I met a girl through a work situation who I thought was cute, and we started talking. She was from out of town but now works in LA. I thought she was probably around 22/23 (a typical age for someone doing her job), but after a bit of conversation I found out she was still in school, so I figured she must have been only 20 or so. A bit young for me but I was cool with it, so we talked some more, and I found out she was in a 2-year college, which meant she was probably closer to 19? Finally, I came out and asked her how old she was and she said 18.
Well, I know that’s legal and all, but I felt weird about it. She’s so young, and at the end of the night I decided not to ask for her number. When I went to go home I got to my car and realized that I forgot one of my binders inside, so I went back in and bumped in to her. There was a very awkward pause, which led to us exchanging info. The next day, she wrote me an email saying it was nice to meet me and I replied with a similar exchange of pleasantries, and decided to keep it very much on the friend tip. I wasn't trying to go out with an 18 year old - a decision many of my friends disagreed with.
A few weeks later we ran into each other at a party, and after having another good conversation, we decided that we would grab lunch during the week. She then said something weird as we continued our conversation -- she mentioned that she was about to start college. I asked when her birthday was, and she said it was in November. I did the math in my head, and said I was pretty sure that when you go to college you are either 17 going on 18, or you would have recently turned 18. She again said she was 18 about to be 19, but I thought something was fishy.
I didn’t feel good about our potential “date” and was ready to blow it off, when she canceled because she had to work. OK cool, I was relieved and thought it was for the best. I wasn't going to contact her again -- I wanted to find a girl to be in a relationship with, and it just didn't seem to me that an 18 year old would be that girl, so why should I waste my time? 2 days later I got an email that said this: “I’m sorry I canceled our plans for work, but I didn’t have work. I have to come clean about something. I’m really 17 going on 18, not 18 going on 19. For work and professional purposes I had to say I was 18 so nobody would get in trouble.”
WHAT?? Well, I'm glad she wanted to protect her employer by saying she was 18, but for personal reasons, this was exactly how you could get someone in the worst kind of trouble -- Roman Polanski style. She went on to say, “I’m really sorry I lied, and there were so many times I wanted to tell you the truth, but we were always around work people. I want you to know that everything else I said was 100% me.”
Wow – Now, I had no desire to get involved in this any further and my only response was “No worries. Good luck with school.”
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? I’m a law-abiding citizen but fellas...in a few weeks she’ll be legal
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
“I’m a bad girl”
My mom has been bugging me to go out with a girl that her colleague “J” knows. She lives near me, but I really didn’t trust my mom to set me up. To her credit, she got her friend to send me photos but didn’t send the girl any info about me. She was cute, and to appease my dear mother I went out with her.
We went for dinner and she seemed ok. She was cute, knew a lot about cars but seemed like a party girl. She did get a little ahead of herself, talking about me meeting her parents on our first date, but I ignored it and changed the subject. After dinner we went back to my place to look at some of my travel photos.
3 pictures into my portfolio, and we were making out. Everything was going how it should, and then she stopped for a second and declared, “I have to tell you, I’m a bad girl.” OK – now that’s a little weird, but I figured we were in business. I wasn’t exactly sure what the proper response should be so I just asked, “what do you mean?” She said, “I have criminal charges against me.”
Not the response I was expecting. It turns out, this girl is a boxer and when she caught her ex cheating on her, she beat the shit out of him and the new girl.
I immediately called my mom and told her what happened. Her reply -- “Oh, “J” knew about that." (silence from me) "At least she’s Jewish,” my mom continued. -- Thanks mom, I’m glad you have your priorities straight.
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? The date went to the scorecards and the judges decided by unanimous decision that my mom is no longer allowed to set me up.
We went for dinner and she seemed ok. She was cute, knew a lot about cars but seemed like a party girl. She did get a little ahead of herself, talking about me meeting her parents on our first date, but I ignored it and changed the subject. After dinner we went back to my place to look at some of my travel photos.
3 pictures into my portfolio, and we were making out. Everything was going how it should, and then she stopped for a second and declared, “I have to tell you, I’m a bad girl.” OK – now that’s a little weird, but I figured we were in business. I wasn’t exactly sure what the proper response should be so I just asked, “what do you mean?” She said, “I have criminal charges against me.”
