Owl City

Holy hangover, Batman.

One of the few good things that Muscles gave me (besides an orgasm) is an appreciation for this singer/group/I don’t know called Owl City. He/They have a sound similar to Postal Service or Death Cab for Cutie. Whimsical, fun, and super romantic lyrics, which I am an absolute sucker for. I highly recommend checking him out if you haven’t.

While Muscles and I were still “on” I looked at tour dates for Owl City and saw that he would be playing in LA in a few weeks. I giddily told Muscles this and then went to look up tickets. Unfortunately, they were sold out. Unfortunately, Muscles already had tickets and once again ignored my not so subtle hints of how badly I wanted to go. Two thumbs down.

I begged one of my friends in high places to use his connections and see if he could get me tickets. Despite being “dumped”, I still wanted to go to the concert and lucky for me, my highly connected friend came through.

I knew there was a chance I’d see Muscles at the show (it was being held at a small venue so if he was there, I’d likely run into him) but whatever, I was going for ME, not for him. Though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t make sure I looked extra hot just in case. Since the show was sold out my girl friend and I got there before doors opened to make sure we’d have a nice view of the stage. Little did we know that the age of the average Owl City fan is about 13. (Nothing can make you feel old like watching parents drop their kids off at the same concert you’re going to.)

We decided to take advantage of being some of the few senior citizens at the show, and since we had 2 hours to kill before Owl City took the stage, we plunked ourselves down at the bar to have some drinks.

Some turned into about ten. Oops.

While we were sitting at the bar gabbing away, who should walk in but Muscles. (I found out after the show that ticket prices were only 12 bucks, so even his unemployed empty wallet self could afford it.) Not only that, but he walked in….WITH A GIRL. You need to “lay low” for a bit, my ass.

Fortunately, I was way thinner, cuter, and tanner than her. TRIFECTA. At first, Muscles didn’t notice me, and I made sure to avoid eye contact. He stepped up to the bar and ordered drinks for the two of them, and then looked around the bar, as you do.

I saw him see me, and startle. Then, I kid you not, he turned around and ran out of the bar. RAN, people. The girl turned after him saying “Where are you going?!” but he was off. She waited, paid for their drinks, and went to find him. (in hindsight, maybe that was his way of making her pay for the booze)

REALLY, Muscles? How old are you, twelve?

If anything could help play the final notes in our song (OK…that’s a weak metaphor but I’m trying to continue with the musical theme here), it was that. I am not Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. I would’ve been perfectly friendly had he been a man and done the same. But his reaction was what I’d expect from the 13 year olds in attendance, not a guy who’s almost 30. So in a way it was good because I haven’t given him a second thought since.

Though that could be because I’m using all my energy to focus on keeping down the cranberry and vodkas from last night.

Please take a long hard look through your textbook, 'cause I'm history,
LL

Ah, an epiphany.

First off, just in case anyone was wondering: Gucci and I have exchanged some texts but there doesn't seem to be a 2nd date in our cards. Not that the handshake he gave me at the end of the date didn't indicate that...but just in case you were thinking, "What happened to that nice young fashionista?" Guess we're dead in the water. Oh well. Next!

While discussing Millionaire this week with various friends, aquaintances, and four legged beasts who can't talk back, I have come to the conclusion that I really haven't given this guy the ol' college try. I'm so busy being suspicious of him and all his money in his big house in the hills that I don't give myself a chance to be myself, or to get to know him. That being said, I decided to attack Millionaire dates with new vigor!

Friday night gave me the opportunity to do just that. He texted me around his usual time of 5pm and asked what I was doing that night. I am still on the fence about this: am I letting him get away with being last minute man because I like him, or does he really just get so lost in his work he forgets? Is this his social retardation at play or is he just not that into me? Things to ponder. Anyway, I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and, given that I had planned an exciting evening of Halloween costume shopping for the dogs with my roommate, said I was free to hang out. (oh god...did I just admit, in print, that THAT was my Friday night plans?)

We didn't meet up til 9ish because he was STILL working. Yikes. After we chatted and caught up for awhile we went to look up Saw 28 (or whatever number they're on) and see what time it was playing. We ended up not finding anything at a convenient hour, so we decided to go to a comedy club instead.

We wandered into his room so I could chat with him while he got ready. He made a remark about what I was wearing (leggings, boots, and a loose blousy top) as the "look at my ass outfit" and I said nooo, actually this is the "I'm eating too much Halloween candy and not working out outfit." He seized the opportunity to check out my ass for himself and one thing led to another. Afterwards as I was walking to the shower he said, "Please don't say that you're fat. You're really not. You look great." Very sweet.

The comedy show ended up being sold out so we went for Thai food instead. We had a great talk over dinner where I felt like I was finally getting to know HIM a little bit. He told me more about his businesses, how he got into them, and how he hoped to expand them. We talked about things we like doing work wise and what we don't, what our goals on a grander scale were, those kinds of things. He even gave me some valuable job advice.

