It's A Blunderful Life!

RELOCATION!!!

2010-05-03T13:45:00.000-07:00

I have moved over to Tumblr. It's easier to use. Sorry. xo

http://itsablunderfullife.tumblr.com/

Soon.

2010-04-30T15:46:00.001-07:00

Six months ago, when I returned from New Zealand, I was totally smitten by an Englishman that I met while I was traveling. I can’t even tell you what we had in common, other than the fact that he worked on the British counterpart to a television show that I had worked on in the states. I dunno, I guess I just liked that he paid attention to me. And he promised to visit me sometime soon.

“Soon,” btw, is one of my least favorite words in the English dictionary. If “soon” had meant that he would be over here before the holidays, you would have found me running up and down the hallways singing songs of joy.

But soon never means anything other than “not now,” so I couldn’t get excited about it. “Soon” is the opposite of a promise, just like its vicious cousin “maybe.” If I’ve learned anything, it’s best not to work yourself up for something that might not (probably won’t) ever come.

It took me about a week to let any hopes of a visit being a reality die down, and then I was on to bigger and better things. I’d say I almost completely forgot about this Englishman if it weren’t for the occasional “how are things?” Facebook wall post that I would get every couple of months or so. Otherwise, he was a non-thought.

So wouldn’t luck have it that when I’m waiting on a “soon” from someone else that this Englishman would pop back up into my life? He will be in Los Angeles in a week. That. Is soon. It will be good to see an old familiar face, but he’s not the one I want to see.

Let me be emo for one second

2010-04-27T23:36:00.000-07:00

This. Is my anthem.

Story of my life.

Failure #347

2010-04-27T13:07:00.000-07:00

Man, it sucks when that shitty book He's Just Not That Into You is right. I don't want to be part of the same demographic that views Sex And The City as the single girls' guide to being fabulous. I'd always fancied myself in a different echelon than the girls that put designer shoes at the top of their list of interests. I never thought I was that obvious.

But in this case, I'm gonna have to call a spade a spade. He is just not that into me, and it's about fucking time I recognized that.

He's not that into me if he'll only talk to me via internet. He's not that into me if he uses the Master Cleanse as an excuse to postpone seeing me for 10 days. He's not that into me if he's sneaking out of my bedroom at 4am without saying goodbye or why he was leaving. And he's sure as hell not that into me if he's letting me walk away.

Jesus. What was I thinking? And when did I become so pedestrian? Ugh, I'm sad.

Batter Up

2010-04-26T18:09:00.000-07:00

I went to the Angels vs. Yankees yesterday with a bunch of ladies and the Infamous Mark Roden. Baseball is one of the only sports I actually understand most of the rules to, so it's actually a good time for me. Really, though, going to baseball games is all about cramming your face full of grotesque amounts of sodium and washing it down with good ol' American beer. Oh, and it's about the boys. Those dreamy baseball players! Yowza!

I fell in love with a little Puerto Rican slice of heaven called Jorge Posada. Unfortunately, he was playing for the wrong team, but every time he came up to bat, I suddenly became an avid Yankees fan. I'm serious, he's ridiculously handsome:

Holy smokes!

The ladies and I discussed this, and my opinion was not the favorite, but I personally believe that baseball players are the sexiest of all athletes.

Any athlete is going to be gross if you take more than a 2-second look at what they're all about, but it seems like the only big issue with baseball players is that 90% of them are pumped full of steroids. Apparently steroids make your weenie majorly tiny, but I'm never going to get anywhere close to a professional athletes' weenie, so that doesn't concern me. And sure, the steroids make some of them beat their wives, but if I'm not even gonna get the chance to see their weenie, I'm sure as hell not gonna get one to marry me...so there's nothing to worry about.

But let's consider the alternatives:

Football players are enormous, meat-scented (they have to be, right?) date rape machines, hockey players are equally enormous but lack the mental ability to even come up with a scheme as complicated as date rape, golfers are either 85 years old or serial adulterers, and let's not even get started on basketball players.

Tennis is for nancy boys, swimmers have enormous bat wings, and anyone that participates in extreme sports as a profession is an equally extreme asshole. As my friend Bowman once perfectly articulated: "Bam Margera seems like his life is made up of three components: Blowjobs, Cool Ranch Doritos and dutch ovens."

Thus, baseball players seem to be taking the lead with their slight steroid issues as the sexiest professional athletes.

Think about it. I'm right, aren't I?

xo

Drastic Measures

2010-04-19T17:53:00.000-07:00

Ugh. I told the guy that I'm "talking to" that it was his turn to make the next move, and now I'm trying everything I can do to distract me from the purgatory that is waiting for this "next move."

I reached the end of the internet by about noon today. Needed a break from constantly refreshing my inbox --- did you know that actually makes time go by more slowly? --- so I took a long walk in the sun. After I got back I realized that I needed something super involved to keep me distracted or I would definitely break my own rule and email this guy.

So I did the one thing I said I would never do in this life. I did exactly what I have been mocking some of my dearest friends for since this option first came about. I started a Farmville farm on Facebook.

I know, I know. The shame, the humanity. Seriously, though. What a distraction!

Now I'm too busy trying to figure out if I need to feed the cow that my cousin gave me as a gift, or what I'm supposed to do once I harvest my strawberries to even notice if I've got a new email in my inbox from this silly boy. I don't, btw. But I also haven't embarrassed myself by reaching out when I said --- very clearly --- that the ball was in his court.

Of course, I will have embarrassed myself if it turns out that he reads this blog...

Nah.

Pearl of Wisdom #8

2010-04-14T15:59:00.000-07:00

If you are going to do any "breast pumping" at the office, just know that everyone will always (ALWAYS) think of you doing this every time they see you for forever and ever. This image will never go away. No matter what you achieve in your life, your co-workers will always think of you as the lady that pumps your breasts at work. Also, we will have visualized it, which is basically like seeing you naked. Just sayin'.

Cute Boys Doing Cuter Things :: Vol. 2

2010-04-14T15:53:00.000-07:00

This is just the opinion of one man, but man-oh-man!:

Click me!

Oh, to have a man describe my kisses as cupcake-shaped grenades! Le sigh.

Cute Boys Doing Cuter Things :: Vol. 1

2010-04-07T18:34:00.000-07:00

However, they lose cute points for making embedding impossible. Let's just assume it wasn't their decision. CLICK HERE (!!!)

It gets especially precious at 2:28.

Cross My Heart

2010-04-07T12:45:00.000-07:00

All I've ever wanted from a boy was a necklace. I want a boy to pick out a necklace on his own and then give it to me. Then I will wear it around my neck and tell him that he's always close to my heart. Give me a break, dude. I'm super cheesy.

So I've told every boyfriend that I've had that I want a necklace, and never once have I received one. It's not like I'm asking for a fucking ring, man! I just want a silly little necklace. I don't need diamonds or pearls, either! Just. A necklace.

I've received all sorts of strange little gifts instead, though --- 2 watches from the same guy on the same day (the opposite of a necklace?), a jar of pocket change (long story, I guess), a "Vote For Pedro" t-shirt (jesus, dude), a Tamagotchi (this one I received less than two years ago, btw) --- you get the gist.

Nary a necklace. Is it because it's jewelry and that seems super serious? Or because I'm just dating dudes that don't care about what I actually want? What does a girl have to do to get a fucking necklace around here?

Annnnnd Action!

2010-03-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

I wanna see a movie with a cute boy. In the theatres. I wanna see something scary or something funny. I want to sit in the very back row and lock arms, with my head on his shoulder and my hands in his lap. We'll steal a glance (or maybe a kiss!) when we laugh at the same thing, or I'll have to bury my face in his chest if it gets too scary.

