What the world needs now is love.

Hey gang,

I’m going to try to get passed the epic arborial collision that was my commute to work today, and harken back to Monday night, which was a good date night, and even more interestingly, a good night for shedding light on just how many of us are feeling lost in this 21st century dating game.  As I mentioned in my first entry, I made this blog for myself as a way to document my interesting Los Angeles interactions with subjects ranging from USC Marine Bio PhD students to aspiring film makers from Philly. However, almost everyone I have told about this blog, from good friends to friends of friends, married, in a serious relationship, or single, has been pretty excited about it. I was even asked to review someone’s dating profile and suggest any revisions I found helpful. Have I been giving off the impression that I’m really good at dating? I think incredibly skeptic and mocking enough to stave off any possible disappointment is more accurate. A friend in a relationship also said she was jealous of my ability to have a bizarro dating life to blog about. To that I can only say: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5qcxrvJDk1qcbg1zo2_500.gif

Soooo Monday. I decided to take the metro to (yet another) Irish pub first date. This time the location was Hollywood and, in case you don’t have your notes with you, the subject was one Persistent Pedro, a Tinder match whom I had made plans with before deleting the app, then reconnected with upon redownloading the app and finding a slew of messages that had been sent over my three week absence including: ‘Whose the first person, fictional or historical, that comes to mind when you see the name Charles?’, ‘Hey, Liz. Wanna get a game of Catan going?’ and ‘Do you watch Ted Talks?’. Charmed. I knew literally nothing of PP before the date, besides that he was a big Jurassic 5 fan, lived in Koreatown and really liked board games. I actually confused him with another Tinderer I had been chatting with weeks earlier who worked at Hot Topic, and may have seriously insulted him when I asked if Hot Topic gave him the day off for Columbus Day. Whoops. A rookie mistake. I have known people who take screen shots or even pasted the text of OKC profiles to remember details about the million people they are talking to since OKC allows you to see every time someone views your profile and we all want to pretend that we aren’t tempted to re-browse someone’s profile to find possible conversation topics or in case we missed some type of terrible red flag that they might be cannibalistic or Tea Party members. That is unless you get ritzy with that ish and become a paid member, allowing you to enjoy anonymous profile stalking and cigars sent monthly to your home.

Refusal to pay for a dating site is just one of my many principals when it comes to navigating through the digital dating world. Just for your own reading pleasure here are a few more: 1) I will not message or respond to a message from someone who has a picture with his shirt off if there is not a pool or sandy beach in the photo. 2) Sorry you don’t have more pictures, but seflies and particularly MIRROR selfies are a ‘terribly wrong’. 3) I will not message or respond to a message from someone who claims to be an aspiring actor/screenwriter/director/producer unless they seem to have an interesting enough personality to counterbalance this. This alone cuts down about 70% of the L.A. dating pool. 4) You will get negative points for listing Eastbound and Down under your favorite t.v shows. 5) You will get infinite points for mentioning the Talking Heads or Magnetic Fields under your interests.

So- I got to the metro a little after 6:00 pm. Waited for 15 minutes or so while two trains passed on the opposite track. Typical. And tried not to look too much at a cute, tattooed skateboarder who chose a bench next to mine. Transferred at 7th St onto the wrong line, then deboarded (how is deplane a real word and deboard isn’t?) and waited for the red line. At least three others had made the same mistake, and got off with me. One was a guy in his late 20s who asked me how he could get to Union Square. I told him he was heading in the wrong directions, and that his would be the train after mine. We chatted for about 5 minutes, he was an aspiring actor/USC grad student who wanted to know if I partied a lot in Spain. The only reason that this is worth mentioning is because this NEVER happens. This type of impromptu conversation with a stranger. I mentioned to a friend a few months back that given all of my friends leaving L.A. and the fact that I’ve already met most of my friends’ friends, I only meet about one guy a month who is under 30 and single. I have gotten to the point that such trivial meetings as this on the platform of the metro with a male human being see me turn into a blood hound sniffing out possible hookup/relationship potential. Alas, I got on the next train, said goodbye and what could have been will never be! But wait- homie’s personality was a 5, face was a 6, and he was an aspirining actor. Sometimes the rarity of being flirted with in person gives one an attention high whilst dulling the mind and the senses. X’d.

