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.

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.

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?

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).