I'll make the dumb joke that my dad used to always make when we saw movies together: "Did you hear the weather forecast? They said it was going to rain!" Then I throw popcorn up in the air and laugh as it falls down like "rain" while my date looks at me like he can't decide if I'm mildly disabled, or if I'm the cutest thing he's ever seen.

The last time I saw a scary movie with a boyfriend was when we went to go see Michael Clayton. We made it through like 15 minutes of the movie before the heavy petting started bordering on obscene, so we took off. Michael Clayton is a horror film, right? Or is it a comedy? I wouldn't even know! And every time I've tried to watch it since, I can only think about the things we did in the theatre rather than watching the film and my focus is instantly shifted to something much more naughty than the film itself.

Yes, I want to do something like that again.

Spring Cleaning Objectives

2010-03-16T12:12:00.000-07:00

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
-Clean room. Not just like..dust and polish. I mean I'm throwing some major shit out. Garage sale? Who wants to buy my old junk. Nobody. I've always been jealous of those people that have almost nothing personal in their homes. Sure, I also thought they seemed like they lacked a soul for not having any sort of memoribilia or trinkets from the past, but whatevs. At least they look organized. Once I've gotten rid of the crap that's suffocating me in my room, I'm going to completely rearrange it. I'm gonna need help with the heavy stuff, so I'll let you know when to come over.

-Clean closet. Similar to the last one, only this time I'm gonna toss all of the clothes that I haven't worn in the last 6 months. If I lived in a city that actually experienced seasons, then maybe I'd give the sweaters a chance and toss out everything I haven't worn in the past year, but I don't. It's always about the same here, so if I haven't worn it in the last 6 months, it's Goodwill-bound.

-Clean up my act. Been much better about exercising more regularly, but I need to step it up a notch. I've gotta start being one of those people that wakes up super early and works out BEFORE work. Yuck. I'm gonna hate it, but it has to be done. I also need to bring my lunch to work every single day, and cook my dinner every night. Weekends are negotiable. Also, I started taking classes that Richard Simmons teaches at his gym and I am 100% obsessed. I'd go every day if I could afford it. I also desperately wish I were a gay man now so that I could date Richard. He's that awesome.

-Clean up my heart. I've been really good about keeping the men away since my last messy incident, but I let a stupid one (See: Reset) break the barrier a couple of weeks ago. I swear, just a little attention from a man and all I can think about is making out for weeks. I need to get back into focus and concentrate on everything but love and sex. Like working out with my new best friend Richard Simmons, for instance.

-Clean up my finances. I had zero debt until last year, but I got all of this dental work done and I still owe my dentist another like...$8000. And then my adorable accountant somehow fucked me over with the IRS to the point where the only thing I can do is just pay them, and that's another $6500. So instead of buying that sparkly blush from Sephora that I've been coveting since the 90s -- the one that I always forget to buy it until I have no money -- I have to save my stupid money so I can pay off "the man." The "men," actually.

I think that's good enough for now. If you can think of anything else, let me know.

Coors Light Wishes & Karaoke Dreams

2010-03-12T10:36:00.000-08:00

If I had a decent voice, or if I didn't have a performance-crippling fear of singing to a bunch of faces that are staring at me blankly, and if I had at least 4 beers in my system...I would totally sing the song "Hot Child In The City" by Nick Gilder. If they didn't have that song available, I'd sing "The Warrior" by Scandal, and I would hope that my current love interest was in the audience so I could do the little "Bang! Bang!" signal directly to him, followed by a wink.

But I don't have a decent voice, and I'm too terrified to relax on stage and instead of singing anything awesome, I always end up crackling out a shitty, forgettable rendition of something safe like "Daydream Believer."

One of these days I'll grow a pair and actually attempt to nail one of my karaoke fantasies. Until then, I am sticking to the AM Gold classics.

Bus boy.

2010-03-11T12:13:00.000-08:00

Phew, thank god. There's a new hot guy on my bus. I can't tell if he's really hot, or if he's just the most suitable candidate on the bus, though. He's like a super tall Mexican Fonzie, complete with pompadour and leather jacket. Also, I'm pretty sure he's like 19 years old. I know, sounds sorta disasterous --- but there's something to be said for a man (boy) that wakes up early in the morning to comb his hair into an old timey coif.

Reset

2010-03-07T13:33:00.000-08:00

Thought it would be a good idea to go home with one of my roommate's friends last night, only to arrive at his place while a girl was breaking into his apartment through the screen window. Once inside, she proceeded to book it to the bedroom, where she immediately took her pants off and insisted that she would leave once she was warm.

Yes. The guy I went home with knew her, and yes, there was probably some truth to the insane story she was spewing about how he had been texting her all night with invitations of sandwiches (not sure if it was a euphemism or not) and sex.

Needless to say, I bounced.

Fuck. My. Life.

Faux Bus Love

2010-03-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

The bus ride to work is long and boring, so I decided to have a crush on a few of the regular commuters that share the same route as me. They aren't real crushes, I've just picked out the most acceptable dudes on the bus and put them in order of my liking for time-killing purposes.

In first place there's the smoking hot spanish dude that wears shiny shoes and is studying to be an actor (yuck!) at the film school on the 5th floor of my building. He's a super hunk and is always reading spanish newspapers, but I'm willing to bet he's already got a pretty foxy girlfriend. No way is this guy single.

Then there's the dude that looks 100% european as well, and I always assumed that he was part of the same international film school as the smoking spanish dude. He looks more on the Scandinavian side. And, while I DO happen to collect Scandinavians, lighter-skinned dudes aren't really my first choice - - - but if you saw what I had to choose from on the bus, you'd put him in second place, too. Thing about this guy is that I would only have a chance with him if he actually were, in fact, european. If he's american, he's juuust rock and roll enough that some Silverlake hipster chick would be all over him in a heartbeat - - I lack the whole "hip" factor, so that puts me out of the game.

And the third guy is really just an alternate, but I threw him in because I always like to lump things into groups of threes. He's no feast for the eyes, that's for sure, but there's a nerdy quality about him that makes me think that he could possibly have potential in the personality department. Eh, but he seriously needs to shave the inch-long spotty red patches of hair from his face and change out of the non-ironic Member's Only jacket before I give it any more consideration.

Ok, so those are the key players. They are never all on the bus at the same time, and NEVER have any of them sat next to me. I always leave the space next to me open on the bus that we share in hopes that one of them will plop themselves down, and still. Nothing.

So last night I get on the bus and it's like a fucking party exploded in there. ALL THREE DUDES were on the bus, and TWO of them were talking to each other. The spanish dude had his nose shoved into one of his sexy periodicals, naturally. The two that were chatting were Second Place and Third Place, as I call them.

After hearing the two of them speak for 30 seconds, my Final 3 was instantly whittled down to just one: The hot spanish dude.

Dude. Second Place not only isn't european as I had originally fantasized, but he also has a maaaaaajor speech impediment - - - which I normally wouldn't be so cruel about in the real world, but this dude is just a bus fantasy, so I'm pulling the plug. Third Place, the ugly one, has the most obnoxious stoner laugh I've ever heard, and the very thought of his next bout of laughter made me move to the back of the bus, so...I nexted his ass, too.

And there you have it! The only guy I have left on my list of dudes to fake-fall-in-love-with on the bus is the hot spanish dude with his shiny, shiny shoes. Olé! Yep. I said it. How productive was that bus ride?!?

