False Starts & Orgasms – Part I

Attention faithful followers of my shameless shenanigans!

NEW GUY ALERT!

Yes, folks.  There’s someone new on the scene and he’s worth blogging about.  The online dating gods have conspired yet again to bring me a “match.” Well, that happens all the time, actually.  But we spent almost all of our time together this last weekend, so it’s definitely more than an algorithm’s suggestion at this point. Read on.

About a month ago:

1. He sends me a message on OkCupid (remember I deleted my Plenty of Fish account awhile back)

2. I check him out, think he’s cute and interesting and funny, so I respond.

3.  We go back and forth for the next week or so.

4.  We finally exchange numbers.

5.  We text.

6.  I leave for a trip out of state a few days later.  I’m gone for a week.

7.  I return and we make plans to meet.

8.  We have a few conversations via phone.  Yes, folks.  A real conversation on the telephone.  Rare.  I treasure it.

9.  We make plans to meet on a Saturday night.

10.  But THEN….those plans fall through.   He basically flakes on me.  I’m mad/disappointed, yet honestly was too tired to go out that night anyways.

11.  He KNOWS I’m mad/disappointed and profusely calls/texts me the next day apologizing.  He had a misunderstanding of the plans.

12.  He’s cute and funny and he’s APOLOGIZING so I forgive him.

13.  After reading him the polite version of the riot act about how my weekend time is precious and usually pretty scheduled in advance and how I LOVE when a man makes a plan (ie – “How about we meet for coffee on Saturday at 3pm?” instead of “Well maybe we can cross paths on Saturday night…”), and also how 3 other guys contacted me the night we were supposed to go out (FUN FACT: including Mr. Too-Young-Tyson-Beckford!… who I haven’t heard from since I turned him and his hot, gorgeous, skinny jeans-loving self down), and NOW he understands.  He feels bad.  And he realizes he needs to “step his game up” because I’m clearly a “popular woman…” Um, yes. Whatever the case, communication is all I ask for.  Still cute.

There’s the backstory.

Here’s the rest:

Armed with his new knowledge about how I roll (I love a solid PLAN and all…), he calls to ask me out to dinner, Saturday night.  Reservations are at 7:30pm and we’ll have dinner and drinks at this cool place he’s been to before.  RESERVATIONS!

Now, let me share something.

I feel this is way too much for a first date. What if I don’t like him? Or, worse….what if he doesn’t like ME?! That makes for a very awkward dinner.

I much prefer to meet first for a brief cup ‘o joe and let a coffee date organically turn into something more, but apparently this guy wants to do things a bit differently.

Ok, fine.  I just roll with it.  Dinner is going to be at least $125, if not more, but hey, his call.  He’s clearly listening to how I prefer things now and brushed off my suggestions for something simple.  I can definitely appreciate his extra effort.

We have plans to meet at Bar Pinxto, very close to where I live, but a place I’d never been to.  He gets excited when I tell him it’s something new for me to discover.  It’s a super cute, rustic but fancy Spanish tapas bar.  I’m up for it and feeling adventurous.

I’m wearing a purple-blue dress and tall, black boots.  It’s dressy for Santa Monica, yet it’s not.  I love the diversity here.

I’m standing outside the restaurant and then see him walking up towards me.  He’s CUTE! Even cuter in person.  He’s wearing jeans, a collared shirt and a brown leather type of jacket over it.  Stylish.

He hugs me hello and gives me a kiss on the cheek.  Very sweet.

We head inside and are seated.

He’s nervous. I’m nervous.  We make awkward small talk as we look at the wine menu we’ve just been handed.

He’s smiling.  I’m smiling.  This is going to be interesting.

Him: “Do you see anything you like?”

Me: (a lover of wine, but definitely NOT a wino) “Ummm….I’m not picky.  Do you have a preference?”

Him: “Oh, yes. I love Spanish wines.”

I recall we’re at a Spanish tapas place.  There is a large assortment of bottles of wine all around us on display.

I’m quickly sold on the fact that this guy clearly has some culture and cuisine skillz.  YES.

He suggests I try a favorite wine of his and we talk about our day.

He works for Warner Bros and actually had to push back our reservations by a half hour because he was stuck at work on a Saturday getting something ready for a film they’re about to release.  I’m glad to learn he’s a career-guy!

He’s from NYC and was transferred out here to Los Angeles about a year ago for work.

He’s good at his job, yet also has a full-on business plan for what he wants to do with his own company he’s about to launch.

The waitress asks to take our order and I tell him I don’t understand anything on the menu (more or less…it’s all in Spanish) so he politely orders for the both of us.  A few small plates here and there.

The food is amazing!

Mostly things I’ve never heard of or experienced, and I’m loving the adventure as much as he’s loving that he’s the one who gets to watch me experience it for the first time.

The special of the night has squid ink in it and I learn he MUST order this dish.

Like I said.  Adventurous.  That sounds nasty, right?!?!

Well, this man hadn’t led me astray all night and sure enough, it was delicious.

Throughout the next 2 1/2 hours, we dine and talk and bond over squid ink and calamari.

I learn about his family and how he’s very close with his mom, dad and three younger sisters all back on the East Coast.

He also has a 5-year-old daughter and the bi-coastal parenting adjustment has been hard for him.  I can relate and I give him tips about his plans to take her to Disneyland when she’s ready to come visit pretty soon.

He asks me questions about what I do and he’s fascinated.

I share more about who I am and a bit on my work, but mostly he’s a chatterbox telling me stories about living and growing up in New York City and his transition to living here on the West Coast now.

We’re having a GREAT time!

We wrap up dinner and then decide to take a stroll down Ocean Avenue.

We stop to look inside the windows of an art gallery and we both identify our favorite pieces.  He tells me he just picked up some new canvases at Michael’s the other day, and I’m glad to find we also have this hobby in common.  I’d love a “paint date” in the future. :)

He walks me back to my car and as we’re standing in the parking lot, he begins to play the “I don’t want to leave but I’m not sure if I should kiss you or just keep talking to you” game.

It’s cute.

He’s been kinda stand-offish all night physically, yet definitely connected.

