Don't Mince Words

My friends keep me in check.  They also tease me about some of my more memorable dating and relationship decisions.

A friend in New York recently called me laughing from a bar.  “Oh my God, Marna.  Magic Hat has a new hefeweizen out called “Circus Boy.”  What ever happened to that fucking tool?” he asked.

Pete remembers a six-month relationship I had because it was cluttered with mutual drama and ended with the guy leaving to join Ringling Brothers’ circus band.  He was nicknamed “Circus Boy” by my friends and inducted into Marna’s Hall of Fame.  Circus Boy taught me to never date career musicians, especially when they say, “but music is my mistress.”

I was once at a Dr. Pat Allen relationship seminar (Mars/Venus type stuff) where she truly explained M/F dynamics in relationships.  When she had Q&A, I asked her what she thought of left-handed musicians.  I’ll never forget her response, “If you want a thinking and rational man and you are in the feminine role, don’t date a left-handed musician.”  As a result of that advice, career musicians are on my banned dating list.

So, to answer Pete’s question, I don’t know what happened to Circus Boy.  Last I heard, he was quitting the circus, getting married, and settling in Las Vegas.  Eight years later, I can safely say I’d rather have a six-pack of Circus Boy than see Circus Boy, but my friends and I thank him for the memories.

In my next life, I want to come back as a gay addict.  The habit is TBD.  All I know is these 12-step meetings are one-part sobriety maintenance and three-parts hookup.  The gays in West Hollywood don’t need to online date.  When they have free time, they go to a “meeting.”

My Main Gay is constantly in and out of relationships.  I sit on the sidelines feeling tragically single and heterosexual as I hear about his exploits. Today we met for lunch and I got the ga-ga eyes and “oh, this one is for real” speech.

“This isn’t fair.  Is this another friends-of-bill hookup?” I whined.

“Yes, we met at a meeting.  We are so in love,” he proclaimed.  “He’s mine.”

I can’t even meet a straight man at the grocery store and Main Gay is seeking my advice on Valentine’s Day.  Fanfuckingtastic.   He’s thinking about a long, romantic weekend up in Santa Barbara.  I told him I wasn’t the girl to ask Valentine’s day advice from – it has probably been more than 15 years since a man planned more than a simple card and chocolates for me.

“Aw, my hag needs a real man,” he said.

Right.  We’ve seen how well that’s worked out for me in southern California.  I think it is easier to just plan on being gay in my next life – with a severe addiction to beer.

Support online shopping and struggling Los Angeles writers by purchasing Sleeping with snakes:  Notes from the Los Angeles underbelly.

Give the gift of Marna.  My short story, “Talking Dirty,” appears alongside other fabulous authors observing life in Los Angeles.  Charles Bukowski, the granddaddy of dirty talk, is also included in the collection.

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This is probably just me. My little problem, you know, because I was born before 1980. But when a help wanted/job ad says “profitable online startup,” that is not a positive selling point to me. It’s about as appealing as a partner telling me their Valtrex copay is only $5.

With my focus on my career, I’m sure you were worried that I’d never write about guys or dates again. Not to worry, this is Los Angeles, so there’s always going to be a story. I just haven’t had the time to write this one.

Houston (let’s call him that instead of nutless) and I met online in mid-July and began dating immediately. He was one of those Type A planners who would book three dates in a week. In fact, I mentioned to him that his frequency was outstanding and unlike the 1x/week LA guy mentality. “I know what I like and I go for it,” was his answer.

So, we went out to dinner, we played tennis, we saw movies and shows, we went to concerts and parties. We did stuff. He even took me and my dog to a four-star hotel weekend getaway. Somewhere in the middle of all this, I got laid off. We went out less. He called and emailed less. But I wasn’t really paying attention because I was focused on the job thing and getting out to network.

Our last date was a business dinner with some of his ad reps, one of whom commented on what a cute couple we were. I never heard from him after that night. The guy who pitched himself as the nicest guy I’d ever meet did the fade out on me. Had I been more alert, I would of seen this coming and beat him to the dump.