On the ride home we were talking about astrology, which he's really into. He was explaining fire (him) and earth (me) signs and what they mean and says that they explain why we get along so well. Oh, uh, we do? Cool. This was the closest to actually telling me he likes me that he's gotten. Next stop, facebook status updates! (Right now? It's complicated.)

One thing this whole experience with Millionaire is FINALLY forcing into my thick skull is that you can't change a person. You have no control over how another person behaves or reacts to you. I have spent so much time with men censoring myself and trying to be as perfect as possible and hoping that if I just love them enough that they'll love me back with the same intensity and for once, I finally realize how self defeating that is. Millionaire does some things that make me roll my eyes. He does things that make me think and intrigue me. So the question I have to ask myself is are the intriguing parts of him so attractive that they outweigh the minor annoyances? Could I see myself loving him for HIM, last minute dates, 2 word text messages, awkward seduction tactics, and all? And accepting that those things are a part of him that WILL NOT CHANGE no matter how much I love him? If the answer is no, then he's not the person for me. So, although we are moving at a pace that makes a snail look like he should be headed to the Olympic trials, for now, I think it's the right speed. It's not about settling, it's about finding a person you truly can love for both the good and the bad. And if that were easy, it wouldn't be so exciting and delicious.

But in the meantime, I'll enjoy all my "mistakes" while I can still make them!

The road to finding 'the one' is paved with a bit of promiscuity,
LL

I do not believe this.

So, after a few days of radio silence I just got an email from Muscles. Juicy, right? What will it hold? An explanation of his bizarre behavior? His body receipt as proof that he was actually in jail in Vegas?

Muscles emailed me to....wait for it....wait for it....

ASK IF I WANTED TO BUY HIS U2 TICKETS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Are you frickin' KIDDING me here dude?!?!?! Seriously, the steroids must've fried any brain cells you ever possessed because it takes either HUGE cojones or serious stupidity to email me and ask me THAT.

He said, and I quote, "I remember when I told you I was going to the U2 concert that you wished you could go too, so I thought you might be interested."

Um. MAYBE I said that because while yes, I love me some U2, I wanted to drop a subtle hint to you that you should take me. MAYBE I was having fantasies of standing with your arms around me swaying to "With or Without You." MAYBE I loved the idea of us quitting our jobs...well ME quitting MY job...living like hippies (er, hippies who shower regularly) and becoming roadies for U2, following them to all corners of the world in a big musical lovefest.

But do you REALLY think I said it in hopes that you would sell me your tickets?!!?

Needless to say, I haven't responded.

I still haven't found what I'm lookin' for,
LL

Millionaire can lick my wounds....and other parts of me too.

Well, after my ego was kicked in the face by the man formerly known as Muscles and now (un)fondly referred to as "Asshole", it's time to move on. As one of my wise friends put it, "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else." Preach on, sister!

So, with the help of Millionaire, I am doing just that. He texted me last week about 2 hours before he wanted to hang out with his usual impressive social graces, "What u doing tonight". *Sigh* I've just accepted that this is his idea of pillow talk. I, losing my patience with his last minuteness, told him I had plans. He seemed to get the hint because on Sunday he texted me at 2 in the afternoon as opposed to his usual 5pm, AND it was 2 complete sentences. But at the time I was so smitten with Muscles I couldn't feign excitement for Millionaire. I told him I was busy but we should hang out later in the week.

Later in the week came, and here we are. I head to his house AGAIN, but he actually said let's go out to a movie so I'm optimistic this will be an actual date. When I get there he's sitting in his living room playing his piano. I've gotta hand it to him, Millionaire knows how to catch me off guard. Just when I'm thinking he's some grunting idiot of a caveman he does something like that and I think, hmm, there's more to this guy than I thought.

I took piano for ten years so I have done my fair share of ivory tickling. (I probably would've been much more enthusiastic about piano had it been as exciting as 'ivory tickling' makes it sound.) I ask him if he knows how to play that classic it seems EVERYONE first learns, Heart & Soul. (better known as "That song from the movie Big that they play in FAO Schwarz") He does not, so I sit down and teach him and soon we're duet-ing away. Yes, this sounds astoundingly geeky but it was actually quite charming and fun. Next he wants to show off his new pool table so we head up to his game room. I lose to him, twice, and no, not intentionally. Instead of humiliating me a third time Millionaire is kind enough to teach me some things about pool and lo and behold, I actually get better!

Then, as men are prone to do, he decides to take advantage of me when I'm bent over focusing on a shot. Oh Millionaire, there you go with your predictable ways again. But hey, heeding my friend's advice, I follow his lead. And I gotta admit, hooking up in Millionaire's bedroom while overlooking the city of Los Angeles beats the heck out of Muscles' crappy Hollywood apartment with cracks in the ceiling. Let the healing begin!

