Boyz Noize

Greetings readers, one and all,

Tonight, the eve of June 4th, serves as the entr’acte between an epic 5-day dating marathon. It wasn’t intentional exactly. It just kind of worked out that the handful of guys I was messging on OkC and the one guy I met in a bar a few weeks ago (those met in live settings will henceforth be known as ‘day-walkers’) all wanted in on this on consecutive nights this week. And I was all for it. Heading into this week of wonders, I commented to my roommate that my odds of actually liking once of the guys I was meeting up with were probably pretty good, especially given the help of my Harvard Math friends and my own shallow vetting process, a mix of profile pic attreactiveness, my level of interest in their job/studies, and music/movie taste overlap. Place your bets now, cause I’m about to break it down. Wikki wikki.

Monday night: OkTeacher was a last minute addition to the line up. He got my number over the weekend, and texted me early Monday asking if I was free that night to hang out, since he’d be out of town for a few days. I thought I might as well start the week off right, and was smitten with OkT’s offer to drive to Culver to hang out. We’d exchanged a few messages prior. He asked about my time in Spain, and mentioned that he would be traveling to Europe over the summer to chaperone a teenage tour group for work. We also touched on Ernest Hemingway, as he was reading my favorite Hemingway book that takes place in Spain.

OkTeach was waiting outside the designated bar when I parked, and was quick to call me out on my claim that I was a regular who was generally ‘waved in’ by theI.D. checking staff. Not so much the case this time, and we had a good laugh at my expense. I learned pretty quickly that OkTeach grew up in Chula V, just like this proud Chula Beast, and a few other interesting ‘small-world’ type commonalities were discovered. Like the fact that he is an alumni of the NorCal state school that both my parents went to. I checked in with a friend who attended elemenary school with OkT, but the verdict is still out as she only vaguely remebered him. Not quite sure what type of 15-year-old evidence would be incriminating, but you never know, right? Some kid in my elementary school once stabbed a bird with a stick and I’m positive that MoFo didn’t grow into a well-adjusted member of society.

But OkT seems to have. He taught (surprise!) with TFA after graduating, and has since worked with them recruiting young,idealistic college students. He was ernest and unabashed in asking about things I had mentioned in my profile. He seems to not know about the cardinal rule of online dating in L.A; the less you seem to care or be available to the other person the cooler you are. Not like I give a fuck what he does or how he feels about me.

OkT walked me to the parking lot where there was a pretty good goodbye kiss, and there has been some light texting since. Seeing him again Friday. Daaaawwww.

Tuesday night: The live-walker I met while in San Diego over Memorial weekend invited me to Venice to check out some of the projects he was working on. Projects being homes because homie is an architect. He’d been pretty drunk the night we met in Pacific Beach and, can’t lie, even with my sllight buzz, I wasn’t really feeling Ted Mosby. But OH the ability that getting attention from a live human male has to dull the senses of one whose ego and confidence are so closely linked to the number of messages she gets. Anywayzzzzz. The night can be summed up by a highlight, he bought my delicious fish tacos, and a lowlight, Mosby asking me to define a word I’d just used. The word, was ‘brooding.’ Quite certain that there was no future for me and Mr. Mosby, I talked about something I never bring up with guys that I’m actually interested in, my past relationships, or lack thereof. Mosby admitted that he’d only had one real relationship which had lasted 9 months, and that it was back when he was in high school. For my fellow non-boyfriendable, too picky, commitment phobes, or whatever other label people like to give you, there are many more of us out there than you realize. Power in numbers. Or maybe just simultaneously convincing yourself that the one is out there while wondering what the hell is wrong with you – in droves.

While I had a date lined up for tonight, I decided to take the night
off and cancelled early this morning. Enough advance notice so I’m not the WORST person, right? To be fair, I think we exchanged a grand total of 3 messages before I gave him my number just to be rid of my boring message obligation.

A taste of what’s to come: Tomorrow I’m metting up with Finn, a fellow Adventure Time fan wih a flair for the spiritual and philosophical. Then, Friday is my second with OkTeach at the Natural History Museum, Saturday I make it to MOCA at long last with Dr. Robert, and next week you really wont wanna miss what we have in store.

 

There are plenty of dating apps in the sea.

