and pathetic? My behavior is so textbook. Definitely an issue worth exploring. It's like that old Groucho Marx quote: "I don't care to belong to any club that would have me as a member."

The Art of ... Something

Well, I was too saturated with spirits to successfully put my newly learned manipulation tactics into play, but I did manage to get some poor schmuck to kiss me at midnight. Not a perfect match by any means (he was wearing a windbreaker, for chrissake), but it worked just fine for me. He told me I was beautiful and that he wanted to take me to the movies. Who knows if I'll actually go. I think he's called me like 10 times but hasn't left a message. Either he's calling me, or someone else is eager to annoy me with missed calls.

As usual, I let the alcohol cloud my judgment and I made way too many texts to people I shouldn't have been texting. I also called my friend in Hawaii and tried to convince him that we should get married immediately. I can't remember if he said yes or no. Wouldn't be me if I didn't make it weird! Happy New Year!