The Hollywood Exception

2010-02-25T15:20:00.000-08:00

Every couple in the world should utilize the Hollywood Exception rule. It doesn't actually have to be someone that lives or works in Hollywood, just someone that is in the public eye. I just happen to be incredibly shallow and am only turned on by/made aware of people that are on the screen.

Anyway, the rule applies to anyone famous and alive. Basically, each member of the couple gets to pick one person that they get to, providing the opportunity presents itself, engage in a romantic or physical relationship for ONE NIGHT.

For instance, say I choose...Johnny Depp as my Hollywood Exception (I won't), and let's also say that I'm in a relationship (I'm not)...if somehow I find myself in a position to have some sort of escapade with Johnny Depp, as long as it's known that he is my chosen Hollywood Exception, I get to act on it. Just one time. Same goes for the guy in the relationship and his Megan Fox or whatever.

Since I'm not in a relationship at the moment, I'm going to choose 3 people as my Hollywood Exceptions...just for kicks: My first, my current, and my forever. Behold:

My first and longest-standing Hollywood Exception:

My current and mainly conditional Hollywood Exception:

Annnnd...every woman's secret fantasy and my forever:

Shit. I can't keep it to just 3. This last one is someone that I wouldn't necessarily insist that I get to be romantic with (though I totally would) --- in the event that I'm simultaneously in a relationship and in the presence of such a breathtaking man, of course --- but I definitely would straight-up ditch my significant other in a nano in order to hang out with this dude instead:

Ladies and germs: Sir David Attenborough

*Swoon*

Who would yours be?

Pearl of Wisdom #7

2010-02-25T14:41:00.000-08:00

Don't interrupt people while they are talking on the phone to someone else. It's fucking mega-rude. I don't care how important it is, wait your turn.

I'm Every Woman

2010-02-24T17:43:00.000-08:00

I dated this semi-famous-for-a-minute reality TV chef for even less than a minute last year, mainly because I knew that no matter what happened, it would be a good story to tell. Even from the start it had all the components of a brilliant little memoir: he was currently on television being portayed as "the villian," he was wildly European (not just mildly), and he lived like a block away from me. All it took was a simple email inquiry about cooking classes and we were off!

Cut to the present day and I will tell everyone to avoid dating a chef. Well, give it a shot if you don't mind dealing with someone that is compleeetely spastic and never available. Nothing terrible ever happened between me and the chef. There were no falling-outs or fizzles. The story just became less and less fun to tell. I still keep in contact with him, though. Only now the broken-English semi-naughty texts that I used to find endearing drive me crazy. I got another one today. Ugh.

But it's not the chef's fault that I no longer care to bounce texts back and forth, pretending that either of us actually wants to see the other. The chef was just another in a series of distractions that were keeping me from having access to anything meaningful. Now that I'm on a break from romance, I'd rather distract myself with something productive - - - like exercise. Or learning how to make those French macarons that I'm so desperate to make.

It's funny how it works. When you're in the thick of it, it's all you can think about. Love, sex, company. But when you're on hiatus, it only takes a short while before you've completely forgotten about it. And once you get to that point, then you can really start to get shit done. I changed my own fucking bike chain last weekend, for chrissake! I am kicking ass and taking names and I've got absolutely no time to stop and worry about silly relationship bullshit. Yeah!!!

Now cut to a 30 second montage of me getting my shit together (i.e., sweatin' to the oldies, pulling a batch of perfectly risen macarons from the oven, leaving the hair salon with a gorgeous new set of extensions) all to the sweet sound of Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman" blasting in the background.

Yep. That's me.

My One True Love (Forever and Always)

2010-02-19T12:28:00.001-08:00

This Message Will NOT Self-Destruct!

2010-02-18T16:23:00.000-08:00

I was digging through the trash in my email inbox today looking for any promotional codes from drugstore.com that I had immediately written off as junk (up until now) and deleted --- I'm purchasing biotin so my hair grows faster than one fucking inch per year --- and I came across a dinosaur of an email from my first L.A. love. The trash box in Gmail lies, btw, because it told me that any messages left in there after 30 days would be automatically deleted, and this email was sent 4 years ago.

I wasn't really prepared for the sneak attack from the past, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I opened it. When I saw that I recognized the subject of the email, my heart started to beat a little faster. I don't have romantic feelings for this guy at all anymore --- we're totally friends, we just never make out or anything --- but it still sorta stung to see it. Probably just because it was another reminder that I can't seem to lock things down in the romance department; my smug little inbox was rubbing my failures in my face! I (reluctantly) opened the email and read its contents and it was sweet and charming and everything I remembered it to be. No wonder I liked that guy!

I thought about his words, and how he meant them at the time, and how they completely made my world when I first read them. I read the email at least 10 times and tried to imagine how I would respond to someone if I received something like that now.

Reading the email over and over was like torture, so I closed out (after I moved the email from the trash and back into my active inbox for safe-keeping) and went back to my trash box to continue my search for vitamin coupons. No luck, btw --- I totally paid full price.

I've sort of had romance tucked away in the back of my mind these days, but seeing that email brought it back up to the surface for a little bit of my afternoon. I don't miss the whole crapshoot Los Angeles dating scene one bit, but I kinda miss being in love.

This photo was attached to the email:

Why can't my hair be that long now?!?

The City of Sisterly Love

2010-02-15T11:21:00.000-08:00

As much as I believe that I'm going to have to move as far away from Los Angeles as I can if there is ever any hope for me to find love, there are other reasons that make me think this is the greatest city in the world. Life's not only about romance anyway. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

I made my Valentine's Day plans a month in advance. There is nothing worse than the impending explosion of red velvet hearts and white fuzzy bears and diamond commercials on the television every 15 minutes when you know that you will not be on the receiving end of any of that shit. Rather than worry about whether or not I'd be able to lock something down with someone (anyone) by the big day, I felt it saftest to preemptively make non-romantic plans with a bunch of people that might also have that night free. Lucky for me, I was able to lock in a solid bunch!

So 8 of us painted our faces, put on some frills and met up at The Grove for a 7pm showing of that shitty romantic comedy (?) called Valentine's Day (how appropriate!) featuring every single actor that has been in any film for the last 15 years. We were 15 feet out of the parking structure and into the mall before we saw our first celebrity sighting:

He literally was sitting in the most public spot in the entire mall. On a major holiday. At first I thought it was irritating because I assumed he just wanted attention (MORE attention than he already gets) but then I decided that it was his little Valentine's Day gift to the shoppers of The Grove. Whether it was his intention or not, he was something exciting for us to talk about, and it made our day seem more glamourous. Sadly, he was wearing clothes and was on a date with some girl that wasn't me, but I'll take what I can get. A sighting is just fine.

The show was sold out and we were saving seats for the second half of our party before the movie started and every single person that came into the theatre asked us if the seats were taken, which...got annoying. At one point this old lady came up behind my friend and asked her if she could sit in the seats next to her and, annoyed, she told the old lady the seats were taken, forcing this old lady to split up from her equally geriatric husband (on Valentine's Day) and sit alone in the special little isolated handicap chair right by the exit. Once she realized that this lady would have would have to sit on the opposite end of the theatre as her husband on this romantic day, my friend felt like a royal heel. Especially when we all realized that the old lady was this person:

The movie was terrible, as expected. But it was the kind of bad that was so ridiculous that it was almost comical in its own, unintentional way, so none of us left the theatre feeling like we wasted any money. Then we darted over to the restaurant where we promptly began to shove our faces full of anything containing sugar, alcohol or fat until the restaurant manager literally had to come up and tell us it was time to leave.