Hey gang. Remember my last entry which proudly announced my return to OkC? Welllllll I may have deactivated again once the one week window in which newly reactivated accounts must stay public closed. But fear not. Influenced by an eligible roommate who had just started an account of her own, I became one more user in the Plenty of Fish sea.  I know I half-assed that metaphor. Would feel too cheesy if I did it full justice. But let’s dive right in.

POF, as it’s social media obsessed, short memory spanned users call it, is kind of a Tinder/OkC hybrid. Like OkC it makes use of a profile where users can share charming facts about themselves such as their music interests, how obsessed they are with exercise, whether they are an aspiring actor or screenwriter, or whathaveyou, but it’s less wordy and more image-driven with a touch of the the raw urgency of Tinder. My experience so far has been pretty lighthearted and fun. May have shamelessly flirted with a 21-year-old marine in Spanish with no intention of meeting up. May have also responded to some dreadful messages sarcastically to see if homies could hang.

Last weekend I decided to meet up with one Social Savant, who was a 30-year-old, new to the ways of the online dating game. I wanted to check out a music festival being put on by a local college radio station, and I asked Mr. Savant if he’d like to join, since the majority of our exchanges had been about music and because he was familiar with the station.

I got there long before he did, and passed out in the grass amongst the 18-year-olds and dulcet tones of Grmln. Woke up to a missed call from Savant and a voicemail that he’d arrived. I called him back and we search through he crowd for each other. I spotted him first, as I always seem to do, and may have considered hanging up and returning to my grass nap, but instead I waved to him, and embarked on my most recent first- and last.

Savant was alright. A nice person, just lacking in any identifiable sense of humor, and equally fascinated and bewildered by social media with a strong need to talk about it. To be honest, I was kind of running on fumes after a 65 hour week and I put little effort into the convo. Savant had a habit of interrupting each of my answers to his thoughtful questions with yet another thoughtful question. Maybe he knew our time was limited and he wanted to get it all in before he started writing my biography…or maybe stealing my identity? I don’t think I gave him my exact birthdate or ssn, but who can say?

Alt musicked out, we walked through the cozy neighborhood that surrounded the campus for about an hour. At one point Savant rambled something about not wanting to be my father figure. It seemed pretty out of context. I laughed as he trailed off and said I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He didn’t laugh but said he didn’t know either…ELLIPSES cannot adequately recreate the awkwardness of the moment…

I was eager to cut things short, and said I had to get back to take care of some car maintenance stuff (true). He asked if he could walk me back to my car. I said yes. I am tired. Does my sentence structure show it? He asked if I wanted to hang out again, and mentioned that he’d love to take me to a restaurant were both fans of. And at that moment something amazing happened. It appears that when subjected to little sleep and high amounts of stress, my brain abandons it’s default ‘invent the answer they want to hear’ response and I said, without a second thought, ‘To be honest, I don’t see this going anywhere.’ Wearing sunglasses and not really having to see Savant’s face as we walked side by side probably helped too. There were a few more steps taken together, then Savant decided to abandon his attempts and left me to walk the remainder of the way to my car alone.

I may be mid text convo with two other fish right now. One whom I had tentative hang out plans with last week that fell trough (Science Guy) and another who I might be hanging out with sometime this weekend (Mr. Deeds). I’ll keep you posted.

FuCupid

Back in the saddle again, and this cowpoke’s enthusiasm for all of the new, unsuspecting men that OkC had to offer may have been premature. Had another first last night with one Redondo Beach. That’s how uninteresting my night was, this guy didn’t even have a distinguishing characteristic worth parodying so I am resorting to referring to him by his city of residence. If I were you, I’d stop now and invest the next four minutes of your life into looking up where Crimea is on a map.

We met at Urth Caffe in Santa Monica at 8. I had some terrible hair and a case of I’ve -been-at-work-since-9-am-face going on, but, as a true feminist, I decided not to be self conscious, and instead to be annoyed with RB (not to be confused with Red Barron of my first entry) for his unrealistic expectations and demands of working women. Asshole. 

I pulled into my usual Main Street parking lot just as a specimen who looked suspiciously like that depicted in RB’s (let’s just go Arby’s for the fun of it) profile was walking out of the lot. In my rush to leave work I had skipped a needed trip to the bathroom. I checked my phone as I walked to Urth and still had five minutes till meet time. I shot straight to the bathroom inside the cafe, hoping a nearby lurking Arby wouldn’t spot and circumvent me, then I crept outside the cafe where the fateful meeting occurred on the steps.