So it’s getting late and I say I’m going to head home.  We hug and I thank him for an awesome night, with big kudos on picking out a great restaurant.

He’s glad I enjoyed the evening – he’s had just as good of a time as well.

I get in my car and he heads off to his.

On the way home, I realize we just spent about 3 hours together.  Not bad for a first date! All smiles.

I also realize that you’ve read this whole blog and there has been NO mention of orgasms.  Sorry.

That happens on the next date, so I’ll be calling this one Part I.

Stay tuned…

 

 

UpDATE: The Architect

I learned so much this weekend.

First, I learned that as much as The Architect intrigues me, it’s not a match.

Without divulging too much detail about his personal life and continuous drama with the mother of his two children, I’ll say this much:

We all have baggage.  We just have to decide how much strength we have to carry a heavy (or lighter) load.  And when it comes to a very fresh, very new potential relationship, this includes you and how much of their baggage you choose to deal with alongside them.  Especially when you’re close enough to be trusted with and learn all of the craziness happening from a pretty early start.

There’s a LOT.

Long story short, the level of his “baby mama drama” is like an 11 on the 10-point scale.  And even though she’s this famous blonde Hollywood-type you’ve most likely seen on a TV show (a Dr. who talks about relationships of all things!), according to The Architect she’s bat-poop cray cray.  A fraud and total hypocrite who is somehow “obsessed” with Mr. Architect, as he says.  The stories he shares with me about her are like nothing I’ve heard and it makes me appreciate the people in my life who are SANE.

They’ve not been together for over 6 years but as a very active dad in his two daughter’s lives, it’s inevitable and almost unavoidable drama for him on a daily basis.

I learn more and more during our date this weekend:

After not seeing each other for a month or so, The Architect invites me out for brunch.

I was curious to see how he was doing (new developments for him on the work side of things) and we do have a special connection.

We spent a few hours in the warm, sunny SoCal city of Manhattan Beach.  After we ate at Ocean View Cafe, we walked down to the ocean.

He shared with me the latest gripes and groans about everything going on (his ex, his latest client who won’t pay his full rate, etc) and I found myself feeling sad.

Sad for him because it’s never any fun when one parent uses the kids to manipulate the other parent.  Sad for him because I know he loves his daughters and his ex puts so much unnecessary strain on those relationships, and after 16 years of it, he’s TIRED.  And finally, sad for him because the majority of what he talks about now is almost all negative.

I’m a glass-half full type of woman and maybe when I’m 56 I’ll be a Negative Nancy, too, but I certainly will do everything in my power to NOT be!

In addition, I can’t STAND people who are negative.  Or not just negative, but who only talk about the bad things in life.   He might speak about actual facts of a situation that he can’t do anything about, but there’s always light to find in a situation, too.

I much prefer to keep things positive, happy, light-hearted and fun.

Much of what he talks about is just repetitive, too, and I’m not a fan of a broken record.

I AM a fan, however, of acknowledging the bad stuff but then changing things up and to start focusing on the positives we see right in front of us.

Fast forward…

He knows I have plans later in the day (another date!…although I didn’t share that), so we head back. I drop him off.  We hug and he gives me a kiss goodbye.

It didn’t feel “final” or anything, but in my heart he’s definitely moved into The Friend Zone.

Which, of course, SUCKS because now instead of getting it for free, I’ll probably have to pay him to build me that dream house, in which I won’t be living in with him.  Sigh.

Frustration, an Ex and the Deleting of my Plenty of Fish Account

Valentine’s Day is this Friday.

As of today (Monday morning), I have no plans with anyone special and I’m doing my best to not flip my lid.

Not that I think the world will end if no one asks me on a date for Valentine’s Day, but with all of the recent shenanigans activity you would think SOMEONE would make a move. But, no.  Nothing yet.

Let me update you.

Since my last blog, there’s been MUCH going on.  With several people.

I’ve spent a tremendous amount of time with Mr. Architect lately, and also saw The Doc.

Both are special men who I have a unique connection with, especially The Doc, for those of you who’ve been reading our 8-month-long journey.

Also, last night a guy I used to date briefly a few years back got together with me and told me that his world stops and time stands still whenever he sees me, and that he’s never wanted to be with anyone other than me and how special and connected he feels with me. “If you’re ready for a relationship, I’m sure you’ll pick me.”

Ummm, no.

You’re not the one, buddy.  We had our moments, but that window has closed.  Thanks for pouring your heart out to me, but I can’t help if I know in my heart you’re not the one, and now I’m even MORE frustrated because you’re a nice guy offering me what I want, but I have no feelings for you.

So, hence my frustration because no one seems to be willing to make any REAL moves here.  Well, correction – the guys I WANT to make moves, aren’t.

Or my Prince Charming just hasn’t arrived yet and I’m still being taught how to be patient.

Patience, my ass.  Ain’t nobody got time for that!

(Ok, that was probably the most ironic statement of all time.  So, just kidding.)

So, on Saturday morning, I had logged on to my Plenty Of Fish account.

POF shows you who’s “online” of the guys you’ve been talking to, messaging, or in some cases people you’ve met in real life from POF who still have an active account.

I log in to check my messages and see what’s going on.  It’s kinda become as routine as checking emails.

Who do I see “online?”

Mr. Architect.

Again.

I’ve now seen him “online” every day for the past two weeks or so and it’s obvious he’s still using the site.  In fact, there have been a few times where we’ve both just seen each other, and 20 minutes later are both logged into “Plenty of Fish.” That can’t be good, right?

So I see him logged in on Saturday.

That’s fine.  We’re not married, but for some reason this really starts to bother me.

His communication with me lately is still pretty good, we’ve seen each other a lot, we text and email all the time and he’s “serious about this” with me, so it’s always weird to see someone say and do these things yet continue to log back into the dating site that brought you two together in the first place.

I can’t stand it any longer.  I actually thought Mr. Architect and I were heading down the path of only being interested in each other (he even has told me that his intuition told him I was “the one” when he first saw my profile online, among other serious conversations we’ve had about what we’re both looking for, etc).

Yeah, so why be online so much?

