2017 RECAP

HELLO!! DO YOU REMEMBER ME? CAUSE I DON’T

You guys. WHAT is happening with you!? I haven’t been on this blog for a year. A full year. Longer than a year. It was middle of December 2016 when I last posted. Cardi B was still stripping. What a whirlwind it’s been. For both me and her. I just looked down through my posts and realized that a lot of photos on my old posts don’t even show up anymore. This is because I was charged a yearly fee that I used to pay to keep this blog a .com and not a .wordpress.com and I was like yeah nahhhhh and I think that by stopping that, I lost all the image mapping. I think I lost my e-mail follow list, too. Or that’s totally wrong. Is “image mapping” even a thing? I have no idea, I’m literally making things up. Sounded smart tho.

I felt like I should pop in and update you guys with what went down in my life in 2017. Some of you were really riding dirty with me on this journey of life and then I bailed when I stopped blogging. You were like “Caroline, what’s happening?” and I flipped my hair back and said “Mmmmm I’m super busy!” but listen I lied I’m not really that busy I mean I’ve literally never missed an episode of The Bachelor, who am I fooling here.

For most of 2017, I worked on this little gem of a show called One Day at a Time. If you have somehow missed my incessant posting, it’s a sitcom on Netflix that I’ve been lucky enough to write on for two seasons now. The second season, that we spent most of 2017 writing and filming, is premiering THIS MONTH! JANUARY 26TH! Get out your phone and set yourself a calendar reminder because what else are you doing that day? Oh, you got a date? You got a party? You got chili to make? TOO BAD you’re watching the show and texting me your thoughts.

That job ended in September so I spent September and October sitting in my apartment, staring at the wall and organizing my nail polish drawer. The most structured part of my day was when I would do a face mask mid-afternoon. It was very exciting when it would dry. Because I would then have to wash it off, which was something to do.

Buuuuuut I got another job in November that I’m still doing. I’ve been writing on a show called The Bold Type!!! It’s this amazing female-empowered show on Freeform and I’ve been lovvvving working on the second season. I don’t know when it’s coming out yet but you’ll have to cancel your date/party/chili then, too. I’ll let you know ASAP so you can plan accordingly. Watch the first season on Hulu!!

I also got a boyfriend. As you all know, I was crushing my single Carrie Bradshaw life. I would go on dates with all the expectations that I was meeting my husband, it would go horribly, and I was then free to complain to anybody that would listen about how men everywhere were a disappointment. It was an artform and I was a artiste (with an e, that’s how good I was). I then went on a Tinder date with a guy. He was easy on the eyes and had quick wit. He never called me back, and then I met Joe, my boyfriend.

Just kidding. Joe’s the witty cutie. On most days. A few hours into our first date, karaoke started. He asked me if I wanted to sing. I told him that I would rather cartwheel into quicksand while lit on fire. He left for the karaoke stand (which was of course the DJ, who doubled as the bartender, with a laptop). Joe came back to announce that he put his name down… and mine. Not one to ever turn down a challenge, I ended up doing the one thing I hate – karaoke – in a dinky dive bar in front of a bunch of toothless hillbillies and this one really charming guy, all while on our first date. MUCH to my demise, I actually had so much fun.… I know. It sounds like the worst romantic comedy ever. 2% on Rotten Tomatoes. At most.

But I totally fell for it. I really like him. We actually have this weird origin story where we’ve been in the same place 70 million times and had each others number before we met, but I’ll tell you more later. I don’t want to bombard you with stories because who wants to be the person who only talks about their — Did I mention he’s Australian??

But really, he is. So we barely speak the same language, which is why I think it’s worked out this long. He says colour, I say color. He says g-day, I say hello. He says Americans are not very well educated about the rest of the world, I say but is true that your toilets flush the other way!?!!???

This winter I went on a Birthright trip and spent ten days exploring Israel and made 50 new friends. To answer your next question, my dad is Jewish. To answer the question you didn’t have, I got Bat Mitzfahed there!!!! My Hebrew name is Shalva. I’m getting it embroidered on towels soon. You CAN’T use them when you come over, as they will be my show towels. With tassels.

I still own a cat. He has not turned into a dog yet. And he does this thing where he sits on my chest so I can’t see my laptop whasliel I’ms typiinjdng.

That’s the gist of my life. I just checked my instagram to see if I missed any highlights. Oh, I started experimenting with red lipstick at the start of this year. I always HATED lip color when I younger because it felt dry and I didn’t like the way it looked. Then, in college, I actually was curious about it but still never used it because I had made such a point of hating it before. You know what I mean? I couldn’t just use lipstick now and give up this important facet of who I am as a person!!! This is actually how my brain works.

Anyway now I try it out once in a while. I think I will master staying within the actual lines of my lips by the end of 2018. If I take until 2019, fine. Self improvement is a JOURNEY, people.

How was your year??

xoxoxox

Caroline

Mister Tinder

I was debating writing this post.

Mostly because I thought, “Ugh, I just wrote on this blog about dating.” Then I realized that my last post wasn’t actually about dating. It was about my cat. The one before it was about dating. So by taking this plunge, I have officially turned my blog into a site about being single and having a cat. This was not on my vision board.

I met a guy on a dating app. No, I don’t remember which one it was. Yes, it was Tinder. I guess “met” is the wrong word, right? “Matched” also feels a little wrong. Matched feels so formal. Like as if this was 30 years ago and I went into one of those old school video match-making places. I would meet a woman named Judy who would tell me, “Just be yourself!” My video would be me with a perm yelling a little too loudly, “HI I’M CAROLINE. A 24-YEAR-OLD CAUCASIAN FEMALE SEEKING A 24-34 YEAR OLD NONSMOKER MALE. OK YOU CAN SMOKE A LITTLE POT WHATEVER BUT I’D PREFER IF YOU AT LEAST IDENTIFIED AS A NONSMOKER.” And on my way home I would call my friend on my carphone and fret over the fact that I said “pot” when I know that the cooler word is “weed” and she would assure me that nobody would notice. Just then my call waiting would beep in and it would be Matchmaker Judy. She’d give me the news in a campy way like “I have good and bad news. Bad news, you’re about to fall in love because GOOD NEWS YOU ARE MATCHED!”

It didn’t happen like that.  I was watching TV and my phone buzzed. I looked down to find that someone who I swiped right to on my last tipsy Tinder binge had messaged me. It said:

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Nobody has ever called me Caro in the history of my life, but I’ll take it. Back home, there was this one other Caroline in town and everybody called her Caro so I always felt like it was her territory. Instead, I claimed the second half of the name to assert my individuality and urged people to call me Line. Nobody did, but that’s beside the point.

After a little bit of banter back and forth, I felt comfortable giving Button Man my number so that we could text. And boy, did he text. He texted a lot. I mean: a lot, a lot. Maybe too much. Definitely too much.

I’m going to continue to show you real texts. Why? The better question is WHY NOT. The ridiculousness of it all is just too fun not to.

We moved into pet names. Well, he moved onto pet names.

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We even celebrated holidays together.

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And one time he asked me for a selfie. Which was weird.

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These went on and on and on. He told me about his favorite spots in the city and what his favorite holidays were and his family structure and how he broke his first bone and how much he wanted to watch scary movies with me.

I thought: This is weird. I am learning way too much about this dude over the internet. We haven’t even met yet. I should stop writing back. But, let’s be honest, I’ve seen “You’ve Got Mail” way too many times to stop writing back.

One major complaint I have about any guys I’ve met online is that, as much as they are willing to message all day long, they don’t seem to have any urgent desire to actually take this shit offline. And I don’t have time to text. I’m busy.