Within 30 seconds I was pretty sure Arby’s and my expiration date was the same as my metered parking- an hour and 54 minutes. The bubbliness which was translated through Arby’s vigorous head nodding and bursts of sudden laughter that ended .7 seconds after everything I said couldn’t last. 

Nice guy, worked for a group of charter schools and seemed very open minded and involved in LA happenings, but there was no attraction. I deftly declined his invitation to get a drink while we roamed Main Street post lattes, then also passed when asked if I wanted to share a joint in the parking lot.  But was still cowardly enough to say ‘Yeah, definitely!’ when he asked if I’d like to hang out again. Still. The fact that my transcribed response merits only one exclamation point is a sign of progress. 2012 Liz’s performance would have required at least three as well as an attempt to set upon a potential time and date for a follow up that she would later cancel by texting a plausible excuse that prevented her attendance and communicated her regret about 24 hours before the intended meet up. For good measure.

The beat goes on.

Saturday night – an archetype of singlehood.

As you can all see by the image below I have been welcomed back to OkC with open arms. The prodigal son, who not five minutes after reactivating (at 5:44 pm because I have better things to do than be seen logged onto OkC after 8 pm on a Saturday, duhhhh) was propositioned by guitar_man,  a 54-year-old, 23% match who detailed how he was probably more successful and would be a better influence on my life than guys my age. Maybe guitar_man,  who is ‘6’6” and in great shape’ is onto something. Things haven’t quite panned out with the under 30s so far.

The cause of this return to OkC, which has repeatedly failed to perform in the past? Despite working 60 hour weeks in the new job and thinking I hadn’t the time nor the need to date, I find myself home alone on a rainy Saturday night, eating hazelnut marscapone ice cream recently purchased from a Ralph’s that claimed to have a copy of Silver Linings Playbook for rent at Redbox- but didn’t- where I saw an ex-coworker who I may have had a very G rated, but nonetheless affecting, dream about, buying home goods with his girlfriend at the next checkout over- and I feel like a change might be in order. Have also thrown Moulin Rouge on in the background just to heighten the artistic/pathetic effect of this post. 

I confess that I held out on you guys a bit. Plan B and I went on a third date and then things tapered off before he left to visit family for Christmas. Also had January dates with two guys I met in the great big world, but nothing to write home about. So, after beseeching my coworkers to introduce me to their hot cousins (everyone has at least one) and getting nowhere, I’m back in the online game. Looks like OkC has a fresh pool of meat(mixed metaphors?)to recommend, including a few girls. Maybe once your OkC profile’s lifetime eclipses the length of your longest relationship 10 times over, the Harvard math guys start to subtly suggest that you become more open minded about the gender of who you’ll consider dating.

Guitar_man excluded, there are three OkProspects who have piqued my interest thus far. One has asked me to coffee. Code name pending. Heeeeeerrrre we go!

Guess whose back?

In comparison.

Hey gang,

What, you ask, am I doing at 9:43 pm on a Friday night writing a post and not out sampling the infinite men that L.A. has to offer? I was actually just dropped off at this respectable hour by the UCLA med student I had a Starbucks date with last week, aka Thing 2. While not being a complete disaster, it has earned a coveted spot in the bottom three, as one of my least enjoyable dates ever. The other two were briefly alluded to in my first post. One was with a pretentious hip-type who spent the three hours that we were together in an Echo Park speakeasy complaining about how shit L.A. was compared to New York and detailing for me the measures he used to determine his inferiors’ ‘intellectual ages.’ And yes. Rejection of religion and openness to new stimuli were two very important criteria in determining this fucking elitist measure. He also invited me to a blood rave with him, as mentioned in the OG post. The other bottom 3 story was more of a confusing night than anything else. He was an OkComedian and if you’ve ever imagined that dating a comedian would involve a lot of fast-talk, hyperbolic one-liners, accusations that you are a cat lady, and a makeout sesh in a lifeguard tower then you’d be right.