Made it to my stop, Hollywood and Vine, and noticed the cute skateboarder from my Culver City stop had made the same transfer and ridden in the same car as I had. As we made our way through the turnstiles a few steps from each other he pointed out that we’d made the whole trip together. I told him I didn’t even know where I was going and was just following him. Learned that he worked in Culver but lived in Hollywood and was metroing while his car was in the shop. As we got onto the street I asked him where I could find the bar I was meeting PP at and he walked with me to it (I think it was on his way and was only about 100 yards from the metro). He said it was kind of a douschey bar, then I said I hoped the guy I was meeting for a first date wasn’t too douschey. Skateboarder asked if a friend had introduced us, and I told him that no, in fact this was the work of Tinder. He admitted to being on Tinder too, but had never actually met up with any of the girls he’d talked to on it. He also mentioned being on OKC and ventured that the experience must be a lot different for girls with all the messages we get pouring in. I said goodbye to the skateboarder at the corner and hoped that maybe our meeting would push him to give a Tinder girl a chance. Spreading good will left and right.

Called PP from outside the bar, he was already inside, and the audio from the Dodgers game being shown on the first floor could be heard from both mine and his ends of the call. First impression: PP is really cute. Good smile, and amazing first hug. We sat down in a corner where the game was still in sight and started talking about work. I learned that he works for an immigration advocacy org that we did some collaboration with at my old job (slash year of service…). Kind of amaziiiing piece of info since I have really missed that work and being in the middle of this exciting, albeit glacially paced, move towards Comprehensive Immigration Reform. I also learned that PP went to Cal, whom our own UCLA had slaughtered in football a few days before. This was more than conversation fodder. This was common interests and interesting convo. After debating whether or not to take PP up on a round of car bombs (and caving) things may have gotten sickeningly Nick and Norah  (let the records show that I haven’t seen the movie but LOVE to make uninformed judgments) and we exchanged phones to browse each others’ music selections.

Crazy families were discussed, drinking problems, proposed Game of Thrones story lines, being middle children and God knows what else from 7:30 pm to 11:30 pm when PPs brother came to pick him up. Points for not drinking and driving. We headed out together and I refused a ride since the metro was just across the street. Hug goodbye shifted and morphed into a kiss goodbye that was sweet and short. PP asked/told me to call him, I nodded yes, then walked to the crosswalk where I would stand awkwardly and wave as PP and his brother drove past me 5 seconds later.

Once I got onto the metro platform I was approached by a guy who asked if I liked hip hop and was about to pull out his headphones to play me his album. Slightly buzzed, and to the point, I told him that I sometimes did like hip hop but that I didn’t have any cash on me to buy his C.D., then we fell into conversation. Turned out Mr. Hip Hop was also from San Diego and went to Bonita Middle. He asked what I’d been doing that night, I admitted to having had a first date. When prompted I told him it went well and that we had met online-ish. This threw Mr. Hip Hop into a 20 minute soliloquy about the girl he loved and how she was into exciting things like online dating but how worried he was about her because it’s dangerous- doesn’t she know that it’s dangerous? Mr. Hip Hop was initially adorable, withdrawing into himself and talking about how much he missed her smell, and everything about her. But at around Wilshire/Vermont things took a weird turn when his monologue shifted and he was claiming that we were living in the first level of hell and God didn’t go give us all his glory, now did he? At this point, I really just wanted to ask if it was too late for me to have a listen to his C.D. Lost Mr. Hip Hop when I transferred to the expo line, but I did counsel him to reach out to his girl again.

