Tag Archives: douchebag

Battery Pack.

This story was written by me with full permission from my friend J.

J. met Battery Pack at the Bungalow a few weeks ago around closing time. He approached her with the line, “I bet you get so tired of guys coming up to you at the end of the night and hitting on you” and then he walked off. A few minutes later, he re-approached her and proceeded to actually hit on her. Her friend slash wingwoman for the night E. was not impressed with him.

J. agreed to a date with him where he wouldn’t agree to meet in a “in the middle” neighborhood and insisted that she go to HIS favorite Thai restaurant in his part of town. Red flag #1. He also offered for her to park at his friend’s place because it had “free valet” which she wisely declined. While at dinner he began discussing chiropractic techniques to which J. asked “Oh, are you a chiropractor?” to which he replied “No….well yes…I just don’t have a license.” Red flag #2.  Surprisingly, the rest of the date went well, except for the point where he said “Oh honey! Your rib is completely out!” and proceeded to adjust it before getting her consent and the “adjustment” resulted in 2 days of soreness. Red flag #3.

Fast forward to Labor Day weekend, where we attended a barbecue hosted by J. and friends in Marina del Rey. She invited Battery Pack as their 2nd date and he agreed to come and then showed up two hours late. He finally called J. and complained that he could not find the place and was very irritated. While J. tried to give him directions, he snapped, “this is NOT helping me!!” and hung up. When he did finally arrive, J. went down to show him where to park and the second that she got in his car, he did not say hello and started ranting about how he “hates bbqs in these types of buildings”.

Upon his un-punctual arrival, Battery Pack called out J’s friend E. for dismissing him at Bungalow, which immediately made everyone in the apartment uncomfortable. He didn’t make an effort to talk to us (the friends) and swept J. to the couch where he tried to canoodle with her and give her a poor man’s massage and unwanted chiropractic adjustments. Between his groping attempts, Battery Pack would pick up his phone which was attached a battery pack that was twice the size of his iPhone and play his beloved video game.

Later in the night, some of our guy friends showed up. When they entered the apartment, Battery Pack waved hello to them and said, “Hey guys, nice to see you. There’s a bunch of you and I’m the couch so I’m not going to get up and shake your hands. Cool to see you!” We stared in astonishment and the boys were rightfully offended. Battery Pack then went on to have a single-sided conversation with the room about how he finances movies and he’s really, really good at it.

The majority of us decided we couldn’t hang around Battery Pack any longer and ran across the street to the local bar to escape. Our host, Ellen*, decided at that point the barbecue was over and told Battery Pack to leave immediately. J. was relieved that he was kicked out and joined us out at the bar, where we congratulated her on making the right call to ditch the dude.

Battery Pack continues to text J. even though she has explicitly told him she no longer wants to see him.

And so ends another tale of another douchebag run-in in Los Angeles.

Mr. WTF.

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:


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.


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


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.


The End of Gentility.

I gotta ask – when did everyone become such a jerk?


Mr. Terrible was bad enough. I’m still kicking myself for not having the balls to get up and leave the table in the middle of the world’s rudest date.

Two weeks ago, I found myself one drink in at The Charleston in Santa Monica, a bar I tend to like but unfortunately it has started to attract the likes of drunk younger 20somethings who can’t afford the cover at the Wilshire bar next door.

My friend D. and I were sitting at the bar comfortably having drinks when suddenly over the course of 20 minutes, the capacity of the bar tripled and we were sandwiched in our seats surrounded by drunk douchebags and douchebaguettes (a term I recently learned and love – it means female douchebag!). Now, I’m willing to admit fault that I should have given up and gotten out of my seat sooner, but D. and I were trying to have a conversation. As we talked and finished our drinks, some wasted douchebag kept pushing his crotch into my back as he fought to get the bartender’s attention to order a drink. Repeatedly, he kept shoving into me over the course of several minutes, until I lost my cool.

I stood up and asked him to get out of my personal space. He snapped back, “This place is f–king crowded, what the f–k do you want me to do about it?” We got in each others’ faces for a moment until I backed off and D. dragged me to the dance floor.

So, what happened? Was I — the sober one — at fault for losing it over being shoved into by someone’s crotch repeatedly? Once upon a time, I was that drunk 22 year old. But I’d like to think I never shoved into anyone’s personal space with my crotch. Should I have cut him more slack for acting his age?

Almost fights in bars aside, I’ve noticed a general lack in manners and gentility in this city. Most mornings on my commute (in my car), someone yells and honks at someone from their cars and/or at pedestrians. People in the entertainment industry won’t talk to me at parties because I’m not in their industry and therefore cannot further their career in any way. No one smiles at each other here when I walk around my neighborhood or office. This could be the Midwesterner in me that’s expecting too much out of people, but I’ve encountered much more friendly people in even New York.

That movie Crash got that commentary right about LA – the only interactions strangers have here is when they literally crash into each other. Or almost get into bar fights over invasion of personal space.