So tonight. Thing 2 and I had made plans for him to pick me up and take me to a mystery restaurant of his choosing. Although I hadn’t been too hyped to see him again after our first date, I was intrigued and appreciated that Thing 2 was going to come collect me from my apartment. He was a little late due to 405 traffic, and when I got in the car his crazy energy level was translated directly to his crazy spastic driving style. We walked towards the restaurant, a nice Italian place in Culver, from the parking structure and I thought, “His quirkiness and need to do strange, high-pitched voices is kind of fun and peppy.” Ah. Fast forward two minutes. Thing 2 revealed his very critical view of vegetarians and his skepticism about any and all of the starters on the menu. He may have also made some disparaging comments about the homeless. And veterans…Granted, he was just finishing a rotation at the V.A. hospital and had dealt with some pretty unstable patients, but still.

The restaurant and prices were definitely a bit beyond what this guy usually sees, but Thing 2 was unimpressed by our dishes. Fortunately, upon returning from the bathroom, T2 told me that his friend was having an engagement party that he had to head to in about an hour, so I suggested a quick walking tour of downtown Culver. I highlighted Culver Blvd’s two loveliest buildings, city hall and the Culver Hotel, which everyone who travels to visit from foreign area codes will have the pleasure of me forcing them to see. Thing 2 agreed that our City Hall was pretty amazing, but approx. 5 minutes later said that he wouldn’t be terribly saddened if he learned that Culver City had been obliterated off the face of the earth. No- he would be sad for a few minutes, but then he’d get over it. Yes. Please do shit all over the city I live in and clearly like. Would you also like me to show you my elementary school pictures so you can tell me how jacked-up my teeth were pre-orthodontia? Thing 2 also “isn’t sure how he feels about live theatre” and can’t be bothered with reading. Where were you this time, Harvard math majors?

So Thing 2 drove me home, without any near collisions time. He dropped me off and I hoped the goodbye could have been completed in his car, but no. He gave me a ‘proper goodbye’ which involved the peckiest kiss ever and a mutual “See you around.” Not if I can help it, bro. One productive thing that came out of this night, besides a stomach full of delicious fettuccine Bolognese and duck ragu, was that Plan B came out looking a whole hell of a lot better in comparison. We had a second date last night. It was a movie date, which I’m really not too keen on in the early stages of dating, since there is little opportunity to talk and little progress is made in gauging if you are interested in the other person or not. The movie date is a place holder date, that just ups the number of dates you’ve been on and edges you even closer to the ‘time to have sex now’ date. PB and I went to a special screening of a 1983 Robert Duvall film which we ran out on right as the credits began to roll and before the actress who played the female protagonist was about to lead a q&a. “You guys are leaving now?” she asked as we brushed past her in the wing of the theatre. “Oh, no, we’re just going to the bathroom,” PB lied poorly. #L.A.Problems.

Plan B and I decided to take a walk after the film- as is our tradition. We walked up and down the charmless Westwood Blvd, talking about his recent lasik surgery, football mascots, and the intricacies and ritual of male shaving and facial hair styling. Conversation was ok, but I somehow fell out of it at one point and was just being passively agreeable. We made it back to the garage near the theatre and had a minor expedition when my car wasn’t visible in the section of the floor that I remembered parking on. We scanned the two floors above mine, before returning to G3 and seeing darling Corolla (fresh out of the shop!) on the wall opposite where I thought I’d parked. Relieved, and both knowing what came next, we had a good minute or two of making out between sections A and B before agreeing to see each other again soon, and going our separate ways.

Today Plan B found out if he passed the California Bar exam. He’d been pretty nervous about it yesterday, and told me he’d send the good news my way if there was any to be shared. I texted him an hour ago to check out google’s Dr. Who theme because he mentioned being a supa fan. He responded “Best. Day. Ever.” which led me to think he was referring to his bar results, but his next text was something about killing daliks, so he may just have been expressing extreme enthusiasm for google’s interactive Dr. Who theme…I will leave the ball in his court, and hopefully have more material for you soon.

Auf wiedersehen, goodnight.

Plan B.