I actually have a lot of time to text. But I would like them all to believe that I have no time to text because I am BUSY. I can fit you in next Wednesday. Or any day up until then or any day after that. I am BUSY but I will make time for you because I have no time to text.

But on we went, texting. I sent a screenshot of the conversations to my very supportive friend Natasha to see what kind of vibes she was picking up. Did she think it was too much? Too intense?

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Natasha wasn’t super sure about it, but did not provide a clear answer on what she thought I should do.

Eventually, he asked if I could get drinks one night. I said I could try to make it work because, as we all know, I am super busy. When deciding on a place to meet, I offered a place. To which I received this response:

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There he goes. Calling me Caro. She doesn’t live here, buddy. Last I checked, she and her half of the name are in Oregon working at Nike. Me and my half of the name are down here writing about being single and owning cats. Keep up.

But, alas, I answered:

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And then… Nothing.

Ever.

Again.

WHAT ABOUT OUR SCARY MOVIES!?

I’m assuming now that he lives on the East side. And if you don’t live in Los Angeles, you might be wondering what the distance is between the West and East side. Excellent question. Allow me to use a map to answer that question:

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20-28 minute drive is a stretch. It’s gonna take you at least 30 minutes.

It’s gonna take you roughly 8.5 songs.

About half a podcast.

Maybe 1/3 of a conversation with your mom.

A full episode of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.

What I’m trying to say here is…

!!!!!!!!

I get it. Cause I sure as hell wasn’t making that drive.

I’m BUSY.

Dating in LA is so much fun

Hello juicy burger patties!

I figured that you guys have SURELY missed hearing my successful dating stories. So why not start off with a fun, uplifting quote.

“Dating in LA is so much fun.” – Nobody

I try not to relapse. I really do. But, sometimes, I do. By relapse, of course, I mean sign onto online dating apps. I’m not sure why, because I have NEVER EVER had good experiences with them. Yesterday, for instance: This guy (who specified he was 6’6” in his profile, so soulmate material) told me that he had “standing karaoke nights” on Tuesdays and Thursdays that he simply cannot miss and that, should I want to get to know him better, I could come watch him sing.

Ummmmmmm, what? Come watch him sing? What kind of first date is that? How could that possibly be a good time? Did he think I would be so swooned by his voice while he sang something old school like Sweet Caroline just at the moment that I walked in and we would have one of those eyes-meet-across-the-room moment and experience love at first sight and regret everyday leading up that we hadn’t met? Okay now that I’ve typed it out that would be a killer first date story but IT WAS WEIRD OKAY.

Having said all this, on a particular tipsy weekday night while watching a particularly good Sex and the City episode, I often find myself opening up that yellow Bumble app or, if I’m feeling particularly frisky/lonesome, the red flame Tinder app. I don’t think I’m really looking for someone, as I never agree to actually meet, but rather I just need something to do with my hands. I mean, in that moment. I mean, swiping on the app. I mean, not with… You know what? Take the sentence as you will.

Instead, I’ve been committed to meeting guys the old fashioned way. Which, as we all know, is carried out in 4 simple steps:

  1. Plan a night out with your friends. Shaving your legs is optional, but encouraged during summer months.
  2. Go to a bar and spot some cutie from across the room.
  3. Stare at them and hope they approach. Then watch them leave.
  4. Wonder what’s wrong with the MALE POPULATION because didn’t he see your HAIRLESS LEGS they don’t just COME THIS WAY, BUDDY.

Of course sometimes you’ll do steps 5-8 where he’ll track you down Cinderella style because he somehow has your headband that you didn’t even wear that night and, when you realize it fits over your insanely large head (I have an abnormally large head to keep all my brains in), you fall in love and get married and live happily ever after. These last 3 steps I have yet to experience myself but I assume is how all those engaged Facebook couples started.

The other night I went out to Hollywood to celebrate my writing partner Michelle’s entrance in the world 24 years ago. I decided I would break the steps I just laid out and, instead, simply walk up to any guy I thought was cute and make my move. I do this sometimes: decide that I’m going to be bold and approach anyone I find attractive and start up conversations. And by “do this sometimes,” I do mean: I have 4 too many drinks, walk up to random strangers and say, “Heyyslkdjlakjcnoiuhk you’re cute HAS ANYONE SEEN MY PHONE I SWEAR I JUST HAD IT DID YOU TAKE IT OH MY GOD YOU’RE A THEIF I KNEW IT YOU HAVE A CRIMINAL FACE OH WHOOPS I’VE BEEN HOLDING IT THIS WHOLE TIME LET’S MAKE OUT.”

This particular guy that I had my eye on had tattoos all over, which was only adding to my need to bombard him. I’ve been in a guy-my-mom-will-never-approve-of phase. So I waltzed up to him, chatted him up, and… he actually turned out to be a pretty nice guy.

Of course I went down my usual rabbit hole of thoughts. This guy is so nice. We look great together. Our complexions really vibe. I wonder if he owns a dog. We’ll get a dog together. He’s probably a secret cat person. That’s why he’s so sensitive. I don’t actually know if he’s sensitive but I’m assuming and I assume I’m right about my assumptions.

Much later in the night, I learned the truth about this tattooed-probably-a-cat-guy guy.

He pulled out his phone to get my number when I noticed that he had a picture of himself as his background.

I’m all for self confidence, but this was a little much. It was a photo that was taken with PhotoBooth’s cartoon filter on a Mac computer. It also looked like it was taken inside an Apple store. So, using my lightning fast Nancy Drew skills, I concluded that this dude went into an Apple store by himself, parked at a display computer, shopped the filters, landed on the cartoon filter, threw up a peace sign, put on his sunglasses, took the photo, e-mailed it to himself, and then set it as his phone background. I know I’m being quick to judge. Maybe he had friends with him… That he pushed to the side for this photo.

I told him that his background was lame. He told me that he thought the cartoon filter was cool and that he liked it because he doesn’t do social media. But — he’s been thinking about getting on it for his baby boy.

For his… baby. boy.

Eeeeeeeeeh yeah I’m not really down to be an instant-step-mom anytime soon. I love my niece and nephew. I also love that they are not my children because I am still a child myself. I get irrationally upset when my 4-year-old niece takes a slobbery bite of my apple and ruins the whole thing for me. I consider Kraft macaroni and cheese a nice meal because it requires the stove. I take vitamins in gummy form because it’s just a nice feeling to have Fred Flintstone proud of you every morning.

I confirmed with him, “You have a baby?” And he responded with: “Well, I guess he’s not a baby anymore. My son’s 18.”

I wasn’t much of a math/science type of learner in school. I was much more of a recess/lunch kind of gal. But let’s say the youngest you could be to have a kid is 16, if his kid was 18, he would have to be 34 or older. Which isn’t insane. I’ve dated guys in their 30s. But it would mean that, in the best possible case scenario,  I was 10 years younger than him… and 6 years older than his kid. Logistically, it would make more sense for me to be his son’s prom date.

Soooooooooo yeah things did not pan out the way I would have liked them to that night, but I did receive this super nice text from him later:

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Because, as everyone knows, calling someone “big head pretty girl,” is how you land a 24-year-old step mother to your 18-year-old son.

I’ll leave you guys with a fun, uplifting quote.

“DATING IN LA IS NOT FUN.” – Big Head Pretty Girl

I Hate New Year’s Eve

How was everyone’s NYE?  Wonderful? Awful? Painful? Weird?

