A Few Golden Nuggets for the Online Dater. I see you; I feel you; I am you.

one-does-not-simply-meme

Recently I decided to “get back out there” as they say, and set up a Bumble profile. I’ve never really had too much success with the online dating deal. To be honest, when I first decided to give it the old college try I started with Tinder. Now Tinder gets a bad rep for being a hook up website because it kind of is – I mean if you go out with the rumored “school slut” you secretly hope you get laid. But on the other hand I’ve heard Tinder success stories so I guess it doesn’t really matter which site you use. Anyway, this time around I’m bumbling.

For those of you unfamiliar with Bumble, this is essentially how it works: You set up a profile with five or so photos. When you both swipe right for each other, the girl has 24 hours to make the first move and send a message. It’s basically the Sadie Hawkins of conversation. It’s no doubt an app probably made by a man. Once the woman has sent the message – the man then has 24 hours to respond. Now therein lies the bullshit.

With my experience, I’d say nine out of ten men must be swiping while jerking off slightly buzzed after midnight so they’ll swipe right to anything and everything. But once that joystick is put away it’s like they forgot who you are, why you matched and how to holla back. In any case, I send a short message usually commenting on their apparent interests to start the convo and hope for a reply. Six out of ten don’t; two reply with a standard hello (which is fine in my book); and the other two are already sending inappropriate sexts. Like, we haven’t even met yet f@$kboy. Chill. Look, we’re all adults – eventually we all want to fuck, but don’t lead with that. We’ll get there if we both want it. So basically, I’m looking at about two out of ten guys who can carry a conversation without crossing the line. #metoo. The conversation goes on for a few days and I maybe end up going on a date with one of these guys. Maybe. 

I feel like dating websites are essentially dating by “quantity” over “quality”. It’s like the more interested men you meet, the more chances you’ll have to find your mate, lobster, partner, soulmate, plus one, sugar daddy, whatever it is you’re looking for. As I make my way through this numbers game of dating, I’ve learned a few things to help me search for deeper connections. I’m sure I have plenty to learn in this dating world but I thought I could share a few nuggets of wisdom.

Rules to make a true effort in the online world:

  1. Write something in your bio! WTF? Have something to say and make sure your bio AND pics REPRESENT you and LOOK like you. I like snowboarding so when I see this on people’s profile I get excited. Please don’t post a pic with a snowboard if you’ve never been. I see so many guys on bumble holding surfboards and I think there’s no way all these guys are surfers. Don’t post a pic of your friend’s longboard. Upload photos that really show YOU. Stop frontin’.
  2. Don’t control the conversation by telling someone how to say hi. I see this on guy’s profiles more than I like: If you’re just going to send me a message that says ‘hi’ don’t bother. First of all, I’m not a shy girl but what if I was? That would intimidate me. Please don’t be a control freak, if we met in real life you wouldn’t correct my greeting. To me it just makes them come off as a judgmental person. Lots of great conversations start with a “hi” in real life. Let it build. Let it grow. Be genuinely interested. And be nice.
  3. Don’t ghost on them after two messages. If you’re no longer interested and swiped right on them at 2am cuz you were drunk and horny, just delete the match and you can both move on. Otherwise I just assume you died in a car accident because why wouldn’t you respond to my witty message?? (said with crazy eyes)
  4. Talk on the Phone!!! Since the beginning of this relationship isn’t per se, traditional. Let some of it feel traditional. I always talk to them on the phone before I meet up in person. There is a lot of attraction in just a voice, a laugh, a smoker’s cough. Yeah, sometimes you go on dates with smokers and they smell like cigs, cough like your grandmother and spit when strolling down the street with you. Now that’s clearly an exaggeration but don’t you want to find out a little bit more of who they are before the first date? I do. It makes the first date a little less awkward.
  5. Meet up in real life. Until I meet you I assume this is a Catfish. Either the guy is trying too hard to seem cool which leads me to think he’s full of shit. So just be cool. Don’t try so hard. Meet up in real life so we can at least see that we’re both real people. I don’t want a pen pal. I get enough text messages I don’t return half the time, who needs more? My point is, let’s meet up and see if anything clicks. Nothing crazy. Maybe just a cup of coffee or a walk through the park. Of all the cute dog pics on every guy’s dating profile, how come none of you are actually using them in real life? Let’t take your cute dog for a walk and talk. Not only is that a simple and cute date, it’s free. Be smart out there. “Drinks” can get expensive.