A happy November 18th to you all,

Sometime last week I came to the conclusion that I needed a hiatus from the merry-go-round of dates that I have been stuck on, strapped onto the stationary tiger, but still getting a little queasy and irritated by the tinny carnival song playing on loop. I am sure that you are all horrified to hear this, and wondering, “But Liz! Where now will I turn to get my fix of dating anecdotes that are so heavy on the mocking and devil-may-care attitude?” Fret not. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I realized at some point (possibly after, or more likely during, Wednesday night’s first) that I am in a place where I really should be spending more time working on myself, and figuring out how to find contentment in the every day rather than putting effort into getting to know someone new. This fact was illuminated on Friday afternoon when my second first of the week asked me what my hobbies were and I nearly had a breakdown struggling to identify what the hell I do in my non-work hours.

I have found myself spending the 2 – 4 hours that I am with a person on the first date smiling a lot and kind of just going through the motions, with indifference as to what the guy thinks of me, or if I’ll ever see him again. Having no investment in the future of an acquaintanceship and being unable to envision a future relationship with anyone is probably not the best angle to come at dating from. With this state of mind, I decided I would tie up lose ends, attempting to meet with the three guys from OkCupid with whom I had progressed to the texting phase to give them each a chance, then I’d deactivate my account for the umpteenth time. Dates one and two of the week played no part in derailing my plans to take a dating sabbatical. Both guys were nice, as 90% of guys I’ve OD’d (online dated) are, or as a 90% are at least capable of keeping their douchiness under wraps for a single night. Apparently, the OkCupid compatibility test that was designed by ‘Harvard math majors’ has pretty effectively red-flagged any users who are homophobic, misogynistic, hate the environment, or are otherwise closed-minded by ensuring that we don’t reach more than a 60 percent match. I have it from a source that one of these ‘Harvard math majors’ dated her friend. Aaaaand they met through J Date. Which system should one put more confidence in? That designed by a Harvard grad- whose education makes them a clear authority on all things in the world of the living- or that used by one? Maybe J Date is the next frontier. I give you permission to imagine a hilarious, madcap, yet somehow inoffensive storyline in which I infiltrate J Date by pretending to be Jewish, meet The One, but am then scorned by my true love for having disingenuously represented myself. Just like Mulan. Or Yentl. Or Tootsie?

SO- yes. Thing 1 and Thing 2 were nice guys. The first, a film score composer and Culver City resident, and I spent a good amount of time speaking about traveling, family, and languages. He was particularly interested in my time spent in Spain, since he was a bit of a Hispanophile and led us into a few bland conversations in Spanish. I met Thing 2 for coffee on Friday afternoon. Actually, for the sake of accuracy, I should admit that we both had cold teas, and for the sake of comedy that he felt the need to tell me that my iced green tea looked like one of the containers of piss that he so often saw as a third year med student. Hawt. He was a pretty funny guy, we were just on different conversation beats. There is, however, a chance that the dinner invitation he made for later this week might materialize into something. Later on Friday, as I got dinner with one of my roommates and a friend we realized that an ability to banter was one of the prime requisites for any future relationship. This, somehow, seems like a small step towards more effectively focusing my efforts on finding someone who can help me break my two month curse. The length of time my past ‘relationships’ have all fallen short of, if you weren’t sure.

Lord this is getting long. I hope I haven’t lost you just yet. So. Last night was my third first date in five days. Without spending too much time combing through the archive of dates past, I’m pretty sure that I’ve set my new PR. Plan B (the rational behind the name shall be revealed in due course, worry not) and I met at a super-dive-y bar that I had found through Yelp when attempting to chose a spot between Culver and West Lake, where he is staying with his cousin and her family since arriving from Chicago last week. Actually- we met outside the bar, and he promptly told me that he had tried to get in before I got there, but the bouncer doubted his Mississippi ID and refused him entrance. We both found this pretty funny, and deferred to Yelp yet again to find us an alternative. The closest option, and clear winner, was a locale called ‘Plan B’, which promised a lounge, champagne, ‘American’, and a name that was so fitting that we would have been thumbing our noses at the gods had we overlooked it. PB suggested that we walk to Plan B, having definitely underestimated the distance on google maps. I quickly agreed and we set off.