Not the response I was expecting. It turns out, this girl is a boxer and when she caught her ex cheating on her, she beat the shit out of him and the new girl.
I immediately called my mom and told her what happened. Her reply -- “Oh, “J” knew about that." (silence from me) "At least she’s Jewish,” my mom continued. -- Thanks mom, I’m glad you have your priorities straight.
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? The date went to the scorecards and the judges decided by unanimous decision that my mom is no longer allowed to set me up.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
The Model (Part 2 – scroll down to read Part 1 first)
So we left the AIDS apartment, started walking around East London and eventually wound up at a party in an abandoned warehouse. This area can best be described as Williamsburg before it was safe. Inside, everyone was dressed up. There was a guy with mutton chops wearing an outfit straight out of the old west, a few girls dressed as Flappers, a girl with a 40’s thing going on, one wearing a poodle skirt, a guy wearing daisy dukes, suspenders and nothing else, and then my personal favorite – girl with full face-make up like she was in the Broadway production of CATS. (I know that's 2 Broadway analogies in 2 posts, but who doesn't love a good musical. Am I right fellas?)
Logically, I asked if this was a costume party. Model girl said, “No. This is East London.” --"Oh, East London you say?" -- makes perfect sense to the American. Apparently, these people dress like this every day.
I don't even know how to explain how crazy this place was, but let me try by painting you a picture:
Do you know the super creepy scene from THE SHINING when Jack Nicholson finds all of the ghosts partying and everyone is dressed weird? Well I was at that party if that party also had lots of drugs. Everyone was F'd up on drugs I had never seen before. They were doing Ketamines (horse tranquilizers), MDMA and acid so recreationally it was like they were out on a leisure walk in a heath rather than gluttonously filling their bodies with illegal narcotics. There was also coke and hash – but that was the equivalent of milk and oxygen to this group. There was no beer, or any drink not in an open container, so at this point I was paranoid that everything had acid in it and I officially became the sober guy at a drug party.
Some other model came over and was talking to model girl and me. We were all sitting on a couch, and 2 minutes later these girls were fully making out. I declined their offer for drugs, and they went to a room together (a more suave guy may have seen their drug offer as an opportunity for a 3 way, but I'm not that guy and this was all way over my head). I stepped outside where a girl on acid told me the stars were moving really fast. When I looked to the sky I realized that it was only the clouds moving in front of the stars – she acknowledged that my hypothesis made more sense.
The girls came out of the room, everyone smoked hashish, the new model left, and model girl asked if I wanted to go back to her place and keep partying. It was now 5:30am, and I lied saying I had to work in the morning, so she called me a cab (which was not a real cab, but some guy with a car, who charged me 30 pounds to get home), kissed me goodnight and said “Well, I hope you enjoyed seeing the real London.”
The next day at work, I told this story and the general response from the locals was “Sounds like a fun Saturday in Shoreditch.”
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Kind of a cross between A CLOCKWORK ORANGE and THE SHINING. Scratch that. It was just a typical night in East London (but I wish I brought my camera).
Logically, I asked if this was a costume party. Model girl said, “No. This is East London.” --"Oh, East London you say?" -- makes perfect sense to the American. Apparently, these people dress like this every day.
I don't even know how to explain how crazy this place was, but let me try by painting you a picture:
Do you know the super creepy scene from THE SHINING when Jack Nicholson finds all of the ghosts partying and everyone is dressed weird? Well I was at that party if that party also had lots of drugs. Everyone was F'd up on drugs I had never seen before. They were doing Ketamines (horse tranquilizers), MDMA and acid so recreationally it was like they were out on a leisure walk in a heath rather than gluttonously filling their bodies with illegal narcotics. There was also coke and hash – but that was the equivalent of milk and oxygen to this group. There was no beer, or any drink not in an open container, so at this point I was paranoid that everything had acid in it and I officially became the sober guy at a drug party.