Unfortunately, my next first date, a hike which was scheduled for Sunday, has been postponed. Fortunately, one fantastic jungli billi is visiting from the Yay Area and an amazing One Heart Source fundraiser will be happening Saturday night so I shant have the time nor the sobriety to hike Sunday. Hoping to reschedule, cause this one, Great North, (from the bay and went to college in Canada…) seems pretty chill. However, there will likely be a second date with PP before that happens.

Number of texts exchanged with PP since Monday night: Too many. Cannot break my cardinal rule of not building a relationship over text that will not translate in person.

PP’s sign: Pisces. Understanding, easygoing and accepting. (Um, shouldn’t I be a Pisces? #selflessfordayz). Comforting with an aura of quiet empathy. Love match with Cancer: Both are water signs, the match is a calm meeting of spirits. Shared emotional depth. We’ll see. (Credit: www.astrology.com)

Wish everyone had forgotten about: My prediction that RB would contact me by Sunday and I would have to break his heart by denying him a second go at excavating my mouth. He hasn’t contacted me yet. Maybe my amicable nodding was just boring?

Nightzees.

DTLA for dayz

Hello all,

Just returned from a romp around downtown L.A. with the aforementioned Red Baron. This first date shall henceforth be known as the “Perfect on Paper Date” because it had all of the requisite components of one of my 10th grade fantasies, minus the desire for a second date. Allow me to set the scene whilst simultaneously gobbling down too hot Trader Ming’s Chicken Egg Rolls (an official firstdatesfordayz recommended purchase for my stateside readers).

I set off for my 8:00 pm downtown date at 7:17 pm, dressed in my tried and trusted 1st date outfit; funky blue cardigan (shoulder pads removed, feaux gold buttons in tact, a Christmas gift from one #little_vientage circa 2011) Mango jeans, and black, lace-up ankle boots. This outfit can be modified depending on this author’s level of friskiness and the dating subject’s height, jeans replaced by booty-length, cut-off, black Levi’s shorts with (or sometimes scandalously without!) spotted tights, gray pointed heels tagging in for boots. Plus two sprays of Alien by Thierry Mugler. It is essential that I leave for the L.A. date at least 12 minutes earlier than Siri suggests if the date is over 7 miles away to account for my inability to parallel park and fear of turn lanes.

Called Red Baron at 8:01 when I had difficulty finding his work parking lot off of Olive where he had arranged for me to park for free (+3 points to R.B. for consideration right off the bat). Was directed to the lot where my name was on the security list and met R.B. in the lobby. First impression: cuter than I’d expected him to be in person, and definitely dressed better than I was. Think David Tennant’s Dr. Who. Sharp, but slightly cheesy and pretentious. I immediately got the feeling that this was R.B.’s standard work attire and had in no way been upgraded for Tinder date night.

I was quickly informed that he had just left a 4.5 hour performance of Einstein at the Beach, a bizarre “opera” that was still under way at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion a few blocks from us. Described by R.B. as “modern art theatre that cannot be described with words” I quickly took him up on his offer that we return to the show where he could get us both in due to past opera contacts. Einstein at the Beach turned out be something that really CAN only be seen to be understood. The first scene we entered upon had two actors on the back of what was meant to be a train exchanging eerie vocalizations that involved counting from 1 to 6 and imitating train sounds for over 10 minutes. And it got even more abstract from there.

R.B. graciously suggested we leave when the third scene, involving a court room, two female judges, one black and one white, and a defendant who was lying on a large white mattresses repeating a monologue about swimming caps and premature department store air conditioning, had nearly ended. What you might not know is that when I was seeing some phony back in May I assumed that he would still be around a month later and decided that he would get me opera tickets for my birthday, because I’d never been and have been wanting to go for the past few years. Alas, perhaps the phony was some type of Patrick Swayze-esque ghost who could only wonder the land of the living until the first signs of summer forced him back into the ghoulish underworld, for he ceased to exist before my birthday came around. Not to fret. I just crossed “go to the opera” off of my bucket list a few weeks ago with much more pleasant company. What you also might not know is that Little Women is quite probably my favorite movie of all time. I’m sure everyone clearly remembers one of LW’s steamiest scenes when Jo and Bhaer are sitting up in the rafters above the opera stage after he has used a connection to sneak them in backstage and Bhaer translates the German dialog for Jo before they kiss for the first time. Somehow my night with R.B. didn’t feel quite like that.