PB assuaged the embarrassment of my car collision with a tree last month by detailing his older sister’s five accidents that had all taken places within their family’s garage or with other family-owned cars. He talked about the eight years he had spent in Chicago for undergrad then law school, and shed some light on what growing up in Mississippi was like. We got within sight of Plan B, and even my untrained eye was pretty sure that we weren’t looking at a typical bar/lounge. Yes. Plan B was a strip club. We decided it wasn’t quite what we were looking for, and lamented not being able to meet Champagne, who was probably the lead dancer. I spotted an illuminated cactus sign down the street and knew we’d found our place. PB joked about his creepy intentions to lure me into a strip club as we made our way to a Mexican family restaurant. The banter level was pretty solid throughout the night, and PB proved to be a witty and positive person, but not as annoyingly positive as his enthusiastic texts had led me to worry he might be before meeting him. He’s pursuing intellectual property law in the music industry, which is probably the type of law that sounds the least appealing to me, but, to be fair, I also know near nothing about it. Despite the fact that we both saw 2 Chainz preform in August, PB is not the kindred music spirit who I am still searching for in L.A.

I said I should probably head out at 9:30, three and a half hours after we’d met, and we walked back to my car. PB went in for the kiss and it was a little more than I was feeling at the moment, but wasn’t bad. We have tentative Thursday night plans.

Asking aint getting.

Happy Tuesday,

Somehow it seems I am being buried under a pile of small-talk text conversations eliciting unpromising potential dates. Somehow? Oh, right. I signed up for this. It’s amazing how one night, hunched over your a plate of tofu kale stir-fry and your work laptop, which should only be used for work purposes, you can feel like the belle of the ball, impressing the Tarleton twins and everyone else who has rated you at least 4/5 stars with your biting wit and your seeming easy-going, relatableness, and the next day you are wondering why the hell you gave your phone number to so many OkPossibles that will likely turn into OkAnnoyances or OkForThreeWeeks at best. My recent troubles are largely due to the fact that I have been out of town the past few weekends making scheduling with two OkPossibles difficult, and lengthening the Texting Before Actually Meeting Up Period (TBAMUP), directly decreasing each candidate’s Interest Liz Has in Meeting You (ILHMY) level.

As promised, I will fill you in on how things transpired with Wells after I asked him if he wanted to meet up Tuesday night in Koreatown. He texted back about an hour later saying that he didn’t know if he was free Tuesday night but would find out when his work schedule was posted over the weekend. I left it at that. He then texted me three hours later at 6:50 pm, “I have tonight off but that’s probably too short of notice.” Lack of emphasis and enthusiasm his own. First off, Wells lives in Los Feliz, basically on the other side of the world, and second of all, did he actually think that I was going to drop everything to go meet him somewhere after over a month of unsubstantial back and forward texting? Not so much. I didn’t respond. Tonight was my proposed night to hang out. I have no idea if he is free or if he’ll make contact but I am officially scrapping this Tinderance.

On project End Things With PP, I’ve done well! He texted me Thursday night to see if he could come over and I turned him down. I might have failed to mention that the last time PP was over, the night before Halloween, he had to get dropped off at my apartment because he doesn’t have a car. He told me his brother would be dropping him off, but after waving at his car as he got out and it turned around to exit my complex he informed me that his mom had been in the car as well. Tubular. In cutting ties with PP I scrapped my usual delayed response and ‘make excuses every time he tries to set a date to hang out until he finally gets the message’ bit and went with a more direct tactic that worked pretty well. He has since Facebook friended me, but there has been no other contact.  Also received a Fbook message from my very first OkConnection* who I saw for about two months a year ago informing me that he had just moved to Culver. Under the positive influence of some wise friends I realized that the slight ego boost in receiving attention from OkOriginal wouldn’t merit the complications and I turned down his offer to hang out.

Another first tomorrow night. This will be with the aforementioned fellow Culver Citizen. He composes film scores aaaaaand must have shared something else with me about himself that a quick skimming of our OkC convo will illuminate. Hasta pronto.

*Upon rereading this post I must correct an error. OkOriginal was my first OkC date in America. We’ll see if any situation ever merits my diving into the Madrid archives.

When it rains it pours. And Liz gets confused.

