The San Francisco Scene

The Untaken Road

2010-08-29T09:30:00.001-07:00

For all travel updates I have a new website!! Please go to www.theuntakenroad.com, a series of women's voices across the open road of America!

Tricky Underwear

2009-06-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

Why do we camouflage what we eventually reveal?

Andrew Christian, a celebrity designer recently featured on Bravo, recently came to San Francisco to promote his new line of goods. Smocks, frocks or pantsuits, you ask? Not exactly. Andrew Christian designs form fitting men's underwear. This was one fashion show I was not going to miss.

However, I soon realized that Andrew's products were not just for the well sculpted and even better endowed. Darn! Unlike most tight briefs that require an Adonis-like body to be flattering, Andrew designs a more "enhancing" version for the everyday male. Through innovative materials, Andrew's products firm the buttocks, hide love handles and promote the package. Although we may laugh at a new garment that mimics a sock in the pants, we also must acknowledge that men are becoming as vain as we are.

"Vain?!" my dear down-to-earth girlfriends exclaim indignantly. "Vain? Moi? I hike and bike! I don't try to change my appearance!"

I run to their bedroom and open up their top dresser drawer. "Aha - what is this we have here?" I say holding up two pairs of Spanx, the modern day girdle. The guilty Spanx were situated right by a series of cleverly padded bras.

I then run over to the bathroom and pull out multiple shades of under eye concealer, lip plumping lipsticks and expensive (yet strangely always ineffective) cellulite cream.

"And you say you do not want to change your appearance! Shame shame. And what is this?" I point to a 25 percent off tooth whitening coupon attached to the fridge by a magnet.

They all look shyly away, well knowing that we are all tempted to pay for the next trick to make us look less like we really are.

After booking my 3rd wax appointment for the month, I wondered if beauty has gotten the best of us. In this city of the slim and small pored, women and men alike are eternally on the hamster wheel trying to keep up. We go to all lengths to fool others into thinking we are a media image of perfection. But isn't it sometimes silly to pad and promote and suck it in when our main goal is just to get naked anyway? Should we stop false advertising and just be ourselves from the first date? For once the penis enhancing underwear is removed, all will know the true size of the member. And once my bra with its sci-fi industrial padding construction comes off, my date will discover that I am a far cry from Dolly Parton.

So on my next date I decide to forgo the accoutrements that add two cup sizes and force my stomach to twist inside itself. I may look less sculpted, but I will also be one step closer to being naked. And that is the real goal anyway.

Wax on-Wax Off

2009-05-17T15:07:00.000-07:00

Spring has more than sprung…May is San Francisco’s entry into summer.

The wind ceases, the fog holds back, and the sun bakes every hill and valley. We all know this warmth won’t last long so we San Franciscans shed our layers, slather ourselves with SPF and scantily clad, prance outdoors as if there were no tomorrow.

As the clothing comes off, we become more aware of our grooming habits. In this vain city, body hair is an unwelcome accessory. Upper lips are waxed, eyebrows plucked, and the “down there” is given new special consideration.

For the hot weather doesn’t just inspire bikinis and Speedos, it also makes us want to um, take full advantage of the hot summer nights. Who wants unruly hair to get in the way of sensuality?

However, although lips, eyebrows, and backs are easy to take care of, I realized that there is no standard protocol for the regions below the belt.

Challenged to look sleek in smaller swimsuits, women left the bushes long ago. My friends' nether region styling ranges from tiny landing strips to '12-year-old bare.' They know that that anything more puts them 15 years behind the sexual fashion curve. In fact, many men I know consider bushes a deal breaker.

“I am not using a flashlight to help me navigate,” says one. “Wax all that off!”

“Just enough hair to show she’s a woman…that would be about eight of them.” says another.

“A strip to guide the way, anymore, I won’t play,” rhymes a third.

Whew. Good thing I have my bikini waxer on retainer.

Although men are very opinionated when it comes to women’s waxing routines, they are just starting to figure out their own. ‘Manscaping’ has only been in the metrosexual male’s lexicon for a short amount of time. Each man has his own manscaping practice ranging from a weekly comb to Nair. Over brunch I ask the ladies what they have seen and what they prefer: bald eagle, trimmed hedge, or the full monty (of hair, that is)?

Christi: (visiting from Europe): Men in Europe don’t even comb it. 'Au naturel'is the euro standard. Sadly, no one knows any different. 'Scaping' is considered gay. Although it would be nice to not have to bring dental floss on dates. …

Vicki: The less the better. I hate random hairs flying around. Seriously who wants to have to vacuum after sex? Plus, a solid shave makes their 'junk’ look bigger.

Mazz: I am not a fan of no hair...that's just weird. But do I like a neat trim…it’s respectful. Otherwise I feel the guy doesn’t care. If you have people over for dinner, you have a clean house, right?

I do like a clean house. And a respectful male. Luckily right now I have both. If only it were hot in San Francisco all year round…

Twitterpated

2009-04-26T22:02:00.000-07:00

Twitterpated—a quite odd behavior that overcomes humans as they become completely enamored with another human being. Victims of the Twitterpated bug describe it as an unmistakable feeling of becoming weak kneed, emotionally flighty, and prone to bouts of impromptu joy.

According to researchers on the subject, Twitterpated incidents usually occur in Springtime—the weather warms, dresses come out, flesh is revealed, and birds chirp romantically to newly budding flowers. Love is indeed in the air. Once they become Twitterpated, people are oblivious to the world around them and are often caught whistling “It’s a Beautiful World,” buying daisies and greetings strangers on the street citing random bits of poetry.

My dear friend Alexis is one of these people. She skips down the San Francisco streets with her arms in the air. She smiles and giggles and quite frankly, has lost her ability to appreciate anything dry or sarcastic. I have tried everything I can to bring her back down to earth with sobering tales of unromantic things. I mentioned the recent shooting in the Tenderloin, told her of the dire straits of Zimbabwe, and reminded her that our 401K plans were now 201Ks. Alas, nothing worked. Alexis had drunk the kool-aide of the hopelessly smitten and wore her perma-grin proudly. Hmmppfff……I cannot believe the Twitterpated epidemic has claimed one of my own.

Alexis is proof that yes, love is possible even among the alpha females and alpha males in this never-never land of a city.

I am happy for my dear friend yet also quite perplexed. This Twitterpated kool-aide frightens me. Although I once used to fall in love with anyone who had a foreign accent, I now have turned into a disbelieving curmudgeon (Down with Love is my favorite motto). I wonders if I will ever get there again.

It’s not I have not found someone Twitterpated worthy. In fact, the fabulous man I recently met is worthy of many poetic odes.

However, for some reason I am incapable of releasing and letting myself fall. Swooning, an act I used to perform on a regular basis just isn’t as easy a feat anymore. I am terrified throwing out my back. Or falling hard to the ground. Or making a mistake. Or losing my cool and collected composure and have that THING take over my body, weaken my knees and knock the wind out of me. Alpha females, after all, like to be in control.

My friends have three theories:

Alexis: “Maybe he’s just not the right guy. I am a huge believer in ‘When you know, you know.’ Instantly. It should hit you over the head like a ton of bricks. Chemistry is unmistakable…and losing control inevitable. But trust me, it’s the best ride you will ever take!”

Mazz: "Hmmm…perhaps you are not allowing yourself to "twitterpate" because you are subconsciously attempting to protect youself? I think many women are so afraid of making a wrong choice or getting hurt that they don't allow themselves to fall for someone unless he is "perfect" or "their type." Juliet, "your type" in the past did write you love ballads and sail the isles, but he also turned out to be a manic depressive lunatic. Perhaps it's time to swap out a few "type" characteristics for some others? If you are sure to keep an open mind with this guy, you may be surprised at how quickly a non type twitterpates you."

Natalie: "Bah Humbug. Twitterpated is for the birds. It's a fleeting feeling that has no basis in reality. Getting to know (and fall in love with) someone takes time. Remember the time you flew across the world to end up with some crazy European that you came to despise? Rash does not equal love. Be patient. Do not force it, give it time, and nurture it to fruition..."

Which theory is correct? I guess time will tell. But one thing is for sure- even if it looks ridiculous, skipping down the street singing love songs sure does seem like fun!

I need a man...

2009-04-20T19:34:00.000-07:00

Although my reader’s comments have been helpful, I was still feeling particularly perplexed by the blurred lines of gender roles in dating. Forgot splitting the check—there are far more important etiquette questions such as indicating interest, playing hard-to-get, and my personal challenge- remaining flirtatiously feminine after I sprained my ankle in boxing. Ack---I wish I could revert to 2nd grade and just pass the guy a note. “I like you, do you like me? Check box yes or no…”

Sadly I am no longer 7. At 30, dating is full of baggage, complications, and some defensive desire to remain cool and aloof. We hate games, yet everyone seems to tell us to play them. There is no knowing how much to hold back, how much information to give, and how independent we remain.

I had been seeing someone and had no clue how interested he was in me NOR if I should act interested in him. If we were 7 we would have sealed our love in a backyard game of catch-and-kiss. Instead we were both overanalyzing text messages trying to decipher the hidden meaning in poor punctuation. In taking the relationship forward is ‘less more’ or is ‘more more’? And in terms of 'the game' are my chances of winning better if I play coy or act smitten?

Looking for answers I went out with the boys and decided to take advantage of varying male opinions over good quality scotch. “Tell me boys, when newly dating, how much love should a gal show?” I got three different viewpoints from three different men.

Angelo: If I like a girl I am in her sh** all the time. There is no way I am going to give an opportunity for another dude to get in there and take what is rightfully mine. So Juliet, trust me, if he likes you, you will be overwhelmed with attention. I am talkin’ poetry at your window, love ballads played on your voicemail, etc. Stay coy-it’s enticing and will weed out the good from the bad. You do not need to do nothing, honey. In fact, do less.

Max: Well…the poetry may indeed come but only if the poor guy gets some buy-in. With the exception of Mr. Angelo here, many of us don’t have the mojo we once did. I mean ,women can easily substitute us for a piece of plastic in their nightstand drawer! We need to know that she’s into the real deal. You don't want to be the over eager beaver, but at least give us a hint. Not make us guess lest we guess wrong. That fragile male ego---we need cheerleaders to convince us to keep playing.

Charles: Juliet, I have known you for a long time. Honestly, I would hate to date you and your alpha female gang. You girls go beyond coy and star in this little intimidating one act show. “Look at me-I am in MENSA, I rock climb without a rope, I change my own energy saving light bulbs. ” Are you dating, Juliet, or just out to prove that you do not need a man? The men I know are not pompous jerks and frankly need more cheerleading along with that wonderful feeling that you NEED them. You do not seem to need anyone. Can’t you at least ask him to assemble a shoe rack for you?”

I was taken aback. I mean of course we don’t NEED a man. Or do we? I am lousy at assembling anything in my life and last time I tried to change a light bulb I fell off the chair and bruised my hip. I guess I need to stop pretending otherwise and let my guard down?

From boxer to Damsel here I go...

Are we becoming the men we want to marry...

2009-03-18T09:47:00.000-07:00

Tuesday evening my friend Alexis noticed a particularly interesting "thought" on her 'Deep Thoughts' daily calendar. She immediately emailed her closest friends a thought-provoking email with the deep thought du jour in the subject header. It was: “We are becoming the men we want to marry.”

A man? Moi? But I had little time to think about it as I was running late to boxing class. I picked up my sweaty 12 oz. gloves and felt my stomach to happily acknowledge the progress of my six pack. Hot—I was almost as tight at Matthew McConaughey. It never dawned on me to think of this as masculine. Can't muscles and dripping sweat be sexy on a woman in a Charlie’s Angels kind of way? Or did I resemble a testosterone infused beefcake?

Across town a much more femininely attired Mazz was debating restaurants. She was on date numero dos with Mac, and wanted to pick a place with the right ambiance and cuisine. It never occurred to her that HE should be the one picking the restaurant. In fact, given her Napa and Sonoma IQ, she expected the waiter to hand her the wine list as well. However, although Mazz was sure of her ordering savvy, she wasn’t sure what the new rules were for paying the bill. If we are assertive on the Syrah selection are we expected to be equally aggressive at grabbing the check? Are the days of females being romantically wined and dined coming to an end?

And somewhere between Mazz and myself, Eva was celebrating closing another big business deal that rivaled her husband’s. When they had children, would it make more sense for the family to have a stay-at-home dad or a stay-at-home mom?

I realized that somewhere the tables had turned-women were taking on roles traditionally reserved for men and doing a damn good job at them. Do we do this because we cannot find a man to do this for us? Or do we actually enjoy (the once deemed) masculine roles? And if we do, does this make us less feminine?

"I still want to be the girl," protested Mazz.

"And I can't help but act like a girl, even when it annoys me," responded Alexis. Indeed, I noted that even my most sure and powerful female friends still get girly and estrogen induced needy at times.

No matter how assertive we may be on selecting the venue for a date, we still turn into a quivering mass of pathetic-ness of the guy doesn’t call us the next day.

And no matter how strong our muscles are, we would be traumatized if they were larger than the those of the men we were dating. “I shouldn’t be able to beat up my boyfriend,” one girl commented, "he needs to protect me from the dangers of the world."

And although women like Eva gain glory from career success, they still are hesitant to take on the bread winner role in the family. “Is it wrong that I want to conquer the world yet still have someone take care of me?” another girl chimed in.

How do we balance our new-found Type A achiever goals with the pleasure of remaining feminine and nurturing? After all, romance is based upon deep sighs, wistful stares, and the feeling that we are beautiful and worth protecting. Romeo’s lines were NOT

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and Juliet is the alpha female dominatrix
Arise, fair alpha, and kill the envious moon with your boxing and powerpoints….”

No no…..Romeo was inspired by a fair maiden with eyes like the stars….and deep down we all want to be that type of inspiration to a man… while conquering the world at the same time!

When to Do the Deed

2009-03-06T14:35:00.000-08:00

I was having a typical Friday happy hour in San Francisco—sipping overpriced bubbly and talking to well-heeled girls about dating wows and woes.

Jackie was perplexed. “I really like Alex,” she said. “We have been out several times laughing and smiling…but I am very hesitant to spend the night with him. I am fearful that once we sleep together he will lose interest.”

What?! Even though Jackie’s loins were aching to give Alex more, her carefully guarded mind wouldn’t let her for fear of being regarded as an “easy target” and immediately dismissed from relationship status.

But why? If two people are having fun, why wouldn’t the man want that to continue after sex? And if the sex is good wouldn’t that be all the more reason to come back for more?

Why is sex a trump card that can potentially end the game?

Alexis told her, “Jackie, I think you need to stop worrying. It seems like he genuinely likes you. And if you are aching to get naked, by all means give in to the seduction of the moment! I bet he’ll want MORE of you.”

I chimed in, “Yes, we shouldn’t have to deprive ourselves just because some an old fashioned woman with cobwebby loins wrote the book 'The Rules' and frightened us to frigidity.”

But I later realized that my words were only vacant mutterings.

With all our bags of experiences, giving in to the moment is increasingly challenging.

My 3rd encounter with an unnamed young man ended at my place at 2 in the morning. I was very excited to get this hot specimen all to myself. Now exactly what to do? Plan A: Show him my shoe collection. Plan B: Attack.

Plan B was initiated before we even closed the door. After all, weren’t walls invented to be slammed up against? However, executing the plan beyond the wall slam maneuver was easier said then done. Sometime during the bedroom tussle, my sex savvy faltered as Jackie’s words entered my mind. I was trapped in a scene from the movie “Love Actually” where the neurotic woman finally gets the hot guy (Carl) in her bedroom…only to be overly distracted from lovemaking by the constant chime of her phone ringing.