That’s enough for now. I hope you find this helpful. Feel free to comment or share some of your own words of wisdom. As always, thanks for reading!

~ Lady Q

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

“The Friend Zone”

Unknown-1

Lately I’ve been thinking about the infamous “friend zone” a lot. Maybe it’s because I’ve been living there for a while, or at least renting a shitty apartment there. If you’re at least 25, you’ve definitely been there – maybe even visited a couple times. It’s not a destination you look forward to. It’s a place you end up on the highway of love; with an overheating radiator and enough money for a one night stay. The place that sucks so much you think to yourself, I’ll leave first thing in the morning. But you don’t.

I recently checked in to the friend zone. I think it’s a combination of things that made me end up here. First of all, I’ve been out of a serious relationship for going on six years. Now don’t get me wrong. They haven’t all been lonely; some of them were actively horny. I’ve had plenty of flings, hardly memorable make out sessions, short-lived relationships and different sized and colored penii (I looked that shit up in urban dictionary, it’s questionably the plural for penis). After a while, I just started feeling really jaded and..older. I’m in my thirties now and the dating world is still quite scary. I told myself I wasn’t going to stand for casual anymore. I want serious; I want a boyfriend; I want the girlfriend title; I want health insurance or at least a freakin’ hulu password. If not the whole Sha-bang-a-bang – husband and kids – fuck universe, at least give me a boyfriend.

So I started to look at the men around me. Being single, people always tell me cliche things like “sometimes what you’re looking for is right in front of you.” Like it’s so easy. Like “oh, there’s a parking spot.” So I did. I looked in front of me, beside me, behind me, all around me- I looked like a paranoid tweaker. I asked myself, are there guys interested in me that I haven’t noticed? So I tried to seem more interested, more available to these potentials. Or at least I tried to. I started to look at the guys that share common interests. Didn’t take me long to notice a guy who runs in my literary circle. He was always kind, supportive, and an overall nice guy. Let’s refer to him as Mr. Nice Guy. Oh and of course Mr. Nice Guy is tall and handsome so I definitely took notice. I’m pretty sure when we first met he had a girlfriend. So it was easy to count him out and put him in the friend zone, or rather put myself there. We had met in a class and remained in a little group email we’d all use to send invites to events, readings, viewings, etc.

The first time Mr. Nice Guy and I hung out outside of the classroom crew he sent an invite to a short film festival showcasing his project. It happened to be down the street from my work, so I bought a ticket and went. Surprisingly, I was the only classmate that showed up. I don’t know who was more lame – him, for not having more peeps there or me, for being the only classmate there. Luckily, it didn’t feel weird. After the film, I joined some of his friends for celebratory drinks. It wasn’t too late of a night but fun. At this point, I was still happily in his friend zone. He seemed like a good contact to have. Plus he was genuine and seemed to have a general respect for women and humanity as a whole. If I were to guess, I think he was still in a relationship and I likely stalked her FB page back to her second grade “bad bangs” situation. At that time I was infatuated with this “friends with benefits” situation I was in – which, surprise, surprise never worked out. That story is for another day.

As time passed, we stayed in touch via emails but I wish we stayed in other touch, you feel me?? Later, we both signed on a writing project which seemed to keep us more connected than usual. Our next hang sesh would be the one that really reeled me in. A mutual classmate of ours, let’s call her Homeslice invited us to a writing/producing mixer. We decided to go and meet up at the event. Sidenote: I had gleaned from a conversation we had that he was single again so I made sure to try to look cute. I arrive a bit before he does, still late as usual but the fact that he was even later than me was kind of hot. I say this because every guy I’ve dated seems to be the early type and that never works for me. I was always late to the party, still am. Anyway, when he arrives he insists on buying me a drink. What a gentleman, I thought. We mix and mingle but definitely stick by each other most of the night. When the event dwindles down we decide we should carry on our Friday night in Hollywood. We stay at the bar for another round and a little shoulder dancing and head bobbing to 90s music.