“Are you sure he didn’t have a medical emergency and just couldn’t call you? He was older, after all,” said a friend. “No, he’s alive because he posted a marketing job on craig’s list,” I explained. “Gosh, don’t you want to understand what happened?” she asked.

Not necessary, is it? He was under the 90-day LA trial relationship period. He demonstrated by his actions that he couldn’t nut up and dump me proper. That’s alright, he had republican tendencies and poor musical taste. All I can say is…. Celine Dion? Really? That’s my closure.

This is going to be my last unemployment summary because not much changes from week-to-week.  I meet unemployed friends for drinks, I make calls, I send resumes, and I have interviews.

One thing that was reinforced this week was how much interviews are like dates.  And selecting a job is like choosing a husband – you really don’t want a beater.

I had an interview with a Fortune 200 company.  I had heard mixed reviews through the years from friends and acquaintances who have worked there.  I accepted the interview out of curiosity.  I had no idea it would be a source of material.

I realized was the last interview of the day.  Not a good position to be in when you find out it was a sausage factory interview process.  All my interviewers were tired.  Two out of three had not seen my resume before I handed it to them.

The HR bitch set me up.

Interviewer #1 had been on staff for three weeks.  He was from a similar background and took the job because he wanted a more stable environment and was tired of ad agencies.  He warned me about long hours and a lack of process.  He was still trying to figure out what the job was.

Interviewer #2 had a year on the first guy.  He spoke of long hours and couldn’t really describe the job except that he needed a sales brochure developed.

Interviewer #3 was tired and frustrated because it appeared the HR bitch didn’t describe the position to any of the applicants.  She went on to tell me there would be long hours, there were opportunities for process improvement, and there have been two people in this position in the last year.  In addition, when I asked if if there was head count to bring a designer on staff, she said, “No, and it doesn’t matter.  The economy is so bad that these contractors are thankful to be here.”

It took me a few years of online dating to figure out some of the code in people’s ads.  Now I know when a decades-established company advertises for someone with a start-up background, that means the division is unorganized and probably in need of better operational management.  In addition, when interviewers really can’t sell you on the company or the position, it probably isn’t going to be a good long-term relationship.  I don’t really need that and a job with no career path.  That recipe will never provide me with success and results.

I sent the HR bitch a thank you email and continued my search.

I know I’ve spent the past six years bemoaning the labor of dating in Los Angeles. I’ve felt like I’ve been one part relationship anthropologist, one part therapist, and an off-and-on investigative journalist. But I know my observations and experiences aren’t far-fetched because I run into men and women everywhere that have similar stories.

I recently connected with an acquaintance from home, also in her mid-40’s, who has lived out here four years. Over lunch we compared and contrasted our dating stories.

“What happened to the old ritual of courting?” she asked. “I feel like I have one or two dates with a guy, then everything after that is a hang-out. They don’t want to do stuff or bother to get to know me.”

I followed that with my thoughts that there are not a lot of masculine men in this town. That theory was confirmed early on by Dr. Pat Allen who said a town with creative men is a town filed with effeminate men who don’t play the male role. They want to be chased… like women. That doesn’t leave us a lot left to date.

My friend also made a comment about conversation. “I learned very quickly to dial it down. I think I offended people because I would not hesitate to offer my opinion.” That made me laugh hysterically because that was one of my first lessons in a corporate environment. “God help you if you have an opinion. You have to keep everything neutral so as to not shock sensitive people,” I added. But a lot of that has to do with the fact we grew up in D.C. Everyone is smart and reads and has opinions about everything. Out here, there are a lot of people who don’t have degrees, let alone advanced degrees. So, girls like us have to dumb it down.

I proceeded to tell her that I had hit the jackpot dating and I felt like all my bad date payforwards were redeemed.