Afterwards, we decide we still want to go to a movie. He's getting dressed and he walks out of his massive closet in a button down and jeans and says, "Hey, can I wear this?" What am I, your mother? Wear whatever the heck you want to wear. I say this to him and he says, "Yeah, but look at the holes in this shirt," and proceeds to show me three massive rips he seems somewhat proud of. So, naturally, I say yeah you might want to rethink your fashion choices. He pouts and says, "But my best friend gave me this shirt. I love this shirt." Fine! Then wear the damn shirt, what the heck do I care?! I say this, though I try to be nicer about it, and he seems happy with my answer. Did I just pass a test I was unaware I was taking? He is once again living up to the stereotype of the eccentric millionaire living in the house in the hills, but surprisingly, I find this amusing.

Another surprise is that his friend is going to the movie with us. Now, granted, I HAVE met his mother so I guess I shouldn't be so impressed with myself that I'm getting to meet a friend but still. His friend is a red head and looks like ZZ Top. Cool. Seems appropriate for the hobo driving the Maserati wearing a shirt with three massive holes in it. The friend is very nice and at the end of the evening says he's sure he'll talk to me again soon. Oh really? Hmmm. Could Millionaire actually have told his friends about me?

I still don't think there's any massive love affair that will ever materialize between Millionaire and I, but he makes me laugh, even if he doesn't know it. And when my options are staying at home with my dog eating Doritos in bed and pining for "Asshole" or going out with Millionaire while he's dressed like a homeless person....I'll take the latter.

The only true love is love at first sight; second sight dispels it,

LL

This guy just took a turn for the douche....

*sigh* Sorry my friends, but this blog post won't be filled with my usual sarcastic wit and self deprecation. Muscles has decided he's just not that into me. And he outdid Berger's break up with Carrie via post it: he "broke up" with me via text message. Damn you modern technology. First you give us internet "stars" like Tila Tequila and now this.

It came out of nowhere. At least, I THINK it did. If there were warning signs can someone please point them out to me so I don't ignore them the next time around? We sealed the deal, as you know, we talked the next day as per normal, and later he texted me to tell me he was going to Vegas. Cool, have fun. Do as many hookers and blow as you want, we aren't together.

Yesterday I come to work as per usual and am looking forward to our chat filled day. But he's not there. Hmm. OK, maybe he got in late from Vegas and he's still asleep.

By 3pm though, I know something's up. And so do many of my friends as I freak out to each and every one of them, hoping against hope for some kind of reassurance and thinking that if I just hear from enough people "No I'm sure it's nothing, he's still into you," that will make it true.

But alas no. This morning I received the following text:

"I feel really shitty. I got carried away in Vegas and I need to lay low for awhile. I'm sorry to be a let down. Truly."

Umm....what? Are you running from the law and loan sharks? What does that even MEAN? I have drawn 2 conclusions:

1. He went to Vegas with another chick he was dating and they decided to get serious. All a matter of bad timing unluckily for me.
2. He lost all his money, is broke as a joke, and is embarrassed about it.

Yeah, I'm hoping it's option 2 but I'm doubtful. I just don't understand it. Everything seemed absolutely fine and normal; HE texted ME to tell me he was going to Vegas. It's not like I turned into a super clingy girl post hook up and was all, "So, Saturday night. Want to go shopping for shelf paper and I'll make a brisket?" I hadn't said anything about the next time we were going to hang out. I like a little space post booty just to make sure no one's emotions make them get carried away. (I was raised to think of sex as no big deal. A lesson which was evidenced when, at age 19, my mom said to me, "Don't take this the wrong way....but you really need to get laid." True story. [Hey, I was a late bloomer, so sue me.])

Anyway. I'm hurt, I'm sad, I'm disappointed....and it sucks. I thought about how I wanted to respond to this. Of course my initial response is, Hey ASSHOLE, why didn't you say this BEFORE I got naked with you? P.S. You have a small penis. But, in going along with the idea of stepping out of my comfort zone I decided to do something that makes me a little more vulnerable. I took a deep breath, got a hold of my emotions, and said the following:

"Hmm....I don't really understand what that means, but ok. Let me just say that I enjoyed getting to know you and if you get to a place down the road where you'd like to continue that, you know where to find me. MUSH!!!"

And people, I feel damn proud of myself for saying that. I cared about this guy. I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt that maybe he's going through some personal crisis. That is not an easy benefit for me to give because of all the trust issues men have given me in the past. But I can either choose to cling to those thoughts and experiences and live in my protective little shell, unhurt but not able to feel that blissful feeling of being so in love with someone I forget my own name, or I can accept that sometimes good guys do crappy things that have absolutely nothing to do with me. I can choose to be honest and let them know how I feel, while still not compromising the treatment I expect and deserve.

