March Madness

Where do I start…

On March 1, my lovely roommate of two years (and still my good friend) Rachel told me she was moving out. This came as a shock because just a month earlier we had been talking about our living arrangement and she mentioned that she wasn’t planning on moving out for at least another 6-7 months. And exactly two years after my last roommate search, I was back in the same place.

So I posted an ad on craigslist and got a slew of responses. The first response was from a guy who works in my company, in the same division as my ex-bf. Needless to say, I decided to keep searching and found a lovely new roommate.

Now some news from the dating world. The very brief romance with the cute comic/actor didn’t exactly go anywhere. Too bad. He was a good kisser. And in an effort to meet new people I decided to join an online dating site. This time around it’s okcupid. I think I’m about a week away from deactivating my profile. Every time I join an online dating site — usually in the “cold” LA months when the temperatures reach below 60 degrees — I quickly remember why I don’t like these sites.

Last Wednesday, I went on a date. During our email exchanges we discovered that we both like Bar Covell and decided to meet there. Never again. The date lasted about 4 hours, but not because it was going so well. My date did not shut up for 3 hours. He did not stop talking since the minute he saw me. He did not stop talking long enough to hear about the wine. He kept trying to show off his wine knowledge and show how much more he knows about wine than Matthew, my favorite winetender.   Did I mention he did not shut his mouth for 3 hours? I don’t even remember what he was talking about. It was that bad.

My awesome winetender friends could see by the look on my face how miserable I was and sent me a dessert to cheer me up. The red velvet donut kept me going. About 3 hours into our date, while I’m on my 3rd glass of wine and he’s about to start his 4th, I got a chance to talk. I’m pretty sure this only happened because my date was too exhausted after 3 hours of talking nonstop and he needed a break.  I got a few words in during the 4th hour of the date. Which had only lasted this long because I couldn’t get a word in to plan my escape during the first 3 hours of my miserable date.

Then it got better. The check came. He took a very, very, very long pause, examining the bill and in awe of the loyalty discount that was reflected on the check in my honor (since I’m VERY loyal). And he kept looking. And looking. And was not making any efforts to pay for the bill. This was my cue to reach for my wallet. I took some money out to pay for my half. The third time this has happened in my long dating history.

At this point, the 42-yr-old-A.D.D.-boy-who-could-not-shut-up says, “How about we split this one and I take you to a nice dinner next time.” To which I reply, “We’ll see.” My polite way of saying “Fuck no!”

The next day I get a message from him.

“Hi Eliza. I had a really great time with you last night. I’d love to see you again. Maybe we can go out sometime? Or we can just be friends.”

I replied to his voice mail with a text message.

“I had a nice time [obviously lying]. I’m not looking for friends. And I’ll be honest with you. The best way to guarantee there is no 2nd date, is by splitting the check on the first date.”

He responds:


Followed by:

“Fair enough.”

Followed by:

“Thanks for being honest.”

Followed by:

“I should use that next time. Or does that only work for women?”

Now I know why a decent looking, claiming-to-be-successful guy is single at 42.

And now you know why there are so many smart, gorgeous, accomplished single women in LA. It’s not the City of Angels. It’s the City of Peter-Pan.

Hey, at least I didn’t go to Cheesecake Factory. I never thought I’d have something nice to say about my Cheesecake Factory date, but at least the 26-year old had enough manners to pay for the bill.

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