“Get this – I’m dating a guy that has had the same job for 10 years, earned a MBA, owns two cars and some property, is NOT a California native, and is divorced with a wife and kid living across the country. He plans three or four dates a week, picks me up, and doesn’t hesitate to pay,” I told her with great sarcasm.

She was amazed. “So, you have real conversations and real dates.”

Dating is a numbers game, no matter where you live. You just need to know what you want and be patient until you find it. My new friend just left for an internship back in D.C. at the Library of Congress. She’s working on her second master’s degree. She says she’s happy not dating in Los Angeles. “As long as there is good weather, that’s my company.”

I’ve revised the Kubler-Ross grief cycle to consider the emotional states of dating in Los Angeles.

Shock stage – initial paralysis after a few bad first dates and remembering someone telling you you’d have to “import” your men if you lived in Los Angeles.

Denial stage – continuing to date because you can’t believe it is really that bad out there.

Anger stage – frustrated and mad, you now date as if it is a revenge fuck. Each date gives you more writing material and you just get angrier.

Bargaining stage – seeking in vain for a way out of dating. You volunteer more and do anything for distraction.

Depression stage – dating in Los Angeles is not going to change.

Acceptance stage – moving forward by adopting a dog and revising your vibrator collection.

Last night I came to the realization that I may never get laid again. Tex and I watched “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” in bed. With each bark, he’d cock his head and stare at my 20-inch monitor while I giggled. I can’t remember the last time I laughed in bed. At this point, I’m not sure Tex would give up his spot on the queen-sized for a man. Well, maybe for a remastered version of Lady & The Tramp.

Los Angeles is full of creative people, so it was only a matter of time before I’d have a date with a musician. Who knew it would be a doubleheader. I’ve dated musicians before, but they’ve had day jobs which puts them in the frustrated artist category. These guys were “real” musicians.

Friday night was a 40-something artist that sang and played numerous instruments. He was from the south and still had the accent. That made him even more endearing until he handed me his CD and told me he’d be on the road in a few weeks. I’m never sure if that is ego or an invitation to be a panty-throwing roadie. As I was half-way through my Moscow mule, Friday requested to read my palm.

“Your life line doesn’t look right. You need a liver cleanse,” he told me. No, I just needed to finish my half-empty glass and self-cleanse.

As he continued to dominate the conversation, I prepared my exit speech. Thanks, I don’t need another. It was nice meeting you.

Saturday’s date was with a slightly shy 31 year-old composer/producer. After nearly a month of e-courting, he nutted up and asked to meet me. By the time I had finished my second beer, I managed to wow him with the theatrical merits of Beerfest versus Pineapple Express. He thought I was a genius. I knew I was just appealing to my demographic and it was a struggle. This cougar thing is tough work.

As a writer, I have a strong appreciation for the creative mind. However, in the dating world I still need to find my happy medium between crazy artist and humble CPA.

A close girlfriend got out of a 2.5 year fakelationship and nearly immediately got back to the online dating business with some mildly successful results. I found her get-back-on-the-horse determination inspiring enough to return to the game also. My out-of-the-gate experience left a friend in New York saying, “can you move to San Francisco? Even with the gays, it has to be better dating there.”

I have a dog for companionship and a vibrator for sanity, so dating in Los Angeles is becoming more difficult to do the older I get. I make it very clear with my prospects that I’m not looking for anything casual and really want to make sure there is chemistry and good friendship long before the cock meets the vag. Fucktard said he understood.

We had two great dates with good, engaging conversation in addition to some obvious attraction. However, a day later, he was screwing a stranger. He sent me a morning-after confessional email stating he had made a “mistake” the night before and he felt “horrible” and was “scared shitless and confused.” It was clearly an open and shut case of Jewish guilt meets undefined needs. The one thing he did get right is I deserve better.

One day I’ll meet a man in LA who knows what he wants and it is consistent… from day-to-day and week-to-week. But I have to say, this is the first time I’ve meet a man who was so intimidated by me that he broke his 14-month celibacy and fucked a stranger 24 hours after our second date. Yes, this is one for the LA record books.