So that's what I did. No, he didn't respond, but that doesn't make me feel any less proud of myself for taking the route that I did. I took a risk, grew up a little, and that's something no stupid boy can take from me.

I make the most of what comes and the least of what goes,
LL

Does this count as a third date?

Maybe it's because I'm not in college anymore, but for some reason during this experiment I decided to adhere to the "no sex til date 3" rule. I don't even know if this rule still is commonly used today, but it's the closest thing I've had to standards so I'm going to go with it.

Last night I had no intention of seeing Muscles. The sexual tension has been building a lot since Monday, but it's delicious. I forgot how fun actually getting to know someone and delaying sleeping with them can be! (God I hope none of my family members ever find this blog...)

I had spent the early part of the evening running some errands and got home around 9ish. My roommate and I were going to order sushi and catch up on our Dexter viewing but she wasn't home yet. I popped open a bottle of wine and had some time to relax before she arrived. Only thing is: I forgot I hadn't eaten lunch and had done a light workout post work....so I was drinking on an empty stomach.

Two glasses later I was feeling a bit tipsy. I got online and was messing around when lo and behold who should IM me but Muscles himself. I become QUITE the flirt when I drink; in college my friends called me The Kissing Bandit because I'd make out with a new guy every weekend after a few beers. (Oh the things Milwaukee Beast could make me do....) I had a feeling I knew where THIS conversation would be headed.

Turns out there was some drama on his homefront because a car had been broken into in his building. Slick Rick that I am, I took this as my opening and asked, "Do you need someone to come over and keep you safe?" And he, being the oblivious man that he is, replied, "Unfortunately it's my job to keep all these clowns safe." I informed him that this was the wrong answer and he soon caught on. Next thing I know we're making plans for him to come see me. Broken in apartment complex be damned where there's the possibility of sex on the table! (um...not literally. I DO have a roommate you know.)

I know what you're thinking: yes, I was on a date with a different guy just the night before. Yes, this could be defined as "shady" but I prefer to think of it as "dating." This is the idea right? Meet a lot of people and figure out what you like and don't like and settle down with the person who has the most checks in the "like" column. Didn't Sex and the City teach us anything?

To keep a long story short, he came over and my expectations were lived up to. WOO HOO! And, ahem, I think his were as well, but far be it from me to brag about my sexual prowess. Even better, post hook up we laid and talked for awhile and had one of those nice bonding chats that makes a girl feel like less of a slut and more like she had sex with this person because he IS just that into you. His needy apartment people called him an hour later and he had to leave, which is absolutely fine with me as I tend to sleep terribly when someone else is in the bed with me. I swear I was a man in another life.

The "morning after" is always tricky but I'm not too worried. And thankfully, the first time we talk after hooking up will be via gchat which always makes things a little less awkward. So for now I'll just look forward to a repeat performance....or ten.

A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after,
LL

Gucci....we meet at last!

So, after more phone tag playing, funny texts being exchanged, and a birthday trip to NYC where he hopefully didn't contract an STD, Gucci and I meet.

He suggests I come to his house and we leave from there. What is it with these millionaires and making me suspect they're the Craig'slist killer's cousin? But unlike Millionaire who lives in the hills, at least Gucci's place is in a West Hollywood neighborhood where I could safely run for my life if need be.

His house is not as impressive as Millionaire's but still, nicely done, especially for a guy who's only 30. And hey, anyone with some grass they can call their own has already one upped me. He answers the door and is wearing the exact same thing he has on in his dating profile picture. Guess he wanted to be sure I thought he looked like his picture. Still, it's endearing in a dorky kind of way.

The inside of his house is nice....ish. Lots of leather furniture, heavy drapes....not really my style but that's something that can be improved. He suggests we have a drink before heading out to a nearby lounge. He offers me a mixed drink or champagne and me being totally girly in my drinking habits, I go for the champagne. Knowing he's got bucks I'm hoping maybe he'll bust out a bottle of Vueve which is not too pretentious yet not too cheap.

Um. The champagne is pink. Why do I suddenly feel like I'm sitting in Barbie's dream house? If his clothes come off and he's got smooth plastic bits where his manliness should be I'm outta here.

We're chatting and he's just as entertaining in person as he has been on the phone. We're both SO sarcastic and dry in our humor that I'm a bit worried we'll spend the whole night trying to one up each other with self deprecation but so far so good. He asks me questions about myself and while I am in the middle of answering him I am looking around the room when suddenly I go silent. He looks at what I'm looking at and bursts out laughing.

It's a huge oil painting of Madonna and Britney kissing at the VMA's in 2003.

No, I'm not kidding. He then leaves me even more speechless by telling me HE painted it. I don't know whether to be impressed by his artistic talent (it IS surprisingly accurate) or repulsed by his subject choice. He explains it is part of a series he is working on about shocking pop culture moments in the 21st century. Next up on his easel? The Janet Jackson/Justin Timberlake Superbowl performance fiasco. I laugh politely and hope this is just another one of his jokes. It's not.