I have pretty much hated New Year’s Eve my entire life.  It’s just too much pressure.  I think High School Musical ruined it for me.  How can anyone compete with Troy and Gabriella meeting each other at that ski resort and singing karaoke together with such gumption, expecting to never see each other again, only to later learn that Gabriella just transferred to Troy’s school and might rat him out for being a good singer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We’re all in this together, right? NYE sorta blows. It’s the one night of year I would rather stay in, but it’s also the one night of the year where I can’t for fear of my spotless reputation getting tarnished. I never have anything to do until maybe the week before when others start asking me what my plans are.  Then, I remember that NYE is a thing and I hate it and I now need to find something to do and someone to kiss and roll some glitter on my face and shave my legs and locate things that I don’t like about myself to resolute to be better about. I know that this is a thing among people, hating New Year’s Eve, but I am definitely the leader of this wolf pack.  If you say that you hate NYE, I will say it louder to prove that I hate it more.

I decided that this year would be different.  My New Year’s Resolution? to Stop Hating New Year’s So Much.  Also, I would start this resolution on December 31st to get a jump on everyone else.  My other resolutions, like to stop tipping 100% when I’m drunk and then staring at the bartender expecting an applause for my graciousness, would have to wait until January 1st.

To bring in 2016, we made plans for New Year’s Eve back in October in an attempt to avoid the yearly stressors that come as this particular night approached.  Also, it was to be the most classic LA day of all days in LA that I’ve ever experienced.  We made Soul Cycle appointments for the morning, Drybar appointments in the afternoon, and tickets to a fancy rooftop party at the W Hotel in Hollwood where there would be an open bar and classy people and lots of opportunities to show how utterly out of place we would be.

We all met at Nicole’s place first to toast champagne and enjoy each other’s company (read: take pictures to prove that we did, in fact, go out on NYE). You remember Nicole, right? She’s the professional Pinterester who lets me model for her photoshoots and texts me things like this completely unironically:

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I got to her place and was greeted with exactly what I was expecting: a hand-made back drop to take pictures in front of, complete with props and champagne glasses. If you don’t already, find a Nicole for your life.  They really are quite magical to have around.

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Around 10pm, we ubered to Hollywood to get our dance and drink on.  When we got there, I was so impressed. Let me tell you: the W is pretty unreal.  When we got up to the roof, there were 5 completely stocked open bars, a dance floor inside, and an outside part with cabanas and daybeds around the pool. If it sounds like I’m describing a normal rooftop party, it’s because I am, but I never actually go to these. I have wiggled my way out of any and all Vegas trips.  The last time I went was three years ago and am still a little hungover from it.

For the next hour or so, we toasted drinks and enjoyed each other’s company (read: took pictures to prove that we did, in fact, go out on NYE). 

 

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It was pretty cold outside, so we ended up going and staying inside to keep warm.

Around 11:45, I was showing off my high school dance team moves on the dance floor when the MC announced that 2016 was approaching in less than 15 minutes.  I looked around only to realize the horrifying fact that… I had laid absolutely no ground work for a New Year’s kiss.

This is an amateur move. Usually, you have to start thinking about the NYE kiss at approximately 11pm.  11:20pm if you’re feeling confident and have extra long eyelashes or something, but… 11:45pm?  Too late. The night is over. You failed. You’re not going to get a kiss.  Go home, wax your lip, and use the next 365 days to figure out your shitty life.

I’m usually a much better planner that this.  I schedule out my night much cleaner and with much more thought.  At 11pm, I introduce myself to every eligible candidate. 11:15pm, I lock eyes with the one that I feel has the most potential and least amount of body hair. 11:30pm, I mention that I don’t have a boyfriend.  11:45pm, I lay my head on their shoulder and make them think I have passed out so that they won’t try to escape at the last minute, because who would just leave a sleeping girl at a club by herself? 11:59pm, I wake up. 12:00am, I force my face onto theirs.  12:03am, I tell them that I will escort myself out and there’s no need to call security.  12:10am, I request to be in a relationship with them on Facebook.

The whole process is always special for the two of us and starts the year off right. Tonight, I slipped up.  What kind of note was I starting 2016 on? What was I to tell my friends? What would my mom think? Whose name would I put in my instagram bio next to a heart in the morning?

The MC then tells us that it’s now 11:55pm and we have 5 minutes left.  If I’m going to make my mom proud of her depressingly alone daughter, then now is the time.  I have to make it happen.  It was time to take matters into my own hands. If Steven Avery from Making a Murderer can convince a woman to fall in love with him while serving life in prison and only communicating through a bulletproof glass, I can coerce some putz into kissing me at midnight.

sandy

Thanks for the motivation, Sandy.

I turned to Nicole and asked her if she wanted to find the cutest guys that we could and just flat out ask them to be our New Year’s Kiss.  Without missing a beat, she fluffed her hair and agreed. I’m telling you, you have to find your own Nicole. You can’t have mine. Make sure she uses a Netty Pot regularly and offers it to you every time you audibly sniff or she’s not the real deal.

We went on the hunt. We were like the witches from Hocus Pocus, barreling down the dance floor, grabbing asses and crafting spells.  And by spells, I mean spills.  Because, did I mention, it was an open bar.

At 11:59pm, out comes this super cute guy from around the corner, holding a bottle of champagne.  Before I can begin my quick analysis of what our children would look like, he turned to me and, no joke, asks, “New Year’s Kiss?”

Um.  Yes.

He told us to join him back at the daybed that he had, surely so that we could experience our first kiss under the romantic stars and smog of Los Angeles. But… it was outside.  Which, did I mention, was freezing.  We’re talking 60 degrees.  I was wearing a dress from Nordstrom Rack that my mom told me I looked “jazzy” in but did not provide much in the warmth department.  I was very unprepared to handle those kinds of conditions, even for that coveted NYE kiss.  I told him that it wasn’t going to work out between us and that he had to go find someone else to adopt a dog with in about two years when it felt right then fight over when we break up.  Then he said the sexiest thing that I’ve ever heard: “There’s a heater.”

I turned to my flock of friends and yelled, “GUYS. HE HAS A HEATER.”  And we raced.  While everyone was counting down.  I heard everyone yelling “5…4….3…2…1…” while we ran to the daybed.  I wish I was joking.  Why did we need to be at the daybed?  Why did all of my friends listen to me and follow?  Why was the heater such a selling point? Who is this dude with the champagne bottle and was he thinking about Sandy, too?

We got the the daybed and I got my New Year’s kiss. In our recaps of the night, we’re pretty positive that we actually missed the ball drop during our run.  Also, he had friends there.  What were they thinking when 7 girls just came barreling towards them at the stroke of midnight? I have so many questions and not enough answers.  Me and my girl Sandy have more in common that I thought.

So that was it.  I completed my New Year’s Resolution before 2016 even started, because I guess I don’t abhor NYE so much anymore.  The dude with the champagne isn’t half bad.  Like, I now know his name and have his phone number and he’ll read this and suddenly stop answering my texts because I’m a lot to take in.

See you bitches next Tuesday. I hope you enjoyed this story that I so badly wanted to share with you all (read: really just to prove that I did, in fact, go out on NYE).

My Bumble Experience

Have you guys ever used Bumble?

It’s like Tinder… but the girl has to say something first. It’s a dating site. You see a profile of someone else who is also signed up for the app around you.  You then swipe their photo right for “No” and left for “Yes”.   If you both say yes to each other, you get to communicate via the app.  On Tinder, once you match, anyone can start the conversation.  On Bumble, if you match, only the girl can start the conversation.  And she must do it within 24 hours, or the match disappears and you will NEVER buy a vacation home in Tahoe together.

Are you up to date now, annoying people in relationships who have never had to succumb to this way of meeting interesting people around you with whom you might marry but will more likely just have a shitty date at Dave & Busters?  I’m pretty indifferent about these dating apps.  Truth be told, if you’ve ever used one, you’ll know they are actually like a game.  Swiping left, right, left, right (or, right right right right right LEFT! WE’RE GOING TO BUILD A LIFE TOGETHER! right right right right LEFT! OUR KIDS WILL BE SO CUTE! right right right) can be feel more addicting/mesmerizing and less like you’re just hunting for a husband to pull the car around while you wait in the warm restaurant (the ultimate in American dreams).