I had my own phone ringing—the crazy wheels of my mind. Although I appeared to be kissing I was really writing a list of profound questions in my brain.

1-What would happen the next morning? Would I still be able to make my morning spin class? Or would there be lingering? Is there a breakfast obligation?

2-Was I giving in too soon? Is a hot 2am hookup really saying sayonara to any form of relationship? But did I even want a relationship?

3-And regardless of relationship, if I were going to "do the deed" what was my assurance that it would be any good? What if he was a “wham bam thank you ma’am” type of guy? I certainly didn’t want to add another notch to my bedpost for a one-time 4 minute encounter.

Sigh. I certainly wasn’t going to solve the world’s problems that night. But the next day I made a new commitment to myself. Shut off the brain. Enjoy the moment. And pretend you are in love—even if it’s just for a few hours. If the man still leaves after an evening of sordid seduction, he wasn’t going to stay in the first place.

Dating is for the Disinterested

2009-02-17T21:58:00.000-08:00

Last week a male friend of mine and I discussed how America is the only country that has this complicated game of ego and juggling we refer to as dating. Europeans don’t date multiple people at a time. Neither do Australians, South Americans, Asians or Africans. In other countries, courtship goes something like this:

1. Man sees woman he likes and gets weak-kneed.
2. Man, through ridiculous poetry or other gallant gesture, asks woman out. (Well, in France anyway. In Southeast Asia leaving a dairy cow on the front porch can be construed as sign of interest)
3. Woman says yes.
4. Man puts all his effort to impress this one (yes, only one) woman.
5. Woman spends her time wistfully thinking about this one (yes, only one) man.
6. After the first date the smitten two smile and sigh and build a couple-hood. They have no desire to meet anyone else…well, until the French man decides to take a mistress.

Minus the mistress part, why can’t we emulate the rest of the world? It’s romantic, it’s easy, and it’s a focused effort. Why do we feel a need to date multiple people and spread ourselves thin?

Theory Number #1-The Ego Boost:
Having multiple men interested in us makes us feel desirable and dreamy and puts an extra skip in our step. Never mind if it’s the homeless man on 6th and Market telling me I’m a “damn sexy bitch.” Attention, even from a crack pipe aficionado, feels good. Men, I believe, take this to another extreme. It’s an ego boost to have many women interested in them, yes. But if a man can master SLEEPING with multiple women….well, that must mean he is God. Even some translations of the Koran depict a man’s heaven as having sex with 72 (virgin) women. Of course here on earth any man that has 72 women sleeping with him likely isn’t that selective or have much else going on in his life.

Theory #2: “I don’t believe in love at first sight”--The Backup Plan
Gone are the days of falling in love with the dark stranger in the Starbuck’s café. “Down with (immediate) Love” is the motto of the 30 somethings. As we get older and jaded we don’t trust a man after one or two dates and must have backups readily available. Even the book, “The Rules” advises us to have multiple dates with different men lined up so that we don’t become too attached to any one and risk a broken heart. The issue with the backup plan is that we never really are focused on one person, and always in the mindset that something better could come along. This lack of focus mutes any chance of a romantic success. During my FeDoo phase I double and triple booked men into my Saturday. God forbid I make one date special and prep with a bubble bath, blow out and Marvyn Gaye. The result was a frazzled FeDoo: frizzy hair, deathly tired, and no ability to keep the names of her daters straight. I realized that no man interested me enough to sacrifice my whole day prepping for, which brings me to Theory #3.

Theory #3: Disinterest.
Mazz was perplexed. One of the guys she had been casually dating wanted to spend time with her next weekend. But Wednesday-Sunday were designated for Happy hours, group dinners, singles parties, etc. “How can I find time to date this one boy when all my nights are filled looking for new boys?” she asked. Alexis responded wisely, “Perhaps if you are still dedicating time to find boys instead of going out with them, you haven't found the one you want to be with.” After all, even the douchiest of all douchebags are known to stop their philandering and looking for “something better” when they find someone they genuinely like.

Meet Stu—one legendary douchebag—now engaged. “I put the D in douchebag. I swore I would never settle. There were too many hot girls! But then I met Sarah. All of a sudden I started playing Louis Armstrong’s cheek-to-cheek and dancing with my broom at home. I daydreamed….. of us on deserted beaches, of us during the holidays, of us having a mini me. Sarah had none of the qualities on my long list of necessary attributes. (i.e. she wasn’t a Playgirl bunny, hated sports, and had a stuffed animal collection.). But it didn’t matter. I didn’t care about any list or dating anyone else that may “fit it better.” Instead of wanting to cast a wider net, I wanted to constrict mine around Sarah.”

So what’s a girl to do? Do we sit patiently until we meet a man that makes us want to dance with a broom? Or do we get out there and continue to meet men, even though some are about as interesting as a dirty sock? There has to be some balance. But I agree with Stu---the right person will make us throw our long “list” out the window. If only I knew where he was.

Quantity Vs. Quality.

2009-02-10T21:03:00.000-08:00

Yes, there has been a lapse in blog entries…mainly because the new FeDoo’s life is jam-packed! In the past few weeks my girls and I have expanded our nets to meet as many available bachelors as we can. Although quantity, not quality was the motto.

Widening the nets meant three things---date younger, date older, and turn business into pleasure.

Dating older: In high school, age gaps were defined in terms of 1-2 years. Why, dating a boy a year ahead of you indicated a higher social status, automatically giving you access to the “cool circle.” If one year in high school got me "cool"—what about multiple years older now? Determined not to be an ageist, I decided that love had no upper threshold. This meant that yes, I did end up on a dinner date with a man who was in possession of a cane. And not the candy kind. The caned man, however was gentlemanly, thoughtful, and offered to take me to Paris for the weekend. He knew his wine, spoke of exotic places and had more romance than the entire striped-shirt Marina clan put together. Caned man put the “W” in woo. Alas, if only I were 60. I was tempted to accept the Paris offer but quickly thought of the SATC episode where Samantha ran out of the luxe penthouse at the sight of a droopy ass. All the wooing in the world won’t firm a saggy butt. I’m back to being an Ageist. Or perhaps a Firmist.

Dating younger: Back in high school, dating a boy a year younger indicated that you were a social pariah, not cool enough for a man with facial hair. Thanks to Demi Moore the tides have turned. Dating a younger man proves you still have a six pack.

The best thing about a younger boy is their sheer gratitude for dating you. Why, before they met you, these young men only had Saturday night dates with their right hand (a la the "reverse stranger"). In addition, these young pups are impressionable. Dating a young 20-something is like going to the store and purchasing a mix for “Create-your-own-man.” “Reduce the hoodie here, add a dash of Prada there, sauté in fine wines”…..you get the picture.

Mazz met Bobbie out at a college bar. Never mind that he was born in 1986. He was chiseled and happy and eager to have a woman buy him beer. Mazz decided to pretend to be 23 as well….until the first date when young pup wanted to take the bus to dinner. And dinner was defined as $2 Taco Tuesday. Just like I couldn’t stomach a saggy ass for Paris, Mazz couldn’t forgo style for a tight one.

Business to Pleasure: Networking is the new black. In these recession times Rolodexes are more valuable than gold. But why use them just for business? At a technology launch party I met VC Savvy Eric. VC Savvy had a potential client for my firm. I was intrigued…and also curious if VC Savvy had potential for anything else. Thus we had a conference call on Wednesday and then a date on Thursday. The problem, I realized, with business to pleasure is the blurred lines. Do we expense the tab? Do we talk revenue projections or about where we grew up? And would a kiss interfere with my ability to garner more clients? Would I be seen as a girlfriend and less of a partner? I decided that in these troubled times, unless it’s true love, a man is not worth a career sacrifice.

So there you have it…. Lot of quantity and very little quality. I think I am about to throw in the FeDoo towel. It’s been a fun ride, but let’s face it, I’m a romantic. Surface level encounters are fun but too shallow for the wistful artist in me. In the spirit of Valentine’s Day I’ve decided to forgo quantity to wait for love…or at least a lot more “quality” lust. I am human after all.

Becoming a FeDoo (female douchebag)

2009-01-12T13:27:00.000-08:00

In my hunt to further understand douchebags I dedicated the week to surrounding myself with the enigmatic species. Although my first inclination was to be judgmental of the D-bag way, I actually found that douchebags have some useful pieces of advice. The D-baggy men were on top of their game, made things happen and were leading pretty fabulous lives. What’s wrong with that? If Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City could “have sex like a man,” then why couldn’t I “date like a douchebag?” I decided to take some key douche bag traits and morph into a FeDoo-the female equivalent of our lovely male counterpart.

Top FeDoo Moves—stolen from the male douchebags:

Aggressiveness gets the prize: As previously mentioned, my flirting attempts are usually about as aggressive as a sloth in a coma. Douchebags are always aggressive though, even when approaching women that are clearly out of their league.

Therefore in an unnamed bar in San Francisco I decided to become an approacher of men. Not one or two but rather four rather attractive men were across the bar giving me the eye. At least one seemed to have an accent, my motivation for action. “Juliet,” my friend Eva said, “Go over there. You have nothing to lose. If you believe you’re hot, so will they. FeDoo it, honey.”

I downed a drink and trotted over while humming “Eye of the Tiger” for added confidence. “Hello boys,” I said. “Mind if I squeeze in here for a drinkie?” Hello boys. That’s all it took. Hours later the four Australians were still with us, flirting, chatting, and telling off color aboriginal jokes. The next morning the first text message to hit my screen was “G’day sexy.” Now...which hot Aussie to choose……or can FeDoos choose all four?

Equal opportunity: I have noticed that douchebags do not always have discriminating tastes. I have personally witnessed good looking D-bags make out with women that resemble old shoes. Not that I want to kiss aged leather, but perhaps we should be less selective, widen the pool, and see if anything good comes out of it? In a normal situation I don’t give a man the time of day unless I have measured his bicep circumference (yes, I carry a measuring tape in my handbag), gotten his IQ scores, medical records, and adequately quizzed him on Obama’s stimulus plan. 1.5% of the male population can survive my interrogation, which is likely contributing to my datus hiatus status. I decided to FeDoo it and be more open minded. If the guy can make me laugh, he’s in.

Make things happen: Douchebags make shit happen. They do not wait around for Lady Luck to play her hand. Rather, they spank Lady Luck on the ass. Some friends of mine had mentioned a male friend they had that I would likely get along with. “Platonic get along or naked get along?” I asked. “Perhaps both” they said. I could wait for the fates to bring us together OR I could give Luck a hearty ass slap. I propositioned my friends, “Here’s my photo, here’s my number. If he likes it, tell him to call.” I knew that if he had any douchebag in him he’d dial up. Over the weekend I got a ring. Score!

“Sooooooo…..I hear you like to eat and drink."
“Yes, I hear you like to eat and drink as well.”
“So what should two people do that like to eat and drink?”
Needless to say we decided against a walk in the park.
“Anything you don’t eat?”
I quickly decided not to list all my food allergies or pending diet plans. After all I was a FeDoo.
“Babe, I eat it all.”

Exaggeration does not equal lies: Douchebags don’t always lie but in order to get what they want they may exaggerate *slightly*. We all know too well that they are good at telling women what they want to hear in order to lure them into bed. So why shouldn’t we follow suit? If hot men guess that I am 25, I am certainly not going to correct them. In addition, if my job sounds too intimidating (for those 25 year old men, that is) I see nothing wrong with telling them I am a flight attendent. Men have a fetish for flight attendents. Therefore Mazz and I have memorized the entire United Airlines take off spiel so that we can repeat it in bars as proof of our employment status.

Hit on people you shouldn’t hit on: Douchebags hit on everyone showing no regard for social mores. Capitalizing on how douchebags go after every available female, I decided that I would go after every available male.

My brother was in town to visit his old b-school friends for a guys weekend. I quickly interrogated him on the status of each one –Single? Hot? Rich?

“Juliet...you cannot date my friends—they are all douchebags.”
Little did he know that only piqued my interest.
“Well, your friend Arthur seems nice….”
"No." he said.

Obviously my brother was determined to keep me chaste for the weekend. Little did he know I was a new FeDoo and had no regard for morals. I decided to secretly scan his blackberry and determine the location of the male bonding party where I would make a "surprise" appearance.

Hours later I was dancing and grinding with Arthur. I distantly heard my brother's voice in the background.

“Hey who did Arthur pick up?"
“Oh, he’s with some 25 year old blond flight attendent.”
“She looks just like like……hey damnit Juliet!!!”

Once my brother discovered it was me I was promptly escorted off the dance floor and lectured. But not before I got in some “close dancing” and dropped off a phone number.

FeDoo-the way to live in 2009.

The Spectrum of Douchebags

2009-01-05T22:54:00.000-08:00

As previously discussed, the alpha male quotient in San Francisco is low. And the few that appeal to us seem to be fondly referred to as Douchebags. Who wants a Douchebag? Certainly not me… but then again, there are some Dbag characteristics that we actually secretly like. After all, these men must have something good if they can snare so many women.

In the alpha male family there are multiple types of men….and all line up somewhere on the Douchebag spectrum. The trick is to find out where they lie, and ensure that you end up with one with moderate edge and not a million STDs. Yes yes, I am suggesting that a little Douchebag-ness isn’t all bad. My boss once told me, “Juliet, all men are Douchebags. You just have to find one that isn’t as much of one as the others.” Therefore, Mazz and I went to Aspen for New Years, possibly the Douchebag capital of the world, to do some research. Male confidence was high from either mass riches or the high altitude. Perfect research territory.

Minibag: This man is a Douchebag wannabe. He is a huge fan of Mystery, the pickup artist, and tries to learn all the secrets to attract women. He really has no game but pathetically tries to win you over by the pickup artist's #1 rule: first put you down and then build you up. Aspen is full of these men; those small-statured men that try to tell you how much better a skier they are than you. The Minibag may be confused with a Douchebag by his false air of confidence…but he will easily crumble. The way to determine his true wimp status is to remain aloof and disinterested. Only a true Douchebag will pursue you relentlessly. Whatever you do, don’t end up with a Minibag.... you'll be kicking him to the curb in no time.

Alpha Edgebag: The Alpha edgebag is the man that has minor Dbag characteristics. He is self assured, perhaps even cocky at times, and goes after what he wants. He is actually interesting and doesn’t allow his edge to go overboard to make you feel uncomfortable. Mazz and I spotted an Alpha Edgebag our fist night in Aspen. He approached us by saying he needed to sit closer to the fireplace for warmth. He then told tales of motorcycle trips, and through his Edgebag stories, managed to get Mazz to first gaze into his eyes, and then lock lips. This Alpha Edgebag assured Mazz he didn’t want to sleep with her, just kiss her…thus making her feel relaxed and well, more interested in sleeping with him. (For the record though, she didn’t—we were just here on a research trip and we never mix business with pleasure...). The Alpha Edgebag is delightfully smooth…..and has potential.

Moderate Dbag: The Moderate Douchebag is a bit more dangerous. His confidence is bullet proof and for some reason you never think to question anything he says. Aspen has many men in this category. The men that live for the highlife, immediately manage to plug into the most promising scene and are determined to be opportunistic when it comes to interchanges with the opposite sex. Some are more than opportunistic. They make things happen and women....come. One Moderate Dbag threw a very exclusive lingerie party in Aspen where women couldn’t get in unless they stripped down. Yes, the Moderate Dbag isn’t a relationship person…but thankfully never pretends that he is. However, the Moderate Dbag isn’t all bad…if you are okay with a 24 hour relationship.