So I delete my Plenty Of Fish account.

I need a break.

Too much to figure out, lately, and I need answers.

Ok, I don’t need answers, I’d just really like to know what’s going on inside the heads of a few people.

I feel more comfortable with stability here, and guessing what’s going to happen, or waiting to see what’ll develop gets old real fast.

Deleting my POF account helped relieve some of that stress.  I’ll no longer have to know if this dude is online talking to plenty of other fish in the sea everytime I log in!

(Side note: I DELETED MY POF ACCOUNT! Did you read that part?! Not sure if you realize, but for me, that’s like the equivalent of a smoker giving up cigarettes.  Oh wait.  I just made the analogy of dating to quitting an addicting, disgusting disease that makes you smell nasty and could eventually kill you at some point.  Hmmm….gulp.)

So there ya have it.

A brief update on the love life.

(Second side note: I did talk to my sister who lives in Nebraska for quite awhile this weekend, too.  She’s married and has been off the market for awhile now.  She asked why it was so tough to date in LA, and I’ve broken it down to two reasons, but that’s best left for another blog.)

Thanks for reading, my friends.

Love and hearts and roses and stuff…to you all.  If I don’t have a Valentine by Friday, I’ll be sure to choose you guys instead, deal? :)

Mr. Architect: An UpDATE for Date #1 – When we first met

Bringing you up to speed on Mr. Architect, my future (maybe?) house builder “if this works out.”

It all started when he asked me to meet for a late Saturday lunch. We met at Casa del Mar, a swanky hotel about 5 minutes from me, in Santa Monica.  This is my favorite place to meet to watch the sunset.  There are HUGE windows and the hotel is right on the ocean. It’s gorgeous.

We met up and to the right, in the library part of the elegant lobby.

We met up and to the left, in the library part of the elegant lobby.

I’m nervous to meet him, but look reallly cute.  I was wearing a dress, high heels and my fab new spray tan.  (Btw, don’t judge the paint.  Everyone looks better bronzed, and my white butt needed some color! :) I felt very Californian.)

I had plans to meet my girls for brunch right before (just down the street, at another fabulous hotel, Loews), and then would head over afterwards to meet him.

He had texted me to meet him “in the upper bar, at the library.” Extra points already for giving me specifics. I love that, and it’s a big hotel.

I walk in and see him across the way.  He stands up from his chair, smiles, I wave and cross over to him.

He then reaches out his hand and helps me up the 3 steps to where he was sitting.  Well, folks, we have a gentleman on our hands! I appreciate the assistance as I’m wearing 4 inch heels.

He immediately makes a comment about how great I look and I’m pleasantly surprised to see him look even better in person.

He’s wearing some sort of golf shorts, a polo with its collar popped, underneath a light blue sweater – its collar also popped. Ah, yes, that man has style.  He’s an architect, after all.

He’s also wearing a fitted baseball hat.

Now, I’m not sure where or how I grew to LOVE a man in a fitted hat, but there’s something about that look that drives me crazy! Maybe it’s from my appreciation/fascination with athletes.  They can really pull that off.

I sit down at the couch next to his chair, in this small area with a few other comfy chairs and a flat screen TV on the wall.  It’s warm and sunny and a perfect Saturday afternoon.

We begin to chat.

The conversation is going great! He’s telling me about his family, growing up in SoCal, a bit about his work, etc.  I’m telling him similar things.  There’s a lot of smiling and laughs.  My cheeks hurt.

I ask him why he wanted to contact me and what he liked about me/my profile.  I’m always curious.

He tells me he likes that I’m smart, “put together,” and beautiful.  It’s really cute, because he’s trying to be super polite and wants to elaborate on that one more, and I can tell he’s looking for the right words.  Words that won’t offend me, but will get his point across.   He did a good job.  I blush.  I’m flattered.

He takes his hat off and puts it on the table in front of us.

I ask him to please pick it back up – and to put it back on, but backwards.

He smiles, and does it.

I die.

I look at him and his matching blue hat, and think, “This man can not be 47 years old as it said in his profile! Wow, he looks good.”

At that moment, he leans over and asks for a kiss.

Wait, what?? I just met you! But then again, you are wearing the heck outta that damn hat…

He gives me a sweet kiss on the lips.

I died again.

Those lips!

We continue conversation for another TWO HOURS.  A few more kisses snuck in.

I learn two things:

1.  This man doesn’t care about PDA.

2.  He knows what he wants.

In the meantime, a family of 4 visiting from another country (maybe Ireland or England) comes over to our area to watch the Australian Open on the TV.  A mom, dad, son about 13 and daughter, 21-ish who comes back from the bar with a drink.

Mr. Architect and I are chatting amongst ourselves.

He still has the hat on, backwards.

He’s leaning over to me to tell me something quietly, but stops abruptly, and says, “I think she just took my picture.”

What??

“Yeah! I think that girl just took my picture!” he says, quietly and in shock.

I turn my head to the right, where the girl was sitting, and sure enough, she’s holding her iPhone in the “I’m-trying-not-to-look-conspicuous-while-I-take-your-picture” way.

Well, what the what?!

She looks away.

He’s confused, yet flattered.

I’m smiling, laughing to myself.  Hell, I’m flattered.

He does look like someone famous.  An athlete (he’s 6′ 4″), the backwards hat, his attention that would glide to the sports on the TV in front of us occassionally.  Yep.  I can see what she was thinking.  I also remember that we’re in a high density of tourists area and people not from Los Angeles hope to run into a celebrity during their stay.

Awkward and awesome at the same time.

The real irony here, however, is that his ex (and mother to his two girls, 10 and 15) is somewhat famous.  A well-known TV personality who I went home later to Google.  Yep.  She’s someone.  He’s all too familiar with the Hollywood scene, and prefers to remain in the background. (This makes more sense now and I recall how he doesn’t like having pictures up online.)

So, we’re there nearly 2 1/2 hours by this point and he says he needs to put more money in the meter where he parked.

We get up to leave.

We walk across the street.  His Range Rover is up the block, so I suggest I wait for him at the bottom of the street.  When he comes back we can watch the sunset on the ocean.