We set off for an Irish pub that I had been to once previously on St. Patrick’s Day with the roomies, and R.B. revealed that he was a dual Irish/American citizen. My high School self would have been ready to put a ring on it right then and there. It would transpire that this Irishness had certain drawbacks, such as a pompous way of ordering whiskey, and then describing said whiskey to the server when prompted as “a smokey, layered whiskey in which you can really taste the underlying Bourbon.” R.B. was also quick to slander the Dodgers game that was on, and sports in general. An opera fanatique, and previous L.A. Opera intern, I guess the area that the arts consumed in his life left little room for baser forms of entertainment.

Having recently seen Carmen, and having studied abroad in England I was pretty confident that R.B. and I would have enough conversation material to last the night. And that we did. The conversation took some interesting twists when R.B. spoke about the ludicrously rich donors he dealt with in his job at the development department of a music conservatory for a good 5 minutes before he left to the bathroom, and then again for at least 10 more when he returned. He also revealed that the classes at the conservatory where he works began with an “Auditory Exposure” class for 7-month-olds which more than a few celebrities’ children attend (possible celebrity parents may include a famous actress who served as an evil jedi’s mother in the new Star Wars and one terribly obnoxious actor who swapped faces with John Travolta in the most ludicrous, literally-titled film of all time). There was also some typical conservative bashing and a few how-I-escaped-my-Catholic-upbringing stories shared. Easy money.

Throughout the night I tried to examine the progression of my thought process. Ten minutes in, sitting beside R.B. at the opera house I was already thinking ‘Ugggh, what do I do when he texts me wanting to hang out again?’ On the walk from the bar back to the parking lot it was more ‘Ugggghh, he might try to kiss me.’ I hope that doesn’t sound completely presumptuous. I don’t by any means think that every guy I meet is swooning over me, but I can usually tell within the first five minutes of a date if this guy is someone I want to have around. If he isn’t I’ll generally go into agreeable, auto-pilot mode. It turns out, the likelihood of being asked on a second date when you appear to be an apt listener intrigued by every word your date is saying is quite high. And when you know there isn’t going to be a second date its really much less effort on your part to nod and smile at the right intervals than to share much about yourself with this person you’ll never see again. An unintended consequence of this strategy is having your vacancy misconstrued as interest and having to awkwardly stave off second dates over text while feeling moderate guilt for getting his hopes up. What’s that you’re screaming readers? Grow a backbone? I know, right?

An L.A. native, save his 1.5 years in Ireland, R.B. was an awesome tour guide and flawlessly added a stop overlooking Angels Knoll, the park where JGL sits to find his architectural inspiration in 500 Days of Summer, on the way back to my car. It was lovely, just between the old L.A. Bunker Hill region and new L.A. skyline. Nevertheless- I avoided eye contact when I was told that R.B. was glad I had joined him for the night, for I knew that a saliva-y request would be confirmed if our eyes met, and I steered us back onto the street. R.B. walked me to my car and then there was little option. I was the passive recipient of 15-20 seconds of tongue probing. Then I got in the car and drove home.

Overall evaluation of R.B. and the likelihood of a second date: Nice, good looking guy, politically engaged, and art-savvy. Although seeing the opera and Angels Knoll was a lot of fun and I think R.B. would keep the dates interesting and cultured, he was a little too lofty in his tastes and what he dubbed worthy food, alc, and culture. I am fairly certain this would not mesh too well with my need for weekly, rejuvenating Netflix marathons. And that, my friends, is an activity built for two.

R.B. revealed when his birthday is, and my recent interest in the credibility of astrology has led me to ask coworkers, dates, and whoever else I meet when their birthdays are to see if Cosmo really does know best. I am going to try to get this out of every one of my first dates just for my own research purposes.