Some other model came over and was talking to model girl and me. We were all sitting on a couch, and 2 minutes later these girls were fully making out. I declined their offer for drugs, and they went to a room together (a more suave guy may have seen their drug offer as an opportunity for a 3 way, but I'm not that guy and this was all way over my head). I stepped outside where a girl on acid told me the stars were moving really fast. When I looked to the sky I realized that it was only the clouds moving in front of the stars – she acknowledged that my hypothesis made more sense.
The girls came out of the room, everyone smoked hashish, the new model left, and model girl asked if I wanted to go back to her place and keep partying. It was now 5:30am, and I lied saying I had to work in the morning, so she called me a cab (which was not a real cab, but some guy with a car, who charged me 30 pounds to get home), kissed me goodnight and said “Well, I hope you enjoyed seeing the real London.”
The next day at work, I told this story and the general response from the locals was “Sounds like a fun Saturday in Shoreditch.”
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Kind of a cross between A CLOCKWORK ORANGE and THE SHINING. Scratch that. It was just a typical night in East London (but I wish I brought my camera).
Monday, October 5, 2009
The Model (Part 1)
After NY, I went to London for work and met a girl who was a model. She was taller than me, had a figure that would give teenage girls body issues, and was way out of my league. But, when I met her she must have been bored and I must have been barely charming enough to entertain her. Some colleagues said they thought she was into me, and I agreed but couldn’t understand why. We talked some more and eventually she posed the question, “So do you want my number?” “umm, uh, yeah. Yeah totally” I smoothly replied. She took my phone and plugged in her info. “What are you doing tomorrow night?” she asked. “I have no plans” I said. “Do you want to grab some drinks and see the real London?” she continued. I was down (and was hoping that "the real London" was some kind of euphemism), and she told me she would call me when she woke up.
Well, I didn’t hear from her until 4pm. I got a text saying she just woke up – it was a crazy night, and she’d call me later when she knew the plan. Now, I haven't had a night crazy enough to sleep till 4 in over a decade, but I'm in another country so I just figure its so European to party like that. At 7 I hadn’t heard anything so I gave her a call... she was at the park with friends, but was going to have drinks at her place later and call me in a bit.
The call came at 12:30am (booty call time for most people, but brunch time for a party girl). So I bought some liquor and headed over there. When I showed up, I was pretty sure I was at the wrong place. Her apartment was what I imagine the real life “RENT” apartment was – it felt like a crack house but dirtier. She didn’t even have a refrigerator (I guess models don’t eat anyway), and she was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Her roommate was out of town, and she was subletting the room to a gay couple from another country (but currently they were in a corner making out) and also, they don’t speak any English.
A few of her friends showed up – one girl who seemed like a cool lesbian, and another girl who was totally drunk, and bleeding. Apparently she fell off her bike on her way over. (They should teach kids not to drink and ride in school). I don’t do well with blood, so of course she must sense this and bloody girl doesn’t leave me alone. She takes at least 30 pictures of me and keeps patting my face, telling me how “lovely” I was. Then a guy walks in that they know, but wasn’t invited. He doesn’t say a single word, but he has a new tattoo on his chest that is also bleeding. While bloody girl touches my face, bloody boy steals the vodka and leaves.
The model saves me from bloody girl and we go into her room to look at pictures of her from a big fashion campaign, various other shoots, and some naked ones. I am kind of freaked out by the whole place at this point and can't enjoy it. I feel like AIDS is everywhere around me, and am afraid if any body part with a mucous membrane was exposed to her apartment it could potentially contract a disease and fall off. I didn't want to touch anything, and wished I carried toilet seat covers with me so I'd be relaxed enough to sit down.
Eventually, the guests left and I felt as uncomfortable as I imagine a trip to the ob gyn must be. This was no place for a nice Jewish boy from NY, but when model girl asked if I wanted to go to a party (it was now 3:30am), I said sure…because I knew I needed an ending for this story....
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Tune in next time to find out.
Well, I didn’t hear from her until 4pm. I got a text saying she just woke up – it was a crazy night, and she’d call me later when she knew the plan. Now, I haven't had a night crazy enough to sleep till 4 in over a decade, but I'm in another country so I just figure its so European to party like that. At 7 I hadn’t heard anything so I gave her a call... she was at the park with friends, but was going to have drinks at her place later and call me in a bit.
