Category Archives: douchebags

dating, douchebags

Me Versus the Dog.

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I am going to admit something most online date prospects find abominable. Actually, most of my friends find it abominable.

I am not much of a dog person.

My feelings about dogs mirror many of my feelings about children. Such as:

“Why do they smell so bad?”

“I do not want to pick up or clean this poop.”

“I want to take a spontaneous weekend trip to Vegas. Who is going to watch the damn dog/child?”

“I kill house plants at an alarming rate. Why would you put a living, breathing organism into my custody?”

This long introduction brings me to Mr. Dog Lover.

I met and dated Mr. Dog Lover 2 summers ago. We met via mutual friends which is a rarity for me since most of my friends/network don’t usually have anyone to introduce to me whether because they are hoarding him or I’m just that despicable of a person to try to set up with.

Mr. Dog Lover and I had some wonderful dates. We laughed, we drank wine, we ate good food. On our 3rd date, we went hiking and he brought Boomerang*. Boomerang was a 50 pound bulldog. I tolerated enjoyed Boomerang’s presence mostly because I wasn’t in charge of picking up Boomerang’s poo. Actually, Boomerang and I were completely on the same page at one point during the hike when he planted himself mid-stride on the mountain and refused to budge for 5 minutes. I was tired too, Boomerang.

On date 5, I went to Mr. Dog Lover’s house where upon we entered his apartment and Boomerang jumped on me. I don’t like it when any being jumps on me (yes, this includes Ryan Gosling shirtless), much less when a 50 pound bulldog jumps on me. Mr. Dog Lover laughed it off because that meant Boomerang really liked me. I was not as amused.

The night progressed and Mr. Dog Lover suggested that I stay the night that warm July evening in his Venice Beach apartment. I happily agreed. He did however caveat that Boomerang was used to sleeping in his room. Not to be a naysayer or seem to be too uptight, I said that was alright.

A few hours later, I woke up sweating and uncomfortable. It was then that I realized Boomerang was asleep on top of me. I tried to move Boomerang to Mr. Dog Lover’s side of the bed but he wouldn’t budge. I whispered, “Boomerang get off me please! I’m very hot and uncomfortable!”

My whisper pleading woke up Mr. Dog Lover and he angrily got up and put Boomerang outside the room. I protested that I wasn’t trying to be rude, I was just not used to ANY animal sleeping on top of me (again, I repeat, I would not even accept shirtless Ryan Gosling asleep on top of me; I’m a very warm sleeper). Mr. Dog Lover grumbled that the dog would insist on sleeping on the bed; the only option was to lock him out.

So then I endured a night next to an angry man and a whimpering dog outside the door.

When the alarm went off at 7 AM, I groggily pushed myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Upon re-entering his bedroom, I came upon a picture that has forever been burned into my mind. Sitting on the bed was Mr. Dog Lover and Boomerang, who both angrily stared me down. It was then that I realized I had created quite the feud: it was me versus the dog.

Except it was not a feud at all. Boomerang was curled happily up in bed and I was the unwelcome stranger in the bedroom. I did my best to politely gather my things and then asked Mr. Dog Lover when he was free to hang out again. He gave me some vague and cold response about him traveling to San Francisco for work and reconnecting when he got back.

I unlocked the front door and walked myself out of the apartment feeling more down about myself and used than I’ve felt in…perhaps ever.

To Mr. Dog Lover’s credit, I did hear from him a week later, once he was “done with his travels.” I declined his offer to meet up. At that point, I had realized that life was too short to try to date someone who made me feel that bad about myself after only 5 dates.

It probably wasn’t about the dog in the end. Mr. Dog Lover was a nice, short guy (with a bad case of morning grumpiness) who I ultimately didn’t click with. If I wrote off all male dog lovers, I’d leave myself with a very small dating pool indeed.

Perhaps it’s about finding the right guy AND the right animal companion in the end.

Until next time,

A.

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* All names on this blog have been changed to protect the innocent. Even innocent animals.

dating, douchebags, online dating

Mr. Vegetarian.

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I tried to date a vegetarian who drives a Prius for a few weeks.

It didn’t work out.

Aside from the fact that he would insist on sharing plates whenever we ate dinner (and that made me the carnivorous psychopath in me want to order meat even more), he was one of the Nice Guys. He taught special education to 8th graders. I work in advertising and help deliver you display ads that you don’t want on your webpages, and I am also writing about this nice guy on an anonymous dating blog. There is probably a special place in Heaven for people like him and a special place in Hell for people like me.

But he was also a 31-year-old who “temporarily” lived with his parents because he was “condo-hunting”. He claimed he temporarily lived in the guesthouse. Turned out, he lived in a bedroom above the garage that had a doorway with no door. My friends theorized that perhaps he did something bad and his mom took the door away to punish him.

At the end of the day, don’t trust a male vegetarian. Or do, just stand your ground and order a gosh darn steak because that’s what you really want.

douchebags, on Los Angeles

Mr. WTF.

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Last Saturday, I was trying to enjoy a lovely Saturday afternoon in the park on my own. (By the way, I really enjoy alone time.)