At this point I felt the energy shift a bit. Maybe it’s because it’s now just the two of us and it almost feels like a date. Or maybe it was just the whiskey making me feel frisky? Anyhow, we move on to the next bar The Hudson where he claims has better music. Have another beer. Talk some more. Vibe. When we leave the bar it’s closing time and we decide Mexican food from a hole-in-the -wall joint is best. I still stand buy it. I’ve never woken up after a night of drinking and regretted the food choice. The varietal of liquor or the man lying next to me in the morning, however…

We carry on conversation over a shared plate of cheesy Mexican grub. An overall lovely evening. I took a Lyft out for the night so I didn’t have a car for him to walk me to. I called a Lyft and we stood in the parking lot for all of two seconds before I was whisked away like a hoochie Cinderella in a Prius. The moment wasn’t even long enough to feel even a brief second of tension or significance. He was just a tiny figure in a rear view mirror. An anticlimactic moment of an otherwise perfect evening cut too short. Was I wrong to want a kiss? Probably. It’s not like we matched on Tinder. This is the trouble with real life dating. Sometimes, the signals aren’t always clear.

Time passes and just like any good memory, it fades. I forgot about the butterflies, his smile, his kind presence, the cilantro in his teeth I would have loved to pick out with my tongue. We texted, emailed, chatted from time to time. To be honest, I was the initiator of most of our communication but he always seemed very responsive and interested even if only as a friend. Recently, another opportunity presented itself to spend time with him. Although, I didn’t make it a “him and me” thing but more of a group thing. I invited Homeslice and Mr. Nice Guy to watch another classmate’s play. It was a horror show in the month of October. Since Halloween is one of my favorite holidays I thought, what a great way to ring in October. On top of that, it was Friday the 13th – even more exciting!!! I invited them both to grab a bite and drinks before the show since it was in my hood. I know a good spot – The Federal Bar in NoHo. Homeslice and I get there as planned and I get a text from Mr. Nice Guy saying he’s running very late. Not a problem, I tell him we’ll leave his ticket at the box office. Homeslice and I have a nice catching up convo and a cocktail before we walk to the theatre.

I’m slightly relieved that Mr. Nice Guy didn’t show up for the pre -party because I felt so nervous and excited to see him. Homeslice and I save him a seat next to us – I’m actually in the middle. Also, side note: I feel like I should mention Homeslice is a bad ass lesbian chick who’s in a committed relationship and poses no threat. Anyway, the show is great! A lot of fun and exactly what I wanted, expected and then some. We all walk toward our cars. Homeslice has plans in WeHo and invites me. I decline for two reasons: one, I wasn’t mentally prepared for WeHo and two, here was my opportunity to spend one-on-one time with Mr. Nice Guy. We say our goodbyes to Homeslice, then linger a bit. I ask him what he’s got going on after and he says “nothing.” Now this is how I perceived the situation. The awkward moment in the romantic comedy, where they both want to stay but one of them has to speak up. But looking back maybe he just didn’t have plans. So I go for it, “let’s grab drinks at The Federal Bar, I want you to check it out.” He takes the bait. We find a cozy little couch to sit on and he grabs us a round of beers. Another gentlemanly gesture that is quite misleading for a girl that’s crushing…hard. Guys- if you’re not interested in a girl…maybe don’t buy her drinks. ‘Kay? ‘Kay.

From my perspective, the conversation is great. We can talk about anything, nothing, everything. And we do. We even talk about dating. Imagine this movie montage of us laughing, smiling, talking while some eighties rom com song plays over it. That’s how it felt. I was like Julia Roberts, Katherine Heigl or Cameron Diaz, insert Rom Com Female Celeb in any movie. Next thing you know, the music fades and it’s back to the awkward goodbye on the street corner. He walks me to my car and I offer to drive him to his. He gets in and comments for the second, maybe third time of the evening how cool he thought my hood was. I look at the clock – 1:25 am. I decide I want him to see just how cool it was and ask him if I can kidnap him. One last stop on the tour of my hood…my favorite dive bar The Foxfire. If you haven’t been there, go. It’s the best shitty bar in Valley Village. Except for the lack of a pool table. But go there for darts. Or karaoke. Whatever, just go. He lets me kidnap him.