By the time I got home, I was stuffed, sleepy, and totally without the feeling that I was missing out on anything this Valentine's Day. If I had to do it again, I would pick the same people to spend it with. Los Angeles may not be a good place to find love, but the friendships and celebrity sightings and delicious food more than make up for that. Romance is for suckers, anyway.

Pearl of Wisdom #6

2010-02-12T09:39:00.000-08:00

Long stem red roses are tacky. Give her something else.

This is also a bummer:

Somebody That I Used To Know

2010-02-11T13:31:00.000-08:00

Remember 1997, when we all thought we knew exactly what Elliott Smith was singing about, and we were certain we were feeling every bit as heartbroken as he was? Ever listened to his music as an adult and realized how delusional you were as a teen? I had my ipod set to "shuffle" this morning and an Elliott Smith song that I hadn't heard in years came on and I had a brief shame attack for my 17 year-old self.

If only I had to deal with the same woes that I was dealing with back then instead of the ones that plague me now, how carefree I would be! Of course, if I were working with the same mindset as my 17 year-old self, that would mean that I'd probably still be wearing overalls doused with CK Escape (to cover up the smell of cigs) and a ratty pair of Chuck Taylors. Waaaait a minute...I still wear ratty Chuck Taylors. Maybe that's why I only attract men that act like children (!!!). Looks like I need to go shoe shopping!

Mission: Accomplished (!!!)

2010-02-10T12:56:00.000-08:00

Oh, I made that loaf of bread.

Pearl of Wisdom #5

2010-02-06T00:34:00.000-08:00

Women and gay men: You can only throw a drink in someone's face once in your life. If you make a habit of it, people are going to stop inviting you to parties, so choose wisely and really make it count. I, myself, have yet to meet a person that was worthy of being on the receiving end of my one drink in the face, but I look forward to the day. Then again, it would be nice to never be that enraged...

Sans Mans

2010-02-05T16:29:00.000-08:00

Instead of thinking about boys this weekend, I'm going to actually be productive. First I'm going to learn how to bake bread. It's supposed to be pretty easy, but I'm really good at fucking things up, so I'm gonna leave myself a few hours (the whole weekend?) to figure it out.

Then I'm going to make sweet & spicy almonds.

Then (!!!) I'm gonna organize my goddamn shoes so I don't have to go through what I went through this morning when I couldn't find a fucking partner for any of my pairs of black flats.

Finally, I'm going to watch that movie on HBO where Claire Danes plays an autistic scientist. I should design a drinking game for this one: Everyone has to drink each time Claire Danes makes that hideous monster face she makes every time she cries. Guaranteed we'll all be wasted by the end of the movie.

Riding on the Metro (oh-oh)

2010-02-04T15:27:00.000-08:00

I don't really like bringing this guy up anymore (he's not even relevant), but this morning I thought there was a sighting and I had quite a scare. I was 35 minutes into being awake for the day, sitting on the 333 eastbound, when we stopped at Venice and Overland.

There are always a bunch of people waiting to get onto the bus at Overland. So many, in fact, that Overland is the stop where I decide to actually scoot over to the window so someone (hopefully someone clean - - - I've already given up on the dream of someone attractive sitting next to me on the bus) can sit down. If I didn't let guilt get the best of me, I would stay put and leave the window seat vacant, leaving me to sit without any neighbors, and some poor fool to grab the bar and stand until another seat becomes available. But I always cave at Venice and Overland.

Anyway, a bunch of people start crowding onto the bus and I'm halfway watching and then I see something that makes my stomach drop to the floor: The Comedian. I swear to you, from where I was sitting, this person was a dead ringer. Same height, same build, same hair, same nose, same EVERYTHING. I panicked. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I honestly wanted to open up the window and jump out. The bus wasn't going that fast, anyway...minimal damage.

Then I realize that the only seat left is the fucking one next to me and I start to panic more. HOW IS THIS MY LIFE, I thought. Never did it occur to me that it would be totally strange for him to be on the same bus - - I'm one of the only people I know that takes the bus - - as me. Especially not at the same time and going to the same place. But I didn't have time to think about this stuff. I only had time to freak the fuck out. So the dude comes up and sits next to me and I realize that it's not actually him. Holymotherofjesusthankgod.

As far as DNA goes, he's gotta be only like one genome away from The Comedian's actual genetic makeup. Maybe The Comedian has a brother, who knows. All I know is that he has got the most extreme doppelganger in the world out there, and that dude scared the shit out of me by sitting next to me on the bus this morning. Not funny at all.

Zach Galifianakis

2010-02-04T14:52:00.000-08:00

I wonder if Zach Galifianakis has a girlfriend. Not that it would matter, though. It's too late to get in on that shit, thanks to the fucking Hangover. A year ago it might have been an actual possibility to get someone like Zach Galifianakis to go out with me.

Physically, we're a decent match; both of us have some rather fetching physical attributes, and we also both have parts of our bodies that should indefinitely be wrapped up and covered entirely by fabric or hair.

A year ago, I would have seemed like a pretty cute girl to a dude like Galifianakis! But now that he's in one of the most popular (and wildly overrated) films of the year, I'm sure that I look like a troll compared to the girls that are throwing themselves at him now.

I should have gotten his attention when he was still oafish and riddled with insecurities. I needed to strike while the iron was hot.

Success: the ultimate cockblocker.

Pearl of Wisdom #4

2010-02-03T22:44:00.000-08:00

Plucking grey hairs out of your head with tweezers only makes them grow back thicker, greyer, and more uncontrollable. Trust me. Right now I practically look like I'm wearing dark brown extensions clipped onto a bed of 1 inch greys.

I'm gonna need a second opinion.

2010-01-28T11:47:00.001-08:00

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...

2010-01-25T17:57:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-01-25T10:18:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-21T12:24:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-20T14:17:00.001-08:00

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

2010-01-18T09:31:00.001-08:00

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

2010-01-18T09:28:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-14T16:41:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-13T22:42:00.001-08:00

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...

2010-01-12T10:23:00.001-08:00

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)

2010-01-08T12:36:00.000-08:00

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"

2010-01-05T01:31:00.001-08:00

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...

2010-01-05T01:05:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-01-04T12:15:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-01T16:45:00.000-08:00

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!

Auld Lang Syne

2009-12-31T01:46:00.000-08:00

It's the same thing every year. Everyone is always sooooo anxious to get the year over with by the time New Year's Eve rolls around, including myself. All of a sudden it's like the year turned to total shit. Rarely do you hear someone say they will miss the current year. This year is particularly huge because we are moving on to an entirely new decade. So I'm going to honor 2009 by listing my 9 favorite things about it:

(In order of occurrence)

1. Scored a major promotion
2. Started a torrid love affair with a villainous reality TV star
3. Made my first appearance on a radio show
4. Went to the horse tracks for the first time
5. Ended torrid love affair with a villainous reality TV star (though still receive entertaining texts)
6. Traveled to New Zealand (!!!)
7. Sat inside a Delorean
8. Relearned how to ice skate
9. Started writing again

While I'm definitely looking forward to more good things to come, the goodbye will be bittersweet. Farewell, decade. I never even knew your name.

The Art of Seduction - Part II

2009-12-31T01:23:00.000-08:00

I'm only 150 pages into this book and I already feel like I'm loaded for bear. It's New Year's Eve and I'm fully equipped to trick some bastard into sucking face with me at midnight, FTW.

