Don't Mince Words

I had a date Saturday at 3:30 p.m. at Olive Garden.  He called ahead and asked if there was a corkage fee.  I took his bottle home with me instead. You can write the end of  this story.

I make bad decisions when people pressure me for new dating material.

I willingly admit that most women are batshit crazy, men are assholes, and collectively, dating is hard at any age, anywhere.  But I’m telling you, the men outdo themselves in California (legalized marijuana?).  I used to think I was just perimenapausal and I was losing interest in men, but the truth is, each interaction I have with a man reminds me why I have a dog.

My Q1 penis prospect was no different. A week after our first date, we had this transaction via text message

Him:  How’s your week been?  I’m so glad it’s Friday. We should grab a few drinks tonight

Me:  Yes, shit week. Tonight no good but tomorrow is open.

Him:  Sounds good. Let me know if you break free later on

Him (4 hours later):  So bored, out on lame date.

Yes, you read that correctly, he asked me out, then went out with someone else, but texted me to let me know was bored on that date.  Awesome manners.  Obviously, his date didn’t shank him because he reappeared almost a month later telling me we should meet up for a drink to “catch-up”.  On the night he suggested, I had plans, but suggested he swing by and join me with friends.  He didn’t show up.

Three weeks later he appeared again, via text, with the same line.  I played along because, at this point, he’s just a source of entertainment, like a squirrel is to a dog.

Him:  Let’s grab a drink this weekend.

Me: Sounds good. Let me know when.

Him: Tom afternoon/early eve.

Me: French Table happy hour starts at 3.

Him: Haven’t been, but lets plan on it.

Tomorrow came and went and I never heard from him.  More than 24 hours after we were supposed to “grab a drink” he texted with “Hey there. What are you up to?”

There are two pieces of sage advice my mom gave me.  When I was young, I rolled my eyes thinking I had more dating experience than her… what did she know.  But she knew what women before her knew and just passed on good advice.

(1) A man without a plan who doesn’t follow through with actions is just a man wanting sex.

(2) Don’t put a penis in your mouth. That’s too easy and that’s not what you are built for.

So guys, if you want to get “in”, just have a plan and stick to it.  I’m really that easy.  Otherwise, call Domino’s because you are probably bored and stoned and “what are you up to” is the best-of your conversation skills.

It’s that most wonderful time of the year….when single men realize they are alone.  Apparently when you combine that with home for the holidays, you have the formula for hot and horny.

About six months ago I was contacted by “Jack” because he was considering taking a job in Santa Barbara.  He was currently in West Hollywood and wanted to understand the social scene if he were to make the move.  I gave him the grim reality and he decided to take another job in Los Angeles.

I received a checkin email from him on the 23rd asking if I was still single and, if so, would I be interested in going out while he was home visiting his parents 30 miles south of me. I told him I was available and suggested we meet at a brewpub I wanted to try in his parents’ town.

His response is the reason why I stay home with my dog.  “You wouldn’t want to chose a place closer to you, just in case we feel like fooling around?”

While we did meet on a dating website, our communications have been totally career and relocation-related until this point.  Very buddy/platonic.  So, I played it off and told him I was flattered, but we should meet, have a drink and catchup.  As you would expect, I never heard from him to finalize the plan. When I used to go home for Christmas, I always tried to line up activities to get out of the house and away from my mother.  If the internet existed, I probably would have dated to dull the pain of being home too.

I just wish Jack had the balls to take me to his house to show me his trophies, varsity letter jacket, and twin bed.  That’s what I call coming home for the holidays.

Dating in Los Angeles is hard.  It’s hard all over.  But I know it is difficult when a man I went out with and wrote about in 2004 is pursuing me again, unknowingly, in Santa Barbara.  The difference is, while there has chronologically been eight years since our last date, his profile age is only one year older.  Oh, the joys of having a Hollywood age.

It took me about one minute after I read his email to register who he was…. “more fun than greased weasels” and a “culture vulture” with a lesbian friend who tells him what he needs and should be looking for.  Oh yeah.  Him.  He was the guy with a membership to Magic Castle.  After being in LA longer, I learned men with memberships to Magic Castle are like women with three cats – buyer beware.  But the funnier thing was he was my first blog troll.  Long before I enabled comments, he emailed me from a hotmail account and told me I was a bitch for not letting my date know he had something stuck in his teeth.  He emailed several times after that with negative trash talk, but since I didn’t respond, I guess he found another culture vulture to circle with.

Me?  I’m really eight years older, I still floss, and I have at least one reason a week why I’m thankful I don’t actively date anymore.

I had date with another 61 year-old.  No, not the sexter, but a new one.  It made me realize that I just can’t pull off the older-guy thing.  How do the mid-life crises guys date women half their age?  What do they talk about?

John was charming on the phone and eager to meet me AFTER he did my astrological chart and determined we were a good match. I will admit, older men have mastered the art of conversation.  That’s their game.  If you overlook the orthotic shoes, age spots, and receding gums and focus on the conversation, it’s not so bad.  We met for happy hour and within one minute of meeting me, he wanted to hold my hand.  After doing the six-second size-up, all my hand wanted to hold was a beer.  When I did not immediately fall into his hands/arms, I was accused of being closed off.

Santa Barbara is like the Bermuda Triangle for men between the ages of 30 and 55.  They just don’t exist.  Or maybe they are here, but in some Area 51-type compound getting tested on so that the 60+ men can learn how to improve their game.  Whatever the case, geezers I quit you.

Put that in my chart.