Complete and Utter Douchebag (CUD): This is the man who would rather watch porn than have a bonafide conversation. The CUD isn’t always that attractive but through sheer will manages to sleaze his way from party to party, girl to girl, making inappropriate comments at all times. There is a legendary CUD in Aspen—Johnny Aspen. J.A. is mid-40s, never had one serious relationship and through shady wheelin’ and dealin’ made a shady fortune. J.A. doesn’ t care about meaningful interchanges or experiences—just material possessions and well-photographed parties. Through his non-stop hip gyrating and propensity to provide ‘party favors,’ he manages to get into every club and party. He also lies to women about his PJ (that's Private Jet for the Aspen illiterate) and/or his desire to get married to get them into bed. Beware of the CUD. Not only will you be duped, but you may not even have that great a time in the duping.

What type of Douchebag is right for you? Likely depends on what you want….long term, short term, no term. And remember that even the most endearing man with the courtesy of Carey Grant still has some Douchebag in him.

Single for the holidays

2008-12-26T09:37:00.000-08:00

I love the holidays….I love the songs, the food, the décor. I like being able to walk around in a Santa hat and shout out 'ho ho ho' with good reason. I like being naughy AND nice. I enjoy the bustle of holiday shopping, trying to pick out the perfect gift for the perfect person. This year however, I had many less presents to purchase. And it wasn’t because my family turned Grinch. It was because... this year I was single.

I have no idea how I managed to snare boyfriends all the prior holiday seasons past….but I always had someone to wrap for, someone to snuggle up to, someone who knew exactly how I liked my eggnog spiked….if you know what I mean.

Part of me found my brazen singleness liberating…why, I could kiss whomever I wanted….bring on the mistletoe! In fact I could walk around with a permanent mistletoe swig attached to the top of my head! Fa la la la la…….

But then I remembered…There weren’t many available kissing options where I was going for the holidays----I was going to a small town in the great arctic north….where the odds are good, but the goods are odd.

So instead of doing what most women do, and try to score a date before New Years, I decided stay single rather than getting cozy with a grizzled one tooth wonder. I would use the time to reflect on my many months of singledom, and take the lessons learned into the New Year……with hope and aspiration for a better dating future.

2008 Dating Lessons Learned
1. Datus Hiatus is overrated. It does sound really cool to say that you are PURPOSELY choosing not to date and er…uh…“work on things” but really….how much celibacy can one take? It’s a cop-out. We all know it. No one wants a hiatus. Not from sex anyway.

2. Be bold. From Brazil we learned that if we want it, we can have it. Rashly kissing men is the way of the future. Initiating the first move is not only warranted, it’s being asked for! Being afraid of rejection is soooo 2008….in 2009 it time to seize the bull by the horns. What do we have to lose?

3. Try not to drink too much on a first date. Especially if you are like me and get chatty. Remember the escapade with Dr Love? Too many wines had me drunk driving him home…AFTER he heard my entire life saga complete with details from orchestra camp. There never was a second date.

4. Do not strive for stability at the expense of passion. You will undoubtedly get bored. Remember when Alexis was caught between two men, the stable planner and the crazy band boy? Well, let’s just say that stability is nice and all, but wears thin after missionary position #2,043. Get a guy to throw you up against a fence, please.

5. Learn to flirt. Don’t waste time on men you don’t like, but when a prince charming comes your way don’t stare at your toes. Look into his eyes. And wink. Or grab him. Whatever works.

And most importantly, when you know what you want go after it. Dec 31, 2008……find that someone you want to kiss. Kick off the new year right.

Bringing Brazil Bold to San Francisco

2008-12-09T19:30:00.000-08:00

Coming back to San Francisco after being in the mecca of men was not easy.
And it wasn’t just the bronzed bodies that we missed….it was the brazen attitudes, the alpha male confidence, the apparent sexual desire, and the courage to do whatever it took to approach a woman. I don’t think I have uttered “damn, boy!” so many times.

Now, we have spoken about alpha males before. Yes they DO exist in San Francisco…but not only are they hard to some by, the few alluring ones are so focused on their own alpha male activities (corporate ladders and iron man titles) that we don’t see them out on the dance floor that often. In fact last time I went out on the SF dance floor I felt I had more balls than the entire male contingent.
Sadly, compared to Brazil, most of San Francisco’s male population is well…..just wimpy.

Luckily, I have a solution. What American men need to become bold is what Brazilian men are naturally equipped with….and no I don’t just mean an impressive banana hammock. What I mean is unbelievable confidence.

Yup, that’s right ladies…we need to do a little ego stoking. True, men do enjoy the hunt….but I think in this day and age they are so lost we need to give them a GPS, binoculars, and even some ammunition.

This means we must make the first move without um, making it look like we are making the first move. Tricky yes….but better than being stuck on the planet of wimps! Let’s transform them! Even if it means pushing a sock down their pants! Trust me, the world will be a much better place.

From Wimp To Alpha—Make the Man Bold Tactics:
Below are a few ideas….with a few options (SF bold or Brazil Bold). Choose the right method for the situation and man.

Touching: As humans we are programmed to respond positively to touch. It makes us happy, hopeful, and yes, even horny.
San Francisco Bold: Graceful touches on the arm, the thigh, any body part while in a conversation gives a man the signal he needs to take things a step further.
Brazil Bold: Go beyond a simple pat and stroke his thigh….and the pair the stroke with a smile or a wink.

Phone numbers: Give it first. What do you have to lose? Men forget to ask half the time. (remember my highly unscientific poll from before?—75% of men are grateful when a woman leads the charge). Next time you chat up a hottie, don’t leave without providing him a way to connect with you.
San Francisco Bold: make sure to always have enough cards on hand to doll one out. Even the skinniest of clutches should have room for a couple.
Brazil Bold: Write your digits on his arm. Offer him a special “incentive” if he calls you the next day. Better yet tell him you will fast forward that incentive to tonight if he programs your number in his blackberry and makes a date on the spot.

Leading the charge: Grab his hand. Seriously. Take his hand and lead him somewhere….
San Francisco Bold: Lead him to a quieter place to talk. Then talk.
Brazil Bold: Lead him to a quieter place….then kiss him. Ask his name afterward. (If the kiss warrants it, that is). A free kiss—unless you have a harelip, what man would refuse that?

Wear less clothes: Duh-no wonder Brazilian men approach women so fervently—Brazilian women don’t wear much. Like a deer caught in headlights the man can’t look away. Unless you are in an office environment, if you’ve got it flaunt it.
San Francisco bold: Figure out what your best feature is (legs, breasts, waist, etc). Design your wardrobe to show this body part off EVERY time you go out on the town….this best feature will become emblazoned in the mind of men. They’ll dream about it at night, they’ll discuss it with their friends. They’ll have to get to know it better.
Brazil Bold: Show off every body part. Let your breasts rub up against the chest of the man you are talking to. Bat your eyes frequently. Make excuses to bend over. Make the men crazy until they HAVE to make a move or they’ll split their pants. As Marvio (a very alpha Brazilian) told me….”Women are ruled by their heart, men by the dicks. If you want to control a man, learn how to manipulate that thing in his pants.”

Now to put my money where my mouth is….off to enjoy the weekend and attempt to Brazilify my town.

The Pursuit of Passion: Bold in Brazil

2008-12-04T17:08:00.000-08:00

In efforts to shred all hesitation and be bold, Mazz and I skipped the usual turkey dinner and headed south. South America that is.

As we boarded the plane we stripped ourselves of prudish thoughts, work anxiety, American mores, and anything thing else that would hinder us in our hedonistic quest. We were going to Brazil and we were going to embrace oily tanners (risking skin cancer), thong bikinis (risking exposed cellulite), samba steps (risking humiliation) and a new-found lust for life.

Thong bikinis on overweight men are indeed noteworthy, but the thing that amazes me the most about Brazil is the smiles. Everyone is ecstatic to be alive...from the children playing soccer in the favela streets, to the 90 year old wrinkly grandmothers dancing samba, to the Brazilian models strutting their stuff down the sandy boardwalk. No one there worries about work deadlines, the economy or if their next date makes proper dinner reservations.

I realized the main reason behind the smiles…..sex. Sex and lots of it. No one waits until the third date here…oh no, they don’t even wait until they know your name. In fact, names are not really important at all.....

Getting to "know one another"

In brazil the process is beautifully simple. You walk across a dance floor in a club and two strong hands grab your waist from behind. You flip around and there before you know it, you are given the "Brazilian handshake," the typical male-female greeting of a tongue heartily thrust down your throat. Well hello there, mister. After a quick “is he is hot enough" check, you handshake him back. Depending on the handshake initiation angle, sometimes it is impossible to really see their face. Therefore many times a friend must be recruited to give you a hand signal indicating if you should go in or not. For Mazz and I, pulling the ear meant "oh yes, baby" and touching the nose meant "get the hell away from that dwarf."

If you are lucky and landed a hot one, after a dance or two you are thrown up against the club wall for the next step in "getting to know one another." Within one hour, you are asked if you want to go ‘down by the lake,’ code word for make dirty jungle love in the backseat of a tiny Fiat with no power steering. Sadly, Mazz and I have lived in the U.S. for too long. Going "Fiat" just wasn’t going to happen.

I tried to explain this to my stallion-like suitor. “But I do not understand you Americans," he said in his meshed Portuguese-Spanglish. “Us beautiful. Sex beautiful. Feels good. What’s the problem?”

What WAS the problem? Why can we be make-out whores but refuse to go much further?

In the age of condoms, birth control, and dental dams, what was stopping us? Do numbers on the bed posts really mean that much? Are we afraid of falling in love with our one night encounter? Or are we basically OCD with cleanliness?

Pushed up against a wall, Georgi and I were enjoying the Brazilian process for getting to know one another. As a hand crept up my skirt I was infused with passion and wildness…..but as the hand crept further up I couldn’t stop the American mind. "Where else has his hand been tonight?” “How many hoos has the hand ‘hooed’?” “Has he even washed it?” Dear lord where was the Purell when you needed it?

I had to escape….. I hastily gave out an illegible phone number and headed to the bar destined for vodka. Mazz was talking to an attractive stranger and all of a sudden captured in a mouth cleaning embrace (the Brazilians are not shy kissers). Ho hum….what should I do…I scanned the crowd not wanting to be left out. EVERYONE was making out! Seriously once the clock strikes 2:00 a.m. the entire dance floor is paired off. Thankfully a solo attractive approached me—the brother of Mazz’s new friend. And there we go: round two make out for the evening. It’s a stay-put lip gloss paradise. But once again unwilling to "Fiat," Mazz and I headed home….amazed at how much fun kissing was. We decided: we are bringing back making out to San Francisco! Full-on tongue at the local dance floor.

The next day Georgi called me asking me if I wanted to hang out again and perhaps resume our "getting to you know you." However, kissing Georgi seemed like ages ago…..and why commit to one when I was in hot surfer paradise? Time for another evening of boldness….

BE BOLD

2008-11-14T16:09:00.000-08:00

Bold is the new black. It’s time to stop caring, take risks, and do whatever the hell feels right in the moment. Dating books are going in the trash, friends' advice on mute. For once let’s stop listening to our heart (too hurt from the past), our brain (far too analytical), and heed our gut.
Before, we worried so much about our flirting techniques we became paralyzed. We refused to look men in the eyes and stammered in conversation making sexual innuendos come across as knock-knock jokes. Our cool and “easy breezy” emails took four hours to compose (at least mine did). We over-thought the perfect balance of passion and stability and let ourselves become confused, wracked with indecision over what it was we really wanted. There. In the moment. We nervously wrought our hands as a man leaned in for a kiss, wondering how soft or how aggressive to be….or minds raced with “is he the one” “Is my lipstick rubbing off” and “what the hell does he think that tongue maneuver is” while we lost our sense of spontaneity and any essence of seduction.

Thinking too much is a bad thing. In our 20s we leapt into action and embraced NOT thinking. Drugged on cheap beers and youth we let guys sweep us off our feet with a mere accent or wink. I remember a younger me when my Spanish lover, Javier, and I rode up the elevator in an old building after a date. Javier suddenly stopped the elevator mid floor and asked me if I had ever made love in one. I said “Uh no…” He then asked “Pues, quieres ahora…Well do you want to now?” Ahh yes, back then romance moved too quickly for any second guessing. What are we so fearful of now? My friends and I decided to forget the past haunts and live life like we were 22 again. Bold and sinfully beautiful.

Tuesday night: Alexis, feeling too peppy to head home after a work cocktail hour, decides to step into a local brasserie for a nightcap. Yes, solo. It was filled with men. At first she wonders if she just should give up, go home and watch a Lifetime movie. But daring to be bold, walks up the bar and orders something dark red. She introduces herself to all the men, heartily shaking their hands and instantly becomes their best friend. All of a sudden the brasserie announces it was hosting the Top Chef Challenge. Alexis had managed to gracefully walk into one of the best culinary events of the year. Free chef-prepared concoctions for everyone! Alexis meets the men behind the masterpiece and dances on the tables with a plate of fois grois and her new friends. She left the brasserie 7 business cards lighter.

Wednesday night: Holly heads out on a date with a boring banker she is decidedly uninterested in. But inspired by a wave of boldness, she decides to change the course of the evening. Instead of making small talk about stock portfolios, she doubled the martini order and asked her date to dance. To Snoop Dog. She reports later, “I have no idea if I even like this guy but when the smooch time came I went into full force.” She certainly liked him après kiss. Apparently the boring banker was a rockstar with his lips. Who knew?

Thursday Night: Mazz's friend TK, on a flight from NYC to the midwest, engineered a more demure version of the mile-high manuever. As she was boarding the plane she noticed the young, handsome pilot. After a quick wedding ring scan (none, check), she strategized her move. The drink cart came by and TK tentatively held out her business card and asked the flight attendant if the pilot was single. "Jimmy?!?! I'll find out!" The attendant grabbed the business card, abandoned the cart and raced up to the phone to communicate with the cockpit. Just as TK was regretting her move the cockpit door swung open and the flight attendant rushed back with a note: 'Drink after we land?' A few cocktails later she and Jimmy officially became members of the "club." Well... if the Red airport lounge bathroom counts.

And what have I done, you may ask? Well, datus hiatus is dead, and I decided that since I am miserable at flirting (see prior posts) I’ll just skip that step. Tuesday: After chatting up an English man in a bar I realize I must leave for a dinner engagement. I give him my card and ask if we can ‘continue later.’ We are ‘continuing’ tomorrow. Wednesday: Out with an old friend for 1 am commissary cocktails he asks to kiss me. What the hell, I think. The whole friends-can’t-kiss rule is stupid. Thursday: Inspired by that logic I accept a dinner invitation by another friend (of a friend). Going in with no expectations or thoughts beyond the menu, I ended up having a wonderful time. Friends ask me if I worry about the friend dynamic and the 'group' and what will this mean. Why does everything have to ‘mean’ something besides the moment it is in? And yes, I know the cleverly named rule ‘don’t shit in the pool’, but hell, life is short. Keeping things clean, ironed and separated is boring. Time to get a little messy.

Knowing What to Do and When to Judge

2008-11-11T21:23:00.000-08:00

I know when you are cozily settled into a relationship like a down comforter it’s easy to judge the frenzied singles around you. Why watch train wreck reality TV when you have single 30 something girlfriends? Instead of letting ‘Rock of Love' make you feel better about your life, just let us. Our drunken standups, our midnight maulings, our infamous “yes-no” dances to men that are blatantly wrong for us…..ahhh yes…..isn’t it all entertaining?