Dearest and darlingest friends and readers,

I know I’ve been gone for a hot minute, but those of you who are on the VIP list have been kept abreast of my comings and goings. Since the last post I haven’t been on a single first date, but I have progressed- or maybe digressed- in my relations with PP. Remember when I famously stated that I wanted to try to friend-zone him and hoped I’d never be obligated to kiss him again? Well, I seemed to have forgotten that decision the weekend before Halloween when I was a little buzzed, desiring male attention, and PP invited me to his brother’s place for a costume party. Let’s just say PP- or the Hamburglar as he was dressed that night- and I partook in some activities that completely smeared my painted-on wolf’s nose and led him to text me a few days later asking me to come over to “huff and puff, blow the house down.” Initially repelled by this creepy invitation, when a coworker had car trouble and cancelled our afternoon meeting, I took him up on the offer.

Do I regret going over to PPs when I afterwards realized that I still wasn’t interested in any type of emotional relationship with him? No. Do I regret asking him to come over the night before Halloween? No. I enjoyed the time we spent together, and was completely honest with him about not wanting a relationship…with him. Ok, maybe I didn’t specify that last part. These feelings were only magnified when he asked me to turn around because he “would look upon” me and he spent SO MANY MINUTES just staring at my face. There were also an ungodly number of kisses to my forehead and closed eyes…Think the ‘Mrs. Darcy’ final scene of the Kiera Knightley Pride and Prejudice. I may have also mentioned a list of annoying things that guys I have dated in the past have done in hopes that he would avoid them, and confessed that I am easy to annoy in general. Blanket clause on annoyances. But still. Nice guy. We talked all night and he is an interesting person. We have tentative plans to hang out next week, and I’m trying to decide if I should go to see him one more time and tell him that I’m done, or if I should just tell him over the phone. Advice? He also just requested to connect on LinkedIn, which is kind of cute, given my prior LinkedIn stalking and the fact that I oh-so-subtly hinted that I had no interest in being Fbook friends.

I’ve also jumped back on the OKC train and am talking to a cute guy who just moved to L.A. from Chicago where he went to law school and a musician who works on film scores and lives right here in Culver City. Infinite points for the potential convenience of that one. Given how much I hate driving and parking in L.A. its possible that I would commit at least three dates to someone who lived within a three mile radius no matter who they were. Remember Wells, the guy who I went on a date with early September (my first Tinder connection) and then got flakey after we made plans for a second date and claimed to have just gotten out of a long term relationship? Well he has been sporadically sending me uninteresting texts over the past few weeks. Most have been links to Arcade Fire videos and articles, because we talked a good deal about them on the first date. But then things always fizzle into dry, uninteresting texts. Unlike PP, who has gone overboard with multiple questions and comments contained in a single text, Wells is a chronic no-response-needed texter. His text an hour ago actually inspired me to write this post. At 11:48 am he asked me how I’ve been. There have been about 10 texts back and forward, his last asking me if I’ve spent much time in Koreatown lately (where we were meant to meet for the second date that didn’t happen). I wasn’t planning to throw him a bone since he’s the one who flaked last time, but I just told him I’ll be there for work Tuesday night and asked if he wanted to meet up afterwards. Stay tuned.

Productive?

Good evening dear friends,

I start this entry about ten minutes after having received a text from P.P. that I am grappling with. He called a few hours ago while I was at a work event, then followed up with a couple texts to see if I wanted to check out a cool film screening tomorrow night. Instead of first deciding how I wanted to proceed with P.P, as I should have done, I responded with a short ‘hey, just got out of a work thing’ text to which he replied ‘Productive?’ Yes. My work night was productive, but I don’t know if I want to launch into more boring text talk and I don’t know if I want to go on a third date with P.P after a pretty mediocre second date.

P.P. and I met for the second time two nights ago. Since we’d first met last Monday we had exchanged a few texts, I tried to subtly hint that he shouldn’t call me “dear” or go too text crazy by selectively ignoring his more grating messages. The worst are those that ask multiple questions that require answers while also containing extensive statements that it would be rude not to respond to, and require equally awkward paragraph responses. Kicked this game Thursday evening when a particularly unnecessary text came my way suggesting that my roommates dress as Little Red Riding Hood and Grandma to complement my Big Bad Wolf Halloween costume, then joking that I huff and puff at any bartenders that aren’t giving me good service…Wait. That didn’t include any questions to answer, it was just painful to read and could not illicit any civil response from me. I let that one hang out on a limb for a few days, then texted him Sunday night to make plans for this week.