I’ve gone on two dates from Tinder, both of them during last summer.  Each of these two guys ended up having mutual friends with me and, with the assurance of, “He’s not a serial killer!” or “He doesn’t eat cats… anymore!” from said mutual friends, I agreed to go on dates with them. The dates worked out wonderfully, as you probably could have guessed from all my pictures of me and my boyfriend ~*cutely snuggling*~ at the pumpkin patch this year.

Both guys were duds.  One was a 6 hour (SIX HOUR) date, in which he kept pushing it on (“Let’s go to drinks! How about dinner! Let’s go dancing! Let’s sit on a bench!”) He was a vegan and a weird eater, though, so I knew it wouldn’t work out when he ordered nuts (LITERALLY, MIXED NUTS AT A RESTAURANT) for dinner.

The rest of the guys on Tinder, I have found, are just pretty awful.  Here’s a real screenshot I took of a riveting conversation I had with a guy who really knows how to sweet talk a lady.

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So, Tinder failed me. I know there are some good people on there, mostly because everyone I know has dabbled in it and I’ve seen guys I know in real life on there. But, I ended up deleting the app.  Though, nights get boring and my thumb gets anxious, so I downloaded Bumble a little while ago to see what all the hype was about. 

My roommate, Sammie, and I like to swipe while we watch Netflix documentaries on the couch at night.  Though… we found, as we would swipe and compare matches, that there was something significantly different about Sammie’s experience vs mine.

Because… No one would answer me.

Sammie was in full-blown conversations with these Bumblers while I was… SNUFFED. It has, since, become a huge joke among me and everyone who will listen and assure me that it’s “sooooo weird!” cuz I’m a CATCH! (Thanks, mom!)

First, I tried the traditional route. Remember, I had to say the first thing, and I pretty much messaged everyone because WHAT IF he really WAS the CEO of four companies.  I’m blocking out their pictures and names, just in case…

hey there

See?  Easy opener. I even switched it up every other guy to make everyone feel special.  I’m no copy and paster.  And… No one answered.  NO ONE!

Next, I decided to make a statement about the day.  On this particular Bumbling session it was, apparently, Saturday.

happy saturday

BULLSHIT, RIGHT!? How did all theses bitches not respond with, “You, too! Just finished building a dream home for the two of us! Black shutters, just like your recent Pinterest pin!”

I decided that I should just get down to it and stop beating around the bush. I would ask the hard hitting questions that I needed to know to see if it was going to work between us.

 avocados

adobe

mustard

That last one, I didn’t block out his name.  I mean, he was asking for it.  APPARENTLY he doesn’t like jokes.  Do you know who else doesn’t like jokes? These guys.

chicken or egg

bumble jokes

That was supposed to say “Bumble Bee jokes,” so I’ll take the fall for that one.  After STILL NO ANSWER, I just got lazy.

bzz

christmas

THEN…. My whole life changed, in an instant. I got a response.  Just one, but it was all I needed.  I saw that he went to Oregon, one of the only places in which I am aware of the sports team mascot due to my 18 year residence in the state, so I opened with something easy, breezy, beautiful.

ducks

Within moments….

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I know what you’re thinking: WHAT a brewing romance.  And… I know. 

It’s true what they say, it happens when you least expect it.  It was almost like he was already finishing my sentence, but even better, because we were sharing thoughts.  We haven’t talked much (at all) since this riveting shared exchange, but I know that this is what all the silence I endured up until this point was for.  And, I’ll tell you what, it was so ducking worth it.

Dapper Dan’s Dilemma

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This past Saturday, I had lunch with a new friend.

I was meeting my dear friend and writing partner Michelle.  We decided to hold it at Birds in Hollywood because of two important reasons that coincidentally rhyme: It was near and they sell beer.  I showed up at the agreed upon 1pm and Michelle, whose earlier text had suggested she was “just around the corner,” was no where to be seen.

The hostess ushered me outside, where it was 90 degrees, to a table by the street under a hopefully turned-off heat lamp.  I ordered chips, salsa, a water and…. I waited.  And waited.  Then I ordered a beer.

2 beers into waiting for Michelle, a man strutted by the cafe.  Even after the story I’m about to tell you, I never did catch his name.  For the sake of the story, we’ll just call him Dan, as he was looking dapper.  He was wearing a full suit with his tie loosened and his jacket thrown over his shoulder in an effortless GQ manner.  I would have assumed he was smart by the way he appeared if it wasn’t currently 95 degrees out.  Also, why I would just assume someone in a suit is smart is beyond me and is a perception we should debunk for future generations.

Dapper Dan strutted by and, naturally, I wondered where he was coming from or going to while looking so spiffy.  It was 1pm on a Saturday, though he looked disheveled enough that it seemed he was coming from the event rather than on his way to it.   Maybe he had a job interview.  (On a Saturday?)  Maybe he had a first date.  (Suit on the first date?  On a day date?) Maybe he was coming from a wedding.  (A wedding that was already finished by 1pm?)  Maybe he just came from a funeral. (No signs of tears? Could have been a weird cousin?)

I contemplated this for about 4 minutes after he was gone until… he walked by again.  This time, the opposite way.

So, back to my thoughts.  It must have been a funeral.  He must be so heartbroken that he doesn’t even know where he is right now.  He loved that cousin like a brother.  They spent Christmases together and played on the same lacrosse team.  They tried weed for the first time sophomore year under the bleachers but his cuz took it too far when he became friends with that guy Tim who everyone knew was bad news and now he has overdosed even though he assured everyone at Grandma’s barbecue this Fourth of July that he was over it while flipping burgers to keep his hands busy and away from the beer pong that Uncle Bill always —- Yes, waitress, I’m sure she’s coming.  She says she’s just around the corner.

Dapper Dan reappeared in my life moments later when he walked the other way.  What the fuck, Dan?  Get your shit together! I know you loved him but you have to move on, dude!

On the sixth lap, I finally stopped him and asked, “Are you okay?”

Dapper Dan walked up and informed me that he couldn’t find his car and that his phone was dead so he couldn’t even call an uber.  I pulled out an external battery pack that I carry around primarily to bribe people into liking me more.  I have barely found a need to use it myself but countless times it has saved others around me from a dead phone.  I recommend carrying one around if you’re trying to make friends.  Oh, your phone’s at 10%?  Let’s get you some apple juice, honey!  Let’s talk about life while it charges!

Dapper Dan sat down in my now very late friend’s seat to wait for his phone to reboot and grabbed a nacho chip that I didn’t offer him.  I asked him: What’s with the suit?

Dapper Dan told me that the suit was actually from the day before.  He works as a lawyer somewhere in the valley that I’ve never heard of but still responded, “Sure, love that area.”  He had a first date with a girl that night and decided to just wear the suit to the date straight after work (Such a tv-lawyer thing to do.  During the date she would probably say something mundane like, “Yeah, so I decided to try horseback riding last weekend,” and Dapper Dan would jump out of his seat to say “OF COURSE.  It’s been right in front of me! HORSEBACK RIDING! TEXAS! HE HID THE GUN AT THE RANCH!”  He would then throw a wad of $20s on the table and swiftly leave while his date yelled, “Call me!” even though he’d now be realizing he has really been in love with his secretary this whole time.)