R.B.’s sign: Capricorn (on a side note I have always found people born in January to be weird). Allegedly professional and traditional, serious-minded. Love match with Cancer: Cancer woman and Capricorn male are opposites but compliment each other well with devotion and affection coming to both easily.

When I expect to be contacted by R.B. again: Sunday, after 4:00 pm.

My next move: Undecided as of yet. Quite probably my go to: DDR (disinterested delayed response).

Tinder for Dayz

Dear friends and Mr. Internet,

I’ve been talking for a while about starting a blog recounting my illustrious dating life because some of these charming experiences ought to be archived for always. In addition to reminding myself that yes, I was invited to a blood rave mid-way through a first date and called a cat lady on another before making out with said assailant on a life guard tower in Santa Monica, I hope to keep everyone apprised of my latest dating mishaps, and eliminate the need for the “So has (Insert famous folk-rock legend’s grandson’s name here) still not gotten back to you?” question every two weeks or so. He hasn’t, friends. Lets all get passed it together.

When first I heard of Tinder I was informed that it was some type of freaky-deaky hook up app. It probably is. Mostly. But one long Labor Day weekend (this past one, to be precise) I decided to give it a try after a few friends had recounted their seemingly civilized experiences with guys via Tinder. For those of you who are not aware of the appeal of Tinder (or are reading in a group and just pretending not to know) you basically are shown a profile picture with a person’s first name, age, and the distance that they are away from you at that moment. For this reason Adan has deemed it ‘Grindr for straight people.’ You also have to sign in through Facebook (hate) so you can see if you and the Tinder subject have any friends or Facebook likes in common. In this way, it kind of takes away the creepy online dating stigma, because if someone has a friend in common with you, even if it is a girl who was in your freshmen cluster whose face you can’t really remember, they seem like a real person. You either say “Nope” or “Like” to the Tinderers you are matched with, an X or a heart, cleverly enough. If you “Like” someone and that same person “Likes” you, then a match message is generated and you know that they are at least moderately interested in having sex with you. Ice broken!!!

I currently find myself in a bit of a Tinder conundrum. Like most things in life, I grew disgusted/annoyed with the app/myself and deactivated after a day. One date did come out of the first go at Tinder, coffee at an adorable Silver Lake café with a guy who shares his first name with a major American bank chain. Yes, Wells Fargo. Dear Wells was interesting enough. He was a server at some sleek Silver Lake restaurant, was from the foreign land of Colorado, and seemed pretty laid back. But things got weird with Wells when we were trying to schedule a second date. He set a day but then got nonresponsive. I called him on it and he confessed to having just gotten out of a long relationship and was sorry for wasting my time. No big deal. Just don’t go texting me again over a week later unenthusiastically asking how I am. Oh wait. That’s exactly what he did. That is probably number one on the List of Things I don’t Have Time For. Boring text conversation that doesn’t get down to the point. Sorry about it. Xd.

Ok, ok, back to conundrum. So I deactivated. Then reactivated. In a fit of boredom. Kind of conveniently forgot that I had planned to meet up with a different guy before deactivating and gave him no word of cancellation. Yes, I know that was a shitty move. Have just been messaged by said persistent Tinderer (to be known henceforth as Persistent Pedro or PP for his key character attribute and his ethnicity #realtalk) and was kind of called out on flaking. I am redeeming myself by meeting up with him next week. I’ll keep you posted.

But before Monday, there is a Friday date. With a guy who I had been talking to on OKC (won’t degrade myself by explaining that acronym for you all) but then pulled another disappearing act after being asked out. As fate would have it, we both “Liked” each other on Tinder and if that isn’t God’s way of pulling our puppet strings on the great stage of life then I don’t know what is! So it’s second chance at a first chance week for Old Liz. This subject shall be dubbed the Red Baron- for his hair color.

Outlook for the likelihood of wanting a second date with PP: low                                                            Outlook for the likelihood of wanting a second date with Red Baron: moderate

Main motivation for going on these two dates: kharma and conversation fodder