Reflection

Let's be honest, I spend a lot of time thinking about my relationships with men, and I had a realization. Thank you Sex and the City.

 

Sorry, I can't detach my emotions from my vagina.

 
Sometimes, no matter how old a man is, they still act like an 18 year old tool. These are actual e-mails between my friend and the biggest tool in the shed.

On Sun, Aug 21, 2011 at 11:03 AM, C wrote:
Hey G,

I've been thinking about the vague conversation we had about this woman who has come back into your life recently and I realized that as much as I wish I could detach my vagina from my emotions - I can't. And I don't feel very good about the situation we're in - amorphous as it is. I like you. But I know that this isn't going anywhere and you don't have feelings beyond a certain point for me. So, I propose we remain friends. I am just certain that things will become too confusing if we keep sleeping together. Please don't think twice about coming over and hanging out with L and K. I don't want there to be any tension. You're great and I think you should go after someone you love. Forgive me for saying all this in an email but somehow I think it would be all jumbled and incoherent by telephone. I hope to see you soon!

C

Ghosts of my dating past

When it comes to dating, everyone has a "type". Some girls like athletic men, some the altruistic ones, and others like ambitious men. My "type" does not fit into any of these categories. My good friends consistently are able to pinpoint my type, it is the douchebag (if unfamiliar with the term, please click here). Yes, the guy who you see at the bar with a smug look and tight abs has made me weak in the knees for years. Many of you will be able to see where such endeavors go, a brief romance with un-returned phone calls and yes, anger. In an effort to turn my luck with dating around, I consulted my friends. As I listened I thought, "It's really simple, the only thing all these men had in common was me." Clearly I was just picking the wrong guys. In an effort to amend my treacherous ways, I'm looking back at the ghosts of my dating past. Oh yes, it is good.

My first experience with dating and men happened in the seventh grade. Ah, middle school. I was not a popular kid and one day one of the “cool kids” asked me out. I was elated; this really cute popular kid liked me! Life was beautiful, but I soon realized it was a cruel joke, and two days later I was over it. Karma is a bitch. I recently saw him and it was a shocker. I consoled my 12 year old self with “yes awkwardly tall girl with untamable curly hair, by the time you are 24 you will have legs for days, have discovered hair product, and he will have a receding hairline.” Hah! Sweet victory and life's sweet revenge. Little did I know then that this experience would set the tone for my dating life - men who lack seriousness and commitment.  Maybe my attraction to these men started young or maybe it's my karma.

Fast forward to my sophomore year in high school, I began dating a guy who went to an all boys private high school. Um...can anyone say red flag?! But did I see it? No. I thought he was going to be my first boyfriend and I *sigh* was completely smitten. He was my first kiss and our mutual friends were dating. I was ready to ride off into the sunset. In reality, he was looking to get laid, a shock to my infatuated heart. It was like getting hit over the head with a ton of bricks. All men want is sex?! How can this be?! Why doesn’t he care about my feelings!! Boo-hoo!! Needless to say we had an explosive falling out involving him throwing out as many negative degrading things that he could; all of which I took to heart (oh my, what about that Catholic education?). Did I learn my lesson? Of course not! I merrily continued searching for more "hot" guys.

 

The most recent asshole I dated wasn’t your traditional “dude-bro”. Returning from Europe, I caved to my mother’s request that I try online dating. I met a guy, he treated me well, and we got along great. After a month and a half of dating I felt as though I was on the brink of a mature, adult relationship. This changed when I found out he was still on the hunt for other girls online. I like to call this guy peek-a-boo douche, I had to work to find out he was a shit head. He showed his true colors. I confronted him and ended it. He said he was afraid of hurting me - what a guy - and should have been more empathetic to my feelings. I told him not to confuse empathy with cowardice.

I have moved away from this "normal type”, and I am optimistic that I will find someone someday. Until then, I am enjoying my single life and relishing in the fact that I don’t have to feel guilty about accepting a free drink from an attractive gentleman.

Blind dates also known as matchmaking FAIL.

            I think I have been on more first dates than the average person has in their lifetime. I have been set up, asked out, slipped digits, and cat called. The one thing I learned, there is no replacement for chivalry. My childhood expectations of a knight sweeping me off my feet was shattered long ago and replaced with the glimmer of hope that just maybe a date would pay for dinner (fancy, huh?). These days, most of my friends are in happy stable relationships skipping merrily along the golden pathway toward wedded bliss. I remain content in my single-hood, but as usual people continue to have a gnawing desire to set me up or reassure me that my “other half” is out there. Apparently they are more worried about it than I am; besides nothing is sexier than an unemployed college grad that lives with their parents. 

          Whoever decided that setting up their friends on blind dates is a good idea should be punished by having to sit through the uncomfortable event. A coworker arranged my first venture to the blind dating world because “he is tall and [I am] tall.” Clearly we were meant to be. I begrudgingly accepted the offer and went in as optimistically as possible. Who knows, he could be the next Kobe Bryant. I arrived at the theater and spot him immediately, at 6’7” he doesn’t blend in. He is standing by a pillar trying look casual, but achieving a level of awkwardness that would make any World of Warcraft master proud. He was cute enough, but could not carry a conversation. I tried to shake it off as nerves, but there was something else. Then it hit me, he was one of the video game addicts who sat at home on Friday nights arranging their action figures and drinking Mountain Dew Code Red; as in this is his first day ever. Realizing this, I tried to make the best of it, but his comic book obsession (amplified by the fact we were seeing Sin City) left me begging for a way out. He kinda reminded me of a younger version of these guys:

  

         One clever excuse and an uncomfortable hug later I was back to the safety of my car drafting the scathing text message to be sent to my coworker for failing at being Cupid. When Mr. Wrong realized my disinterest, after dozens of unsolicited texts left unanswered, he approached our matchmaker and demanded, “I WANT TO KNOW WHY!” Apparently he thought that our height made us compatible, and I never heard from him again.

Los Angeles and the men who act like women

“I love Los Angeles. I love Hollywood. They’re beautiful. Everybody’s plastic, but I love plastic. I want to be plastic.” Andy Warhol’s attitude is something I have become accustomed to from growing up in Los Angeles. The perception of the average LA native is that we’re all narcissistic, shallow assholes with superiority complexes. This stereotype is not completely baseless. It seems as though the harshest critics of this beautiful city are the ones who “want to be plastic”. The transplants (those who move to LA from other areas) that seek the Hollywood look and “acceptance” perpetuates this image. I find men who come here, spend copious amounts of time at the gym, cut out all complex carbs (yes, it is very masculine for you to admit that you don’t eat pasta because you think it will make you fat), worry more about which black polo to wear (sorry to burst your bubble, they all look the same), and spend more time on their hair than I do (do you have unruly curls to tame? I didn’t think so). So who is really perpetuating this image? I am in no way saying that every Angeleno transplant is going to turn into a self absorbed douchebag nor am I say that all natives are saints; the question is when the men become effeminate how are the women supposed to act?

Anyone who has dated in the past 5-10 years knows that the game has changed. As a young girl I believed that a man would chase after me and would love me for who I was. What a load of crap that has turned out to be. Although gender norms of male dominance and female submission are continually instilled in young people through peers, family, religion, and the media what are women to do when men change the terms for the dominate role? These issues are not applicable to all men and all relationships, but I know that my friends and I have experienced the reversal one way or another. I am here to share my experiences and guide my fellow ladies in how to find a man in LA who breaks the mold, watch out for Mr. Douchebag, and what to do in case you get the jerk (eek!).