He heads up the hill to his truck and not a minute later two of my girlfriends who I had brunch with earlier pop right up in front of me! They were still hanging out in the area and had seen us walk right past them moments ago.

They saw my date! And I wanted them to meet him, so moments later I’m introducing him to my girls.  Random! Awkward! Awesome! haha I love them, and it’s now fun to have them put a face and name with the shenanigans I dish later on. :)

We all walk across the street to the sand so we can watch the sun go down.  My girls decide to part ways, though, and Mr. Architect and I are now alone again.

We stroll on the promenade, walking slowly, talking and holding hands.  He’s very affectionate.

We find a spot to sit and talk some more.

We’re being all cute and kinda lovey-dovey and flirty and people are watching as they pass by on their walks.  (Something I learn to get use to on Date #2, Date #3 and Date #4.)

But it’s just me and him there, really.  The conversation continues…

The topic of his age comes up, and I want to verify that he’s really 47, as it says on his profile.  I love an older guy, and prefer someone in their 40s, but I just can’t believe that he’s that old! He looks much younger!

(Side note: I later asked my girls who met him how old they thought he was, and they said “late 30s, if that.”)

He reacts strangely, and just smiles.

Oh, no.  You did not lie on your profile, buddy! Did you??

He tells me he’s not 47.

I immediately begin to get nervous.

I ask again, demanding that he tells me how old he is.

Maybe he’s younger? Or not, wait, maybe….older? Oh no, how MUCH older?

He chuckles a little and says he’ll tell me.  He’ll be honest with me.

“I’m actually fifty.  Fifty…five.  55 years old.”

WHAT?!?!?!

Holy amazeballs, Batman! That can’t be right.

I feel like I’ve just been given the biggest shock of my life.

“Yep, it’s true.  But only for a few more weeks.  I’ll be 56 in two weeks.  On Superbowl Sunday.” He smiles a big smile.

WHAT?!?!?!?

I look for a paper bag to breathe into.  This is not what I was expecting.

I’m 33.  That’s a 22 year difference!

Ummm…ok, focus.  What do I do now? Hmmm….everything was going so great!

I look at him real close and just shake my head.  I don’t believe him.  He has to be younger.

But then he goes to tell me that he knew I wouldn’t respond to his message on Plenty of Fish if I had seen his real age.

He was right.

And now I think I’m kinda glad he lied.  Otherwise I wouldn’t be here on this fabulous date.

So at this point he’s conscious that I’m either two seconds away from bailing on this date and never talking to him again, or kissing him cuz he’s clearly the hottest AARP-card-carrying member I’ve met. (Omg, please don’t let that last assumption be true. How old do you have to be to qualify for AARP?)

He grabs my hands and then my waist and pulls me into a hug.  He gives me a playful kiss and that helps calm me down a bit.

I decide not to bail, but my mind is still reeling.

We have a bit more conversation and then we know it’s time to get going.  He had something to do with his daughters at 6:30pm.

We say goodbye, but not after me giving him crap about his age some more.  I appreciate that he was honest with me in person, and I know that a lot of people lie in their profiles about age.

And for some reason, I’m more curious than creeped out about this guy.

I’m fascinated by who he is, what he does, his story, his personality.  All of it.

I mean, there is an age difference.  And he was building Denzel Washington a house when I was still in high school (as I later found out), but I think I’m ok with that.

I think. :)

The shenanigans continue…

And a question for you!

Mr. Architect – Will you build me a house?

Apparently Plenty of Fish (POF) doesn’t let you send someone a message if you haven’t at least uploaded one picture of yourself first.  THIS kind of a rule is amazing.   Online dating is so much better when there’s pics.

Yet Mr. Architect found this out the hard way when he came across my profile and immediately wanted to contact me.  (He later tells me how and why he initially reached out.)

Seeing as how he’s a very private guy, he didn’t want to upload any pictures.  However, he saw me and wanted to contact me, so up a picture went.

Operation: Talk To This Girl, began.

First, he added me as a Favorite.

I ignored it.

Big deal.  Tons of people add me as a favorite, but never do anything beyond that.  Plus, your profile’s pretty blank, dude.  Not interested.

A few days pass.  He then sent me a message:

“Good morning…”

That was it.

So, naturally, I ignored it, also.

Not because I’m a snob, but if that’s all you’re going to give me in your first message, I’m not interested.  It’s not my job to create your profile (or conversation) FOR you!

Besides, after the hundredth first-ever message from guys like: “Hi.” “Hey there.” “What’s up?” “Hey beautiful.” “How are you?” ….I want to stab my eye with a pencil. Where’s the originality?!

Points for someone who knows how to communicate! Yes, even online, it’s a stretch nowadays, and someone who can string together more than two original sentences is already sexier than the other “Hi” guy. Ugh.  Kill me.

A few days later, this guy who had actually listed his profession on his very limited profile as “Sales Professional”, decided to give it one more shot.

He finally sends:

“Hello,

You’re gorgeous and I think you’re just stunning! And I’m sure you’re bright and put together as well, and I would love to talk sometime, or if you’re up for it, even meet……I’m a 6’4″ architect ~ funny, bright, cool laid-back guy who is also very fit.

You can check me out via my website (insert his company website here) and or contact/email me on FB.

Cheers,
(insert his first initial, last initial here)”

NOW we’re talking! I loved the extra info. And a girl LOVES to hear she’s stunning and beautiful.

I was listening…

I loved the mini-pitch of who he is (an architect, huh?), and that he gave me extra links to look up (ie – stalk) him online.

Winning!

So, naturally, I stalk.

Before I even consider responding, I jump to his website.

Oh! Very nice! I see pics of his portfolio from some projects he’s worked on and I’m immediately impressed.  I see the same picture he’s uploaded to his POF profile under the “About Us” tab for his Residential Design firm.  A lengthy bio explains not only who he is, but that he specializes in the Classical tradition, with special emphasis on American renaissance period between 1880 – 1930.  He’s LEGIT!

I remember that I had listed “Interior Design” as one of my interests on my POF profile, because this stuff fascinates me.  I’m immediately intrigued.