P.P. asked me out to get a drink at a bar downtown, but I countered with the suggestion that we go to the Grammy Museum where I had won tickets months before which I had been trying-and repeatedly failing- to use. I was actually meant to check the museum out with Wells a few weeks back, before he got flakey and confessed to not being over his ex. I thought it would be great since P.P. was very into classic rock and we had pretty similar music taste, but I quickly learned that walking through exhibits that require lengthy reading and the use of headphones aren’t the best when you are trying to talk to and get to know someone. En route to meet P.P. at the Grammy Museum, I and my fellow metro car mates were victims to/witnesses of an INSANE confrontation between an old man and another rather drug-addled, gentlemen who claimed to have killed four men and told the aforementioned to lick the crack of his ass. Metro real talk. After about 20 minutes of threatening to knife the older guy, the junky, or “poor shadow of a man” as his opponent referred to him, proceeded to hock a loogey and spit on the older guy right before getting off on the same stop as me. So Kewl.

When I met P.P at the Grammy Museum, there was a hello hug, which he turned into a hello kiss, that I was just not feeling. You might point out that this is completely contrary to my feelings about the first date goodbye kiss, and you’d be right. But Sliz (that’s Sober Liz) was not in quite the same carefree/charmed state that Tliz had been the week before (that’s Tipsy Liz). This overtly affectionate behavior continued a few minutes after we got into the museum and this guy was JND. Just not down. Perhaps some of the attraction from last week had gone the way of Asher Roth’s career and faded away during the sober up process. Chemistry, or even just a comfortable flow of conversation was lacking.

Maybe it was this evident barrier that led P.P. to share loads of intimate stuff about himself. Like how old he was when he had sex for the first time. Or how he used to steal alcohol from convenience stores a few years ago. Or what he saw (and felt) one night after doing 12 tabs of acid. It didn’t help that I felt like a musical idiot when he was rolling off all the instruments he played and watching me while I was trying to use the interactive DJ equipment. There was the potential for what could have been a ridiculously cute moment when we went into a closet-like studio that was part of the Ringo exhibit to karaoke Yellow Submarine. But it didn’t happen.

We walked to a nearby bar once the museum closed and kind of rehashed a lot of the convo that had already been had the week before. Dysfunctional families, Catholic disappointment, yadda yadda yadda. I had a single beer, while homeboy had two and plans for a third before I said I should head back. He also may have tried to be cute by playing peekaboo from behind his menu but that ish fell flat. I wonder- could anyone have made that cute? Had I already decided that I wasn’t into P.P and therefore his actions and the fact that he was showing me animal videos was annoying, or are those really annoying things? I’m fairly positive that I wouldn’t have let anyone get away with that.

P.P. and I walked to the metro station together, and he waited with me until my train came, missing his own once or twice. As luck would have it, we were standing on the wrong platform, so before running down the stairs that led to the opposite side of the tracks I delivered a rather frigid hug goodbye and just met his lips that ARE SOMEHOW ALWAYS THERE, gave a terse, “Well have a good night,” and was glad that I didn’t allow things to go any further.

I don’t know why I am so conflicted. It seems pretty clear that I am not into this guy, but he is a nice person who has shared a lot with me and who I wouldn’t mind hanging out with as a friend. I even want to see that movie with him tomorrow…Oh universe, is this my time? Am I being given the downgrade-to-friendzone challenge that I have never been adept enough at tactfully communicating my lack of attraction to  another person while praising their other qualities to complete?

Two great side notes: 1) Apparently, when I had been stalking P.P’s linkedin to send a few of you a screenshot of his profile picture I had been logged in, so he knew that I had creeped on him. I just thought it was hilarious, but P.P. said how embarrassed he was that I’d seen his shitty (not really) resume and how he now knew after viewing my profile how poorly his GPA measured up. And 2) He asked me at one point what I thought of people who put a lot of faith in horoscopes. I replied that last year I had a coworker and roommate who were really into astrology so I would check with them on occasion when I needed some horoscope insight. He proceeded to accuse me of having already looked up his sign, which I unconvincingly laughed off and denied.

Another text tells me he’s going to bed soon, and suggests that I watch the movie trailer for tomorrow night and have a good day tomorrow. So on the fence. If the trailer is good, I’ll go. But can I go and reject his hello kiss, and all subsequent kisses that I don’t want to be part of?