Dont Mince Words

Dating in Los Angeles is hard.  It’s hard all over.  But I know it is difficult when a man I went out with and wrote about in 2004 is pursuing me again, unknowingly, in Santa Barbara.  The difference is, while there has chronologically been eight years since our last date, his profile age is only one year older.  Oh, the joys of having a Hollywood age.

It took me about one minute after I read his email to register who he was…. “more fun than greased weasels” and a “culture vulture” with a lesbian friend who tells him what he needs and should be looking for.  Oh yeah.  Him.  He was the guy with a membership to Magic Castle.  After being in LA longer, I learned men with memberships to Magic Castle are like women with three cats – buyer beware.  But the funnier thing was he was my first blog troll.  Long before I enabled comments, he emailed me from a hotmail account and told me I was a bitch for not letting my date know he had something stuck in his teeth.  He emailed several times after that with negative trash talk, but since I didn’t respond, I guess he found another culture vulture to circle with.

Me?  I’m really eight years older, I still floss, and I have at least one reason a week why I’m thankful I don’t actively date anymore.

Friend Me

Dixie was getting her last walk of the night when I noticed a white car rolling by really slow.  When it parked illegally, I paid more attention while Dixie watered a bush.  A girl I didn’t recognized jumped out of the car and said, “Marna, is that Dixie?”

This woman was introduced to me online a year ago through a mutual friend who thought we should get together because our dogs look alike.  I know that sounds like a crazy-dog-owner-qualifier, but American Bulldogs are sort of rare and their markings vary.  We obviously never made time to meet, but were able to keep up with our dog-related facebook posts.    This was my first encounter with a Facebook person I didn’t know before friending them.

If there was doggie TMZ, I think Dixie would be this week’s IT girl, but for now, she hopes you’ll thumbs up like her.

In the continuing de-evolution of real men, there are arguments that this phenomenon started in the ’70s when divorces increased and boys were raised by single mothers.  OK, then what explains men in their ’60s that behave like… pussies.  In my case, I’m going to blame it on California, again.

I received a voice mail two days after a flight I took.  Here’s a modified transcript:

“Hi Marna, this is Idiot.  You sat a few rows back from me on our San Francisco shuttle.  I smiled at you and you smiled back but I don’t think you recognized me.”

One date.  You have salt and pepper hair and glasses and look like every other 61 year-old in Santa Barbara, that’s probably why I didn’t recognize you.

“I know it was you because you have a very distinctive look.”

Yeah, you don’t find super white skin and red hair easily in coastal California.

“I just though I’d call to tell you I saw you and to hope all is well in your relationship.  Best.  Oh, this is Idiot.”

So, here’s how this would of played out from a confident, east coast guy:

“Marna?” he says with a head tilt.  “It’s Confident Guy, how are you?”

If I act like don’t know him, his response would be, “Oh, I’m sorry, you look exactly like someone I’ve met.”

Confrontation complete.  No sweat.  Hell, his backup plan could of been a debark, tarmac hello. You don’t call two wimpy days later and play out the scenario on voice mail…unless you are a soft beta male from California.