I quickly change the subject and we decide to go the lounge he had chosen. It's a nice evening so he asks if I'm up for Mexican instead. I say sure and we walk to a chintzy tex mex place down the street from his house. On the way there he takes my hand, though as he's making his move he asks if that's ok. That's kind of sweet and I like him enough so I assure him that it is.

We didn't meet up til 9ish so I'm not all that hungry but the restaurant is chill and not crowded and we're perfectly happy to munch on chips and salsa and have some drinks. Conversation flows easily; we talk about his family and growing up in LA, how he decided to start his business, why I moved to LA, and some of our dating experiences and past relationships. His last serious relationship was 3 years ago and 3 years in length, which is a bit of a red flag but it's LA, if anyone understands how hard it is to find someone you'd actually enjoy seeing on a regular basis, it's me.

After a drink or two he leans over and gives me a kiss and asks for the bill. It was totally appropriate and also not unwelcome. A cute move, not one of those nasty "Ew can those two get a room already?" displays of affection. We walk back to his house, he kisses me again by my car and then, just before I leave, he....shakes my hand? Um. Is this a business deal or a date?


If a man is talking in the woods and no woman hears him... is he still wrong?
LL

Mmmmmmuscles

Since our first date a week ago, Muscles & I have been talking non stop. All day every day while I'm at work, and he's...well..."working"....I guess? (being a property manager means his work is pretty much part handy man/part real estate agent, which leaves him with lots of free time) Unlike me, he has entered the 21st century and has a blackberry so he's even chatting with me when he's running errands and at the gym. Oooh, me likey.

Monday we were talking and we went into very flirtatious territory, so we decided to meet up that night. We had been talking about a second date but he said he didn't have where he wanted to take me picked out yet, he was still researching. Wait, what? A guy who plans dates IN ADVANCE? Color me impressed. But me, being totally hot for him, wanted to see him sooner rather than later so we decided the 2nd date would be in a few hours.

He found a bar in Hollywood he liked so we met there. Big hug and MMMMM that delicious smell of his. We're standing at the bar ordering drinks when he suddenly grabbed me and planted one on me. Ohhhh yes PLEASE. I LOVE when men act all caveman-ish and manhandle me. Being the large size that I am (in height people, not width!) it is not easy to find a guy who can make me feel small and feminine but he does a great job of it. We found seats on a couch in the bar and continue talking and, ahem, making out. I can't keep my hands off him. Yum. After one drink we decide to go back to his place. Here I "ho" again....

His place is nothing to write home about, but it's neat. That's important. While he is still living the frat boy-eque life in a crappy apartment in Hollywood, at least there's not pizza boxes and beer everywhere. He makes me a drink, we make a pretense like we actually want to be civilized and have a conversation but after about 5 minutes of that we give up and maul each other. Wow. Haven't felt that kind of desire for someone in a loooong time.

You'll be happy to know I was somewhat chaste, given that this IS only the second date. Much as I would like to just rip my clothes off and let him have his way with me, I restrain myself. I'm not saying it was easy, but neither am I.

It's getting late so I unhappily tell him I need to leave. If I want these hot n' heavy make out sessions to continue I need to keep this body in shape and that means getting up early for spin class. As I'm getting ready to leave his bedroom he pins me against the wall and kisses me again.

Oh god, did I just squeal out loud or was that only in my head?

He's still kissing me so hopefully it was only in my head. He is SO. HOT. We finally peel apart and I walk to my car, focusing on keeping my knees from going weak under me. This is bad, I've got it good for this guy.

It isn`t premarital sex if you have no intention of getting married,
LL

Mommy Dearest

So, Millionaire is still in the picture. He sent me a cute text this week asking when he’d see me because he misses me. This causes me both to say “aw!” and roll my eyes at the same time. Walking contradiction, thy name is LL. How could you possibly “miss” me, dude? You hardly know me and 2 weeks ago you didn’t even know I existed and you were plodding along in your merry life just fine.

Wow. Can I overanalyze and ruin a sweet sentiment, or what?

Anyway, I cannot bring myself to tell Millionaire that I miss him because, much like Abe Lincoln, I cannot tell a lie. (or was that George Washington? Was that the point of the whole cherry tree incident?) The skeptic in me keeps me from gushing cheesy sentiments unless I really and truly mean them. Hallmark, take note. But regardless, I would like to see him again. Turns out his mom’s in town for a few days so I tell him to give me a call when she leaves. Great, sounds good, moving on.

Thursday he texted me asking what I was doing that night. I happen to be free and ask if he’d like to hang out. He says ok but his mom’s in town. Um…..all right….so why ask what I’m doing? (see? Socially retarded.) I say this in a more polite way and he says, I have an idea, why don’t you stop by the house and meet her?