We get there just in time to squeeze in a drink and a game of darts. I win without apology. This is me on every date that involves games or competitions. Is this why I’m sometimes mistaken for a lesbian? #Winning. At some point he mentions he shouldn’t drive all the way back to the West Side. So like a lady, I offer him my couch. In my head I’m thinking “here’s our chance. Are we just friends? Possibly more?” He comes upstairs. Bow-chicka-bow-wow. I give him a blanket and pillow but I couldn’t just leave it there. Nope. I had to go further. I stare down at this 6 foot Mr. Nice Guy crunched on my small couch and I just can’t help myself. I casually offer to share my bed. I have never shown so much self contro in my life, as I did that night. If I was being honest with myself, I don’t think he really liked me. But then why did he take my offer for the other side of my bed? There was even this scene straight out of a movie where I roll over and face his back and he rolls over to face me. His eyes closed. I was inches away from his face. All I wanted to do was kiss him. And I just couldn’t. What a pussy. Maybe it was fear of rejection or fear of losing him as a friend. Maybe those are one in the same. Was it worth it? Doesn’t matter. Nothing happened. I barely slept. What a loser. I thought I had more balls than that.

Morning comes. Not the way I imagined waking up next to him. I was supposed to wake up wearing his shirt and ask him how he takes his eggs. Instead we talked about taking him to his car so that he doesn’t get a ticket. I offer to give him a ride. He refuses saying he could just Uber. I insist I’ll drop him off and grab myself some coffee since I was out at home. We get to his car literally right before he gets a ticket from the meter maid two cars down. “I’m down to grab coffee with you,” he says. Pump your breaks, you mean this dream isn’t over yet? Now analyzing this (as a woman I find that necessary and obsessive), he could have just left it there. Why did he want to grab coffee? But obviously I’ll take what I can get from him. So we had coffee. We probably sat there for at least an hour. Just talking. He gets an important call and tells them he’ll give them a call back soon. We continue to talk for a bit and I eventually say “you should probably call them back.” So we wrap up our convo and walk to our cars. The longest friend date in the world. Total torture. We give each other a little hug and say goodbye. I drive away and can’t help but think, “what the fuck?” I’m now more confused about how I feel about him or how he might feel about me. All these feelings are swarming through me. Why didn’t I just go for it? Kiss him or say something. Damn it. What did all this mean? Why would he lay in my bed if he didn’t like me? Shouldn’t he have just said no. I mean a gentleman would say no, right? But he was a gentleman. I mean, he’s freakin’ Mr. Nice Guy.

I get home and I see that he made by bed. Ugh. Of course he did. Am I an idiot for not making a move on a great guy? Or is he so obtuse he doesn’t realize he’s leading me on? Are we both in the wrong here? A combination of the two? Maybe. The fact of the matter was, the opportunity passed. I text the following weekend just to see what he was up to. He didn’t seem to pick up on my hints. But he did invite me to his birthday dinner a couple weeks later. Which as fate would have it, I couldn’t attend. I wish I could have been two places at once but instead I went to a 40th birthday party with my best friend in town from Denver which I RSVP’d for weeks before. I couldn’t flake. Not my style. In hindsight I should have left the party early and try to make drinks after dinner but I didn’t. I chose friendship; I chose to hang out all night with my best friend in town. I don’t regret it. I do regret the night that I lay just inches away from my crush and did nothing. I guess in the end I didn’t want to lose him as a friend. I didn’t want to fuck up what we did have- which was a mutual respect and liking for one another. If he wanted more, he would make it clear. So I tried to offer to take him out for belated bday drinks but he wasn’t very responsive. He didn’t full on ghost me like Patrick Swayze, it was more like a half ghost. Like he heard what I said but couldn’t figure out how to respond. This man was a riddle. Or maybe too kind or too chicken to reject me. Either way. It felt like rejection. Which is what I was scared of to begin with!!! I might as well have gone for it.