The Art of Seduction

2009-12-30T11:48:00.000-08:00

I've been wanting to read this book for a while, and nobody bought it for me for Christmas...so I just bought it myself. It's called The Art of Seduction, and it's by the same dude that wrote The 48 Laws of Power, which inspired our beloved 50 Cent so much that he actually collaborated with the author to make his own book, The 50th Law. I figured if 50 Cent believed he experienced any sort of success due to this authors' words, then I might have a chance as well. Hell, if I have even a fraction of the success that 50 Cent has had, I'll be drinking champagne with diamonds in it while stretched out by the fire on a bearskin rug in no time.

The inside cover of The Art of Seduction says: "Get what you want by manipulating everyone's greatest weakness: the desire for pleasure. Be Ruthless. Reign Supreme." I'm...totally on board. The book is almost 500 pages, which I didn't expect. If there are 500 pages worth of information on how to seduce someone, then I've been doing it all wrong for years now. I think I've only been operating from 2 pages of info up until now.

Well, time to change. I'm gonna finish this book by New Year's Day and then I'm gonna manipulate the fuck out of every guy that crosses my path. There will be no survivors.

Superfail.

2009-12-29T23:29:00.000-08:00

I forgot to suggest Scenario D, in which I receive absolutely zero acknowledgment from The Comedian. I figured that probably wouldn't be a possibility, but that's exactly what happened. I wore my favorite dress and made my cheeks extra rosy. I don't know what I expected. I guess I hoped, at the very least, I would be able to have the chance to take some of the power back, but that opportunity never presented itself. The room was small, too. It required effort to ignore me. What a waste of a pretty dress. I'd say I felt ugly if I didn't already feel so invisible.

I'm not gonna go back to that trivia again.

2 drink maximum

2009-12-29T02:10:00.000-08:00

There's another bullshit comedy trivia thing tonight and I'm actually going to attend. The Comedian will be there, of course, and while I think it's probably been long enough for me to be in the same room as him without wanting to rip my heart out of my chest and stomp it on the ground so it stops stinging sogoddamnmuch...you never know. I truly am a glutton for punishment. There are only a few ways this could possibly go:

Scenario A: The way that would work best for me -
Comedian: Hey, sorry I've been such a jerk. Let's start over.
Me: Ok! (smile and take sip of champagne while girlishly batting my eyelashes)

Scenario B: The way it will probably go down -
Comedian: Hey.
Me: ...hey. (blink a lot, bite my lip, and try to look like I'm not even bothered)

Scenario C: Worst-case scenario -
I enter the room and the music stops while the spotlight is rerouted to my face and I'm met with a chorus of crickets and that trumpet sound that's played when someone fails on the Price Is Right.

Only time will tell. But if I know myself at all, I'd say it's probably best to stay away from any sort of alcohol, or I'll certainly make a mess of things. The place demands a 2 drink minimum (which I think is incredibly annoying) so I'll probably just have to stick with two $5 Diet Cokes. Or flask my two alcoholic beverages and give them to a homeless person or something. To be continued...

t4m in LA area

2009-12-28T12:11:00.000-08:00

Many moons ago, I was mixed up with this chef that lived up in Portland. I met him through a friend and we sorta hit it off (I guess) and I even went up to see him for one whirlwind weekend. Not surprisingly, things didn't work out between us. But we kept in contact and for a while I had fantasies of us meeting somewhere in the middle and starting some sort of magical Pacific Northwestern life together. He'd cook me dinner and I'd sing him songs and we'd snuggle on the couch and lament over health care and foreign policy while the world outside cried for us and everyone else.

Like all telephone relationships, the novelty began to wear off quickly. I became tired of waiting for this guy that I liked to come see me, I knew he never would, and the words of Mark Knopfler in the song "So Far Away" became less and less romantic. We started picking each other apart each time we talked, and eventually it got to the point where we were just mean to each other over the phone.

One night I must have said something that was the straw on his proverbial camels' back and he hung up on me. A few days later I started receiving phone calls from all over the country. All men. None of them would identify themselves, nor would they tell me how they got my number. One dude eventually said he got my number from Craigslist and he was calling regarding my ad for the motorcycle for sale. I posted no such ad. Strange things were amiss, but I figured there was just a misprint.

When the next guy called, I asked if he was calling about the ad. He said yes, and that he would be in town the following week and wanted to make an appointment with me. When I asked him what it was that he wanted to make an appointment for, he said "Uh. For some company." (What.) Then I asked him to read the ad aloud to me because I had suspected there was a misprint, and the dude says to me "Shit, really? Man, that's fucked up. This ad says you are a transsexual escort in the Los Angeles area, and it says your name is Lindsay."

I swallowed the vomit in the back of my throat and immediately started thinking about who it was that I could have pissed off enough to do something like this. The fucking chef. I called him up and screamed for about 10 minutes straight while he laughed uproariously and I begged him to remove the ad.

Well, he didn't remove the ad, and I continued to receive calls for another week or so. Looking back, it was the best thing he could have done because any feelings I had felt for him before had completely disappeared. It's been years since then, and he's apologized and I guess I don't care enough about him to actually be bothered anymore. Now he's married to some chick that I swear he hated up until the day of their nuptials, but at least he isn't my problem anymore.

I've been receiving an absurd amount of "wrong numbers" lately, and I can't help but think that there's someone out there that I've pissed off. More importantly, what does this new ad say about me?

I'm grouchy.

2009-12-28T10:19:00.000-08:00

I've been 30 years old for 48 hours now, and there still have been no great epiphanies. No new wisdom came along with my jump to the next decade. I'm still just as confused as ever. I'm not really sure what I expected to happen, but I definitely anticipated there would be some sort of change. At the very least, I figured the anxiety I'd been feeling for the past year leading up to the actual event would dissipate. Nope. I feel old, and yucky, and nothing any person in their 30s says is going to make me believe that this is better than being younger.

I need some more backup

2009-12-27T12:20:00.000-08:00

Everyone has a person they text when the person they really want to talk to isn't contacting them. I've got about 3 or 4 backups. It's a tricky business, though, with these backups. You can't overtext because then they'll think you want more than just a little bit of attention, and you can't let it go so long in between texts that they've lost the desire to return said text. I don't even keep my backups saved in my phone; they live on a list tacked to a bulletin board in my room. Every now and then, when I'm feeling blue because my crush isn't crushing back, I'll visit the list and call on my backups for reinforcement. Usually I'll get a text back and my wound is bandaged and I feel better. But occasionally I'll call for backup and nobody shows and it makes me want to throw darts at the list tacked up on my bulletin board, but I usually just decide to cut my losses and call it a night. I don't even have any darts. I need to find some more reliable backup so I don't run into this again. Or maybe I should just start liking guys that are legit so I never actually have the need for any backup.

bad grammar makes me [sic]

2009-12-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

I totally fell in love with this Englishman when I was backpacking through New Zealand. He laid it on so thick, man. First of all, he was absolutely gorgeous. Secondly, that accent. He spent all of our time together completely mindfucking me into thinking that he liked me. It was glorious. First it was him getting drunk and telling me I was beautiful and had a perfect nose. Then it was him asking me to watch TV with him in his bed. He said he wanted to come to Los Angeles and rent a convertible and drive across the country with me. I was so smitten. At the time I paid no mind to the fact that we had never even kissed. I actually romanticized the fact and told myself it was better that way. I would kiss him at the airport when he came to see me in Los Angeles.