The next thing I know I’m waking up on the floor of my office having apparently blacked out in shock. I’m sorry, WHAT? MEET your MOTHER? Have you lost your damn mind?

Yet somehow, later that night I find myself dressed in one of my more conservative sweaters, ringing his doorbell and panicking. His assistant answers the door and introduces herself to me (ok seriously, what dimension am I living in?) and I think great, baby steps. First his assistant and now….HIS MOTHER. ACK.

He doesn’t notice my nervousness and doesn’t appear to have any anxiety about the meeting that is about to occur. Lucky him. Maybe he’s more socially retarded than I thought and doesn’t realize that this is usually thought of as a significant event within a dating relationship and NEVER happens within 2 WEEKS OF MEETING SOMEONE!!!!

I remain calm as he tries to figure out what part of his monstrous house she’s in. We find her and the moment of truth arrives. I don’t remember much about the initial meeting but I know I managed to stay upright, to the relief of everyone I’m sure. I tower over his mom (thank god I wore flats) but she is a spitfire and soon we are making jokes about men and how they need to be trained. I like this lady! She is in amazing physical shape and she’s in her late 50’s but acts like she’s in her 30’s. We talk about dogs and she recommends an animal book she thinks I’ll like. 2 points to the parental unit!

It is also interesting to see Millionaire relax and let more of his true personality come out. He and I are still on our best behavior around each other so I don’t yet feel I’ve gotten a genuine sense of how he is on a day to day basis. But it seems that being around his mom made him more comfortable and I really like the person that I see. We talked with her for about an hour and then she left (she lives in San Diego, close enough to visit but far enough to not be TOO involved in his life….thank goodness).

WHEW. I survived. Seems that created a lot of tension that I was in need of relieving because I MAY'VE seduced him right after she left. Oh LL, you dirty dirty whore. Meet the mom, do the son, everyone goes home happy.

A man can sleep around no questions asked, but if a woman makes 19 or 20 mistakes, she's a tramp,
LL

Gucci

I love gay men. As such, it’s important to me that a guy I’m dating is just as in love with them as I am. OK…maybe not QUITE that in love with them because that could create a conflict of interest, but you get what I mean. To weed out those that aren’t enlightened enough to be perfectly comfortable going to a gay bar with me and my boys, I mention this in my profile.

So, a little while ago I received an email from a gentleman with a somewhat douche-y picture of himself that looked SUSPICIOUSLY like a headshot. (I refuse to date actors) Though not so impressed by his photo, I opened the email and it asked when we were going to meet up and go to the Abbey (biggest gay bar in LA) for drinks. OK, when you appeal to the fag hag in me then you’re just playing dirty.

We play email tag for awhile and then I give him my number. One Sunday we’re texting and he comments about me living in the middle of Boystown. I ask if he’s stalking me and he says, “Yes, and that was a very long shower you took yesterday at 3:47pm. I’m sitting outside your window. Hi.” This actually made me laugh out loud which is a rare feat via text message. We continue texting and a few minutes later, he calls me. I’m in the middle of a Law & Order episode so he’s just going to have to wait. 2 seconds later he texts me saying, “Hey, can you ask the busted Honda that just parked in front of me to move? I can’t see your window.” This guy’s sense of humor is winning him MAJOR points.

We finally talk on the phone and he is easy to chat with. Turns out he owns his own fashion business, hence earning him the nickname, Gucci. Said business seems to be going very well and he owns his own house, which is no easy feat in LA. So he’s funny and has money? UPGRADE. I ask him his last name and he calls me out on wanting to google him but regardless, he tells me.

After we hang up I fire up the ol’ Google machine and enter his name. I expect his fashion business to be the first thing to pop up but no, instead it’s the website for the reality show on Bravo “The Millionaire Matchmaker”? Huh?

Oh yes my friends. Turns out this guy was actually featured on the show. I google him again just to make sure I have the right guy and sure enough, it’s him. I find some message board discussing his episode and what a jerk he was. The audience seems torn: half the viewers think he’s a first class douche, the other half think he was just playing a role and that he’s hysterically funny. This amuses me to no end, especially as I watch clips of his “butler” feeding him grapes. For REAL?! I cannot wait to tell the folks back home this story. I text him, “This. Is. Amazing.” And he says, “I thought you’d like that.” Oh I do indeed.

Unfortunately he is off to NYC for his 30th birthday so it will be a bit before I can meet him, but in the meantime, I’ll amuse myself watching Patti, the Matchmaker, talk about what a jerk he is, and watching his session with her 87 year old “life coach.” Seriously, you can’t make this up.

Love lasteth as long as the money endureth.
LL

The Millionaire (part 2)

OK, so I've been asked out again by the Millionaire. Lovely. Actually, he asked me to hang out the NEXT NIGHT but I thought that was a little much. I adore being adored but there's a fine line between 'adoration' and 'desperation'.