Apparently Lawyer Dapper Dan didn’t live up to my TV fantasies because he informed me that the two of them ended up having a lovely two hour date.  Afterwards, as he walked with his date back to his car, he realized he couldn’t remember where he parked.  Was he drunk when he parked?  No.  Was he drunk looking for it?  No. Did he remember parking far?  No. This made me think that he was a straight idiot but then realized it’s actually a genius move because, after ten minutes of looking, she invited him back to her place instead. She lived nearby. 

I had to stop him at this point of the story.  Hold up, Dapper Dan – What?  This chick was just like,  “Whoopsies! You’ve misplaced a very large motor vehicle that you exited only two hours ago. I know it’s our first date but you seem like the type of guy I want to now bring back to my home and introduce to my cat.”  She didn’t offer to drive you home?  Just straight up took you home? I mean, how does any guy score that fast?  After one date? Then he reminded me he was a lawyer and I was like OH right continue please.

So guess where Dapper Dan woke up this morning?  That’s right.  In this bitch’s bed.  (She’s probably a very nice person so I mean it less in the “That bitch ate my last french fry!” and more in the “Did you know this baller bitch owns her own Etsy shop?” way.)

Dapper Dan woke up this fine morning, had a really sexy morning exchange with his date (I actually love that he included this in the story), and walked out of her place to once again look for his car.  He realized his phone was dead after he left.  So now, it’s 1pm, he still can’t find his car, and some random blonde girl who’s sitting alone eating nachos stopped him and allowed him to use her external iPhone battery packs that she carries around primarily to bribe people into liking her more.

I asked the obvious solution: Why didn’t you go back to her place to ask her for a phone charger during these hours of walking around?  His response:  Because he had just had such a lovely goodbye with her and had already painted himself as a bit of an dummy the night before (re: losing his car), he’d rather leave the exchange ending the way it did.  It was already perfect just the way it was.

At this point, I was melting.  Not just because of the treacherous heat wave and the hanging heat lamps I was convinced were turned on, but because I thought this actually a very sweet thing to say.  I then mentioned that I liked to attend weddings should he be having one in the near future.  With her.  Or me.  Whatever.

His phone lit up as it turned back on and he revealed to me that he could now use his Find-My-Mercedes app and suddenly I was reminded that he’s someone who loses cars and has a Find-My-Mercedes app.

I asked him how he liked the date and he said he liked her a lot.  She was funny and nice and she laughed at his fart jokes that his coworkers usually ignored.  When they got back to her place, she had a framed Super Troopers poster which he thought was cool.  He didn’t want a relationship but sometimes yearned for that flirtatious interaction with someone else, which I understood.  Originally, he believed it was just going to be a one-night thing, but he revealed to me that he wouldn’t mind waking up next to her again.  He’d been brainstorming all morning of the text he was going to send once his phone turns back on letting her know he had a great time.

Stopping Dapper Dan on the street turned out to be one of the most unexpectedly honest and lovely conversations I’ve had in a while.  Michelle eventually arrived and, even though we were now entering Sunday, I allowed her to sit down and join me for nacho crumbs.  Dan got up, thanked me for phone charge, and went on his merry way.

Only later did I realize that, if my new friend owned this “Find-My-Mercedes” app and his phone didn’t die until the next day, Dapper Dan is one smooth operator in weaseling his way into sleeping over at a girl’s place after only the first date.  Throughout the day, I was struck with more questions.  Why didn’t he ask someone, anyone, to use a phone this morning?  He had money, why didn’t he snag a cab? Why didn’t he board a bus?  Why didn’t he ask someone working at a nearby shop to use their phone charger that they absolutely would have had behind the counter? 

Was Dapper Dan just a mirage created in my mind from the intense heat wave?  No. Michelle saw him, she can vouch for me.  Even though I didn’t catch his name or his number to follow up with these pressing questions, I felt it was okay leaving the exchange ending the way it did.  It was already perfect just the way it was.

My Night as The Bachelorette

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Lately, I have been taking a different approach when going out.

I’m so over being so bad at flirting.  Now that I’ve rejoined the single ranks once again, I’m looking to advance in the field of courting someone.  If you read I Can’t Flirt, you know that… well, I can’t flirt.  I’ve tried. I stare at people and wait for them to come talk to me.  This is why I’m usually standing alone, staring at people.

It’s not like I’m on the hunt for a boyfriend. I’m really not.  I don’t want anything serious.  I’m just looking to have fun stories!!  You know, fun experiences, with someone so that we can later tell our kids when we eventually live in a suburban home on a cul-de-sac with a golden retriever and a Dyson vacuum.

So, I decided to take the bull by the horns.  The dog by the collar.  The car by the remote start.  Last weekend, I chose to turn my entire night into my very own rendition of The Bachelorette.  The Bachelorette being, well, me.  I just really felt that my husband was in that bar of drunk strangers.  I didn’t tell my friends. I didn’t tell my mom. I took a leap of faith and jumped whole heartedly into the unknown.

First up was Johnathan (age: 25, occupation: student prob he was wearing glasses).  He was talking to his friends in a corner so I just sorta shoved everyone out of the way, made room for myself amongst their friends, and said hi.  He said hi back.  Clearly, we had a connection.  I asked if he came to this bar a lot and he said not really.  Good sign; It was a shitty bar.  He then asked my name and said that it was nice to meet me.

In that moment, I knew that Johnathan really meant that it was nice to meet me.  Call me crazy, but I believed him.  I knew that he was someone I could trust and take him at his word.  He was definitely one to keep my eye on throughout this whirlwind journey I had embarked on.

Next was Todd (age: 26, occupation: dancer).  I met him on the dance floor.  At first, we were both a little nervous, dancing to Kendrick Lamar while awkwardly giggling at each other.  Then the DJ did something really cool and played Whitney’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”  We both just really let loose.  We silly danced throughout the song.  It was as if no one else was there and as if I wasn’t spilling my drink all over everyone around me while flailing about.

When Todd let loose with me, I could really tell who he was going to be as a father.  He was showing me his wild and fun side.  This dance session was a pivotal moment for us.  He’s not all serious, as maybe I would have guessed five minutes prior while the other song was playing.  Todd clearly knows when it’s appropriate to show other this other side of him that others don’t get to see, you know?  I mean, you get it.

I knew I needed to spruce up before my next contestant, so I headed to the restroom to dry off from spilling my drink everywhere.  In there, I saw Sammie (age: 22, occupation: my roommate) and told her about the endeavor that I had taken for the night.  She told me that she was over this place and wanted to go to a different bar.  I told her that she CLEARLY didn’t understand the pressure that I was under.  I couldn’t just quit now.  I mean, Todd was great but Johnathan was great too. I already had so many questions!!  Who was I to choose!?  What if they lived somewhere really far like Pasadena? Who was going to take photos of them to frame to make my decision process so much more suspenseful? What if they drive something really weird like a Prius or maybe a Mini Cooper or— then she left but whatever I had a job to do.

As I exited the bathroom, I headed straight to the bar because I just had so many concerns swirling in my head that my friend didn’t understand. I really needed a drink because alcohol makes everything more clear.

At the bar, I was greeted by Trevon (age: 30, occupation: soulmate? tbd).  I’m not going to lie.  He was hot.  Like, really hot.  He asked if he could buy me a drink.  I responded yes.  He kept his word and turned to Bartender (age: 30, occupation: bartender).  Great sign: He follows through on tasks.  This guy was for sure getting the first impression rose.  He ordered me a vodka tonic WITHOUT me even having to tell him that was my go-to-drinkable-but-not-too-full-of-calories drink.  He told me that he could tell I was a vodka girl but that he actually preferred beer.

I mean, wow.  This guy was really opening up to me. I could tell that he didn’t tell just anyone these things.  He let people believe he preferred whiskey. Right here in the smelly basement part of the Victorian on Main street with a homeless man sleeping near my feet, I was on the verge of a real, honest relationship.  Maybe my last.  He was clearly sharing his story.  Could it be that I knew who I was going to choose so early in the night???