In the end, I guess I should have been bolder, clearer. I should have gone for the gold. Go big or go home, they say. Gotta bet big to win big. At least if I went for it I would have gotten a clear rejection. Maybe the ghosting was him letting me off easy. But it just left me wondering, Why respond at all? Why give me your schedule? Why? Why? Why? But I’ll never know the answer to these questions. So my advice to those of you in the friend zone is this : GET OUT. GO GOR IT! Try to make a play, go for the touchdown, the pass, whatever. I’m not a sports person but you get it. I mean don’t be rapey about it. I just mean make your intentions clear. So that you clearly know and aren’t left with unanswered questions. Also, if I were hearing this story from a friend I would probably tell her “If he was in to you, you’d know. He’d make it clear.” So for once, I think I will take my own advice and let it go. We’re just friends. And I’ll just be here in the friend zone. That said, beware the friend zone. Thanks for reading.

 

If you have any thoughts, comments, questions, on this story feel free to share!

~ Lady Q

 

 

 

If He Acts like He’s Not into You

This resonates with me and my story on The Friend Zone.

Debatably Dateable

…then he’s honestly just not into you.

I know every girl wants to believe they can change a man or that they will defy all odds because their love is so strong but that’s a one in a million shot.

If a guy can’t or doesn’t want to make the time to see you, then he just doesn’t actually care enough to make that effort. Sure maybe he’s scared, going through a hard time, or entering a new point in his life that makes him super busy but all that means is that he’s unavailable.

Then there’s the guy that can never take things to the next level. Maybe he says he’s fine being exclusive but then he won’t put a label on it or introduce you as his girlfriend, or at all. This can happen anywhere down the line, together for 3 months or 9 years, you never know…

View original post 271 more words

“The Brandons” Chapter II

So last week we left with the cliffhanger which “Brandon” was this “Brendan?” The Spanish Suitor or the Slimy Skeleton? Well, we texted the entire next day (Sunday) and all of Monday. PS Texting to get to know someone is such bullshit. Anyone can seem witty or charming with two hour gaps of response time and the homie telling them how to reply. But anyway, I liked that he wanted to take me to dinner and I was game.

Now the thing about being asked to dinner isn’t that you’re hoping to go to a fancy steakhouse because you’re a gold-digging, superficial hoochie ( although they are out there). It means more than that, ladies. When a person asks you to dinner it means they want to spend a solid chunk of time with you. This way they can get to know you and how you operate. Are you a picky eater? Rude to the waitstaff? Complainy? Yes, I like to take words and put ‘ys’ at the end to make them sound cuter. And on the flip side you get to see if they pull out your chair, pick up the bill, hold the door open for an old lady, whatever. Dinner to me means that person is interested in me. Not my panties. Getting “drinks” with Tinder guys are often dudes who hope you get drunk enough to get down. When a guy asks me for drinks and I counter with “coffee sounds great, noon work for you?” if he is taken aback, then fuck him…I mean don’t fuck him. Clearly, that’s all he’s interested in anyway. Try it, it’s a good test. The good guys pass. If there’s no chemistry – no harm, no foul. It costs him $3 to figure that out. He shouldn’t have to lubricate you with cocktails to contrive chemistry.

So we had a plan. And he made it. Which is quite refreshing. So many times I’ve been on dates where guy’s are so passive. They ask me out but can’t decide where we’re going or what we’re doing and somehow it’s left up to me. I am the type of woman who likes a man to take charge. I don’t want a caveman who drags me by my hair, but I like someone who can just make a decision and stick to it. It’s a turn on. I’d even go as far as to say I like when a guy “knows what’s good here” and orders the best dishes. I can’t speak for all women but to me it’s hot! As he planned, we were going to this little punk rock Thai spot called Toi on Sunset. I was both nervous and excited because I still wasn’t sure which guy was Brendan! So the date was set for Tuesday night.