After I returned home we exchanged a few awkward emails. He was not great at responding, and I'm not great at waiting around. I told myself it was better this way. In my mind, he would always remain perfect, so I let go. And, like every boy, it took a good two weeks of not seeing or hearing from him to get him off my mind. As always, it worked, and I was up and thinking about a new guy before I knew it. I think I sent The Brit a "how are things?" email about a month ago when I saw that he had been tagged in some Facebook photos, but I didn't receive a response.

Until today. My phone buzzed while I was sleeping last night to let me know I had a new message. 99% of the time it's some sort of junk email that arrives that late in the night, but my curiosity kills me every time and it's impossible for me not to check to make sure it's not something important. I had new mail from The Brit! It took everything in me not to sit up and read it right there, but I wanted to have something to look forward to in the morning, so I put my phone down and saved it for the next day.

Today I woke up and it was like Christmas morning, only instead of candy in my stocking, I had a delicious email in my inbox. I got up, made some tea (it's only appropriate when reading an email from the UK), and plopped myself in front of the computer in anticipation. I went to my inbox, clicked on the big fat illuminated "1", and started to read.

"How are you my love?...england is good but it's cold! hope your well. xx--"

Sigh. That doesn't give me much to work with. I told him I was good and that Los Angeles was warm and that I had started writing. I actually gave him a link to this blog! (Hi, J! :/) A boring response to a boring email. Lackluster. Ugh. But then I realized that I don't really have anything to say to a guy that I met 3 months ago and haven't seen since, other than the fact that he should have used "you're" instead of "your,"and I felt better.

So maybe not a love connection after all, but he will look great in photos with me when he eventually comes to visit in Los Angeles, so that's a bonus.

You're no gymnast.

2009-12-22T16:40:00.000-08:00

One of my first online dating experiences was with this teacher guy named Julian. He seemed sort of boring, but I figured I had to get over my fear of meeting these people in person, so I decided I'd practice on him. We spoke on the phone before we met up, and I should have noticed the red flag then, but I figured he was just nervously talking about himself nonstop because it was our first time chatting. He seemed nice enough, though, and safe. We agree to meet at this little bar in Koreatown the following week.

Dude shows up 45 minutes late and is totally unapologetic about it. He immediately launches into this tirade about how terrible his ex-girlfriend was, and about how she is desperate to be with him. "She was a gymnast, you know, and having sex with gymnasts is extra fun because they are super bendy. You're no gymnast, though...you're statuesque. (...) Oh, but she's a dumb bitch because she's dating this bald male nurse instead of me and she's also clearly not very smart because she hasn't realized that her new boyfriend is gay because all male nurses are obviously gay." This is the shit that was coming out of his mouth. I'm also pretty sure he worked in some sort of racist comments about our Korean cocktail waitress, too, but he passed it off as being acceptable since he teaches English as a second language. What?!? This dude was lame. I was mostly pissed because I never even got a chance to say anything, and I felt like I was ripped off by the whole experience. I certainly didn't get better at dating by holding my tongue for hour-long increments.

I obviously decided that I didn't want to see this guy again, and I almost wrote the entire experience off as a waste, but there was one little detail that made the story worth retelling. Adam Brody (from The O.C.) was also on an awkward date at the table sitting across from me. Every time I glanced over it looked like he was sitting in the wake of a terrible joke he had just told, fumbling to bring things back to good. He was bombing. We exchanged empathetic glances a few times, and I almost wanted to just walk up to him and suggest that we ditch our dates and take off to do something way more interesting than what each of us hand been enduring for the past god-knows-how-long. Obviously I couldn't do anything of the sort, it's AdamfuckingBrody, so I just ended the night and walked away from Julian with a sense of disappointment. But, never to be defeated, I updated my Facebook status on the ride home to: "Lindsay just went on a date with Adam Brody." It's not entirely untrue.

FML.

2009-12-22T01:19:00.001-08:00

I was riding the bus to work this one time and this enormous tranny got on at the same time as me. She was fabulous. About 6 feet tall, black, draped head-to-to in orange chiffon, with 3 inch talons to match. She sat directly in front of me. I was thrilled. I desperately hoped that someone I knew would be driving alongside me and see what amazing seats I got for this show. She then proceeded to do one of the grossest things I've ever seen a human do in public. She opened a can of tuna, scooped it out of the can with her bright orange claws, and sucked the morsels off as if she were a 5 year-old eating black olives off her fingertips. That wasn't even the worst part. What got me was that she was wearing an enormous wedding ring. That fucking bitch found someone to love her forever and I'm still combing through emails from psychopaths on my online dating profile.

Polanski

2009-12-22T00:55:00.001-08:00

Ew. Polanski texted me tonight. Polanski is the guy I got into trouble with at the Halloween party this past year. Normally I have a very strict rule that I never make out with any guy that is dressed as a girl, as a pimp or anyone whose costume lacks creativity on any level, but I broke the rules for this one. He was mega-hot, boyish, and wearing a 3 piece suit, passing himself off as a "young Roman Polanski." Suuuuper lame, but what can I say...I'm a sucker for a man in a vest and tie.

So we end up becoming...wildly intimate in the laundry room of the house that hosted the party. The window in the laundry room looked out into the backyard, where all the guests were gathered. A few hecklers kept shouting and tapping on the windows. Interesting side note: I later come to learn that The Comedian was one of these hecklers! Anyway, the hecklers were annoying as fuck and in the heat of the moment, Polanski punched his hand through the window. Needless to say, we were asked to leave the party immediately.

Polanski got my number while we were waiting on the corner of the street for our respective friends to come collect us, but I honestly didn't anticipate ever hearing from him again. But he texted the very next day and asked me to come over to watch a movie! I'm not really used to having a random guy that I hooked up with ask me to hang out again, and certainly not so soon after the fact, so I accepted out of sheer curiosity.

I knock on his door and he tells me to come in, and I can barely open the door because the floor is so covered in...everything. There were mountains of empty food containers strewn about the floor, an entire closet's worth of clothing piled all over every piece of furniture. At one point, a kitten emerged from what I can only describe as a metric fuck-ton of papers and started eating from one of the half-empty food containers on the floor. But there he was, sitting on the couch, even more beautiful than I had remembered. The sight of his face was enough to distract me for the time being. Then I noticed something strange.

He had a friend there. A friend that didn't speak a single word the entire night, but insisted on sitting right next to me on the couch while making sure that Polanski's glass of gin and orange juice was constantly full. Eventually, the friend retreated to the bedroom (I thought this was a one bedroom place?) and turned off the light.

Polanski had called me earlier while I was in the shower to ask what movie I wanted him to rent, but I never got back to him. He rented The Gods Must Be Crazy. Interesting choice, I thought. Though, much better than the time I was on a date and the dude put on the movie Beer Fest and then asked me to spend the night with him while the naked breast montage flashed in the background. I didn't spend the night. Anyway, so Polanski makes the first move and holds my hand. About 30 seconds later he decides he wants to get comfortable and he lays across the couch with his head in my lap. About 30 seconds after that I'm met with the sound of his thunderous snores. He fucking passed out. I tried to wake him several times, but this dude was blacked out.

I sat there for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do, when the silent roommate came barging out of the bedroom and walked straight up to Polanski and slapped him in the face while screaming "HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ICED TEA? HOW. THE. FUCK. DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ICED TEA???" Polanski didn't budge. Then the no longer silent friend looked at me with fiery eyes as if I should know the answer and I, with my eyes wide open and jaw dropped, mustered the only thing I could think of at the time: "I don't know. I'm new here." That was obviously not he answer that this dude wanted to hear, and so he turned around and stormed back into the room, slamming the door behind him. What. The fuck just happened.

