"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