That week I was working art department on a music video. I’d been running around all day picking up props and what not. Meanwhile we were sending little texts back and forth. I was STARVING at some point and found myself back at a custom flag spot that I had been the day before ordering flags. At this point, the guy working at the shop was like my buddy. Mind you he was a weird fellow, probably in his late forties/ early fifties. He was super into conspiracy theories, which I found entertainingly laughable.  One in particular that he wouldn’t shut up about – the Mandela Effect. Look it up if you care to. I’m sure he was totally harmless and probably had great weed, although I never did confirm that. He did however offer me a protein bar in my most hangry moment, in which I accepted with much appreciation. I went about my prop shopping and maybe an hour later I found myself driving through a residential area when suddenly my mouth watered – that type of watery mouth right before you get nauseous and throw up. Uhoh. I pulled over and let it out. Damn that hippy and his granola. I was not okay. Pretty sure I had food poisoning. Maybe it was expired. To be fair, midway through that bar it didn’t seem like a snack I should finish but I figured I just waited too long to eat. The blowing of the chunks made me feel much better. I got through the rest of the day feeling okay. As long as I didn’t eat anything, I was good. But not great. Most of me wanted to just reschedule, but the other part of me didn’t want to be a cliche. Like, food poisoning? Really bitch. Also, it sounds like you have diarrhea when you say food poisoning. Plus I’m not one for lying. So the “follow through” part of me stuck to the plan: Thai dinner.

So there I was. Dressed cute and casual; boobs a little out, tight jeans, chunky heels. All that was running through my mind was, which one would it be?? I fed the meter, walked up to the restaurant, so nervous and excited. There he was. I saw him. As fate would have it, it was…Creepy Thin Guy; Brandon #2; Brendan. Ouch. Well, here goes nothing. Just another analogy of how dating can be a crapshoot. Luckily for me, I love playing craps. Come on, lucky number seven!

It’s not like we’re meeting for the first time so we greet each other with a little hug. We get a table and check out the menu as I try my hardest not to be disappointed he wasn’t Brandon #1. For all I know, this could  be the man of my dreams. I tell him I’m a little bit under the weather, that I had a little food poisoning and didn’t want to cancel. Although, now I’m pretty sure there’s no such thing as a “little food poisoning.” That’s like having a “little diarrhea.” I’m not sure if full disclosure was a good move but it’s the move I made. What do you think? Although, I did feel like once I shared that info he definitely thought I had diarrhea. Oh well, everybody poops. I just kept finding myself making all the wrong decisions. It’s like I’m having an out of body experience and I’m just watching myself from above saying “noooo, don’t do that” but then I do it anyway. This date has got to be a “what not to do” when dating. I should have just cancelled and been the cliche. He ordered a beer and I foolishly said “I’ll do the same.” Cheers!

At first, the beer almost seemed to settle my stomach or maybe it was just my nerves. That didn’t last long. We ordered a couple dishes to share.  The conversation is lack-lustre. He doesn’t have a very good sense of humor, which is very important to me. I found myself regurgitating the weird conspiracy theories my protein bar poisoner overshared with me. I didn’t even have to try very hard to insure we wouldn’t have a second date. It just came so naturally to me. Scare him away, I thought. Once the food arrived, I felt like a pregnant women in her first weeks of morning sickness. Just the smell of the food makes me nauseous. I don’t want to seem rude so I serve myself the smallest portions on to my plate. I take the tiniest bites of food – which is quite rare for me. He probably thinks I’m trying to seem like a “skinny eater” on this date. But really I’m just starting to sweat, that watery taste in my mouth is back, making my stomach nervous and the food creep back up my throat. “Don’t throw up at the table” I keep telling myself. I excuse myself from the table to puke, and I’m sure he thinks I’m about to shit my pants and at this point I can’t be certain that’s not going to happen. I go to the one stall restroom and of course it’s busy. If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all. I come back to the table, this time I’m sweating profusely. He has to notice. He has to know this date sucks. I sit a few more minutes and wait. Go back to the restroom, which is finally available! I swing that door open then shut and lock it just in time to projectile vomit straight into the toilet. It was like that pea soup scene from The Exorcist. Yes, my dates can sometimes be comparable to horror films.

We wrap up the date. I insist he take the leftovers. I probably won’t eat Thai for at least 3-6 months. Also, may never truly enjoy another protein bar and to be quite honest not sure I ever have. The one thing I’ve noticed about dinner on a first date is that a good number of men feel like they’ve made an investment and want a return on that. Sorry dude. Remember that analogy I made about shooting craps? You just crapped out buddy.  So yeah, he went in for the kiss and I gave him the cheek. I can’t even believe he would go for it. Were we not on the same date? It was boring, awful and I threw up in the middle of it. And I’m sure I had Thai food puke breath. Just goes to show how oblivious people can be.