So then I stalk him on Facebook, and after jumping over to my FB app to type in his name, I find we already have 10 friends in common here in Los Angeles.  Whoa! That’s gotta be a good thing, right?

So I respond to this very patient man’s message and let him know how glad I was that I didn’t have to stab my eye with a pencil (j/k).

I loved his note, told him I was interested and then gave him my digits.

I ended my note with:

“PS – If this works out, will you build me a house?”

Joking, of course, and a few hours later I receive a text from him.  He announces who he is and that yes, if this works out, he’ll build me a house. :)

I smiled, took a quick trip down Fantasy Lane to pick out some fabulous drapes, beautiful paint choices and shiny slabs of granite, and then went about my business.

Next step: a phone call. After that? A date…

Mr. Ab-City Surgeon

I’ve seen a lot of abs in my day.  Guys who are super cut, extremely fit, with tight abdominals that show muscles I didn’t know existed.

For some really crazy reason, I seem to attract a lot of guys in LA who are in tip top shape -personal trainers, actors, models, etc.  And all this, despite the fact that my time spent in the gym is less than a fish spends on land, but hey, they’re not complaining.

I’ve even dated a celebrity personal trainer for about 8 months and we never worked out together ONCE.  He was fine with that and totally into me.

While you have to be attracted to each other, and it’s important to live a healthy lifestyle, newsflash, ladies: curves, confidence and a sense of humor are IN.  :)

Which brings us to Mr. Surgeon.

First of all, I find it interesting that I’ve now met several men in the healthcare field recently.  The Doc, a home care nurse (two dates in now…blog coming perhaps), and now a surgeon.  Strange? Hmm. Maybe.

Regardless, I must let you know about Mr. Surgeon, a new prospect I met this week on OkCupid.  Here’s why he’s blog-worthy.

If you’ve any experience with online dating, you know that it’s a crap shoot.  There are literally millions of singles online.  A good handful of those aren’t real, and the vast majority of them are at least PARTLY fictional.  People tend to lie and/or stretch the truth about their age, height, weight, career, hobbies (would everyone stop tying to pose as a world traveler? Please, Jacque Cousteau, you really don’t travel that much.)

So when I see a profile that has outrageous claims, immaculate pics and a lengthy description filled out for each section of his profile that’s also 99% free of any grammar or writing errors, too?!?!?!, I immediately put up skeptical antennas.

So I come across Mr. Ab-City Surgeon recently, who earned this name due to one of his pics in a Halloween costume.  He’s wearing a bow-tie and cuffs, sunglasses, pants and Calvin Klein underwear, which I can see the tops of because he WASN’T WEARING A SHIRT!

He was, however, wearing his abs, and the definition was pretty ridiculous. No shirt needed.

It immediately reminded me I had to do laundry.

Now, again, I’ve seen plenty of washboards in my day, but this guy was also donning a big, bright smile.  My weakness. I LOVE happy people.

I further flip through his pics and see him (with clothes) in scenes at the beach (ok, well, he did have his shirt off there, too), a few with his gorgeous chocolate labrador, one flexing on some rocks by the ocean (hello, biceps, too), and one of my favorites – him scaling a glacier. Sure, why not.

But that was all just icing on the cake, really.

I skip to read his thoroughly well-thought-out profile and it only gets better.

He’s a surgeon.

And a personal trainer.

And a volunteer.

And wants to start a business.

And a Christian.

And…totally cute, and funny, and charming, and HAS TO BE FAKE.

I mean, come ON!

I’m so intrigued and fascinated that I decide to send him a message.

Typically, I will view a profile and see if the guy checks me out in return (they’re notified).  And if he does, I let him decide to send me a note or not.

However, there are the rare few who inspire me to write something clever and witty, in hopes of sparking a conversation.

That’s it.  Mr. Ab-City Surgeon was getting a message.

Here’s exactly what I wrote him:

“(insert his name he left in his profile)…

Your profile can’t be real….lol!

I’ve seen a lot of online dating profiles and yours is pretty outstanding. It started with your adorable dog, then the Instagram pics that’d make most pro photogs jealous, then the line of “…Although I love doing surgeries…”, followed by the abs and bowtie, glacier climbing and “Christianity and very serious about it.”

I mean, really? You’re a total catch! If you’re trying to destroy that already high bar of expectations women have in LA, you did it with flying colors. Very nicely done, sir. :)

Please tell me you’re single because your awesome life simply doesn’t allow you time to find an awesome woman counterpart (which is prob why you’re here on OKC). THAT I would believe.

Regardless, it’d be great to get to know you if you’re interested.

Cheers and best of luck in your search!”

And off I sent it.  Into the ethers of OkCupid and the Internet to see if the man would:

A.) look at my profile, and
B) respond.

I gave it a 20% chance that he’d respond.  I know this “type.”  He hadn’t been online in a few days, so I knew he wasn’t active.

I was so impressed by this dude that I posted about it on Facebook. (Hello to my friends who I’m connected with there and saw that post!) I asked them when they thought he’d respond.

And one of my girlfriends predicted three days…and wouldn’t ya know it? THREE DAY LATER, he responds to my message!

HOLY EXPLETIVE!

I about lost my mind when I saw the blue, blinking notification come across my phone.  “New Message” on OkCupid from (insert his profile name).

After I got done flipping my s*** for a good two minutes, screaming and freaking out, I regained composure and checked his message.

Much to my surprise, not only did he respond, but it was the beginnings of a legit conversation!

He said:

“LOL! You’re too funny, (insert my name here)…and yes, my profile is very real :-)

I actually joined okc a few years ago after a friend of mine encouraged me to, then I got tired of it so I took a break from it for a while. My work/projects have definitely contributed to my single status but mostly I just haven’t quite crossed paths with the “right one” yet. I’d be lying though if I said that I didn’t appreciate having my “Single” card. Ha! How long have you been in LA?

- C”

And there ya have it.

I responded accordingly, stating that I was glad to know I made him laugh….and that he’s the real deal.  I replied with a few other questions and sent it off.

So now we wait, some more.