Laugh with us, advise with us, but please hold the judgment.

I have been accused of not giving guys enough of a chance. Mazz gets directed to give guys LESS of a chance. And Alexis is told she is discriminatory because she turned down a paraplegic.

C’mon people. It’s hard to figure out what the best course of action is. Give too much of a chance and you risk ending up in a long term dead end relationship. (i.e. the relationship with a truly ‘nice guy’ that you can’t have sex with unless you pretend he is Peirce Bronson). Give too little and you may too quickly neglect a potential diamond in the rough (i.e. sometimes all it takes is a new haircut!).

How much of a chance do you give? When do you really know?

In these delicate situations each woman needs to decide the best course of action for herself. I know one woman, Louisa, who told me that she seriously knows in two dates. Another friend of mine needs to give it two months. Men reveal themselves differently and women decide things differently. I, myself, have been rather impulsive and once moved to Europe for a man I knew for mere weeks. Was this stupid? Perhaps, but I certainly learned a lot from it (including a new language).

Deciding how traditional to be is also a personal choice without a right answer. My (lovely old fashioned) brother tells me to let the man make the first move on all occasions. One of my ('new' fashioned) gay friends thinks I should walk on over to a cute guy at a bar and give him a hearty crotch grab to indicate my love. I think letting things unfold naturally and traditionally is nice but I also think you have to give it a kickstart every once and a while and take risks. Crotch grab or maybe even a wink? In a totally unscientific poll we have found that for every time a woman initiates giving a man her number at least 50% results in a date. (less if number was given out while shooting tequila). In another very unscientific poll I asked my guy friends if they would appreciate it if a girl kickstarted the phone number game. It was about 75% and one guy even said ‘sometimes I just forget to ask and kick myself later.”

So coupled women…don’t judge us…let us be! I run marathons---I’ll probably never fall for a chain smokin’ guy who flunked gum class. And single gals…..get out there and start playing around with your own rules and kickstart a thing or two. Nothing ventured nothing gained....especially when no one is judging!

Keepin' it Casual

2008-11-04T14:10:00.000-08:00

In the age where we video conference to avoid having to go to the office early and navigate driving directions on our small iPhone screen because we can't handle printing (it's sooo 2002), why would dating be any less lazy? Why would we ever think of making an extra effort to communicate with one another? Men have been known throughout history to do the bare minimum it takes to generate a positive response. And now with technology on their side they are doing less and less when it comes to pursuing a woman. When was the last time you had a moonlit serenade at your window? I see. Now, when was the last time you had an entire relationship based on text messages?

Yes, yes, so called technological "advances" are really setbacks when it comes to communication. It has sadly become socially acceptable to avoid any sense of personal connection and use only the short cut keys when engaging with one another.
For example, the old date necessity, the phone call, is dead. It has been replaced with texting, emails, and Facebook wall comments. And if you are so lucky as to recieve a bonafide email to your personal account (i.e., NOT a message on a social networking site saying "hot outfit"), it is likely less than one paragraph. I have not had a proper letter since my college boyfriend wrote me from overseas. Internet cafes hadn't quite made it yet.

COPY PASTE ME

In my short stint of internet dating I realized that many emails men sent me were form letters. Yes...men would actually write a generic email saying something like "you seem great, nice smile" and blast it out to a hundred women. Is it really that difficult to actually read a profile and comment on something you find intriguing? Apparently. Copy paste mentality goes beyond cyber dating. When men find a formula that works they seem to use it again and again. Says B, a male friend of mine, "I always take my first dates to the same place. The last thing I want to do is think about something special..."

But isn't thinking about something special half the fun?

FACEBOOK MY DATE

I have been asked out a few times on Facebook. No, not by those random Italian men in Speedos with small dogs who request to be my "friend" but rather by new confirmed "friends." When a guy likes you apparently it is easier to add you as a Facebook friend than ask for your phone number. Once you are confirmed "friends" he will then comment on some of your profile pictures before sending you a message like "we should hang out sometime." This Facebook banter will occur for a few weeks before an actual date is decided upon.

TEXT SEX

The last date I had (last night actually, but the whiskey-driven topic is for another blog post) was preempted by TWO WEEKS of texting. There was never a phone call or email between us.

Now, texting does have its upside:
-Messages are clear and concise as you only have 160 characters.
-You can text from any scenario, even from the bathroom while on another date.

But the pros stop there. It took 300 messages to actually agree upon a venue and time. Potential humor was lost in desperation to fit in wit with my 160 character limit. In addition I felt unimportant. Shouldn’t a date require more effort that "lol" (laughing out loud), nagi (not a good idea) and wtfait (why the fuck am I texting). A text makes everything seem so casual and in turn, unromantic. Flirting by text can work….but also easily backfire. I once sent a spicy sexual innuendo to my then boyfriend. Or so I thought. Texting (albeit carelessly) makes it easy to accidentally type in the wrong address. Like many, I have too many names in my phone and boyfriend B got mixed up with boss B. There was no more text sex after that.

Ahhh...communication. What I would give for an old fashioned love letter. But for now I must go—my message light on my Blackberry is blinking.

Filling the Pipeline

2008-10-27T19:08:00.000-07:00

When I first started my "datus hiatus" I felt powerful. I felt I was in control of my happiness. Celibacy was a comfortable state of being. After all, in a pinch a sit-up or two will work to satisfy those uh...urges... Being standoffish and date free was almost fun...

Well, that "comfortable, fun" feeling has ended. My external body may be strong from yoga but my internals feel the tumbleweeds blowing around. Sit-ups or a sad quivering piece of rubber/plastic just won't cut it anymore. And instead spending Saturday nights sorting through my moldy chevre selection while reading 'overcoming overeating' or 'why being alone is powerful,' I would give my left kneecap AND a case of cherished vino to have a engaging dinner date with someone who, well, I found engaging. My socks want to be knocked off, and perhaps even my pants too! Enough failures--it's time to seriously tackle the pipeline.

Easier said than done. In some cities filling the man pipeline with decent specimens is easy for marathon-running, Manolo-savvy, and wine-literate gals like my female entourage. Not the case in San Francisco. Not only do most men stubbornly insist on staying in one of three categories: sensitive ponytail birkenstock man, overly-conceited triathlete guy, or gay (hey, love you guys but a girl needs some action!), but we seem to also mess up when the few good ones appear.

Task Number 1-Finding the good one. (you know, the straddle-worthy pipeline filler)
Task Number 2-Reeling him in (i.e., flirting: ensuring your cold shoulder bitch or dwarf lover tendencies don't scare him off)

Situation A: Task 1- Successful. Task 2- A bust.
Last week after deciding to have just "one more" glass of wine at a posh neighborhood bar, Alexis and I spotted a hot stranger sitting by himself. The 'stranger alone at a upscale bar' find! Woo hoo! "One more glass" turned into oh..."twelve more" as we delightedly made it our mission to keep the man company. However, much to my dismay, the wine took over my brain and I once again found myself overly chatty and talking Mr. Hot Man's ear off about orchestra camp and the desperate plight of 30 year old women in San Francisco. Alexis, alarmed even through her wine haze, hit me a few times on my left arm to make me realize I should stop talking. Now. Ouch. Getting hit by a martial arts black belt isn't fun. Mazz later heard the tale and told me that I am no longer allowed alcohol on first dates or first man encounters.....but I am sorry...how do you meet a man without alcohol?

Sitation B: Task 1- A failure, Task 2-Passed but wish it didn't
I decided to listen to Mazz and agreed that my next date would be tea after a hatha yoga class. Mr. Earthy (AKA 'Mr. I'm OK with no alcohol as I am on a cleanse') and I chatted about vegetarianism and politics and hiking. Interesting but *yawn* no sex appeal. Well for me. Oddly, this man seemed to have fallen in love with my random spouting off. I actually got propositioned for marriage. Truth be told, he needed to extend his visa to stay in the country. But he also wanted to see me every day for the next week. Yikes. I'm back to alcohol...at least it eases the pain.

So how do we execute both tasks....and remain (relatively) sober?

Besides that shady match.com site, where can we meet wonderful men that are educated, aren't afraid of alcohol (or afraid of me with alcohol), and like to hike, bike and paint? And then how do we reel them in?

A few ideas Alexis, Mazz and I are going to try out:

1. College sports game venues: Alcohol lovin' real guys that eat meat. Who cares which team they root for! We will wow them with our cheerleading abilities.
2. Art openings: The sophisticated intellectual or the poser who at least likes to look sophisticated and intellectual...we will brush up on the artists beforehand as to come across "learned."
3. Mingling at Whole Foods: At 'Whole Paycheck' you will find a man with a wallet who is produce savvy....I'll offer to help him pick out the 'ripe ones.'
4. This year's Halloween party: The only time when looking as slutty as possible works in our favor.
5. The line to vote at the polls: He must be politically savvy to understand all of SF's propositions...and I intend to ask everyone in line about them.

Once again I'll be practicing flirting. It's no longer a side hobby, it's a necessity for survival.

Flirting Take Two: Flirting Without Mauling

2008-10-22T16:56:00.000-07:00

There is a fine line between acting unattainably mysterious and flirtatious. Apparently there is also a fine line between letting a man know you are interested (i.e. flirting) and flat out mauling him.
For some reason I have no idea where any of these lines are and just seem to make mistake after mistake. On my attempts to be flirty I have tried out different maneuvers and lines with new men. Sadly, they either come out 1)too standoffish or 2)freakishly stalker-like (alas my attempts to overcompensate for my "cold shoulder bitch" syndrome is not working). Below I have recreated snippets of conversations that detail both my pathetic attempts at wit as well as the lines I should have said. (you know the ones I think of the next day while in the shower). Read on and learn from my mistakes.

Topic #1: Hobbies
For some reason my hobby of writing has come up numerous times (second to the fact I played the cello in orchestra camp). However, I am unable to present this hobby well.

Unattainable: “Oh writing? Well, currently I write a dating blog that discusses how random ALL my dates are. Will you be featured on it? Perhaps….but there are just so MANY to write about.”
Plain Mauling: “I wrote a poem about you last night. I rhymed your last name with the Algerian term for love.”
Flirtatious would have been: ‘Yes, I do write on the side….maybe someday I’ll write about you. “(wink, wink).

Topic #2: Sports
Another topic that has come up is athletic hobbies. We all love our exercise...some more than others.

Unattainable: “I thoroughly love the San Francisco tendency to get into triathlons…in fact I know a lot of men that have done an iron man. Plain biking just seems wimpy now, doesn’t it? “
Plain Mauling: “I had a dream that we were on the same relay team for the Wildflower triathlon together. We had matching outfits……” (go into dream details…..)
Flirtatious would have been: “You like to bike? Well you DO seem fit….I bet you could do an iron man if you wanted!” (light touch on bicep)

Topic #3: Wine
And lastly the wonderful topic of wine…for no conversation in San Francisco would be complete without it.

Unattainable: (after going to bar solo) “ Ok—I have two glasses of wine for us…one a Syrah and one a Zin. If you guess which is which you get 10 points. If not….well….hmmmm….”
Plain Mauling: “Oh I’d love a second pour…..but I seem to have a low tolerance these days and may grope you if I have another….so in that case…..” (odd laugh)
Flirtatious would have been: “I adore deep seductive reds. Why don’t you pick out a good one for us?”

As indicated the “flirtatious would have been” lines were concocted in my head the next day. In real life, I either uttered the unattainable ones or the mauling ones or some terrible combination of both. It’s a mystery why I do this. When I leave the house in pearls and heels to meet my date I FEEL mysterious. I feel sexy. Then upon enterting the date venue, my confidence runs away (to the chocolate store for safety, no doubt) and I am left alone and helpless to utter ridiculous things.

How do we combat this? How do we become more appealing? Do we downplay our talents? Do we need to up play theirs? Or do we just need to make more seductive sighs and arm touches? And most importantly how do we gain the COURAGE to do all this? Is flirting really a confidence play or an art form? I think I know what flirting is when I see it, but I cannot seem to do it myself. For some reason I freeze up and cannot so much as touch the outer sleeve of a man's jacket to save my life. It is likely due to a fear of intimacy, the fact that my confidence is at the chocolate store, and my plain retarded-ness in speaking to another human being. No longer am I Juliet, who with “any other name would remain just as sweet.” Sadly no, I have transformed into the female Steve Erkle.

But practice makes perfect…..I have just ordered some dating books for outside help on the matter. Stay tuned for their learnings and more attempts to be coy and alluring. Of course, dear readers, any tips are welcome on the comment form here too!!

In the Waiting Room, Learning to Flirt

2008-10-12T19:48:00.000-07:00

So... it's been three days since my first date w/ 'Dr. Luv.' AKA- the date gone awry. Awry aside, by now I still would have expected the usual invite for the second date, so I was becoming a bit unnerved after three days of radio silence. I debated my potential courses of action.

1. I could send a nice message with a thank you for the evening.
2. I could expand upon the thank you with explanations of why my friend Eva randomly appeared there and why I felt compelled to overdose on vino and stories about my childhood trips to Orchestra Camp.
3. I could do nothing…following the guidance of the bible “He’s just not that into you.”

I decided upon course of action number three. Mainly because this poor man is likely scared of me. But also because as is typical with most men, I am not really into them unless it is safely apparent that they are not into me…so even if option one or two provided a decent response I would likely find a way to self sabotage again. And with my current work schedule a second date wouldn’t be able to happen for another two weeks anyway. Sigh.

On Friday night my group male and female friends ordered a round of $2 beers and discussed why women self sabotage and the various self sabotage types:

The Cold Shoulder Bitch
This woman uses the cold shoulder as a defense mechanism. Even if she has been pining away for a man, reading Pablo Neruda poetry for months in his honor, she will appear about as interested in him as a girl in a orthopedic shoe store. God forbid he ever have the slightest clue that she may fancy him for more than a doormat. The cold shoulder bitch NEVER initiates conversation. But once in one, she may even go so far as to disdainfully make comments that highlight her indifference or even contempt. “Oh you graduated first in your class. Hmm…likely didn’t have a social life did you?” Or “So you think you are sporty? Well I bet you haven’t done an iron man like most of the men I know.” In conversations she may make a point to stare at her watch or out the window, anywhere but into the man’s soft brown eyes. Why, if she did that, she would lose all composure.

The Pathetic Introvert
The Pathetic Introvert is actually quite gregarious in other settings. But when approached by a man she likes she simply cannot stop staring at her shoes. When asked a question by her dream man she may mumble, stutter, and say, “Ack I am so sorry…..I am just such a word klutz today” and then dismiss herself to go to the bathroom where she will try to give herself self affirmations in the mirror before bursting into tears. IF she manages will wipe clean her mascara tracks and reappear she will be tempted to talk about the weather rather than anything cool, feeling it may be safer. ‘Soo…..it’s been really humid hasn’t it?”

The Dwarf Lover
The Dwarf Lover prevents herself from talking to normal decent men by getting engaged in conversations with dwarfs—or unattractive Lord of The Ring Enthusiasts — just because it seems a safe bet. The Dwarf Lover doesn’t want to appear rude and extract herself from the conversation, so she sits talking to them for hours rather then be whisked away by a shining knight. Oh yes, she will patiently listen to the dwarf's latest video game championship tales and fondness for Vienna sausages while trying to find something remarkable about her current predicament. If a non-dwarf (i.e., shiny knight) tries to rescue her, she won’t allow it, thinking that she will go to hell unless she engages in her fair quota of dwarf conversations for the week.