The call came at 12:30am (booty call time for most people, but brunch time for a party girl). So I bought some liquor and headed over there. When I showed up, I was pretty sure I was at the wrong place. Her apartment was what I imagine the real life “RENT” apartment was – it felt like a crack house but dirtier. She didn’t even have a refrigerator (I guess models don’t eat anyway), and she was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Her roommate was out of town, and she was subletting the room to a gay couple from another country (but currently they were in a corner making out) and also, they don’t speak any English.
A few of her friends showed up – one girl who seemed like a cool lesbian, and another girl who was totally drunk, and bleeding. Apparently she fell off her bike on her way over. (They should teach kids not to drink and ride in school). I don’t do well with blood, so of course she must sense this and bloody girl doesn’t leave me alone. She takes at least 30 pictures of me and keeps patting my face, telling me how “lovely” I was. Then a guy walks in that they know, but wasn’t invited. He doesn’t say a single word, but he has a new tattoo on his chest that is also bleeding. While bloody girl touches my face, bloody boy steals the vodka and leaves.
The model saves me from bloody girl and we go into her room to look at pictures of her from a big fashion campaign, various other shoots, and some naked ones. I am kind of freaked out by the whole place at this point and can't enjoy it. I feel like AIDS is everywhere around me, and am afraid if any body part with a mucous membrane was exposed to her apartment it could potentially contract a disease and fall off. I didn't want to touch anything, and wished I carried toilet seat covers with me so I'd be relaxed enough to sit down.
Eventually, the guests left and I felt as uncomfortable as I imagine a trip to the ob gyn must be. This was no place for a nice Jewish boy from NY, but when model girl asked if I wanted to go to a party (it was now 3:30am), I said sure…because I knew I needed an ending for this story....
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Tune in next time to find out.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Homeless Beer Girl
I was in NY for work, and on my first weekend in town a friend told me to come to his bar for drinks. I did and I met a really cute girl. We got along off the bat, and I took her number. She was a book editor, and I told her I was in town working on a movie. We exchanged numbers, I waited a few days and gave her a call. She told me that she looked me up to make sure that I wasn’t bullshitting her, and even though I hadn’t told her my last name, I guess I told her the name of someone I worked with, and she was resourceful enough to figure out who I was on IMDB. Some people may think this is a little crazy, but I liked it. A New York girl who takes care of herself, and weeds out the guys that are full of shit.
I said that since I passed her test, it was now her turn to pass mine. I explained that I hadn’t been in NY in a while, and I challenged her to find a cool, but not trendy place for me to take her to dinner that Friday.
She passed this exam with flying colors -- a great sushi place in the East Village, good drinks and witty banter (did I forget to mention she was heavy chested?). Things were going well, and I had a bit of a buzz, so we collectively decided to go grab drinks at a nearby bar. Another good choice on her part. We danced for a bit, had a few cocktails, and then I made my move. “It’s loud in here, would you like to take a walk?” She couldn’t resist and we went to Union Square and sat on the steps.
Just when my game was getting good, a homeless guy came up asking for money. I said “sorry man,” and expected him to leave us alone. No such luck. He told us a sob story about his band not touring and now he had to pan handle for rent money. He said he was Jewish and my date told him I was too. (This is strike one – lets not try to find common interests with the homeless guy). In an effort to rid myself of this guy’s odor I gave him whatever change was in my pocket – probably around 83 cents. The guy took the money, but didn’t put it in his cup. “Wait a minute” says my date, “why didn’t you put it in your cup?” “Oh, this is beer” replies the homeless man, “Want some?”
Well, my date says “sure,” takes a giant swig from the homeless guy’s cup (strike 2), and I internally freak out. The guy then tells us that he is a heroin addict, and now I am beyond grossed out (I'm a bit of a hypochondriac as it is, but this was crazy). I say its getting late and we should grab cabs. On the walk to the corner, I realize I’ll probably never talk to this girl again, so I have nothing to lose, and I say “Wow. That was crazy. I can’t believe you drank from the homeless guys beer.” Homegirl’s drunk response…”Whatever, sometimes I do crazy things.” (Strike 3). I mean if this crazy thing gets a “whatever,” I don’t want to think about the crazy thing she did that she actually regrets!