No joke, I wanted to call off the cocktail party that I was sure Sammie was busy scheduling for me right then and there.  But, deep down, I knew I needed to give these other guys a real chance at love.  With me, of course.  I am the prize.

Trevon then did something completely uncalled for. It was something so revolting that I could never forgive and will never forget: While paying for the drinks, he didn’t tip the bartender.

Game. Changer.  I did not see that coming.  I realized then that this guy had real flaws.  He is a human.  He’s not perfect.  He probably has an outie belly button.  A few minutes ago, I just knew that he was a guy.  Now, I knew that he wasn’t my guy.

I asked Trevon to hold my spot at the bar and told him that I would elbow my way back in a few minutes. I lied – Just like he had lied about who he was. I headed back to where I knew I needed to go.  I had to follow my gut back to Todd.  I found him back at our spot, on the dance floor… kissing someone else.

I.  Know. I’m sorry, I should have asked if you were sitting down before I dropped that life-changing bomb.  I’d offer you a seat now but you’re probably already in one.  And no, this is not a lie.  I know you hoped it would be. He wasn’t genuine!! And wasn’t really here for me!!!  He was definitely here at this bar for the wrong reasons like having fun and dancing with multiple people and leaving at the end of the night with the same friends he arrived with.  I felt so betrayed!!

Suddenly, everything started closing in on me.  I just didn’t realize it was going to be this hard.  My size M tank top started to feel like a S.  The room was spinning.  I couldn’t breathe.  I was about to faint.  I needed a Jamba Juice.  I walked around, yelling at everyone to get me back to the bachelor mansion, when I bumped into someone who was walking out of the bar.

It was Johnathan.

Of. Course. It’s always the guy you least expect.  The one you overlook in the beginning.  Here he was, making it clear that he was here for the RIGHT REASONS.  Most of you probably knew we were meant to be from the beginning but, truthfully, I couldn’t tell until this moment.  Sometimes that’s how love stories work.  It’s like wandering through a forest until you see light shining through.  Here was my light.  He understands my story.  He forgives my flaws.  He likes that I sometimes hit snooze when I actually mean to turn off alarms.  He just gets me.

I told the winner of my heart that I was going to go grab my purse and that he should order us an UberBlack, not UberX, to properly celebrate the beginning of our love story.  It was just the beginning.

I hate to end it this way, but the truth is that we broke up 5 minutes later when I returned and he was no where to be found. Even still, I will NOT give up on love.  I believe in this process.  Meeting people and making quick judgements on our impending future together is what I do best.  I am also fully available and already packed for any spinoff series that Bachelor Nation chooses to place me on.  Bachelor in Paradise?  Done. I love paradise.

Don’t worry, guys.  It’s just the beginning of the summer.  I have a feeling this will be my most dramatic season yet.

I Can’t Flirt

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I realized something that I probably should have figured out ages ago.

 

Fast forward to me driving in my VW bug, listening to Serial for the second time (I’m convinced I can solve the case faster than all the investigators. I mean, I figured out when my 9th grade boyfriend cheated on me. I called the girl I suspected was the hussy, proceeded to convince her I was her ally so that she would tell me about their night together making out on top of Haggen Hill. I dumped him on AIM immediately. So yeah, I’d say I’m qualified. BTW still not over it Mitch)

 

All of a sudden an Escalade pulled up next to me and did that whole pull-up-too-close-to-the-car-in-front-of-it-to-look-at-you move. Do you know what I’m talking about? This guy clearly just pulled up so that his driver’s window is lined up with your passenger side mirror and he can look lovingly at you and honk and wink and ask for your number and maybe murder you later.

 

I looked over and thought: Sure, he’s cute. I’ll flirt.

 

First, I changed the song playing in my car to something that would show him that I’m really into hip hop/rap music and am definitely the girl that he would want to bring to the club with all of his NFL player friends. Though, I only have one hip hop song on my iPhone because 1) I always skimp on getting a phone with a reasonable amount of memory to hold songs and 2) I’m really not that girl that you would want to bring to the club with all of your NFL player friends.

 

That only song I have is “You Can Have it All” by Bow Wow. I feel a tad embarrassed typing that out. Yet, I do not feel embarrassed blaring it in my car as a key component of my flirting. I think I added this to my phone’s playlist in high school and have used it as my hiphop go-to ever since. If you ask me to DJ in your car or whilst pregaming, I’ll realize that you want me to play some rap/hip hop song to get the mood going and I’m going to play You Can Get it All by Bow Wow. That’s literally all I got. I will then proceed to use the 3 minutes 42 seconds of the song panicking on how I can get someone else’s phone to DJ or else we’ll all be listening to Aaron’s Party by Aaron Carter next because I know all the words to the rap and like to use it as a party trick.

 

Next, I pulled my ponytail out because I am really sexy. It did not look good because my hair was just in a ponytail and had the inevitable kink. So I re-tied it up.  I somehow found time to do all of this while at a red light.

So, there I am, blaring You Can Have it All with my newly fastened ponytail, ready to flirt. And… you know what I did? I completely ignored him.

 

I felt that, by making absolutely no eye contact, I was irresistible to Mr. Escalade. Surely, he would still know he could get it all because Bow Wow was telling him. He was for sure going to do something really romantic like…. I don’t know. Honk? Wink? Get out of the car and tap my window? Follow me home?

 

Then, I remembered when my current dating victim, Mr. No Social Media, told me that he had no idea I was interested in him for a while. Um, excuse me? Didn’t you see that I was using the bathroom closer to where you were sitting? There was one much more convenient for me, yet I walked like 5 extra feet FOR YOU. I mean, open your eyes, if that isn’t flirting I don’t know what is.

 

That’s when I realized: I really don’t know what it is. I can’t flirt.

 

Like, not for shit. Not at all. Not one bit. I’m the epitome of the Kindergarten girl that was ruined for dating/relationships for the rest of her life from learning that a guy likes you if he spits on you on the playground. BTW still not over it Guy.

 

When I opened my eyes to this realization, I started to dig deeper for examples. I’ve had crushes on guys before, even in and now out of college, and I thought that the best way to get them to notice me was to talk to everyone in the room BUT them. Right? They’ll notice me if I make absolutely no attempt whatsoever to get them to notice me!?

 

Come on. I have a college degree. I pay my own bills now. I have a bed frame. Like, my mattress isn’t on the floor anymore. There’s like an actual bed that holds it up. There’s even a headboard! It’s not actually set up right, it was too hard to put together so it just leans against a wall, but no one needs to knows that! You know why? Cause I’m an adult! AND YET I still can’t figure out how to send attraction to the opposite sex.

 

At first, I thought that this was a very easy fix. I get it. I should just… talk to people that I find interesting? Tell them that I want to see them again? Friend them on Facebook? Look in their general direction? Impossible. IT’S JUST TOO OBVIOUS.

 

But, maybe that’s the point. When you’re “interested” in someone enough to flirt, you’re interested in making more of an attempt in getting to know them. Makes sense in theory. In practice, not so much. As a newbie, how would I know how to do this? How do I show, in person, that I’m flirting? Where could I learn how it all works?

 

I turned to the finest website on the internet that answers the majority of questions I face day-to-day. And, according to Urban Dictionary, to flirt means:

 

Being overly friendly, especially the type of friendliness that is interpreted as seduction. Actions may include: giving away number, blowing kisses, caressing, and free lapdances.

 

So, now I’m prepared. If anyone wants to flirt with me, I’ll know what to do this time around. Gone are the days of ignoring people. I’m armed and ready. This time, if I see a guy I think is cute, I will approach him, caress him, and give him a free lap dance (to “You Can Get it All”).