The Show Off
The Show Off masks her feelings of inadequacy by feeling a compulsive need to let her current flame know ALL her achievements. Oh no, there is no gradual ‘unfolding of the blossom’ in this case. On a first date the show off will let a suitor know her SAT scores, marathon time, favorite winery in Napa where they know her by name, as well as her fondness for daredevil stunts. She hopes to woo a man by intimidation and will never let it be known that she has two left feet on the dance floor or that it took her three years to be potty trained (well actually no one really does need to know that).

To figure out what type I was, my lovely friends (male and female) put me to the test. We picked out a cute guy in the bar and I was to “go get ‘em.” I thought I was having a great time with witty banter until my friends pulled me away.

“What on earth are you doing?!”
“You looked like you were at a funeral”
"Your hands were clenching the bar in distress"
“You made no effort to do anything flirty and did that annoying haughty laugh thing”

Oh. I thought that “haughty laugh thing” WAS flirting.

It was time for flirt remedial school. I was taught how to give light touches on the arm, stroke my neck, and look into eyes seductively. This was all done in a dive bar over Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. I was feeling ridiculous….but then again I have been single for a long time. If it takes dive bar flirt training to once again make my bedroom fit for two, then so be it.
I will put my lessons to good use this week. Touch, stare, laugh non-haughtily. Got it. Now how to multi-task? Hopefully I manage to find a few places to practice my 'come hither' moves inbetween my hectic work schedule, spin class, and of course blog writing! Boys, watch out!

An Overdue Unveiling

2008-10-08T16:16:00.000-07:00

In response to reader request to identify the persona behind Shoe Girl, I have decided to reveal myself. If you do not need the intro feel free to skip down to my latest dating encounter "Too Much Wine"

My name is Juliet Webb. I am a native San Franciscan that has spent enough time in New York to appreciate designer labels, yet also enough time in the mountains to ditch them for hiking boots when the need arises. With a heart for adventure I have explored ashrams in India, basket weaving co-ops in Africa, and now this crazy dating scene in my home city. By day, I act as a consultant to San Francisco technology start ups. By night I "moonlight" as a consultant/field researcher in the dating battleground of SF. I do not wistfully sigh at my window Friday evenings waiting for my Romeo to suddenly appear, but rather proactively explore different options to find him, from speed dating to social hiking clubs. It's not easy! Too short, too cocky, too gay....I feel like Goldilocks! Plus dating is time consuming! In between business meetings, wine bar outings, triathlon training runs and sleep, it's hard to find energy to meet a decent guy. Luckily for me, I am equipped with a sassy entourage of women who indulge me in this quest.

Mazz, a New York transplant, is a fashion diva who looks for the creme de la creme in everything from organic restaurants to designer dog leashes. She can accessorize a man, a bulldog, and a motorcycle helmet with her outfit.

Alexis, is a type A adrenaline junkie who has a black belt in karate and a list of savvy titles on her resume. Although passion is the main prerequisite, Alexis also needs a man that is able to take her on in an arm wrestling competition.

Eva, my childhood friend, is happily married yet loves the single gossip and mishaps. Eva, having successfully secured the love of her life, provides solid advice and saves me from sending out yet another photo collage of myself to a man of interest.

Holly is a single mother of one who surprisingly has more sex drive than the four of us combined. Holly's new weakness is the bartenders of our favorite watering holes. Her nanny is about to intervene.

And now, with the introductions in place, I can tell you about my latest adventure....

Too Much Wine

It was time to meet my over-concocted fantasy man and turn him into reality. As much as I wanted to Google, Facebook, and sleuth him to death over the internet I decided to actually wait and see what he was like in person. Well, ok maybe I did a tiny bit of internet research (and sent my findings immediately to Mazz for her opinion) but I was much better behaved than in my past stalking endeavors.

8.55pm: I went out to meet John, the surgeon found on match.com, at my favorite winebar/restaurant/art gallery. For some reason it is very trendy to have eateries double as art shows these days.

8:58 pm: I ignored all text messages from Mazz and Alexis taunting me about meeting Dr. Luv. Please!

9:01: I arrived, safely one minute late (I just cannot do that fashionably late thing) and gave John a hug. John was "good looking in a nice guy way" as was later described to me, and an engaging conversationalist. Now just because John graduated Ivy League with honors and solved infectious disease crises in Sub Saharan Africa doesn't mean I was about to be intimidated. Or that I would feel like a sell-out because I decided to pursue a career that would guarantee me a shoe collection (soles) rather than anything altruistic (a soul).

9:03: Well, forget about what I wasn't going let happen. I realized that the only way to solve intimidation was to drink heavily. Alcohol is lovely, isn't it? My date gets better looking, I become funnier, and the world rearranges itself in harmonious order. I promptly ordered a large glass of red.

9:30: After downing the first glass of wine and failing to keep the conversation about current events (as recommended by 'The Rules'), I remembered that alcohol ALSO tends to make us talk nonstop about ourselves ("While in Orchestra Camp in the 9th grade...."), become overly emotional at the cheese plate selection, and suddenly have a soft spot for Sarah Palin.

10:00: After the second glass, I also noticed that wine also inhibited my ability to walk in a straight line to the bar for round number three. I wouldn't have needed a round three had the following not occurred:

9:45: Just as I was starting to get comfortable talking to John without nervously flipping my hair three times per sentence, my friend Eva strides into the bar with her husband. "Jules! How fabulous to see you! And who is this?!?" she asks with a wink.

"This is John."

"Oh John, I have heard all about you. Let's see...you are from New Jersey, you love jazz, and weren't you just in Senegal...." Eva stops abruptly as I purposely kick her.

I had no idea Eva was going to come to the winebar turned art gallery. I mean, if I had WANTED my friends to spy I would have sat them in the back and given them speakers to my microphone set up like any normal first date experience.

Sigh. So yes, I felt this deserved a third round. I told John I had an amazing tolerance, praying he didn't note my signature trip on the way to get more vino.

10:15: I came back with new wine confidence and decided to finish telling John my life story. When Eva interrupted us I was only up to the part where I ran for election in college....

11:00: It was time to go. In between my life story tales, John and I DID have a lot to talk about including favorite steak frites venues, why mountains are cool, his medical emergencies in the jungle, and my personal emergencies in fashion. I THOUGHT we were having a good conversation??

But I was praying my tipsyness wasn't obvious. That's when John asked me if I would mind giving him a lift home to a neighborhood close by. Oh dear.

11:10: After a walk to my 'not cleaned in three years' car, I started the engine and prepared to drive. I shouldn't have driven....I was high DUI material. I ground the gears, did some interesting U-turns navigating the city, and almost went the wrong way down a one way street. Upon finally finding John's house, he gave me a quick hug, LEAPED out of the car (it may have been still moving), and ran away.

Realizing I could not just go home to ponder the evening alone, I drove back to the wine bar, and discussed the date with a microscopic lens with Eva and hubby. "Well....you are a terrible driver anyway so driving a man around even sober is probably a deal breaker. And as far as talking too much, Juliet, that's you! And so is drinking too much wine! If he likes YOU, he'll love the sequence of events. And if not, well, move on to the next. That whole hospital gown fantasy was creepy anyway."

The Men We Dream Up

2008-09-29T20:11:00.000-07:00

I was about to throw in the towel for online dating and cancel my subscription to once again hit up the bars, clubs, and other cheesy groping spots of San Francisco. As I was on hold for a match.com "end my subscription now before another 50 year old hairy man contacts me” representative, I got an interesting ping in my inbox. A seemingly normal, well-traveled man wrote me. He was in my age category, had ski racks on his car, spoke French, and what’s this…was a surgeon who had volunteered across the world in international medicine brigades? I immediately hung up the phone.

What is it about doctors that bring women to their knees? Even hedge fund gurus cannot compete. There is something alluring about a man that is not only intelligent, but also does something positive for the world. Perhaps it is because I really don’t…unless you count making peanut butter cookies for a barbeque as a good deed. Although you can bet that in my response email I am going to mention how I volunteered with troubled youth in the slums of Guatemala back in ’99. (This is a true story...kind of...I also spent a lot of time in Guatemala salsa dancing, which can also be considered being a good Samaritan depending on whom you dance with).

I am doing what I advise women to never do which is extrapolate one tiny first contact into a full blown relationship. I cannot wait to bring my new doctor boyfriend to cocktail parties. "Marcia, you know that sore throat you have been complaining of? Well, you should let my doctor boyfriend look at it. He is an expert. In fact he treated village dwellers with the random Morlionopoliosicko virus in southeast Asia for two years.” “George, is that a paper cut on your right hand? Let’s let my boyfriend doctor look at it to ensure it is not infected. You never know these days…while my doctor boyfriend was in the remote island of Hunu Hunu, he saved thousands of lives by merely disinfecting common injuries.” "Yes, Portia, my new doctor boyfriend not only saves lives but he also is on the ski patrol, writes a column for the New Yorker, and didn't invest in any funds with mortgage-backed loans."

Okay, I know this is ridiculous. Not only am I sketching out annoying ways to present (i.e., brag about) this potential guy to my friends, I have not even met this man and I already deem him perfect. Time to cancel my dating subscription now before this daydreaming gets the better of me.

Why is it that when women first meet a man (or in my case, read a two paragraph email), they immediately take one tidbit of information and concoct a perfect man out if it? Why can’t we wait patiently and let things develop (or not)?

As usual I poll the peanut gallery.

Mazz (single with multiple crushes herself): After being out in the dating cesspool for a few months, it’s easy to get excited about someone halfway normal. As long as the fantasy stays in your head (no more writing the new man poetry, Shoe Girl) there is no harm done. Crushes are a good thing—it is what motivates us to keep putting ourselves out there. Remember my fantasy with Gabriel, the bartender in NYC? It didn’t go anywhere but it did keep me excited to wear Manolos every time I went to The Modern.

Eva (married and concerned about my dating future): Yes, Shoe Girl, you do really need to stop writing poetry to men who you barely know. I am not sure letting your fantasies get the better of you is a good thing. Stay focused on your life, your two thousand sports and let the man slowly reveal himself to you before you plan your wedding theme song. Think of him as a flower unfolding…isn't reality more exciting? It certainly is more sustainable.

C.B. (single, male): Why do women do this? Men don’t. In fact after we send you an email we don’t think about you until we hear back from you. The we spend four minutes picturing you naked and another two minutes writing you back or calling. That’s it. Perhaps you should start a fantasy football league. Now there is a fantasy worth spending time on.

Sigh…okay okay. I’ll pace myself. No extrapolating. No fantasies. Although the one with the hospital gown is pretty darn good…

The Online Dating Show

2008-09-23T20:55:00.000-07:00

We buy our groceries online, we pay our bills online, why wouldn’t select a mate online while we are at it?

Ahhh…remember the days when everyone wrote paper checks and online dating carried a stigma? During the 90s the only people who found love via their computer monitor were cyberdorks with tape on their glasses. Well those cyberdorks were light years ahead of us in terms of the new dating scene (not to mention everything else involving the internet). They are also now Silicon Valley millionaires.…but I digress.

Yes, the online dating industry has passed the ‘early adopter’ stages and gone to the masses. Match.com is about as mainstream as Starbucks, Facebook and Gardenburgers (soy based burgers are mainstream in California anyway).
Even if we don’t publically admit to have browsed the match.com site, we all secretly have while in the privacy of our own home. Most of us have free profiles posted. And about a solid third of us have actually made the leap and paid for a subscription, showing our cheesy smiling profile picture and “love to laugh” headline to the world.

So what exactly happens on these sites? Can true love be found in cyberspace or is it still reserved for the cyberdorks? I decided to find out.

After a few weeks online, I have made a few noteworthy observations that may serve to assist other men and women out there.

1.Cancel your weekend plans to devote to time to profile writing. Setting up the profile is a bitch. Be prepared to labor over text and multiple editing sessions from your pals. And when it comes to pictures, just select a few good ones (not the one of you in a Sombrero kissing a pinanta, no matter how ‘fun’ it makes you look)

My first attempts at writing a profile were attacked mercilessly . ‘Shoegirl,” Holly chided me, “you cannot say you are fluent in five languages. Number one, it’s too intimidating. And number two, ordering sushi in Tokyo doesn’t really count as speaking Japanese!” (Hmm…what about making love in French then? ) Alexis then found fault with my attempts to be humorous ‘Writing limericks may be witty, but I do not think rhyming ‘anatomical’ with ‘economical’ is going to get you a date “ And Mazz didn’t like my Mad Lib approach when I let the reader fill in blanks how he wished. “But I am a chameleon! I can be and do anything!” I protested. After hours of edits, the final profile was specific enough to describe me, yet vague enough to have them wanting more. I gave a few examples of my hobbies, (must sound active and literate), my job (must appear to have one), and a descriptions of places I like to go. (If you are not well -traveled, don’t bother posting a profile or just lie—everyone on this site seems to be Rick Steves).

2. Winks are for wimps. Hold out for an email. I have heard from male friends that they cannot be bothered to write everyone, so they just give an easy wink to women they don’t care as much about. In fact, they may wink at as many as 25 women during one session. So if you get a wink you are not special. You aren’t special either if you get a cut and paste email that could easily be sent to 25 women. ‘You seem cool. Nice smile!” If a guy likes you, he will actually *gasp* read your profile and write you an email that references things about you in it. “I like that you speak 5 languages, I myself speak 4. Let’s make love in French.” These are the guys worth writing back. Mais, bien sur!

3. Weeding them out takes patience. For every halfway decent man that writes you, about 50 not-so-decent men will. They are either 56 and bald or 35 and four feet tall or are 23 and have had “some college” and misspell the word ‘college’ (A ‘collage’ is a collection of photos, dummy). I don’t think people bother to read what you are looking for before they contact you. There are also just some plain weirdoes out there left over from the chat room days. I recently got an email from some man in Idaho (geographically undesirable) with this message ”Look into my eyes! I have been telepathically willing you to respond to me.” Along with the other match.com pariahs, I ignored him. When a good one writes you, take the time to write back. Don’t become a winker yourself.

4. As women lie about their weight, so do men lie about their height. I do not know if men seriously all believe they are 6 feet tall or they know they have a higher chance of a write-back if they pretend to be. It really works against them. I once was excited to finally meet an engaging 6 footer out. However, when we shook hands for that important first hello I realized that he was actually my height (in flats)! He was a cool enough guy that I could have gotten over the tall thing had he not lied! Was he lying about his Ivy League education as well? Guys—be honest. And women too—do not say you are 115 llbs when that was your weight when you were in junior high. From body stats to incomes….unless we stay in a virtual relationship we’ll find out sooner or later.

5.Casual please. Although most men behave casually, some men are REALLY READY to get married and have kids and see match.com as their last chance. I am not a baby machine. If a man asks me about kids on date numero uno, he’s out. I mean yes, someday I hope to be a mother….but please we met ONLINE…isn’t talking about daycare options a bit premature for the first outing? I think that everyone who goes on an online induced date should go thinking of friendship only. Anything more than that needs to develop from in-person encounters. Chemistry is the one thing that the internet cannot predict nor control.