I was perched at a park bench, reading a magazine, basking in the 72 and perfect sunny day when I heard:

“Hi!”

I looked up to see some European man and I smiled politely even though I had no idea who he was.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!”  he exclaimed. “I thought you were my friend who I just had lunch! I was thinking, what is she doing here when I just saw her 10 minutes ago?”

“Oh, that’s a funny coincidence,” I said and turned back to my magazine.

“It’s so weird. You look exactly like her!” he said.

“Ok,” I said.

“So, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Just enjoying the sunny day. Reading in the park,” I answered.

“Ahh. So what do you do in LA? Are you a model? Or an actress?” he asked. At which point, I gave up trying to do polite conversation with him. I replied, “Um no, definitely not. I work in advertising.” And I blatantly dug my nose back in the magazine.

“What sort of advertising? Like in that magazine you’re reading?” he inquired on.

“No,” I said. “Online.” Then I went silent and continued trying to read.

He paused for a moment and then said, “Ok, well do you want to ask any questions about me?”

I put down the magazine, did my best to smile as politely as possible, and said, “No, not really. Honestly, I was just trying to sit here and read and enjoy the day. It’s been really nice talking to you and I hope that you have a good day!”  To emphasize my point, I picked the magazine up and continued reading.

“I’m Israeli. Do you want to know anything else?” he prattled on.

“No, honestly, I’ve appreciated talking to you but I’m done talking.”

“Don’t you want to make new friends in LA? I’m pretty new to LA,” he said.

“At this point, no, I do not want to be your friend. It’s been lovely talking to you. Have a nice day,” I said.

“I cannot believe you’re being so disrespectful to me!” he practically yelled. “Especially since you’re Jewish!”

I put down the magazine. “I’m not Jewish!” (FACT)

“Now you’re just lying to me. You’re being a rude and disrespectful liar!” he shouted. I just shrugged and said I wasn’t lying (which is true; I am most definitely not Jewish!). He finally stalked off at that point, muttering about how rude I was and what a liar I was.

I have no words except …WTF.

douchebags, on Los Angeles, online dating

Question.

2 Comments

Question: Why do so many guys on Match.com post shirtless pictures?

3rercy

Ladies in other parts of the US – is this limited to only Southern California? Because they at least have a reason to be posing and running around shirtless most months of the year? It seems to be a rampant trend here in LA.

Or maybe they have all been watching too much of The Bachelor this season and Sean Lowe is their inspiration.

Sean-Lowe-Shirtless-Shower

dating, douchebags, online dating

Mr. Terrible.

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Forgive me for my lack of original nickname for this particular doofus but I could not think of a better adjective to associate with him than TERRIBLE.

I met Mr. Terrible on Match.com (blonde, tall, self-employed*) and he suggested meeting for a drink in Venice at 8:00 on a Tuesday night. I arrived fashionably late at 8:05 and had a lovely conversation with the bouncer at the door of The Other Room about Black’s Beach in La Jolla. That was the only lovely conversation I had that evening.

Mr. Terrible was seated at a table with a beer in hand. We had the usual awkward meet-an-online-stranger hug then he said that there wasn’t a waitress so to go to the bar to get a drink. I think I stood there uncertainly for 10 seconds, then marched to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine and put it on my credit card.

I came back with my glass of Rueda (remember when I said I was a bit of a wine snob? Still holds true) and we delved into a sort of awkward but not entirely bad first date conversation. However, 15 minutes in, I knew the guy didn’t like me because he asked me how the weather was today in Santa Monica (it’s LA, dude, it’s 60 degrees and sunny every day in February).

30 minutes into the date (not even halfway through my glass), he took a phone call. In front of me. At the table.

I politely smiled through it and sipped my wine. I have to say, I was taught you never take phone calls at the table. You don’t even text at the table. If it’s really, really that urgent, you excuse yourself briefly. Not only was he yapping on his phone in front of me, I realized he was talking about his plans to meet up with someone else pretty much now. So Mr. Terrible was basically pulling a “Something bad happened” first date move/escaping the date on me.

He hung up and explained since he was on this side of town, he was meeting with a friend he doesn’t see often in Venice. I said, “that’s nice” and somehow made it through another 5 minutes of stunted conversation with him.

At about 8:40, before my wine was even done, he announced it was time for him to leave to meet his friend. I said, “Have fun. I guess I’ll go close my tab. You don’t have to wait for me if you have to get out of here.”

And he took off.

I had to do the walk of shame back to the bar alone and request to close out, even though I’m pretty sure the bartenders watched this pathetic interaction. I’m surprised they didn’t comp my wine out of sheer pity for me.

I exited The Other Room and the aforementioned bouncer called out to me, “Wait, the date is over ALREADY?” I had no words, so I simply shrugged and walked to my car alone (while constantly looking over my shoulder; it was Venice after all. Full of all sorts of crazies and apparently terrible doofuses).

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* Self-employed in LA is a bad, bad sign. “Self-employed” means barely supporting one’s self doing bartending/waiting/barista-ing while you work on your screenplay(s). In Mr. Terrible’s case, he “consulted.”