Tag Archives: Los Angeles

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.


To Split the Check Or Not To Split the Check.

On the first date, who do you think should pay? Should the guy pay because it’s his courting duty, should you go Dutch, or should us women of the post-feminist era foot the bill?

I recently ventured back into the dating world of Tinder and had a date with Jake*, a seemingly nice guy who works at a major talent agency. I should have listened to my instincts which said no one nice works at an agency in LA but I guess I felt unusually bold and hopeful.  I further ignored my instincts and agreed to a Friday night date (a very unusual move for me).

We met at a bar near my house in Brentwood that I know to be reasonably well-priced and would have a decent Friday evening crowd. While Jake and I had a good conversation, I found his guffaw laugh to be rather obnoxious and didn’t feel much of a spark.

When the check arrived, I did the usual coy ask of  “Oh, should we split it?” and he said, “Absolutely!” Now, I realize that it was absolutely my fault to even present him with the option, but shouldn’t chivalry dictate that he say, “Thanks for the offer but it’s on me.” After all, he asked me out.

After throwing down my credit card, I knew I didn’t want to see this guy again. To add insult to injury, he basically ran out of the bar and didn’t offer to walk me home.

And so ended another dud of a Friday night date in LA.

The Geographically Undesirables.

There’s a term that’s very specific to the dating world of Los Angeles: Geographically Undesirable. When I receive a eHarmony mail from a cute guy in Santa Monica, I go, “eee, cute and close!” When I get a note from a cute guy in Agoura Hills, I think, “eeh, cute, but I can’t get over there on a weeknight without sitting in 2 hours of traffic. Wait – where exactly is Agoura Hills?”

It makes a world of difference if the guy lives within a 5 mile radius of you compared to if you have to cross the 405 and can’t even get on a freeway (I’m looking at you, West Hollywood). If you’re working a 10 hour+ day (cough cough aka my life), you really don’t have time to commute for a date. You barely have time to exercise and grab a quick glass of wine out at a bar before bed.

I once had a Wednesday night date in Los Feliz that I sat in 1 hour and 20 mins of traffic to get to and was subsequently 30 minutes late for the date. He was miffed I was late and I was fuming out of hunger, frustration, and concluded no man was ever worth venturing to Los Feliz for on a weekday night. Clearly, the two of us didn’t work out.

I mean, even NASA knows better than to go to the Valley.

Image: #WhenInLA

And this illustration pretty much sums up all my feelings. Courtesy of my dad (he knows me all too well).

That being said, I know the first-hand stories of the long distance relationships where people even got on airplanes to meet up with the men they loved and it all worked out. So maybe I should try venturing east of the 405.

Ladies – sound off! Is this just a LA problem? How far are you willing to venture for a date? What’s an acceptable radius?

What The Kids Are Up To.

I have launched a social experiment to investigate what the kids are up to these days.

Recently, my 22 year old coworker friend talked me into trying out Tinder. Believe it or not, I do think it’s wise to take the advice of 22 year olds from time to time. They have a certain joie de vivre and lack a certain jadedness that us late 20somethings possess. And when you go out with them, you realize what a fun time they have. You don’t even regret the hangover the next day (sigh, to be 22 and hangoverless again…).

Have you heard of Tinder yet? Some call it an app for hooking up. I like to think of it as speed dating on the iPhone with all the superficiality that you’re supposed to pretend to lack on Match.com.

So far, I’ve encountered a lot of shirtless (and in some cases, headless…) men from the westside on the app. For example:



Tinder works in that it pulls your info from Facebook so everyone is “supposed” to be telling the truth. I have found this not to be the truth, as several alleged 19 year olds that I have been matched with are most definitely 35 years old.

Regardless, I have chatted with some 20something men on the app and found them to be…well…about as eloquent as they are on Match.com. Which is not saying much. One invited me over to hang with him him while he sat on his couch. I declined.

Basically, Tinder seems to be some sort of playground for all of us to play out our superficial fantasies and potentially find someone casual to hook up with. But hey, it sure is fun.

I’ll keep you posted —


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.