I had to get out. I didn't even care about being delicate with Polanski's drunken passed out head, I just hopped up and let it drop wherever it landed. I stopped at the ladies room on my way out, despite my better judgment. It was gonna be a long ride home, and I wasn't about to hold it. So I'm washing my hands and I notice a bottle of pills on the counter. My conscience was screaming at me not to look at the information printed at the bottle, but I ignored it. This could be valuable information! What if he had an STD? Or what if he was on something like anti-psychotic medication? I looked at the prescription and didn't recognize the name of the drug, but I did notice that it had expired 2 years prior. There was half a bottle left, so whatever it was that he had, he's probably still got it. But that wasn't my main concern. The biggest shock came when I saw what his last name was. From the angle that I was looking at the label I could only see the first 4 letters: P-E-N-I. Terrified of what the next letter could be, I rotated the bottle 10 degrees. It was an X. His last name was Penix. I dropped the pills and got out of that place as fast as I could.

Anyway. He's been texting me ever since. That was the only time we had hung out, outside of the party, of course, and it was wildly unsuccesful. I have no idea why he still contacts me. I guess I've been texting back because I like the attention. But he uses babytalk in his texts, which nauseates me, and he never seems to really make any concrete plans. Also, his last name is Penix. No fucking way am I marrying a guy with that last name, so what's the point? Tonight he texted me the words "sweep tight, dear." I deleted his number from my phone. Later, Polanski.

Next!

2009-12-21T23:22:00.000-08:00

So I got this email from a dude on the dating website that simply said: "Don't worry, I've cleared my inbox so it doesn't fill up once you start emailing me every day." Yuck. A month ago I would have been all over that shit, but I'm trying my damnedest to steer clear of the blatant assholes for the time being. I have a hard enough time with the *seemingly* nice ones. Plus, he's a lawyer. What would I have in common with a lawyer? Why can't someone cool email me? Like a shark diver. Or a scientist. Or a cowboy!

Science, you filthy whore.

2009-12-21T13:28:00.001-08:00

Back in my younger days, when my heart was tender and naive, it took a lot more for me to get over a boy. I was working at a store slinging upscale silk resort wear to yuppies when my new age hippie friend Brigitte told me about Oxytocin. I'm not about to pretend like I'm a scientist, but here's what I know about it: Oxytocin, or The Love Chemical, is a neurotransmitter in the brain that is triggered when you interact with a person you are attracted to. Catching sight of them, hearing their voice, taking in a deep breath of their pheromones...these are all things that pull the trigger on that nasty little neurotransmitter and essentially render you powerless to your desires. So when the time came for me to realize that my current love interest, Tattoo Tim, was still hung up on his ex (who happened to share her name with me...that bitch), I consulted Brigitte about how to deactivate the reproduction of this terrible chemical in my brain so I could move on with it. "Six to eight weeks. You need to cut off all contact for six to eight weeks," she said. Great. What was I supposed to do? He worked right next door! What, was I supposed to slip out into the parking lot in a trench coat and sunglasses every day after work? Before I even thought of my plan, Tattoo Tim came to visit me at work. Panicked, I pulled him aside and told him, without any explanation, that I couldn't see or hear from him for six to eight weeks. I actually said that to him. And, bless his little tattooed heart, he just nodded his head and walked away. Luckily it didn't end up taking six to eight weeks to get over him because my next love interest, who had been in my periphery, made a dive bomb into my sights the second he heard I was giving up on Tattoo Tim. Unlucky for me, I didn't actually get to see if that research was true. Did it really take six to eight weeks?

Now that I'm older, and my heart has hardened and encased itself in a briar of thicket, I've put a two week cap on getting over men. I'm 30, man. I don't have time to be carrying a torch for someone that doesn't carry one for me in return. But technology has made things tricky these days. Nobody talks on the phone. We text. Or email. God forbid someone actually says something to your face! But because of this, the interpersonal connections have become strange. We aren't hearing their voices anymore, or smelling their smells. Without those animalistic triggers, it should be a piece of cake to get over the worthless ones. I guess the ones that are actually worth spending more than two weeks of consideration on are the ones that actually do call, the ones that aren't afraid of a face-to-face, the ones that give your brain the opportunity to become addicted. Right now the only person that triggers my obnoxious love neurotransmitter is the stupid fucking Comedian. Luckily, since I can't even get that guy to return a text, this whole thing should be safely out of my system before the New Year. It's easy to say now that he's a jerk and that I shouldn't even waste another minute on him, but I'm tellin' ya, man...if he called me up on New Year's Eve and I heard his voice, I'd probably heat those words up and eat them in a white wine reduction with a side of haricot verts. I can't help it! It's science! Sigh.

Cute underpants are such a cockblocker.

2009-12-21T12:34:00.001-08:00

Without fail, if I put on a cute new pair of underpants before I go out, I can barely get a gentleman to give me a handshake. But if I roll out wearing the last ratty pair on laundry day, I'm fighting them off with a stick. This presents quite a dilemma when I get ready for a date.

Online dating = Offline waste of time (usually)

2009-12-20T00:08:00.001-08:00

Every few months or so, when I'm extra lonely, I reactivate my online dating profile. I mainly just like to get free compliments from strangers. And it works, too. Every few months there is an onslaught of positive feedback from complete weirdos, and I hang in there until I realize I'd rather just receive the (very rare) compliment from someone in real life and I deactivate my account again. I can only handle so many winks and boring emails declaring that my profile looks interesting, or that they, too, have a thing for Old Spice Pure Sport. Honestly, out of everything I have posted on my profile, that one tidbit gets the most attention. Rarely does a man contact me that I consider contacting back, but every once in a while someone will catch my eye. It never ends up going anywhere. This past year alone I've been on 6 or 7 useless dates with guys that were completely wrong for me. One of them even got a second date, but I was so bored (and turned off by his premature admission that he was obsessed with Disney films) that I practically opened the car door while he was driving me back to my house and did a drop-roll on my lawn.

Being the holidays and all, I felt an extra pang of loneliness and reactivated my account the other day. As usual, I received about 10 winks and 5 emails within the first 3 hours of my reactivation from gentlemen of all walks of life. One from a comedian (eep!) with a weird hangup about how many ice cubes he has in his drinks, another from a grizzly bear of a man that only said "you seem nice." Let me tell you, by the way, my profile does NOT make me seem nice. He was instantly disregarded due to lack of creativity. One dude told me that I was beautiful, but that he was not fooled by beauty in Los Angeles, and that I was probably just like the rest of them. Thanks? But one guy seemed decent. He's from Kentucky, so I'll call him The Colonel. A little on the short side, but he looks really cute in glasses and I liked that his profile said his favorite thing to do is nap. I, too, love a good nap. He winked at me, which I generally hate because it forces me to write the first email, but I gave him a free pass and made the move. So we've been exchanging the usual "get to know you" emails and we'll see where it goes. He says he doesn't have a Kentucky accent, but wouldn't it be sorta darling if he did? If anything, hopefully it will serve as a nice distraction from my current situation with The Comedian. That'll be enough for me.