So I learned a few things from this date. First, it’s never going to be the guy you want it to be. Secondly, if you don’t feel well – don’t go. So what if you’re a cliche. Nobody wins when you go to the date feeling like shit or like shitting. And lastly, dinner isn’t always worth it. Skip dinner. Go for dessert; ice cream, cupcakes, cocktails. It’s shorter and they shouldn’t expect much in return.

~ Lady Q

 

P.S On my next blog, I think I’d like to talk about the friend zone. Any thoughts, questions, comments about this before I post? I want to hear what you have to say on the subject.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Brandons” Chapter I

IMG_1312

So yeah, this is my first blog. I started setting it up at least a year ago but didn’t know where I wanted to begin (story of my life). What am I going to say? Who will listen? What’s my angle?

So I thought about all these things and decided this: I’m a thirty-ish single Latina woman in Los Angeles, zero children, zero pregnancies, zero abortions, that’s right – not even one unwanted baby (cut & paste straight from my OkCupid profile, don’t know why I’m single?)…the struggle is real. Not exactly what I envisioned at twenty.

So I’ll start there. Here. The other night was another story for the sloppy single books. Definitely not the kind I’ll ever tell my grandchildren (from my adopted children cuz this broad is gettin’ older & it just might be adoption).

Let me tell you about, The Brandons. I should preface that this story begins with two single girls on a Saturday night. One is me, and the other is my bad ass Scorpio girlfriend who just became single because her man wouldn’t put a ring on it. Shot out to my ladies who say ‘fuck that’ after nine years and decide they’d rather be alone. Not easy to do. Masturbating gets old and so does loveless sex. So yeah, I’m her wing woman. Like two hoe birds we took flight. I being the more experienced of the birds try to welcome her back into the wild animal kingdom. The scene has changed so much; it’s a whole new world with apps & swiping.

Anyway, in hindsight I realize I wasn’t playing wing woman – I was kind of looking for prey myself. Quick backstory on that : You see I had just hooked up with an old crush who was in town visiting his LA friends, me included obviously. But all we did was make out heavily like three times (days/ dates?), which is a record for me. I hardly get passed a second date. Anyway, we’ll call him Mr. Texas for now and we’ll save him for another story. That being said, I basically felt compelled to make out with another man immediately to prove to myself that I wasn’t taking Mr. Texas too seriously. Like he’s in another time zone, relax. Anyway, this is about The Brandons.

For the sake of my girl, we’ll call her G Dizzle? Sure, that works. Saturday night was off to a beautiful start with some chilled rosé wine, you know because by now my girls and I are sophisticated AF, or maybe we were just out of Bud Light. It’s hard to remember now. We drink a bottle and a half of wine before we even leave G Dog’s little apartment on the far Eastside of the recently gentrified Highland Park. Also, we hop in the Uber with rosé popsicles because why not? So we’re feeling pretty saucy by the time we get to La Cuevita (The Little Cove). Like the classy broads we are, we decide to upgrade to vodka sodas, the skinny white girl drank. By the way, if you haven’t been to this bar, go. You’re welcome.

So there we are – checking the scene. The first group of guys we meet are beautiful, well dressed, fun, sweet guys, yeah… totally gay. Typical. Also typical, they were our best friends after like two ‘okaaayyys’ and three screechy-pitched high fives. By the end of the convo we promised to see one of them in a drag show a couple weeks later. Anyway, just another example of men we love that are unavailable. At this point we’ve crushed our first round and are pretty lit, so naturally I head to the bar to grab another. This is where I meet Brandon. Let’s call him Brandon #1, possibly the love of my life. Probably because he had an accent. What is it about accents? Talk about a panty dropper.

Brandon #1 was from Spain, well dressed and now talking to me. Of course I started the conversation…What’s that you’re drinking? Ps – I know what you’re drinking, I’m a bartender (humble brag). Remember, we’re in a kind of dive bar so all I need is one guess because I can pretty much tell by the color: whiskey or vodka. It’s vodka, he tells me. Like I care, that’s right sometimes women pretend to care about things men say. Like when you talk about sports. Check it, I’ll get a team and watch sports when I get a man. Until then, I’m just running game. Me: “uh, what’s the score?” Followed by an unnecessary hair flip.