I put her in a cab and did my best to give her a hug without touching her. I called my friend and told him the story. He said, “Well, maybe she was just really drunk” - and he tried to get me to give her another chance.
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Really drunk don’t cure hepatitis.
I said that since I passed her test, it was now her turn to pass mine. I explained that I hadn’t been in NY in a while, and I challenged her to find a cool, but not trendy place for me to take her to dinner that Friday.
She passed this exam with flying colors -- a great sushi place in the East Village, good drinks and witty banter (did I forget to mention she was heavy chested?). Things were going well, and I had a bit of a buzz, so we collectively decided to go grab drinks at a nearby bar. Another good choice on her part. We danced for a bit, had a few cocktails, and then I made my move. “It’s loud in here, would you like to take a walk?” She couldn’t resist and we went to Union Square and sat on the steps.
Just when my game was getting good, a homeless guy came up asking for money. I said “sorry man,” and expected him to leave us alone. No such luck. He told us a sob story about his band not touring and now he had to pan handle for rent money. He said he was Jewish and my date told him I was too. (This is strike one – lets not try to find common interests with the homeless guy). In an effort to rid myself of this guy’s odor I gave him whatever change was in my pocket – probably around 83 cents. The guy took the money, but didn’t put it in his cup. “Wait a minute” says my date, “why didn’t you put it in your cup?” “Oh, this is beer” replies the homeless man, “Want some?”
Well, my date says “sure,” takes a giant swig from the homeless guy’s cup (strike 2), and I internally freak out. The guy then tells us that he is a heroin addict, and now I am beyond grossed out (I'm a bit of a hypochondriac as it is, but this was crazy). I say its getting late and we should grab cabs. On the walk to the corner, I realize I’ll probably never talk to this girl again, so I have nothing to lose, and I say “Wow. That was crazy. I can’t believe you drank from the homeless guys beer.” Homegirl’s drunk response…”Whatever, sometimes I do crazy things.” (Strike 3). I mean if this crazy thing gets a “whatever,” I don’t want to think about the crazy thing she did that she actually regrets!
I put her in a cab and did my best to give her a hug without touching her. I called my friend and told him the story. He said, “Well, maybe she was just really drunk” - and he tried to get me to give her another chance.
SO HOW WAS LAST NIGHT? Really drunk don’t cure hepatitis.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
A New Beginning
I recently got out of a long-term relationship. I had my heart broken, but eventually I got back out on the horse. Almost everyone I know is in a committed relationship, so I’m a little alone on the dating circuit.
I have great friends who want me to be happy, but also selfishly want me to find someone so we can double date. They do however take a genuine interest in my adventures and keep asking the proverbial question “So how was last night?” I decided the best way to answer was to start this site.
I will talk about my dating experiences – past and present, crazy and mundane, and everything in between on my quest to find true love in Los Angeles. I hope this site can be interactive. I welcome everyone’s advice, insight and opinions regarding my tales of tail, and would love for others to share their stories here as well.
Now Oprah, if you’re reading this please note that certain names and events will be changed to protect people’s identities, and some facts will be combined or changed in the interest of telling the clearest, most concise story, so please don’t go all “A Million Little Pieces” on me.
Welcome to my mind…
I have great friends who want me to be happy, but also selfishly want me to find someone so we can double date. They do however take a genuine interest in my adventures and keep asking the proverbial question “So how was last night?” I decided the best way to answer was to start this site.
I will talk about my dating experiences – past and present, crazy and mundane, and everything in between on my quest to find true love in Los Angeles. I hope this site can be interactive. I welcome everyone’s advice, insight and opinions regarding my tales of tail, and would love for others to share their stories here as well.
Now Oprah, if you’re reading this please note that certain names and events will be changed to protect people’s identities, and some facts will be combined or changed in the interest of telling the clearest, most concise story, so please don’t go all “A Million Little Pieces” on me.
Welcome to my mind…
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