After about 6 weeks online, I really did meet some amazing men. I had enjoyable drinks and dinner dates on Tuesdays when I would have normally been in my PJs watching ‘Love Actually’ for the 14th time. However, I can’t say I found anything resembling true love...or even mild interest for a fling. To be honest, I find online dating daunting and quite time consuming. I know many men and women have had much luck on this site and I would love to hear from them. (In fact I know two married couples that met on one of these things!). There is also a new site that has gotten press from Forbes---millionairematch.com. You don’t actually have to be a millionaire (I obviously am not), but I do think it weeds out the “some ‘collage’” educated and high school janitors. Apparently Charlie Sheen met someone on it. And we all know what good taste he has in mates. I may try it out and meet a movie star or just throw in the towel on cyberdating. Perhaps I am old fashioned but something in me prefers the good ol’ sleazy pick up bars. I guess I’d rather have a hearty ass grope and ‘yes no’ dance than a string of “so you rock climb too?” emails

I Wish I Were a Power Lesbian

2008-09-17T11:24:00.000-07:00

Oh, just another Friday night in San Francisco.....wearing the cashmere "it" scarf in the middle of summer, pairing wine with sopressata sausage, and debating being set up with one of the city's new power lesbians.

Yes, you heard that right. I ate pork and debated dating women on the same night.

Mazz and I went to a fabulous new wine, cheese and salumi paradise last Friday. While waiting to be seated, we met two amazing women-Bonique and Lisa. The two well dressed ladies knew their wine better than the sommelier at Gary Danko. Mazz swooned as Lisa hand picked the perfect matches to our upcoming plate of aged chevre and fenneled fancy pork bits.

We assumed Bonique and Lisa were like us, fashionable females out for a friendly dinner and hoping to meet some (male) eye candy toward the end of the evening. After laughing over city tales, we decided to join the ladies for dinner. Four girls is always better than two, right? During the first course we chatted about B&L's shared hobbies, shared art collections, and shared Sonoma real estate. Shared? It finally dawned on us that Bonique and Lisa were much more friendly than friends...

The two were the dynamic duo of the 2000's. Sexy, wine savvy, and well invested even in the worst of financial crises. And they were gay. Gay, however, seems to evoke more clout these days than stigma. Today the word "lesbian" does not mean butch or jock or drab. Rather it means power, sophistication, and open mindedness. Svelte Bonique and Lisa could somehow reference art, politics, manolos, and stinky cheese in the same sentence. While chatting to B&L, we noticed another lesbian couple across the room giving each other a dainty kiss over a $200 bottle of wine. They were also wearing Chanel boots. Lesbian women rock.

Could I too enter the realm of the hip homosexuals?

Perhaps it was all the wine, but it appeared that this category of women had everything on my list. They could deliver where no man had been able to. Now could I just convince myself to be okay kissing a girl's cherry chapstick mouth?

Bonique read my tormented mind and offered to set me up with a friend of hers-Someone who was a 5 star restaurant regular, owned a yacht, and competed in biking. This person was also a woman; a tall blond-haired blue-eyed leggy woman.

My mind raced to the Sex and the City episode where Charlotte tried to get in with the city's power lesbians. It seemed such a beautiful world. I remember she was so ecstatic to be in a world where everyone had her same interests and dreams. The magical place where people talk Wall Street AND Vogue. But I also remember that in order to stay in this world, she had to be okay with a little beaver. And I do not mean the woodland creature. Could I beaver it without cringing?

I pondered Bonique's offer for a set up. Let's face it. While a yacht ride may be nice I don't think I can be more romantic with a woman than crying together during "Love Actually." For when it comes to a partner's sexual equipment, I sure am biased toward the male version. Sadly, I had to give Bonique and her entourage the "Let's just be friends" line. But unlike my statement deliveries to most men, I sincerely meant it. These women are too much fun to lose completely.

Damn the Hang Ups

2008-09-10T21:23:00.000-07:00

Argh. Okay so I promised that I wouldn't let the "no ski rack on my car" statement deter me from a potential Mr. Right. But sadly I have found a new slew of hangups that keep me from falling for an otherwise perfect man.

Meet Stu--VC genius, dirt bike racer, tri-lingual with a summer house on the Italian Riveria. Trust me, there are very few of these types in the San Francisco Bay area. Over a plate of sinfully stinky cheese and decadent red wine, I wanted to swoon and promise to have his tri-lingual children. I couldn't wait to discuss our wedding plans. Sadly, Stu ruined the dream by standing up. He was 5'6". I knew if I dated him I would have to forever relinquish my collection of perfectly heeled Manolos.

Stu or high heels? Well, since I have had a long term relationship with the latter, it didn't seem seem right to abandon them for a mere romantic notion. And my shoes speak Italian too.

After we parted ways, I spent some time alone in my closet second guessing my choice of 'sole' mates. I wondered what on earth was wrong with me. Why do I need to date a jolly green giant? Smaller versions seem to have a lot more to offer on the checklist front (i.e. personality, European homes, etc). I knew Stu could make me happier than any larger versions if I could just be okay crouching....

I asked some other girlfriends what had prevented them from falling for a perfect man.

"Joe was balding. Our first date was outdoors as he looked adorable in a baseball hat. However, when we went out to dinner on date number two and the venue had a strict 'no baseball hat' policy, I saw more of his scalp than I cared to. It shouldn't matter...but I found myself overly focused on his extended forehead when I should have been enjoying my filet and our conversation. 'What's that? You took Rogaine to Las Vegas? Oh! A plane A plane. Got it.' Ridiculous I know....but I need hair! I need to run my fingers though it!"

Mazz reported on her too stable man that she recently dumped while on the phone in my living room..."Maybe it was that all around he was too stable...but the real clincher...the real hangup was that he kissed like a guppy! I don't want to train a 38 year old man to kiss! Kissing...honestly it makes or breaks them."

Another girl reported that she had a thing against stale breath. What exactly IS stale breath?? "It's not exactly bad...it's just....stale...like the smell in your grandparent's closet. Even though Charles was an accomplished and very sexy attorney, I didn't want to be close to him when he exhaled. He later met a girl that was an open mouth breather (she couldn't smell and I think was pretty stale herself) and they got engaged."

Eva told me that when she first met her husband he had a bad haircut. "I couldn't look at him straight on, let alone go on a date with him. A few years later he went to a new barber and drastically changed his appearance. I promptly talked him into a redo date...and now we are married. I do oversee his hair stylist appointment schedule though. Don't need to ruin the marriage over his hair."

Why do such silly shallow things keep us from true love? How much should trivial things matter when everything else rocks our world? And it's not just women....men complain of cankles, flapping upper arms, and women that always seem to get salad stuck in their front teeth. (Oh dear, I think this is me).....

As I dig into my stash of dark chocolate, the item that never lets me down, I question if we can ever get over all of our dating hangups....It certainly would widen the dating pool if we could.

The Alpha Male

2008-09-07T15:17:00.000-07:00

The elusive alpha male has repeatedly been mentioned in comments on this blog as well as in conversations out with the girls. It's time to dissect him. Online.
The alpha male--Everyone covets him, yet is made miserable by him.

How many times have you ordered the heart healthy fruit platter for dessert when the flourless chocolate cake was next on the list? I see. Than why would you rather pursue something simple and good for you than the attractive, thrilling, yet all together heart unhealthy alpha male?

Sigh. Even though we know we would likely be better off with a 'beta' male version that comes with a conscience, we remain stubbornly attracted to alpha model--dangerously high testosterone levels, confidence bordering on cocky, power that stems from said confidence, and career and car to back it all up.

Who is this unique species?

The Alpha Male's Natural Environment
The Alpha male, when not in important board room meetings, is found doing deals on the golf course, winning a race in some elite sport category, and frequenting trendy bars with beautiful women.

The Alpha male goes to these trendy bars for one sole purpose: hunting. The Alpha male is a supreme hunter and easily captures his target prey within minutes of buying them a glass of wine. "Easier" women fall victim to his charms instantly and are often confused as to how they ended up in his bedroom. Sadly, they really do believe he will call them the next day. Experienced women stay far away and monitor from a safe distance. They do not want to be pulled in by his charm.

The Alpha Male Psyche
The Alpha male cares first and foremost about himself. You certainly won't see him volunteering with one armed children in Uganda.....unless there are either major business connections to be made or a slew of Brazilian models on the same project. The Alpha male won't do anything unless there is some personal value to his world.

The Alpha male thrives in any setting that presents challenges and competition. Although he is pretty damn good at anything he chooses to do, he will still seek out the latest and greatest sport to keep his adrenaline levels high. If you want to hang out with the alpha male, you must be prepared to indulge his need for challenges on double black diamond ski slopes, high stakes tables at Vegas, and new miles per hour records in his car.

The Alpha Male in Relationships
The alpha male views everything in his world as a conquest--from ski slopes to business deals to the new hottest woman. However, sometimes the Alpha male gets confused either from accidentally watching 'When Harry Met Sally' or talking too long to his mother. He decides to try to form a relationship with the current women he has hunted....er...dated. For a while he does well, tries to make compromises, and may even replace his Saturday night boxed seat Giants game tickets with an outing to the ballet. But then sure enough the glitter of a relationship wears off and the alpha male becomes restless. He decides to let the girl go...and focus on himself again.

Many times the alpha male tries out a relationship for the sole purpose of re-creating himself...that is alpha male speak for having children. Many times this urge is so strong a marriage occurs. (In addition to creating children, a marriage is also positive for business--married men are deemed more successful). However some alphas still try to get around a life commitment. I once had an alpha male approach me about having his children. He promised lifetime child support check as long as he didn't have to stay faithful to me or deal with the gritty parts of child rearing. We stopped dating after that comment.

But why do we even date alphas in the first place? I ask around the city...

"We are drawn to testosterone. Pure and simple. We want the strongest and most powerful. That's what mattered in cave man days....not sensitivity or willingness to see a Sarah McLaughlin concert with us."

"Hey, we like the chase too! An alpha male is more of a challenge. He won't just do what we want how we want.....but trying to get him to on occasion sure is fun!"

"Power is sexy. Listening to our feelings isn't."

I wonder....and ask my readers....how much alpha do we need? Obviously not the 100% alpha male model...but is a hybrid version available? And is it possible to have an alpha male that has a chance of being a decent guy?

Day and Night Barbie

2008-09-03T13:14:00.000-07:00

San Francisco women live two lives. By day they are savvy career powerhouses driving sales and thought leadership for their firms. By night they are dancing divas in fashionable heels.

The Day Woman Profile
The Day Woman appears not to have a social live as she answers her blackberry messages at all hours of the day and night. The Day Woman dresses smart, yet conservative enough as to not cause suspicion that her neckline got her the job. Sad but true...all the press on Sarah Palin confirms we still think women cannot have boobs and a brain at the same time. Knowing this, the Day Woman is sure to exude sophistication, organization, and some degree of prudeness. Day Woman does not shoot vodka...or know who Kanye West is.

However, once the sun goes down over the Pacific, the Day Woman transforms into another creature all together.

The Night Woman Transformation
Once she enters her home, throws down her laptop, gym bag, and those non noticeable 2.5 inch pumps, the Night Woman starts to emerge. The stiff white button down is replaced with a shimmy top. Dramatic 4 inch heels are pulled out of the closet. The Night Woman pours herself a dark sensual glass of wine, applies crimson Chanel lipgloss, and prepares to meet her friends. During the course of the evening, the Night Woman will still answer her blackberry as to protect the Day Woman's cover. But she will also throw back martinis and dance with unscrupulous men. Work Hard, Play Hard has taken on a whole new meaning.

How Long Can a Dual Identity Last?
Sometimes however, the unthinkable happens. Someone from the office appears at the club noticing the Day Woman in her Night Woman form. It is as if Superman's true identity has been discovered. "My God---Day Woman is mortal!" "In fact.....is Day Woman a bit drunk?"

Night Woman cringes as her double identity has been detected. She fears her powerpoints will lose credibility now that she has been spotted rubbing her bum up against the bar to Justin Timberlake. Good thing she didn't make out with the hot young bartender. Her analysis of new growth markets would never be seen in the same light.

Why must women have a double life? Why do we feel a need to hide our urges for both wine and sex while men flaunt their vices blatantly in the office? And vice versa--why when we are out having fun, we never care to admit what we do for a living thinking it may scare off potential interests? Does Night Man want to date Day Woman? Likely Not!

Says one worker bee female "I like to have fun on weekends....being silly with friends cuts tension from my hectic week. However, I would be mortified is the office knew I love dancing the Roger Rabbit to 80s tunes. They would take photos and decorate my office with them."

Another successful women points out, "I just like keeping my lives separate. Work is work. Fun is Fun. The guys I meet out won't buy me a drink if they knew my title outranks theirs. Conversely, the career crowd prefers to assume I am a sober sod. If they knew my tolerance level, they'd assume vodka had erased all my analytical capabilities.

What's a girl to do? Well if it's a solid excuse for having two wardrobes, fine. But can't there be a way to let worlds collide? Can being mortal be a good thing in the office? Perhaps we will be more approachable if we are known to have fun every once in a while? (well...as long as we don't get so drunk we do face plants on the dance floor..not that this has ever happened to me). And as far as hiding our career savvy in order to meet men- I am not sure I would want to hang out with a guy didn't at least equal or outrank my professional level..... although it is pretty easy to outrank a blog writer.

How To Emergency Exit Unworthy Datees

2008-08-29T23:08:00.000-07:00

If you read my “Hiding from the Exes” entry, you may recall that I was about as mature as a twelve year old when it came to ending relationships. Feigning illness, moving to Angola, and performing Houdini disappearing acts were not beneath me. Now, with (slightly) more maturity on my side I decided that I would much better in relationships—from start to finish. Because stepping out of Datus Hiatus would be risky, I decided to put some rules in place to mitigate my usual pitfalls.

Rule #1: Do not get involved unless there is clear cut potential (No more aspiring Italian movie stars)
Navigating my 19 fantasy crushes became much easier with Rule #1. Most of the men I safely had teenage crushes on were no more fit for a relationship than a pet hamster. I can now easily make crushes go away by having my men act in fake situations created in my head:

1. Having dinner with my business associates. This safely nixes the screen print T shirt wearing bohemian artists. While they may be engaging at a CD release party, business dinners are a horror. You cannot invite someone who thinks the stock market is where you buy prosciutto.

2. Meeting my Grandmother. This safely ensures I don’t fall for the successful playboys that seem to dominate the city. This isn’t because my Granny is sweet….she’d insist they shoot whiskey and play cards with her…but she can sure see through any poker face. And a man that can rival my Granny's hand is a keeper.

3. Participating in a morning run. Now they don’t have to qualify for the Boston marathon…but if they wheeze and fall over after half a mile…well…what would that say for their cardiovascular ability for “other” types of marathons? Strength outdoors means strength indoors.

Rule #2 As soon as realize potential is waning exit gracefully with poise.
Exiting relationships is never easy…especially if guy is great but for some unknown reason not straddle worthy. If having sex with a stalk of celery is more appealing than it’s time to say Sayonara. Gracefully. This is easier said than done. Saying goodbye is painful and racked with guilt.

How to have the difficult conversation?
1. Phone from a friend’s house: Mazz came over to my house to make the “I cannot see you anymore” phone call. The guy was nice and witty, just about as passionate as a dead fish. It was time to cast him back into the ocean. Mazz at first wanted to avoid making the uncomfortable call, but I invited her over to do it chez moi while I poured her a drink. Making the call from a friend’s house has multiple advantages. Number one, your friend will ensure you step up and actually do it. (In fact I think I may have dialed the number). Number two, once it’s over you have friends to commiserate with and comfort you. Number three, calling from a place that is not your own makes the experience more surreal, and somehow easier….especially when said friends are pouring you cocktails and making funny faces at you from the other room while you deliver the news.

2. In person: If the relationship has lasted more than a month a conversation in person is warranted. I usually do this over dinner. I pick a casual spot, talk about the weather for the first course, and then somewhere between the main and dessert spill my guts about how I am not ready for a relationship, we seem to have different interests anyway and the ultimate line "it's actually you, not me." I then insist on picking up the tab. “No PLEASE allow me to get it.” For some reason this makes me feel better....and at least the guy gets a free meal out of the evening. It's far from perfect but much better than telling them I need to spend the next three weeks in the ER.