Now, let’s check in here. At this point, I’m pretty tipsy, possibly swirly but in my mind I’m oh, soooo charming. Also checking in with G Bone who is now the hot Weho boys’ biggest cheerleader and now fruit fly. I glance over my shoulder. Is she showing off by doing the splits? Classic G Dizzle. Back to Brandon. I sometimes do this thing where I immediately friend zone a guy, which is sometimes mistaken for me being a lesbian. Which I’m not…yet. So somehow Brandon and I end up walking over to another group of chicks. Did I just become his  wing woman? Either that or I’ve maybe given him the impression we’re now looking for a threesome. I like to think the latter..? I think. But that’s not what I wanted. I wanted his undivided attention. I’m just not sure how to do that, exactly. Speaking of attention, where’s G Breezy? So her name has changed a few times, that’s how you know you’re old friends. Also how you know your old friends,  you realize that it’s time to walk away from this accent spewing Spaniard, Brandon. This part of the night gets blurry. I give him my number even though he doesn’t ask for it. And in my wobbly pop mind I just know that he will be mine some day. Adios, Brandon #1! G Dog and I roll out to do what we always like to do at the end of a night of drinking…drink some more and dance our faces off until we shut the bar down..in this case, The Offbeat. It’s all in the name – describing the people, not the music. Here’s where we meet Brandon #2.

I met Brandon #2 on the dance floor. You see, I like to bust a move when I drink. No dance floor? No way. Make one, is what I say. And I’m not just doing your classic two step, Lord no. This broad here, swears she’s John Travolta’s dance partner. Or better, teacher. I’m doing mash ups of salsa dancing meets pop-lock-and-dropping-it. Then picking it up again just to twerk and finish off with a few shimmys. What is this a wedding? Picture these moves in a divey, sticky floored, dark-lit bar that should be in a strip mall but still has disco lights likely purchased in a strip mall blinding my eyesight (the alcohol doing enough to blind my judgement). I dance with him because, well to be honest he was the only guy on the dance floor at 1:30am. At one point, G Bone and I dance on the stage like two clothed strippers, which is usually occupied by some local band. I’m spinning, dancing, spinning, dancing, spinning like Selena in that movie… Selena, duh. And out of nowhere Brandon #2 grabs me between the spins and plants one right on my lips. And I let him for like 3 seconds before he does this creepy waist grab and pulls me closer to his little skeleton body and back into reality. I pulled away. I was done. Enough humoring this guy. Boy bye. The night was over. The bar was closing, lights came up and it’s time to go. Most likely to Jack in the Box. What a night!!!

I wake up the next morning on G Ride’s couch and we recap last night’s adventure, laughing and checking our bank accounts. Boom! In comes a text. Message reads: Hey Marina, had a great time with you last night. We should hang again soon. – Brendan. Wait, Brendan? Who the fuck is Brendan? I thought they were both Brandons! Which one was Brendan? In one hand it could have been the first guy, I mean he did have an accent. And in the other hand, I was much more lit at the second bar plus the music was pretty loud. Who the FUCK is Brendan?

Sure, I could just text him back very directly to figure out which bar we met at…but that would be too easy. And if you can’t tell already, if I liked easy I would tell shorter stories. This is where my investigative reporter skills kick in. Uber rides!!! I decided to make a timeline. So G Thang and I discover that we left the first bar at 1am which would put us at the second bar maybe ten minutes after. Then taking one last uber ride at 2am. As I’m trying to deduce which one is Brendan, I notice that I also have a voicemail from this Brendan guy from the night before. The call was made at 1:15am. It’s this info that leads me to believe that the Spanish suitor was Brendan because what kind of loser would call me while he’s essentially still hanging out with me, right? You think about it and I’ll let you know which B Man it was next blog because naturally I took a leap and said “fuck it” and confirmed a date for Thai food. Sounds fun, huh? We’ll see.

~ Lady Q