I head to his house, again. I really don't mind this even though my friends are a bit suspicious. Hey, he took me out for the first date and this is an early Saturday night drink. Why NOT sit on his gorgeous deck looking at the city lights and talking?

I am dressed to go out after our drink; he has a poker game later and it's Saturday night so I'm not going to go home at 8pm looking this good! When he answers the door he tells me I look chic. I am pleasantly surprised by the unique word choice. He asks what I'd like to drink and says he doesn't have much. I inwardly cringe. So he's a little less than suave in some areas, I forgive him. This is an area men can be trained in.

We make screwdrivers (which remind me of the first party I had when my parents left me home alone. A night full of flaming Dr. Peppers and waking up to the smell of Peach Schnapps....but I digress) and sit on the deck. Conversation flows much easier this time. He seems to relax a bit more, though maybe it's the vodka. At whatever rate, I am much more enthusiastic about him after this date. He asks if I like museums and I say yes and he asks if I'd like to go to one the next day. Now, I know I said there's a line between adoration and desperation but when I'm into someone that line becomes much blurrier. I say yes.

After an hour or so it's time for him to get to his poker game. As I'm driving down from the Hollywood Hills to go meet some of my girl friends I find myself thinking about him. This causes me to shriek out loud alone in my car, "SHIT! I like him!" This is exciting to most but scary to me, given that I am incredibly hard headed and defensive. To admit that I like someone means making myself vulnerable to them. But, let's face it, that approach to relationships hasn't been doing me a whole heck of a lot of good these past few years so I'm going to try not to freak out and run the opposite direction faster than George Clooney from commitment.

Besides, I have more dates lined up. So, much like a man, I'm going to prove my freedom to myself by being a slut. Great.

Getting married for sex is like buying a 747 for the free peanuts,
LL

Muscles

So, date #2 in this fine experiment is with a guy who, at first glance, doesn't seem like my type at all. Well, apart from the sexy muscles which is most DEFINITELY my type. He's a redhead (I prefer them dark), has only one picture of him facing the camera, has cats (wha?), and seems a bit metro/fratty for me. I try to reserve my judgement and remember that love comes in all shapes and sizes. And I like it in big muscley packages.

I had never looked at his profile but he IM'ed me on the dating site and I chat with him a bit. His sarcasm matches mine which is an important trait. I look to see what he does and it says real estate/financial/accounting. Ok, sounds promising. No income listed. Uh oh. Either filthy rich or excessively poor. Those muscles didn't grow themselves so I'm guessing it's the latter. Damn. Oh well, I'll take one for the blog!

After a few weeks (Yes, weeks!) of communication, our date has arrived. I'm not nervous for this date at all because of the long gchats and multiple text messages that have been exchanged. I mean heck, we already have inside jokes and we haven't met yet! We're meeting for casual drinks in Hollywood at a bar I suggested. Home turf, nice.

I arrive (late, of course) and am happy to see that he is ACTUALLY 6'1 like he said in his profile. Score one point for the meathead! Oooh, he also smells delicious. BIG plus. Conversation bumps along a little awkwardly at first as it does whenever you are meeting someone for the first time, but soon smoothes itself out nicely.

Things are going along swimmingly when I feel a "pop!" and things in my chest area suddenly feel slightly unbalanced. I am not well endowed in the cleavage by any stretch of the imagination but it only takes me a second to realize that my halter bra has come undone. Shit, shit, shit. There is no inconspicuous way to fix this. I shift my weight to the opposite side hoping I might be able to mask it for a few minutes and praying he'll have to go to the bathroom since he's on his second beer. Minutes go by, I'm having a hard time keeping the anxious look off my face, and he's staying put. Come on dude, I thought steroids were diuretics. Balancing all the weight on one shoulder must've pushed said bra to capacity because suddenly the other side pops too. I am seconds away from looking like Tara Reid at an awards show. I have no choice but to adjust myself. Smooth, LL, smooth.

He's a gentleman and ignores my obvious replacing of my goods. Whew. I've noticed that we have been moving closer to each other as the night progresses. Excellent. The chemistry between us is natural, he's a great conversationalist and I'm having a good time. He asks for the bill just as I'm starting to get tired of being "on", which is another plus in his "pro" column.

He walks me to my car which I valeted and gives me a long hug. Ohhhhh my. His muscles and his cologne are making me quite weak in the knees. Quick kiss on the mouth but nothing inappropriate in front of the valet guy. All's well that ends well.

I liked him. Again I'm not blown away hoping against hope that he'll call, but I had fun. I preferred this date to the first, despite my friends' warnings that I will never last with someone who doesn't make a ton of money and appears to not have a lot of direction in life. But what do they know?! Maybe I'll be perfectly happy living in a one bedroom apartment with a cat writing long blogs and cooking him dinner with food from the local co-op.