 

Maybe I am the girl that you would want to bring to the club with all of your NFL player friends after all.

The Very Real Struggles of Dating Someone without Social Media

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Hey you cutie pie jolly ranchers.  How’s it goin?  How’s life?  Where have I been? WELL, I will tell you.

I have had several exciting things in the works! By day, I’ve been working on a pilot.  Then, on May 11th, I start a brand new job.  Yabbadabbadooo!

On April 24th and 25th, I will be acting in a show called “The Out Crowd” at the Santa Monica Playhouse!!  It’s a series of one acts giving glimpses into different relationships in one high school. If you’re in the area, please come and watch me as a neurotic and hyper high school student stuck in detention.  If you’re back home, you saw enough of that at Southridge.

Get your tickets here: http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/1358047

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PLUS I’m playing opposite Joy Regullano who legit is so funny I have to bring two pairs of pants to every rehearsal for the inevitable pee yourself funny moment.  See for yourself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCAQP7OJ9ls

I’m also working on another show for the Hollywood Fringe Festival with some of my fav UCB improv buddies!  It’ll have 5 performances in June and I’ll be sure to post the flyer on here when it’s done (flyer ALLLL thanks to Kpham!!! Hint: Make friends with uber talented people and force them to do things for you and then pay them in trident gum)

I’m also working towards shooting my very first SHORT !!!  I’m seriously so excited about this.  If anyone wants to help out with it OR has lighting equipment (we have everything else!) please, please let me know.

In any sort of spare time aside from those things, I have online shopped for dresses that hide all the craft services I’ve been eating because apparently many people want me to watch them get married this summer.

Oh, also, I’ve been dating somebody. Cue the applause.

He’s really nice.  And cute.

I told him to bring over vodka one time and he brought Kettle One.  I’ve never seen a bottle more than $15 so I immediately questioned his motives and asked what planet he had arrived from.  He replied that he had looked for Belvedere but they were all out.  So, yeah.  You get it.

Do you want to see a picture of him?  Oh wait, just one, major problem.  He’s not on social media.

Not at all.  Like, not one account.  He’s not even on LinkedIn.  I can’t even endorse him for weird skills that I have no real idea if he can actually do.

I know that you’re probably thinking that I’m being a wimp about this, but just TRUST ME.  This has been like a THING I’ve had to deal with.  It has tested me in ways that I never thought I would encounter.  I’ve learned so much about myself.  Mostly that the only way I know how to date is with social media as a crutch.

One time, I went on a Tinder date with this guy.  We had a mutual friend and I, obviously, needed to make sure that I was not willingly stepping into Robert Durst’s car for the night.  So, I checked out his Facebook, which lead me to his instagram, where I then traveled to his twitter where he tweeted about his job, which lead me to fish out his Linkedin (signed out of my account so he didn’t know, obviously) to see exactly what his job is and where he went to school, which lead me to his football stats page on his old college website.  I then went into the date knowing that he went to the beach last Thursday and was 213 lbs.

So, this dating-without-social-media lifestyle has been something new for me.  I’ve mentioned before what a super spy I am on the internet, so not being able to make any judgment of this guy based off his online presence was hugely problematic for me.  I had to stifle my need to ask… Are you normal? Do you have friends?  Are you an X Pro II filterer?  Are you a big commenter of unnecessary things like, “cool photo”?  Do you have parents? Were you once a child?  Without a #tbt post for reference, I felt like I could never be sure.

I searched his name relentlessly.  Google, bing, I even asked jeeves.  The photo that kept popping up was this one:

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I had to look hard at my reflection in the mirror and ask myself if this was the man I was dating.  It’s not.  Not that that would be such a bad thing.  This guy looks nice.  I could introduce him to orthodontry.

I waited for our 3rd date until I deemed it appropriate to ask him the heavy questions like if he had social media and whether or not he was the guy on Facebook from Puerto Rico with the same name and a profile picture of a parrot.  If so, why hadn’t he hadn’t accepted my friend request yet?

This is when he confided in me that he really didn’t have anything.  Nothing to stalk. Nothing to double tap.  Nothing to poke.  No instagram account for me to casually tag in a picture of a sunset after a hike on a Sunday so that people will speculate are-we-or-aren’t-we.  Nothing.

The biggest struggle I have faced in this predicament is the lack of photos.  Do you realize how hard it is to tell your family and friends that you’re dating someone but that you have absolutely no photos for visual reference?  In 2015?   Also, once you’re out of college, you have far less reasons to have someone take photos of you and your new beau while you are getting to know each other.  Um, excuse me?  Waitress?  Can you just take a quick pic of me and my dinner date here?  My roommates want to see if our colorings align.

I even looked up everyone he would mention in hopes that they would have posted a photo of him.  Friend names?  I searched. Family members? I looked.  Was there a family picture? A team photo? A headshot? A sex tape?

Of course, I considered the very realistic possibilities of this guy being completely off the grid.  What was he hiding? Did he have a dark past?  Was he an axe murderer and chose to remain anonymous online so that his previous captures couldn’t find him?  Was I next?  Would my story be recreated into a Criminal Minds episode?  Would the obvious casting choice, Jennifer Lawrence, be too busy with shooting the final installment of Hunger Games?  The last thought was too much to bare.

Naturally, I did what any rational human would do and took photos of him when he was not prepared or aware and sent them to my mom.

unnamed(Yes… my mom has a text message signature at the end of every text.  Just in case I forget.)

Another issue is the new shortage in avenues of communication. Once, he left his phone at my place and I realized…. I had absolutely no other way of contacting him.  I couldn’t reach him by Facebook message.  I couldn’t even leave him an instagram comment.  Or @ him on twitter.  In my hand, I held HIS ONE AND ONLY FORM OF COMMUNICATION.  BASICALLY, I had his entire identity!!! What if his work called? What if his mom called? What if…. I called?!?!?!!  Do I answer my own call?? Do I have a conversation with myself? Do I tell myself what a great time I had on the date!?!!? Then he knocked on my door and told me he realized he left it.  But the point remains.

During a very serious moment of revealing our most intimate needs, I confided in him that he had basically taken away my right to be FBO (Facebook Official, which means you’re in a relationship on Facebook.  Then your old high school math teacher knows. So, yeah, it’s a big deal.)  He then asked me if he should make an account to please my need for the other half of the “in a relationship” status.  Um, you know what’s worse than being in a relationship on Facebook with no one? Being in a relationship with someone whose only friend on Facebook is you.

Now, I know what you are thinking:  That poor girl.

Just kidding.  You are thinking that I’m a crazy person.

But, for real, I have seen the truth behind my need for and dependence on social media.  I literally felt like I could never really get to know him without knowing if he is the kind of person who makes albums or just someone who posts a lot of mobile uploads.

I have come to realize that I’m enjoying being around this guy because I actually have had to ask him questions that I truly didn’t know the answers to, instead of already having his back-story and a formed judgment walking into the first date. So, I think this is going to be okay, if I don’t end up on Dateline (though, would really help with the blog hits).

So, I’m sorry I have been MIA my fellow readers.  I was in the early stages of a relationship where you have to be polite and hang out with someone, like all the time. But, the politeness is over.  THE REAL ME IS HERE.  The one that writes entire blog posts revealing my inner most thoughts and the true creep that I am.  I’m a joy to date.

Maybe someone like me, a super spy, needs someone who has absolutely nothing to creep.  There was never a friend request sent or follow button pushed, but we chose to become friends and follow each others lives – in real life.  Offline. IRL.

But LOL, cause I’m writing about this…. online.

The One That Got Away (Thank God)

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I’m sorry, I’m the worst.

