Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson....

Randomly, one night I found myself hanging out again with Millionaire. We were talking about business and money and happiness and I presented him with my ideas of what would eventually result in making me happy:

Money
a hot older man
ummm....?

He pretty much read me the riot act and presented the falsehoods of these 2 ideas. He told me he wasn't surprised I couldn't find happiness because I was simply dating the same man over and over again and expecting a different outcome each time. He said I needed to expand my horizons some more.

I told him he needed to take his hands off the zipper of my jeans.

But, Millionaire made a point that actually resonated with me and I decided to test out this little theory of his. I mean, he didn't become a millionaire by being a dumb ass. There had to be something to this thought process, right?

The next day presented me with just the opportunity I was looking for: a 25 year old winked at me on Match. My natural inclination was to delete the email. What could a fresh out of college, still living a fratastic existence guy possibly have that would interest me?

Oh universe, you do so love to laugh in my face, don't you?

Mr. 25, whom I have since nicknamed Teenage Dream, turned out to be quite interesting and fun to talk to. We gchatted for about 2 weeks prior to our date. Yes, I know, gchat is usually the kiss of death to my developing relationships, which is probably secretly why I had no problem engaging in this with him pre-date. Then at least I could say, "Hey, I tried. What am I going to do about an unbreakable pattern?" I even told him this. In nicer terms of course but he had just joined Match so I imparted wisdom to him like the responsible elder that I am. I explained that sure, it's all fun and games over gchat but that doesn't mean ANYTHING for the real world. He assured me that he is just the same in person as he is online.

*sigh* Ah youth, you just don't get it, do you?

So, we set a date, I got all dolled up in my usual "first date" duds, and I met him. 15 minutes late of course. He was just as cute, and tall, in person as he had said in his profile. (Which was a relief because during one of our gchats he asked me if I would be mad if he had exaggerated on his profile and he was actually 5'8. Before I could block him he told me he was kidding. Thank god.)

And you know what? Our date was pretty flawless! We talked, we laughed, he asked me questions about myself and offered up his own information. It felt very relaxed and natural and FUN. After "Eh", this was a welcome change!

The only thing I noticed that could be chalked up to his youth is that he liked to bar hop. On a Tuesday. What? But, I went with the program and even dropped my car off at home between bars and had him drive me. I know, I'm just asking to show up on the next Dateline special, but this kid--SHIT, there I go again--I mean, this gentleman seemed very innocent.

Plus, I knew I wanted to swoop in for a good night kiss.

And I did.

I'm seeing him again this weekend.

Blessed are the young, for they will inherit the national debt,
LL

"Eh."

That's all I can say about my date on Sunday: Eh.

One day an email popped up in my online dating box from a handsome latin man of about 30. In a non-creepy way he told me he had a 'thing' for redheads. Usually I'm leery of anyone with some kind of 'fetish' but this one appealed to my ego, so ok I'll give it a shot. We exchanged a few emails and made plans to meet. He was a bit over eager and when I told him on a Tuesday I was available on Sunday for brunch, he said he'd agree to that if we could fit in coffee or something before then. Sorry bucko, but I'm not rearranging my schedule before I even meet you for the first time.

So, Sunday arrives and we planned to have brunch by the beach. I put on my favorite maxi dress that I feel classy but not overdone in, put beachy waves in my hair, and I'm off! I'm the picture of LA on a Sunday morning.

I have sat here for the past 10 minutes trying to come up with how to gracefully begin the next paragraph and I can't find the words. So I guess I'll just be honest:

This date taught me that I am a snob.

*sigh*

Eh showed up in a Beatles t-shirt and jeans, to the cramped cafe he had chosen, 15 minutes late. Now, I am late CONSTANTLY so I am the last person to judge someone for not being on time, but the first date fashion choices? And the venue? Just NOT my thing. I realize this makes me a completely superficial snob. But I also realize I have to make peace with that part of my personality. And sometimes you've just gotta know when it's not right for you.

I know I joke about men with money and the like, and I know that deep down I could never be with a guy just because he's stinking rich. I DO need to ENJOY being with the person I choose to be with. However, I have to finally admit to myself that I AM a snob and a certain level of classiness (that usually is accompanied by a certain income) is what makes me happy. I can't be that girl who'd be happy with the starving artist in the Beatles t-shirt and be amused by nights fancying up our Ramen noodles because that's all we can afford for dinner.

So, there you have it. I am officially a pretentious, superficial bitch.

And I'm strangely ok with that.

While money can't buy happiness, it certainly lets you choose your own form of misery,

LL