Hey, it could happen, right?

Whoever said money can't buy happiness didn't know where to shop,
LL

The Millionaire

So, Fireflies & I have been exchanging a few emails and he recently asked if I'd like to meet up. I say, sure. Though, I'll admit, I'm trepidatious about this. Our emails haven't been that detailed and I think it's better to get to know a complete stranger you're going to have dinner with a little bit via email pre-date. That's usually my attitude but, thanks to this experiment, I have to throw attitude to the wind.

So, we choose a night. The day of he texts me to reconfirm (etiquette some would find annoying but I actually prefer because I'm on the phone for work 10 hours a day and therefore have an intense hatred of it outside of work hours) and I assure him that yes, we're on. He asks if I'd like to meet him at his house and we'll go from there. Yes, I know, this violates every "Don't Get Raped" manual ever written, but he's just moved into a new house in the hills and I want to see it. OK, ok, so my love can occasionally be bought. So sue me. I jokingly text, "You're not going to rape and kill me and throw my body off the hill, are you?" This, is my sense of humor. Radio silence. I tell this to my roommate, who is fast becoming my 'Dear Abby' of the online dating world, and she moans and puts her head in her hands. Apparently this is a scary thing to say to someone before you've even met them. Oh boy, I'm more out of practice than I thought. I found this hilarious, but sure enough, once I text back (her advice) that I was just kidding he responds. After giving my roommate his full name and phone number so she'll know where to look for my body if I never return, I'm off.

I arrive at his place, park, and then....the moment of truth! He comes out of the (gorgeous) house. Oooh, online dating lesson #1: whatever height men say they are, subtract an inch or two, especially if they claim to be 5'10 or shorter, and you will have an idea of the actual height of the man you're about to meet. The Millionaire is probably 5'9 or just under. Being above 5'10 myself, this is about as low as I can go, but hey, again, the bank account and gorgeous house cuts him some slack in my judgement. His hair is slightly longer than in his pictures and he weighs a bit more, but not in the "oh my god when was that picture you posted taken, high school graduation?" kind of way. He's cute. So far so good.

He gives me a house tour and then we decide to go eat. Walk into the garage to find his Maserati and Ferrari waiting. Again, so sue me, I'm impressed. Between the live in chef, infinity pool overlooking LA, and this car collection, I've already mentally moved myself in. Conversation is a bit strained but he is at least making an effort and not just leaving me feeling as if I'm playing 20 questions with him. He has no restaurant picked out and says he ate a little while ago when his chef made him something. Um, really? Minus one point. Oh well, I'm hungry. I suggest a place close to his house I haven't tried and we go. After we park and are walking to the restaurant he mentions an ex of his who was a model and is in the new Bruce Willis movie that's coming out. Oy. You're now down two points, my friend.

Fortunately, things improve over dinner. We talk about our childhoods, how we got to LA, how the online dating thing is going for each of us, etc. Basic first date stuff. I laugh, but not hysterically, just in a mildly amused way. Which is fine, it's the first date. Those who've made me keel over laughing on the first date usually end up having sociopathic tendencies which is what allows them to be so charismatic the first time we meet so, mildly amusing is fine by me.

After dinner we go back to his place. It's a bit awkward when he has to go check his computer because of some business related stuff (hey, the guy did not become filthy stinking rich by sitting on his butt eating cheetos), and I linger in the living room enjoying the view of the city lights below. He comes back downstairs and I pause, waiting for him to give me some indication of whether he wants me to go or stay. He says nothing. *sigh* Roommate was right: these brilliantly smart and insanely rich types are a bit slow to pick up on the social cues. Fine, I'm a modern day woman, so I say, "Thanks for dinner, maybe we can go see a movie sometime." He then invites me to stay and watch a movie now. Hmmm, ok.

We sit on the one couch in the room, (he's just moved into this place and furniture is minimal) and turn on the TV. Then he turns and kisses me. Completely unexpected but not unwanted. Good kisser. After a bit his hands begin to roam. Not so good. I like sex as much as the next warm blooded woman but don't start groping me after I've known you for exactly 2 hours. We turn on the TV to find something on pay per view but "Clueless" happens to be on and he seems amused by my ability to name everyone in the movie, so we stay with it. He tries to get fresh a few more times and I get tired of fighting him off so I decide it's time to call it a night.

All in all, I'd call the date 'fine'. It wasn't amazing, I didn't go home thinking, "oh my gosh I hope he calls me!!!" but I didn't leave thinking "I may have to move to Idaho and become a potato farmer if that guy calls me again." This has been my feeling about the previous online dates I've gone on so I'm not surprised. Nor am I disappointed. If he calls, great, if he doesn't, that's ok too.

Oh who am I kidding, of course I want him to call! If nothing else than for personal validaiton, dammit.

The man may wear the pants in the relationship, but I control the zipper,

LL