3. Fizzle/Ignore. This is reserved for the short term date encounters. Alexis had finally made her choice. Passion had edged ahead over stability. Band boy was in…Excel Man was out. Now how to let him know? Since Excel Man and Alexis hadn’t really made it past the text messaging stage it was easy to let a few “hey, how’s it going” texts go by….and then some more. I am of the mindset that texts never really deserve much of an answer anyway and they are so easy to accidentally erase. Death by delete.

Rule #3: If the shoe fits, wear it.

If you actually, lo and behold, like the man so much that you find yourself humming "It's a wonderful world" when it's raining out or feel an earthquake every time he steps into the room, then we need to safely monitor. No self sabotage. (This is my usual routine....'Hmmm I cannot date him because his car didn't have a ski rack.' OR 'I would date him again but he didn't know who Wilco was,' etc). No no, those days are over. For the rest of the year there will be no premature exits as a pre-caution from all the horrors from our past. Alexis, Mazz, and I determined to hold on once the roller coaster starts.....once we meet someone that passes the first two rules anyway.

Get Out of My Dreams, Get Into (the backseat of) My Car

2008-08-24T22:12:00.000-07:00

Fantasies. Dreams. Crushes. We have all had them. They are an innocent way of letting our libido go on overdrive without suffering any negative consequence.

In my attempt to take risk full on and embrace love, I think I have had 20 crushes this week alone. I told my friend Holly, the ueber sexual diva (and divorced mother of one), my stories.

"Shoe girl," she replied, "we have to seize control of this. You cannot just go having simple "do nothing" crushes on men while you have orgasms doing situps at the gym. We need to find you a suitable specimen to have MORE than just a fake relationship with".

Orgasms at the gym?!!! I have no idea what Holly was talking about although I have noticed a new line for the leg raise / abdominal contraption in the Sportsclub LA. Apparently the secret was out. Women are choosing pleasure from the gym as opposed to
waiting around for the perfect man.

Do women prefer fantasy over reality? Is making up a man in your head better than the real deal?

I decided to poll the women waiting in line.

"Mr. Right doesn't exist. It's better to realize that now and find other ways of satisfying yourself. Personally, I like to think about men with British accents..."

"I think you can find the perfect balance of passion and stability in one man. But until it happens, what is wrong with a few extra situps each week? You are just preparing yourself for the future..."

" I HAVE found the perfect man. Jake and I are engaged. Why am I in this sit-up line do you ask? Well, I still have this fantasy about the Peets Coffee guy...I love Jake but I cannot get the coffee man out of my head. What's wrong with a casual fantasy?"

While sit ups seem a safe outlet for many women, Holly disagrees with the whole fantasy concept. 'What you need, Shoegirl, is the real deal. No situps. No toys. And NONE of that overactive imagination of yours."

While out at one of the three bars we frequent, Holly urged me to finally make a pass at the cute bartender that gives me free drinks every Friday night.

"He's obviously into you, thinks you are 27, and would be a stallion in the bedroom. We need to end your time in the Sahara dating desert with a bang. No pun intended, " Holly said coyly.

A fling with a bartender?! Sure he was cute but what on earth would we talk about? Top shelf vodka?

Holly retorted, "Why do you need to waste time talking anyway?"

Holly pushed me over the bar to talk to the young handsome cocktail maven. But I couldn't do more than the usual chitchat. In this case, I think fantasies are better reserved for the mind. Who wants to be disappointed in the morning sunlight? I would rather pretend that my Romanesque bartender was fluent in latin, knew how to tango and had a patent on a new version of ipod software than accept the obvious. And most importantly, when the fling ended, would he still offer me free drinks?

And the 19 other crushes? Soon enough reality will overtake fantasy. Most will fall out (ex. Jack Johnson-he's married), but cannot some men live up to the vision in my mind? Is it silly to still expect near perfection? (Although my definition of perfection has become more lax over the years. Right now it's a literate man who know what gnocchi is and can beat me arm wrestling). But I have cast a wide net, and if I have chosen my fishes wisely the reality for at least 2 of the 19 will be about as good as the dreams. Yes, that means that hopefully some will materialize into more than situps. Stay tuned.....

Sniffing out the right one

2008-08-19T18:05:00.001-07:00

The melancholic drizzle I wrote on Sunday haunts me. I must have been wearing flat shoes all week because there certainly wasn't much spring in my step. Sure, sure love hurts, but did I really pretend to be a mute Estonian to an attractive man? Sigh. Well, no matter. The sass in this lass is back. (Head toss).

How do I love thee? Let me count the whiffs....
And with sass intact I am putting my Datus Hiatus on its own sabbatical to get down and dirty. It's time to take a few risks. However, before I start the arduous task of dating again, how do I know which type of man to pursue? A friend forwarded me an article on how the birth control pill messes with our sense of smell and thus makes us women actually CHOOSE the wrong type of man! The article states that for some reason the pill disables some type of "smell receptor" that usually makes us select a man that is uniquely compatible with our smell. Selecting a mate based on smell pheromones is a bizarre concept to begin with....Love at first whiff?? But according to scientific proof, it's sound. And also according to science, women on the pill usually pick a man whose smell is WRONG for them. What? So this has been my issue for the past 10 years? I knew something always smelled funny.......

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26180187/

But what ARE the right types of men anyway? Besides a musky odor to get our blood pumping, what should we be looking for? Quiet and intellectual? Gregarious and worldly? And most importantly, in looking for a relationship, do we need more passion or stability? For some odd reason, they rarely seem to come together. I wonder what my olfactory system has to say.

What smells better: Passion vs. Stability
As you may recall, Alexis still had her two men in the palm of her hand. The band boy/tech start up /Mister Spontaneous AND the banker/professional/plans out dates in an excel spreadsheet guy.

In terms of the stability quotient of the two men, Excel man clearly wins. He is established in his career and social scene. As far as long term relationship material, he has stated (yes, outloud) that he longs for 'something serious.' He wrote the book on chivalrous dating (It's on Amazon), and has a bank account that can afford one if not two houses with white picket fences.

Band Boy, on the other hand, is just starting out. His company and band make him work unpredictable hours. Dates are often planned two minutes beforehand if at all. He may or may not be seeing other people. He's more fun than you can shake a stick at but you just never know when that shake is coming.

However, when it comes to the passion quotient, Band Boy takes the lead. 'I can barely sit across the dinner table without jumping over and ripping off his clothes." says Alexis. Their first make out session? "Hot Hot HOT." The first make out session with Excel guy? "Umm, it was nice."

So what's a girl to do? Since our smell receptors are out of whack, is there an obvious choice? Do we go for stability and hope that passion develops? Perhaps after two years of stable dating, Excel man will turn into a caballo de sucio amor (dirty love horse). I can see it already. On their usual drive to Sonoma while listening to NPR, Excel man feels fire overcome his loins. He abruptly pulls the car over to the side of the road, changes the channel to D'Angelo, and makes wild love to Alexis in the car by the Sonoma mini mart in front of surprised tourists. Passion will be ignited for the remainder of their years and Alexis will be fulfilled.

Or perhaps Passion in the better choice to start with. Alexis just has to endure two years while Band boy figures out his place in life. Of course, she'll be assured of a lot of fun, laughs, and orgasms until that happens. And then during a typical passionate interlude up against a chain link fence, Band boy will spontaneously drop that he wants to work less, settle down, get a dog, and start being passionate in 800 count sheets in a house in the suburbs. He'll declare 'Let's move in together!'

It's a tough call. I personally like chain link fences. But waiting for seriousness can also take the fun out of fun. At least at this age. If only we could trust our noses........

Recovering from time in the Heartbreak Hotel

2008-08-16T18:27:00.000-07:00

My posts to the blog so far have been somewhere in-between fun spirited sass and hot blooded energy. Today's will be different.

It's foggy in the city, my body is exhausted from too much exercise, and all I can do is sink into my sea of blankets to do my ritualistic monthly philosophizing. P.M.S. Premeditated Melancholy Sunday.

Someone once told me that love is never predictable or certain. If it was, we would probably crave it much less.

Do we crave love? Or do we fear it? And once it hurts us in unpredictable ways, do we ever fully recover?

Two of my good friends Layla and Raphael are going through the growing pains of their relationship. It's painful to watch. I know oh too well that love isn't always enough to keep us together when the world tempts us in so many other directions. It's timing, not strength of heart that dictates the future. Remember the one 'perfect' relationship in your past that somehow ripped down the middle as the two of you chose different directions in life (i.e. "I must study in South America")? Or different people ("she just was less complicated")? If Layla and Raphael part ways, I wonder if the hurt they endure will change their outlook on life. How well will they recover?

Ahhhhh....the pains of amore...just like sports injuries, getting back to 100% is challenging. There is always some lingering ache.

In all the heartbreaks of my past, there was only one that was truly mine. Two years of amour a la folie. And then it ended. Abruptly. Probably the only time I was able to throw something with perfect aim. After I dislocated my shoulder from said throw and spent a good year recovering in all the typical ways---bottles of wine, packs of cigarettes, and flings with men named Fabio, I re-emerged. But I am not sure my shoulder or my heart were ever the same.

Once our hearts are broken, are we more fearful than excited about new prospects? Is casual preferred because anything more intimate puts us in jeopardy all over again? I worry that even though yes yes yes we crave love, we fear the risk of pain too much to let ourselves ever get there.

Downtown in the city smoky jazz plays. In the dark room I swoon over my martini and the throaty voice of the blues. I see a familiar dark handsome stranger across the room. I bat my eyes. But once he comes over...somehow something on my right shoe becomes really really interesting. I keep my head down and refuse to look up. As he walks by I can smell the scent of passion and its intoxication terrifies me. I like control too much to risk the exhilarating fall.

Okay so perhaps this exact situation exists solely in my head...but similar encounters have happened countless times over the years. From jazz clubs to karaoke stages. And last night it was a wine bar. As soon as my eye flirting partner came over to talk I pretended I was Estonian and didn't understand English. The perfect tall banker/biker man left confused. Mazz, who was with me, told me that if it were up to my dating savvy, I didn't deserve to live. But after l'amour de ma vie, the men I have chosen have either been too dead end to worry about being safe, or too safe I knew they'd be dead end. No risk. And no reward.

Career changes. Relocations. New sports. New languages (although strangely not Estonian). Every risk in life I took was worth it. I just wish I had it in me to switch out of datus hiatus and let myself risk the greatest thing of all.

The One You Straddle

2008-08-13T14:46:00.000-07:00

J, my spin class instructor, had encouraged me to purchase the best bike possible for my upcoming triathlon. "Hey, you don't want to skimp on anything you'll be straddling in between your legs for a few hours."

How true.

This straddling logic obviously applies to dating as well. I know in a previous post I mentioned that women were becoming more casual about relationships. This is true. But we also have become much pickier about who we are casual (or not) with. In terms of 'straddle potential', the bar has been raised. As we become older not only do our disposable incomes go up, so do our expectations of what we want out of the opposite sex. The 20s were a time for skimping and making those grave mistakes (like dropping everything to move to Europe to share a studio apt with a sexy PhD student, ahem). The 30s are a time for learning from them and stepping up the ante.

Alexis, the juggling diva, had narrowed her selection down to two eligible bachelors. Both successful men with biceps. But one was the young boy band guitarist who makes her laugh with spontaneous gestures and suggested smoking out on the second date. The other was the older more chivalrous 'got it together' guy who practically had their date itinerary mapped out in an excel spreadsheet. Not that we want MS office in romance, but some plans are nice, no? Spontaneity of Bachelor #1 is intriguing. But we are not 25 anymore. As we get older the whole "What dinner reservations? I thought we'd just grab something" is less compelling.

Unlike most men, women (the women on top) don't just sleep with someone because they think they are sexy. (Ok, ok, except maybe on surf vacations with men with accents....but that's IT!) There has to be a bit more going on to convince us it's all worth it.

My girlfriends and I decided to list out a few of the top 'Straddle Potential' areas. Male readers--read up. It could make the difference in where you spend next Saturday night.

So You Want to be Straddled?

1. If you are going to be spontaneous be good at it. I personally would swoon for someone who took me to the local Taqueria after we got random tickets to the Elbo Room on a whim. However I would not be cool with walking from restaurant to restaurant to see which one had the shortest wait list. After 4 stops my ravenous stomach would rather have me straddle the Maitre D than you.

2. Decent shoes. It's so true. Women have 200 pairs. Men have 4. You can afford to spend a bit of money on them. It doesn't necessarily mean you are cheap if you don't.....but why run the risk. Invest in a fashion consultant if necessary. Square toed Kenneth Coles with that lucky Irish buckle thing are not going to get you straddled.

3. Games are so 2002. When you wait exactly three days to call it seems as if you have been reading 'the rules'. If you like us, shoot us an email the next day. We liked to be liked. And the more you show you are into us in between dates, the higher your chance of being straddled on the next one. We may be so excited to see you that we won't even wait until that infamous date #3 (also part of the rules). Otherwise we'll move on to the next guy.

4. Wheels. 'Do the wheels make you lucky' is an eternal debate. I, myself, am not a car person. My own has dents and a decaying surf rack on top. As long as it's clean, maintained (oh and ideally has seat warmers on the passenger side) I could care less. But some girls care more. Mazz was once picked up for a date by a guy on a bicycle (as in Schwinn) with a basket. This traumatized her to the point of near cancellation. Another guy took her to Napa on a BMW motorcycle. He scored. Literally.

5. Talk about cool things that inspire us. Usually we like to talk about ourselves. But if you want to be straddled you have to let a few cool things slip about you too. We want to be intrigued. "Ohhhh I never knew that this successful businessman once volunteered in Uganda with one armed children..." Or that perhaps you are a sommelier on the side. Or sing a really good rendition of the Backstreet Boys to Karaoke. After all, if we are adding another notch to our bedpost it might as well be an interesting one.

Female readers, if you have more straddle criteria to add, by all means please do so. Let's help them in order to help us....obviously it's been a while since I have found anything decent to straddle outside of my road bike.

Facebook-the new social scene

2008-08-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

One of my prospective clients is in the social networking space. I have learned that unlike many of the other sites out there, Facebook is geared toward White and Asian MBA yuppie types that interact with the program mostly while listening to dull conference calls in the board room. Oh. So that's why I am on it all the time.

Facebook has revolutionized our world. Many special features include:

1. The ability to stalk people....via status updates we all know what our ex boyfriends and girlfriends are doing every few hours. No need for drivebys or long hours spent with binoculars outside their window. Ahem. Not that I would ever do that.

2. The ability to pretend you have more friends than you really do. Every time you go to a BBQ or Happy Hour and meet new people you can almost instantly become intimately connected to them. The most exciting part of meeting them is actually rushing home to see if they are on Facebook so that you can add them as a friend. The best 'friends' to add or those that have lots of photos (so that they can 'tag' you in them, making you look more popular) and lots of other friends. A good number is over 100. There are some FB social pariahs out there that only have 15 friends. Don't add them.

3. The ability to have half the world know when your birthday is. FB reminds everyone in your friend network of your special day. I just had one and received about 200 messages...some from people I only met once at a BBQ. My wall was a wall of love. My self esteem rose 50 points.

4. The ability to let everyone know how cool you are by posting pictures of your exotic trips. Everyone will see how well traveled you are when you post sunset pictures of Bali. Don't post your family reunion pictures of Orlando though...that would take down your cool factor.