I missed last Tuesday. I didn’t post anything. I’ve been really busy doing this full time job I’ve given myself which entails over-thinking everything and stressing myself out then spiraling out of control and doing nothing productive. Also, I actually have a full time job. Also, I got sick. I had the 24-hour flu. I got over it in 23 hours though because I face challenges HEAD ON. Also, I took some weird orange pills I found in our pantry that I assumed were DayQuil but a weird couple of hours followed so now I’m not so sure but am in the market to get more.

Do you accept my excuses? Will you forgive me for being a lazy blogger? It seems this once a week thing may not work as I had hoped. I want to give you quality, not quantity. To make it up to you, Today I’m sharing a truly tragic tale.

A few weekends ago, we went out in Santa Monica/Venice area. LOL, because every weekend we go out in the Santa Monica/Venice area. I never really know where I am when I say I’m in the Santa Monica/Venice area; as in I don’t know whether I’m in Santa Monica or Venice. It’s all on the same street, Main St. So I interchangeably say Santa Monica and Venice. I hope no one cares to know whether it’s Santa Monica or Venice. This is the last time I will say Santa Monica and Venice.

It started out as any Friday night does: I lie in bed after work and tell my roommates that I’m not sure if I want to go out because I’m tired. The make-up is off, though the bra has yet to be removed. If the bra comes off, we all know it’s game over and the following cannot occur. On this particular Friday, this was not yet the case. My roommates, well-rehearsed in this song-and-dance, tell me that the night will not be the same without me and I just have to go. With a nicely inflated ego, I refuse approximately 4 more times to go out, until I realize that they are going to go with or without me and the FOMO sets in. Right around 9:30pm, I get out of the bed, complain about my clothes, and then throw on the exact outfit I wear every weekend because once Taylor Lautner stared at me a second too long and I’m convinced it was because of the killer crop top.

Though we had made a game plan to go to Nikki’s, Sammie and I made plans immediately to leave at some point in the night to go to Circle Bar. Nikki’s is fine, but you can’t dance there. I like to dance; I was a Hawkette dancer in high school (Have I mentioned that?) Almost every night we go out, we plan on going to Circle Bar later in the night, but end up getting so wrapped up in standing in long bathroom lines at Nikki’s that we often forget. This time, things would be different. We set an alarm. Yes, an alarm. If I wasn’t dancing at Circle Bar by 12:30am, I needed to be.

Now, let me tell you, The Circle Bar is…The. Place. To. Be. According to who? Sammie, me, – and no one else. We love it. It hosts all the crayons in the box. For the past few years, every time Sammie and I go out we tell everyone around us, “We have to go to Circle Bar. Seriously. Like, right now. It’s so much fun.” They usually agree to go with us and leave swiftly after. If I go to Circle Bar with a big group of friends, I can pretty much guarantee I’m going to leave with just Sammie. Our victim this time was Carly, who agreed to brave The Circle Bar with us later in the night.

By the time Sammie’s phone started ringing some Ja-Rule 2004 hit, I was six drinks down. This is due to the two-drink minimum Nikki’s has that I am fully aware of but am somehow shocked by each time. Ummmm, I only wanted ONE vodka tonic but the guy at the bar said I had to get two so now I’ve had six but it’s NOT MY FAULT.

Anyways, we sauntered down to the Circle Bar and made our way to the promised land (dance floor). That’s when I first saw him. He was a beautiful light-skinned black man who looked like he peaked during his years on some college football team. I was a white girl in a crop top who talks about her high school dance team too much. We were a match made in Circle Bar heaven.

We began to dance. It was lovely. I asked him what he did for a living and he said he was a PA. Um, gasp. I’m a PA. He said that he wanted to be a writer. Gasp, I want to be a writer. I deciphered that we would wed in June. Bridesmaids would wear cream.

After 25 minutes I felt it was time to introduce him to the family, so I brought Sammie over. Carly, as predicted, was absolutely nowhere to be found. Sammie and some guy with Sammie came over and approved of my new beau. She suggested a May wedding for more venue options and I told her I would consider it.

As we left the bar, my new husband informed me that his phone was dead. We decided it would be best if he gave me his number and I would contact him later to let him know my number. Contrary to my previous post, PSA: Guys, Please Don’t Do This, I was actually going to contact him after. I know, gasp again.

He put his number in my phone with a ton of exclamation marks. His name was Deangelo. So, in my phone it said “Deangelo!!!!!!!” I saw it. I saw him type it in. I witnessed it. It was there. In my phone. He didn’t trick me. I saw it. IT WAS INPUTTED.

We bid farewell and he gave me a kiss on the forehead and told me he couldn’t wait to see me again. Sammie, Guy with Sammie, and I went to our favorite taco truck because, *insert some drunk excuse here*. Over tacos, I asked Guy with Sammie to help me decide what I should text first to my mocha man. Should I open with an emoji? Just a “hi”? Do I say my name? Offer a joke? Put our faces in a “what will your kids look like” app and send him the outcome photo?

We decided on a simple greeting and a smiley face, but when I went to send this crafted opening…. I couldn’t find his contact in my phone.

GASP. AGAIN. It wasn’t there. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I searched Deangelo. I searched Deangelo!!!! I searched DEANGEL. I searched DE ANGEL OF MY DREAMS. I threatened to drop Siri in a toilet if she didn’t give me the number. She gave me the weather for the tomorrow and suggested I wear a jacket.

I BOOKED it back to Circle Bar. The bar had since closed and all the patrons were wandering around outside of it. WHERE WAS HE?! I screamed, “DEANGELO!!?” 30 guys turned in response. Not one of the 30 was De Angel of My Dreams. How would I ever find him??! I didn’t even know if I was in Santa Monica or Venice!!!!!!!

Later, I confided in my therapist/Uber driver and he understood the heartbreak I was feeling, as he had just gone through a divorce. Similar experiences. Guy with Sammie piped in from the backseat that he thought it clearly was just not meant to be. I sobbed silently and played Adele Pandora all the way back to our apartment.

Fast forward to the next morning, where I was starfished on my bed with Sammie and Allison. I had already planned to spend the day crafting flyers with my face on them that read, “IS YOUR NAME DEANGELO? DID WE FALL IN LOVE LAST NIGHT? PLZ FOLLOW ME ON INSTAGRAM AND COMMENT THE SONG WE DANCED TO SO I KNOW ITZ YOU.” I was desperately awaiting that “Get jiggy wit it” comment.

My roomies suggested that I try to look him up. One of my few, but very real, talents in life is my spy ability. I can find out anything about anyone online. No joke, I get daily texts saying, “so-and-so broke up – find out details” and within the hour I will inform them what happened, who broke up with who, who was the mistress, and who is getting possession of the dog.

So, I found him online. Don’t ask me how. It’s a talent I can’t explain. But, I did. That’s when this story takes a turn and becomes yet another tragic tale.

His main photo was a selfie with his shirt off. Strike one.

He captioned it, “I got 99 problems but my swag aint one.” Strike two.

Oh…. and he has a girlfriend. Facebook official. They visited 6 Flags last weekend. Strike three. Not 6 Flags, as I actually sorta wish I was invited.

Also, he is a PA.  A physicians assistant.  Not a strike but would make the Hollywood-themed wedding I was planning feel a little off.

Needless to say, I never did talk to the selfie-taking-girlfriend-having-though-very-beautiful-man from Circle Bar again. I’m sure I’ve been spared some sort of heartbreak that would have followed had I actually saved his number in my phone. I would have become the mistress that some else’s spy friend would have found out about online and group messaged everyone about.

But don’t worry, guys. This experience hasn’t deterred me from my favorite dancing spot. I will always return. A bad night just means other nights can only go up from here. At that particular Bar, everything comes full Circle.