Either he’ll never respond again, he’ll respond with a few more questions and eventually want my number to talk and/or meet up, or we’ll get married.

Statistics say it’ll land somewhere in the middle and I’m going in with zero expectations, as I do with every new introduction I make.

I’ll be sure to keep you posted on this one.

That’d be hilarious if he was a heart surgeon.

The shenanigans continue…

Mr. Booty Call

Wow, where do I start?

The beginning, I suppose.

About two weeks ago I received a message from a handsome Latin lad on OkCupid.  A rugged-looking, great smile with beautiful brown eyes that sparkle.  He’s an ex-Cirque dancer who’s traveled the world and now single, living in LA and working in post-production for a large company in the entertainment industry.  He liked my profile and wanted to see if I was interested in meeting up to ‘take a coffee.’ (The broken English is very cute.)

I think he’s really great-looking and sounds interesting, so we send a few messages back and forth over the next week, and eventually exchange numbers.

Last night he texts me to see if I was available to take that coffee – he would be in my area before having to meet a friend out.  Perfect.

We decide to meet at a nearby Starbucks, and as I approach he texts “Here?” I respond that I’m crossing the street.

(Side note – texting the play-by-play the moments before arrival and meeting a stranger for the first time comforts me.  Thanks to quick texts,  you don’t have the be the dork in the coffee shop looking at every new person who walks through the door, thinking, is that them??? Are they still coming? Am I too early? Did they find parking? When will they get here?! :))

I see a man with a beard step out of Starbucks and look at his phone as I make my way across the street to yet another first date scenario.  I’m feeling excited! The anticipation of who this new person could be in your life definitely fills your head each time, moments before every first date actually happens.

He sees me walk up and we hug and say hello.  It’s the awkward, nervous moment that happens on all first dates.

“Good to see you! Should we go inside?” he asks.  Thick Spanish accent.  Nice! The beard is different, though.  He didn’t have that in his main profile pic.

We walk inside and he asks me how my day was.  I tell him it was good and he asks what I do for a living.  I tell him and he’s interested.  I then return the question and he tells me where he works.

“No way! I have a good friend who works at that company,” I tell him, and he immediately holds his head and says…”Oh no……”

Now, at this moment, we both start smiling.  The next 10 seconds will be very telling…

He asks who it is.  I give him her name and he immediately grabs his head and says, “Oh NO!!!!! You’re kidding me! Of COURSE I know her! Oh woww…..” SMH.

And then he looks at me and says, “Wait.  You and I, we’ve actually met before. At that….that, um….show, in Hollywood.”

Sure enough, we had.  The lightbulb clicked.  This man and I have met, although very briefly, several months ago during Intermission at a play in Hollywood my friend (his co-worker) had invited me to.

But THEN….it ALLLLLL clicked for me.

This was the same man who my friend had the occasional…um, meeting, with.  A casual work fling she’d told me about, with a hot Latin dancer guy who was all about the sex.

OH SNAP.  This guy is her booty call.

So at this point, we’re both extremely red in the face.  We’re laughing because it’s so awkward, and I’m DYING inside because I doubt he knows what I know. Oh boy.  What do I do now?! And is this really happening?!

So I keep quiet, and as we try to maintain composure, about 2 people who are standing near us ask if we’re actually in line or not.

We were so caught off guard.   I’m sure we were standing there like 2 idiots.  He asks if I’d still like a coffee. I say yes, and we order our drinks.

As we wait for his Passionfruit Tea to be made, we still are just laughing and shaking our heads.  “Awkward…” he says, over and over.

“Ok, right?! And what are the chances?! There are millions of people in this city and we end up meeting!” I marvel.

He agrees it’s pretty crazy, still clearly embarrassed and/or trying to figure out what info I actually KNOW about himself.

So we sit down and he laughs and says we should text her we’re here together.  I laugh and say, “No, wait.  Let’s take a selfie together and send it! She’s going to die….”

And die she did, as I sent that pic of the two of us to her phone – me, one of her good gfs, and him, her booty call – just chillin’ at Starbucks.  On a first date.

Lord, help me.  This city is too small.

My Date with the Mattress Expert

There are certain things that a single woman might have to do that would be WAY better to do with a man. Like shopping for a new mattress.

But, alas, until Mr. Right shows up, I get to enjoy awkward tasks like this one by my lonesome.

I need a new bed. I’m moving and had been borrowing one, so I need to buy the whole thing – mattress, box spring, frame, the actual bed, too. Ugh. A necessary evil. However, I DO prefer a bed to sleeping on the floor and I’m kinda excited to make my first ever grown up mattress purchase.

Not really knowing how or where to get started or more importantly, how to buy the right one, I started looking online. I also looked at IKEA on a first date. I asked my friends on Facebook.

Temperpedic. Sleep numbers. Memory foam. Memory foam with gel. Pillowtop. Body forming. Firm, extra firm, extra soft. And on and on.

Mattress shopping is freaking overwhelming! There are just as many choices of different types of mattresses as there are single men in Los Angeles, I swear.

So one of my gfs tells me to Yelp this place near me and go check it out. It’s close by, and since I cancelled my date tonight because a bed is kinda more important right now, I made my way over to the mattress store.

It’s Sunday, it’s in the evening, and about an hour before closing. I walk in and there’s just one guy there.

Oh, great. It’s me, this dude, and a ton of beds that I’m assuming I’m going to have to lay on for him. That’s not awkward at all.

He’s my age, super friendly and turns red in the face during moments when we talk.

He’s very helpful and starts telling me how the industry has changed over the years and how old, metal coils are out and how new fancy solutions are in. He’s showing me an example of a bed cut out, fancy springs and all.

Cool. I’m learning something. But I knew the weird part was coming next.

“What kind of sleeper are you?”

Ummm…. a good one?

Oh. I figure out what he means when he grabs a cardboard diagram of a person’s back. I’m a side-sleeper. (So is he.)

He asks a few more questions and then says what I was dreading.

“Ok, let’s start with these three. This one is the firmest and it goes up from there. Go for it. Start with this one here. “

He points to the bed we’re standing next to and I awkwardly get on the bed and lay down. First on my back, then I switch over to my side.