I need a new picker

2009-12-19T20:32:00.000-08:00

When it comes to the holidays, there are two types of people. There are the people that live for that stuff: blasting Christmas music the second it turns midnight on Thanksgiving, spangling their homes (and bodies) with stars, snowmen and evergreen trees; shoving copious amounts of peppermint and gingerbread into their faces. Then there the ones that cannot wait for the entire holiday season to disappear as soon as possible. These are the lonely people, the bitter ones. Growing up, Christmas was my scene. My birthday is the day after, so I had to wait an entire year to have any reason to celebrate, and I was always the first to start counting down the days. Now I find myself in the second group of people. Let's just get this shit over with already. Tonight I sent one friend off to the east coast to spend a warm and toasty Christmas with her loving family, and I sent another one off to engage in holiday cheer at a company party (that will, no doubt, be loaded to the max with free alcohol, and Best Buy giftcards aplenty). People will be kissing under the mistletoe. Glorious, glitter-encrusted lapses in judgment will be made. And I will be sitting on my fucking couch thinking about how I messed it up with yet another guy and how I'm somehow lonelier than anyone else during this Christmas because of that very fact.

The Comedian. I saw him onstage at some bullshit Thanksgiving trivia thing that my friend Rachel dragged me to. He was exactly my type: tall, lanky, giant nose. He looked like a Lebanese version of Clark Gable, hairstyle included. I was too shy to go up and talk to him that night, so I did the pussy move and sent him an email on Facebook. He responded the next day and we shared a few flirty emails back and forth. Promising! The day after Thanksgiving I had a few drinks at The Troubador while watching some no-name band play and while also trying to hold myself back from smelling Robert Downey Jr.'s hair, who happened to be sitting right in front of me. The dude I hooked up with on Halloween...Roman Polanski, I call him...was supposed to come over to my house after the show. I sat and waited for an hour and he never showed. Feeling rejected, I decided to email The Comedian again. He was out and about at some karaoke bar on the east side and he invited me to come! So I talked my karaoke-loving roommate into hopping into the car and driving east. We got there about 30 seconds before the bar closed, but The Comedian conveniently lived a few blocks away. We already drove all that way...so I then talked my roommate into making an appearance at The Comedian's apartment. And so it began. The Comedian kissed me on the balcony, we came up with a getaway plan so we could sneak away and be alone in his room, we went wayyyy farther than I would have liked to have gone on the first night. I actually liked this guy. He was nerdy, and funny...I wanted to go on a date with him. So I had to make it weird, of course. In the middle of one of our steamier moments, I pulled away and told him I wanted to leave. Then I CRIED. He was a bit of a dirty talker, and the later the night got, the more sober I became, and his words began to make me feel really cheap. I was cheap. I showed up to the bar where he was at closing time and immediately accepted an invitation to his apartment. And the hooking up was fun, but I really just wanted to go on a date with him...thought maybe the hooking up could come later. But at this point, how can you go back? So he gave me this whole speech that somehow worked on me and then he did the one thing that you can't do to a girl unless you plan on calling her again: he tucked my hair behind my ear. I melted back into his bed and fell asleep. The morning after was moderately awkward, but I didn't think it was anything that couldn't be recovered from. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't text him for a few days. I texted him 12 hours later. But he invited me over again, so I forgave myself for lacking so much willpower. Two nights in a row seemed like a good sign. Maybe I would get to go on that date I told him I wanted, that he agreed to.

I get to his house the second night and it's more of the same. The physical chemistry was decent. He smelled good. When he fell asleep, he faced me, but he didn't hold onto me. I wanted his arms around me. The following morning was cold and distant, and it seemed like he couldn't get me away from him fast enough. No kiss goodbye. Still, I thought maybe he was just tired or something. Who knows how he acts in the morning? I certainly didn't, I barely knew the guy...I just slept with him. So I sent him a "thanks for a fun time" text a few hours later, only to be met with no response. I did some more convincing to myself. He's probably busy. He'll call this week. We'll have a date by this weekend. We had fun, why wouldn't he want to see me again? When I hadn't heard from him by Wednesday, I sent him an email. A pathetic email. I asked him to hang out with me. I told him I liked him. I said I wanted to make a fresh start, and that fucking asshole never responded. It's hard for a guy to ask a girl out, I've been told, but try being a girl asking a guy out. Doubly hard. And this guy didn't even have the balls to tell me he wasn't interested. So I sent him a "fuck you for not responding" text and received...nothing. Oh, he called me while I was in a movie, that one where Sandra Bullock plays the blonde Republican soccer mom that adopts an enormous homeless black kid (I wanted an excuse to cry), but he didn't leave a message. Still pissed, and thinking that he actually felt bad and that's why he was calling, I decided to make him wait a day for a response. He made me wait long enough, I thought. The next day I sent him a text letting him know I was in a movie when he called, and I asked if he had a message for me. No fucking response. Then I start thinking "fuck, did he accidentally dial my number? Do I look like an asshole AGAIN?" There's just no way to come back from that. I'd made it weird enough the first night when I fucking cried, and now I'm contacting him after he's rejected me 8 million times. I let it go. But I knew I would be seeing him in a few weeks at this other work thing that Rachel asked me to come to, so I had to come up with a plan.

The original plan was to be surrounded by a bunch of awesome dudes that gazed at me adoringly, but by the day of the actual event I was just hoping to avoid any sort of confrontation at all. If I weren't wearing a completely obnoxious Christmas sweater, I would have hoped to remain unseen, but that...didn't seem likely. I get there on time, and I'm stuck in the lobby of this uber-hip LA hotel alone...in this sweatshirt. I was the first person to arrive, and the SECOND person to arrive was...The fucking COMEDIAN. To his credit, he tried to be kind, but I didn't make it easy for him. I didn't know I was going to be so upset when I actually saw him. I was choking back tears while trying to shoot him looks of disgust...no easy feat. I was convinced I would vomit on my lap. Thank God he felt uncomfortable enough that he left my side and went somewhere else. I couldn't believe he was just going to act like nothing had happened. Like everything was fine. I was thisclose to leaving, but then I realized I'd look like a total pussy, so I hung around and ordered a drink, which I promptly drank in 15 seconds. After the first drink started warming me up, and the realization that the night would seem like an eternity if I didn't get out of my current mindset, I decided to extend an olive branch and send him a "truce" text. He accepted, and for some dumb fucking reason I instantly forgave him for everything and actually thought I might get my chance to get my stupid date with him afterall. If anything, I thought we'd get drunk enough and have more cheap sex, which I was fine with at this point. Not so. Every time I tried to talk to this dude throughout the night, he favored the opposite of what I was saying. It was like everything I said made him feel like he needed to tell me how he thought my point of view was wrong. Never a smile. Nary a laugh. I wanted to see his dimples. I saw them from across the room while he talked to another girl, and I wished he had saved some for me. He was more handsome than I had remembered, I wanted him more than ever...and he treated me like some sort of disease. And despite the fact that I was this itchy rash that he couldn't get rid of, I then thought it would be a good idea to text him and see if he wanted to hook up. What. Is wrong with me. I received no response, of course, and I went home sad and wondering what it was about me that he found so repellent. He sure didn't think I was when I was in his bedroom. I can't even get this guy to fuck me again! So of course I couldn't stop there. I had to send him an angry email the next morning asking him to stop being so mean to me and of course he responded that he had no idea what I was talking about. So now I'm the creepiest fucking person ever and I still can't get it through my thick fucking skull why he doesn't like me. It's obvious. He never liked me, and I can't let it go. And why do I even want the attention of someone that was so quick to disregard me? Why am I wondering what he's doing tonight? I don't like him enough to be broken-hearted, but my ego is bruised and I want him to be the one to fix it. This will never happen, and I will realize this in 2 weeks when I haven't heard a single thing from him and when I've set my sights on a new dude that will blow me off in a similar manner. My stepmother is rarely quotable, but she once said something to me that completely rings true: "Lindsay, you've got a bad picker." Yeah, well. Where can I pick up a new one?