I can’t concentrate on what it feels like because it feels like I’m a single woman in a huge mattress store with a dude watching me lay on a bed! I totally felt safe because the whole front of the store was windows, but still.  Am I wrong to feel some sort of sexual tension in this situation?

It was weird. He walks a few beds over to his desk to grab his drink while I lay there all awkward. He’s still talking casually about the differences and yada yada this and that, but I think he was trying to give me space to make it a bit less awkward.

I wonder what chapter this is in during Mattress Expert training:

“How to Sell a Mattress to a Single Woman While Being the Only Guy on Duty Without Looking Like You Want to Join Her: Part One.”

Luckily, he was really cool and laid back and that helped ease my weirdness, but still…

Imagine making eye contact with a guy while laying in bed and you’ve only known him for ten minutes. Weird!

But after that one, he had me move to the next. And so on and so on. This went on for about 20 minutes, while we narrowed down what I was loving or not loving so much.

He did really know his stuff.

Most of the awkwardness had faded by this point, and thank goodness I’m a pretty confident chick, otherwise I don’t know what I would have done. My hourglass shape is quite the hourglass when flipped on its side, laying down. Add that to him and I locking eyes while he checks out my hips, spine and posture to make sure I’m aligned…yeah, not awkward at all. I was just hoping I left my bedroom eyes Mr. Armani saw the other day at home! Hopefully the bright florescent store lights didn’t make my baby blues at all interesting.

In the end, I think I figure out what I want and he tells me he’ll give me an awesome deal on it. We talk a bit more about the price, manufacturer, how and where they make it, when it’d be delivered, etc, then he hands me his card, shakes my hand… No, wait, correction, he HOLDS my hand for an extra long second, and asks my name. I give it to him, grateful he didn’t know it during that whole process cuz that would have made things reallllly personal.

He thanks me for coming in and for “keeping him company” on such a lonely Sunday night. He’s laughing, of course, and it’s cute.

I thank him for his help and tell him I’ll give him a call to figure everything out this week.

Oy. Single girl shenanigans, indeed.

The good news? Once I buy it, the three people who’ll be sleeping in it will love my bed. Yes. Me, myself, and I shall get much needed rest from all these shenanigans. :)

I’m a Sucker For a Suit

Last night I was invited to a fashion show. My friend’s clothing line for kids was being featured on the runway and she offered me a ticket.

The show was great and afterwards we mingled with others at the VIP cocktail reception.

My friend introduces me to two gentleman she had met earlier – both wearing suits.

Now in LA, it’s RARE to see a man in a suit. The lifestyle is so casual here that it’s not unusual to see someone in jeans on the red carpet. Dressing up is an exception in Los Angeles so I looooooove seeing a man in a suit. (Blame my lawyer ex-husband who got me hooked on picking out ties. My weakness.)

In LA,  if a guy’s in a suit, he’s either a banker, a lawyer or lives in Beverly Hills. Just my experience. :)

Sure enough, this one guy I had my eye on lives in Beverly Bills.

We chat, we flirt, we play the “guess my age” game with all four of us and then clink our glasses together to “cheers” to us all looking wayyyyyy younger than our actual ages. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for the good genes.

I’m loving that this one guy is 49, but looks and acts like he’s in his 30s.  I love he’s from the Dominican Republic but raised in New York and an NYU grad.  Oh. And that he’s wearing a suit and tie ensemble that probably cost that of a good mortgage payment. I’m not mad.

My friend tells the two guys what I do for a living and Mr. Armani asks me if I also freelance on the side. I tell him I do sometimes and he wants my card. Awesome. He gives me his.

We talk more about us both being single parents, how much we love our kids and what position my son plays in football.

The time passes, we’re having great banter and we kinda drift a few feet over to have a more private conversation. He tells me stories of what REALLY happened with Kobe Bryant and his scandal,  what his famous actor friend (who he won’t share his name) gave him for his 47th birthday, and a few of the film and charity projects he’s involved in.  So Hollywood.

We’re chatting and laughing away and then the shocking moment of the night happens. He says something about being in trouble as a kid and I laugh and say I was grounded my whole childhood, too. He just looks at me and says, “I know you were.”

Um, excuse me? You weren’t there. How did you know that? We just met! What the what?

He answers, “OH, come on. You’re a rebel. It’s all in your eyes…..”

Dang! I’m so busted here, because it’s partly true, although I’ve been playing the professional, classy woman role all night. People tell me all the time I have these eyes…but how do they see this stuff??

I’m literally shocked, and smiling, ask how he could possibly know that (all the while maintaining my innocence).

“Please, I read you like a book right away. What’s that line in Jerry Maguire?…. Oh yeah, you had me at hello.” :)

I’m now blushing yet intrigued and luckily his friend walks over to say he’s got to get going.

Mr. Armani and him came together so he gives me a hug and asks what I’m doing this weekend. He tells me we should get together, and since I live just down the street from him it’d be easy to do. He tells me his travel plans for the next week and says we’ll figure something out. I tell him that’d be great. And they head out.

So now I wait for him to be a man and make a move. Yes, I’ll wait – not with baited breath, but with a vision of me strolling through his walk-in closet….full of ties. :)

upDATE: My Final Diagnosis About “The Doc”

To be totally transparent and honest, I went back on my word to not see Mr. Amazing Unavailable again, and totally saw him. A few times, actually. (You can start judging me now…)

But I swear I have a good reason… Lol.

He’s not just some guy I was seeing.

Over the last 5 months, we’ve grown close. He’s become a good friend, a confidant, a sounding board, an advisor, a teacher – and I’ve been the same for him. Beyond our chemistry, there was so much SUBSTANCE there.

I learned his taste in music and his boss’s name, and what’s been bugging him at work. I learned he loves to keep things clean and organized and separates his v-neck tshirts from his regular tshirts. He learned I’m crazy about my baby and how lately I’m missing him while he’s at his dad’s and how I start to have bad dreams when he doesn’t respond to his mother’s texts and phonecalls.

One thing that sucks about being single is that you don’t have that guy there to always talk to. Your best friend, your partner. Someone who’s ready and willing to listen to you, and is there during… life.

So you turn to girlfriends or your sister or… a blog…to communicate your feelings and hash things out.

As much as I love the above alternatives, nothing replaces that heart to heart connection with a significant other.

And this is what I had with The Doc from Day 1.  We always agreed that it was just “easy” with us.  He would call me to talk and we’d be on the phone for hours.  We fit. We clicked. And as he always would say, “We’re on the same wavelength.”

So it was easy to respond to his text to see how I was doing when I was having a bad day recently and needed to talk/vent to a trusted person.

Turns out he wanted to see me (whatta shock, Mr. Cake and Eat It, Too) but when I confronted him on his intentions, he made it clear he truly wanted to console me and catch up.

And we did.

And I actually had a very clear understanding by then of where he was. I had come to terms with the fact he wasn’t ready to entertain the idea of being a “relationship guy.”

Ok, fine. I do love our friendship, too.

So I saw him a few times more and those instances drew us closer again. On all levels.

Cut to last week…

I invited him to have dinner. I wanted to talk to him and get clear on a few things I’ve been contemplating.

I happen to work in the industry of love, dating and relationships, and allllll dayyyy longgggg I consume, organize and communicate about these topics to the world at large.

The fact that I’m living through these topics in my personal life at the same time is a coincidence, and it can get a bit overwhelming. However, it’s also allowed me to really identify what I want in my life.

And here’s an update: As much as I want to find my partner, I don’t want to find my next ex-husband.

Been there, done that. If you want a full dose of pain in your future, marry the wrong guy, at the wrong time.

Too many people spend all their time planning for the wedding, and not nearly enough time planning for the marriage.

So with all of this chatter, both inside and outside my head, I’ve decided to chill out a bit. Really, there’s no rush. Why was I making it feel like there was?? Maybe I was getting caught up in all the hype of “finding love” and the urgent chase that comes with it as a single woman in her 30s.

No. That’s not me, and I’ve never followed the path of normalcy in life.

I’ve decided I needed to chill.

The date:

The Doc picks me up from work. He’s wearing a suit and just coming from a conference with other PhDs and smart folks in his industry. I die.

But I’m looking just as good in my lace dress and heels. He dies.

We really are a great looking couple.

We have an amazing dinner at one of the best sushi spots in Los Angeles, and I watch the sun set on the Pacific Ocean to my left as we talk and laugh. And smile and flirt. Why does it always have to be so romantic with us?! Gah!

(view from our table at Sushi Roku in Santa Monica, CA)

image

We had such a good time that I never found a good time or place in conversation to bring up the conversation where I wanted to propose the idea of slowing down a bit, acting a bit more casual with us yet hoping to see if he’s on the same page of wanting to just only see each other, and see how things go. Perhaps he’d be more open to this pace, too.

So he’s dropping me off and I finally get the courage to bring it up. I tell him I love what we have now and he agrees. After I tell him my new revelation of wanting to pace myself, I ask what his thoughts are about being exclusive. And then he comes straight outta left field and tells me he’s seeing someone else.

BAM.

There ya have it.

Shocked, I ask a few simple questions to try and understand just a bit more about this man’s choices and who this other woman might be. He reveals that she doesn’t connect with him nearly as well, and not nearly as deeply…on many different levels.

Well, duh! I could’ve predicted that. After meeting so many different people over the years, it’s a special thing when you find a rare connection. Ours is very obvious.

I’m hurt but not mad. He’s totally allowed to be seeing other people. Hell, I am, too… and after all, you’re all getting the inside scoop on my dating life, not him. :)

So we’re sitting in his car and I’m now feeling VERY different. Yet very wise.

I’m sad for him because knowing there’s someone else now, shows me he’s really not interested in building anything special with me, or with anyone else for that matter. I also realize that as amazing as a friend as he’s become, and as close as we’ve gotten since 5 months ago, I know what i need to do…

I tell him she’s his safer choice.

I tell him that whatever happened in his past that made him so adverse to wanting a relationship and thinking he’s not adequate enough to be a “relationship guy”, is the same thing that’s going to make me get out of his car and watch me walk away.

I tell him I don’t have the jackhammer required to bust through the concrete walls reinforced with steel beams around his heart, nor do I want to put in the time and effort.

He understands. And he acknowledges this would be the case.

I wish you could see his eyes. They are full of fear and apprehension that I’m seriously about to leave him, yet softened by this man’s genuine feelings of love and care towards me.

If internal contradiction had an expression through someone’s eyes, he’d be the poster child right now.

We talk some more and I’m actually holding up ok in the tear duct department. He sees I’m disappointed but I actually have an attitude of “it is what it is.”

I tell him I’m seeing other people, too, and in fact, there’s someone who works across the street from me who’s been trying to ask me out to dinner for the last two weeks. I also tell him I was practically proposed to by someone from my past who’s re-entered the picture.

He tells me he’s not shocked by this.  He repeats “how amazing” I am. And then he’s silent.

After a pause, I ask him what he’s thinking about. He says he’s processing what I just told him.

Good, I say.

More silence.

I tell him I have to get going. So with pretty much nothing left to say, he asks if he could at least give me a hug goodbye.

I shrug and agree and we get out of the car. He comes around to my side and then gives me the longest hug of my life.

It’s not a hug. It’s an embrace. He’s holding me tight, not wanting to let go. It’s a long, freaking hug.

I wasn’t sure at the time what that was all about, but looking back it felt like it was him silently wishing he could be that guy I need, yet apologizing with this hug that he couldn’t be.

Or, wouldn’t be.

Either way, it wasn’t gonna work for me.

The hug finally ended. We look at each other and I wipe a tear away.

I told him I wish I could say “See ya later….” but I don’t WANT to see him later.

I start to walk away and he tries to make light of the goodbye and makes a joke…

“What about “Til then!” Let’s use the corporate thing.”

I stop, turn around, look at him, and just shake my head “no.” I continue walking away.

No. Nope. Not gonna happen, although I appreciate the closure I had just received.

I think that’s really what I needed to finally close the chapter on “The Doc.”

Prescription = expired. No more refills.

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