5. Dating. I am serious...my last boyfriend (the first American one in ten years) actually asked me out on Facebook. Seriously. Once you are in a relationship you can also let the world know this by changing your status from 'single' to "in a relationship with..." You can also add interesting comments about the nature of the relationship like "it's complicated." Well....really aren't they all?

Ahhh yes Facebook is changing the way we interact with one another. However sometimes it can bring stress along as well. I recently noticed that one of my ex boyfriends (the French one) "de-friended" me! Can you believe it!? And after all this talk of trying to remain friends! Mais c'est pas possible! He said it was too hard to see me in photos all over the world. I became very puffy chested about it. And now I can no longer stalk him.....guess I'll have to go old school binoculars again.

In addition, some people find it a conflict of interest to add someone they are newly dating. Alexis hemmed and hawed about adding one of her datees. For now he can stalk her including seeing photos of her grinding with other men (or more likely me) at a dance party. And if things don't work out between them, well..one may have to "de-friend" the other and that is never pleasant.

To Facebook or not to Facebook. That is the new question.

Women On Top--Us Girls Just Wanna Have...

2008-08-07T11:56:00.000-07:00

Fun? Sex? Tickets to the three day outdoor concert in Golden Gate Park? Whatever it is, it ISN'T the house with the white picket fence. At least not in this city.

The woman of today's San Francisco is redefining the rules. We are not demure, we do not wait around, and we do not mind making the first move.

Now I am using the "Royal We" here as I am still on datus hiatus. No men on record but I have been eating a lot of chocolate. My girlfriends, however, having been doing more than their fair share of rule defining legwork.

Mazz (formally Mimi--she hated this online name) first called the traditional men and women roles into question. Maz, after six or so dates, decided that the normal after dinner make out session was ready to go one step further. She decided to take matters into her own hands, looked coyly into her datee's eyes and suggested the bedroom. Her datee's response? "Well I think we should wait. You mean too much too me." What?!

LZ, another girl had a similar response---"Honestly I really want this to be special.....we have all the time in the world." Special? Why?!

And now Alexis had to deal with the same situation. After being dropped off home after another fun filled amazing date (number 12 it seemed) she invited datee upstairs. It was three am, so really how could he refuse? His response? 'Ummm....I think I'll drive home." Drive home??!

What is happening? It's not like these men are uninterested...all the requests for follow on dates still happen...they are more twitterpated than Bambi in Springtime.

Why do women want to be more casual then men? After some stealth polling I discovered that many men are intimidated by the new women of today and are even more protective of their fragile ego.

"Women choose the restaurants now..they are more plugged in," said one discouraged male.

"My girlfriend makes more money then me. It's cool. I guess..."

"This girl is top notch! I have to ace everything tonight or I am out."

Are men turning down the bedroom because their #1 safe place is now also in jeopardy? Are they afraid of not meeting the alpha female's needs?
Do they feel like they are the ones that could be potentially used?

A very interesting turn of events indeed. I wonder what type of category these men fall into? They can't all be the sensitive ponytail type. Likely not the arrogant wealthy dot -commer triathlete either...but who knows, perhaps they will fall too. And that would be one huge victory for womankind.

Hiding From the Exes....

2008-07-31T13:35:00.000-07:00

Datus Hiatus still in full effect. Well for me anyway. Across town, my friend Alexis is having her own personal man revival. "The drought is over!" she exclaimed as she ran blissfully a muck in the city's downpour of eligible men. One man she is seeing is a young hottie who plays in a rock band (this means the lucky girl gets a song written about her). Another is a martial arts god ("pin me to the floor, baby"), and the third is into Michelin star rated food as he picked her up at Range last night. When it rains men, it pours! Alexis is making us all proud by perfecting the art of juggling. Maybe I'll take lessons. In the meantime I seem to need to deal with some lingering issues from the past before I jump back in.

It seems as if ex boyfriends or ex datees (you know, the guy you had a few dates before one of you hastily disappeared) have come out from fog hibernation. The past drama of how these short little relationships ended has come back to haunt me. You can't hide from the immaturity of your past.......

Last week while walking down Chestnut minding my own business I had my first spotting. Ex datee Chris was rounding the corner. Why did I start to sprint away in mortification? Well, I had ended a few weeks of dating Chris with some lame excuse that I had a...um...er...terminal illness. Hey, you never know about those moles! In all honesty I was very hypochondriac like at the time. My doctor found a suspicious looking spot. It was my first suspicious looking spot and worthy of a panic. And Chris was so nice and wonderful I couldn't think of any other reason than a terminal illness to end it. I know I know, bad, bad, TERRIBLE form and I am paying the price with years of dating misery as penance.

Ex datee Paul was spotted in Whole Foods. I never really ended any dating session with Paul. Rather he ended it for me as I caught myself saying over a fancy California style dinner 'I cannot believe we are allowing ourselves to spend so much money on this food. I mean how can you enjoy your fois gras with the situation in Dafur right now? You do know what's happening in Dafur, don't you?" I remember shaking my head in dismay. Why did I say that? Please, someone tell me? It's been years since I watched one of those Ethiopia infomercials. And it wasn't all that long ago that I wrote a review on Yelp for French Laundry. I hid in the produce aisle til he left.

Ex Datee John was the worst. I spotted him in a plane ride back from a work engagement. There was no where to hide and he was sitting across the aisle. John and I stopped dating after on date #3 (that annoyingly meaningful date). I insisted on bringing my friend Mazz along for the ride. I had overbooked myself and in all honesty wasn't sure if I could handle the man alone. It was a menage a trois dinner and totally uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable when he and Mazz got in a heated political discussion. The meal ended with tempers flaring and a huge bill. So when I saw John on United flight 070, I decided to pretend to be very engrossed in my book.

Yes, I have the dating maturity of a 12 year old. Not only should I have ended those dates with more finesse and honesty, but I also should be diplomatic enough to say hello when I see them again. Why does hiding always seem like a good option? Why do I have a collection of fake wigs and glasses in my closet? Ugh. Time to be real. I am hoping my datus hiatus will give me the reflection time I need to act in my age category. I may also enroll in finishing school....

Datus Hiatus

2008-07-29T21:05:00.000-07:00

It's been a week since I started my datus hiatus and I already feel better. The pressure to mitigate the rat's nest of my emotions is gone. The need to make decisions about so-so men (he's nice but....) on the fly absent. The constant bar scanning while out with my friends has been replaced with actual listening sessions. And naturally my free time has increased exponentially. I think men had accounted for 95% of my brain's clutter. Now my mind has time to think about more important issues such as work projects, SF's summer concert schedule, and finding a fashionable triathalon suit. (no small feat). Thinking about chocolate, oddly, has also started to occupy more of my mind.

I did indeed meet up with the herbalist/poker dealer/snowboarder /life coach (the last attribute was discovered in our 'meet-up') but in the spirit of hiatus I decided to play the "let's be friends" card. After all, engaging conversations and shared hobbies (um snowboarding, not herbs) don't have to lead up to a whirlwind romance. It seemed to work...after my "friendship" bomb was dropped, he still wanted to do social activities together...as pals. But much to my dismay, my male audience scoffed at this development.

Women always seem to want men as friends (less drama, more adventure)....but do men in their 30s really want to seek out new feminine buddies? My good male friend CB explained it to me this way. "If friendships grow gradually over time (usually with friends in common), sure. But any guy that wants to leap into a new friendship with a hot chick is only trying to sleep with her. He'll play the nice friend card for a while but is hoping that she'll change her mind after a few too many dirty martinis....."

Remind my to lay off the olive juice while out with my male compadres.

Sigh. Why can't we all go back to college where everyone was friends first? Back in the university days I had more male counterparts than females. Oh the fun weekends spent rock climbing and guitar playing in platonic bliss!! Of course in those days I also wore birkenstocks and thought chapstick was makeup. Hmmmm...Well, no matter. I am determined to remain platonic while in Jimmy Choos and a fresh blow out. Hopefully my datus hiatus spirit will take over the city and we'll all revert back to college like attitudes..minus the birkenstocks.

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It's Raining Men and I am Drowning

2008-07-22T11:52:00.000-07:00

So as it turns out the mysterious Herbalist/snowboarder/poker player from last week’s post also put a yes by my name. We are meeting tomorrow for coffee. Perfectly coordinated in-between my triathlon swim practice and a group happy hour. Sports, Dates and Drinking. Seems like a wonderfully San Franciscan balanced day but I am second-guessing this whole thing (the dating thing, certainly not the happy hour thing). I had no idea that jumping into dating would be so exhausting. There is a hurricane of single men out there and I do not even have time to sort through them and breathe. I must have a classified ad taped to my forehead as everyone is aware of my new single status. In addition to the Speed Dating fiasco and two dates last week, TWO different (married) friends have approached me about setting me up with someone they deem….equally um “single”. Does ‘single’ mean ‘desperate’ in the eyes of the coupled? “Oh George would be PERFECT for you…..he really is looking to meet someone special….he’s great...let’s see, I would say he is funny, tall…has most of his hair…..he likes the color blue….oh and he is on a champion kickball team!” They smile and give me that knowing “he could be the one” smile. Ack.

Why do married/committed people always feel a need to do that? Do we single people really seem that lonely on our own that we will take any kickball player with hair that comes our way?

My dear friends “Mazz” and “Alexis” (The A in Alexis for type A) told me that I am getting flustered and overwhelmed and need a break. Break? Aren’t I just getting started? I always thought dating was a numbers game…..and the more you got out there the better the chance of success. Success to me right now is easy—just meeting someone I actually like and can visualize kissing (or better yet naked) without losing my dinner. But perhaps Mazz and A were right. Maybe it’s better to not force it, focus on my training plan, and just enjoy the summer with friends. Being patience pays off…so okay…no more forced dating, set ups, or anything that seems to be as tiring as triathlon training. Well after my coffee date tomorrow that is.

Love at First Gong

2008-07-18T08:39:00.000-07:00

In efforts to get caught up with this fast city I decided to do two things. #1: Crank up my efforts on triathlon training by joining a performance spin class and #2: Try Speed Dating.

J's performance class is not for those who want to "dabble" in cycling. It is for those who are serious about the sport and have ambitions to develop ham size thighs. I am the obvious newbie in the class as my legs resemble toothpicks for children. I desperately try to keep up with the cycling maniacs, but I cannot shake the feeling to vomit after every hill repetition. Apparently vomiting in class is encouraged. J tells us that the more we feel we have to vomit, the better we will do in the "naked mirror" test.

Speed Dating is more daunting that standing naked in the mirror resembling a pear on toothpicks. Women are situated around a room (with cocktails, thank God) as men play musical chairs to chat with them for eight minutes each. After the eight minutes is up a gong sounds and the men switch to meet the next woman. A gong could very well steer away the love of your life just as you were about to tell him everything you had in common. Or it could finally put an end to an eight minute uncomfortable silence. After it's all over (and hopefully we are all still sober) we write down a "yes" next to the names of the people we want to meet again. Love at first gong? We'll see....

I entered the selected venue skeptically. I was wearing heels and bright red. (This was a tip given to me by a Speed Dating website. Apparently men are like bulls and viciously attracted to the color. In that case, Ole Ole). I had a few moments before the event started and joined the other women hanging around the bar with glasses of wine. Many of them were wearing red too; everyone must have ravaged the internet for tips. Hmmppf...competition? But no, they were all pleasantly attractive and friendly. We all nervously joked around about the event and wished each other luck as the starting gong...well..gonged.

I eyed the room as I took my seat. Unlike all the beautiful women around, the men sadly seemed to have lost the gene pool lottery. Every male specimen was some form of an overeager software engineer. Welcome to the Bay Area. Now I am not anti software geeks-I love them like the rest and especially when they fix my router. But there is a certain breed of them that still wear pleated khaki pants, play video games until 2 am, and drool every time they see a woman. Yes, I forgot to add the socially inept tech guy to my previous man type listing. Apparently, the dorkier side of Silicon Valley had braved the drive to take over the Speed Dating event. In eight minute intervals, I heard about C + coding, republicans, the Wii, passion for science fiction novels, and terrible luck at skiing. Sigh. Although I cannot put all the blame on their conversation skills. When one man asked me what the greatest risk I ever took was, I answered with the first thing that popped into my head. Unfortunately, the first thing that popped was Neddi--a type of nose cleaning I practiced in India. I watched the poor man's face transform into a disgust as I described putting a pipe cleaner up my nasal passageway. "That really was not a very sexy image," he said with revulsion. Why did I say that? Why didn't I just say my greatest risk was entering a triathlon and going to vomit class twice a week?? Or coming to Speed Dating in a matador costume?

At last one non-engineer came to my table. He was a herbalist/poker dealer/kite boarder. And strangely, much more my type. When the gong sounded and he moved away I felt remorse instead of relief. Ok, so maybe he was in untraditional careers. And perhaps he was five years younger than me. But he made me laugh, he was intriguing, and more than five feet tall. Keeping up the guise of opened minded I put a yes next to his name. It wasn't love....but at least he passed the gong test.

Re-entering the Scene

2008-07-16T09:07:00.000-07:00

San Francisco-the scene of leftism politics, startup billionaires, metrosexual triathletes, and fantastic parties for the well-heeled. I had left my scene, and my entire wardrobe for that matter, to take a personal sabbatical around the world. I hopped from developing country to developing country and even spent some time Ohming in an ashram. I felt changed, at peace, and utterly ready to return to San Francisco as a new person. A BETTER person. And, after months of celibacy, this better person was ready to hit the dating scene full on.

Sadly, I think I spent too much time in the ashram. I re-entered the city lost and confused. It was moving too fast. Dating was cyber, cocktails always doubles (where did my tolerance go?), and everyone was training for some kind of race (either a marathon or speed dating). Determined not to be a fish out of water in my own pond, I decided to re-learn and re-claim my city. Out with my Ohm chanting books. I fumbled through my closet, re-located the Jimmy Choos, my black dress collection, and my eyeliner and leaped outside into the foggy air.....

This was NOT as easy as I expected. Especially anything resembling dating.

As I recall from my pre-ashram days the men of San Francisco came in four types:

1. The wealthy dot-commer athlete
2. The sensitive ponytail man
3. The sensitive pony tail man trying to achieve wealthy dot-commer athlete status
4. Gay

Not a lot of options, are there?

Outing A: First Saturday night out in a dress! A motley group of us headed out to the trendy Tenderloin bars. One male seemed to um...like my dress. He was in a typical Type 1. Sadly, Type 1 guys know they are in high demand and act like oversized 5 year olds used to getting whatever they want. I could feel myself being honed in on. Ack! I couldn't deal with the dialed up attention. Especially after months of celibate chanting. My girlfriend Alexis watched me pulled to the dance floor, recognized my signature "yes no yes no yes no" dance and asked me if I wanted to stay or go. I was confused. What ever happened to old fashioned courting when a guy kisses your hand and then discreetly asks for your phone number? Why now is it acceptable for a man to grab your ass in a club as a sign of endearment? Sigh.

Outing B: A date. Yes I had a date. Not with Type 1 mentioned above but with a more discreet chatty man. Very chatty. For two hours we spoke about his new start up venture. Somehow we agreed that I could help him with some sales leads and branding efforts. The date ended not with a kiss but rather with a handshake and a contract. What I thought was a date had ended as a business deal. Do I look like Hillary Clinton? I know we all say we want a guy to like us for our brains...but really... What's the point of me slaving away in spin class if they don't notice my...er...other attributes as well?

Obviously I was doing something wrong. I had been out of the SF scene for too long. I needed to make changes and fast. Attitude, style....bras?? On my way to look at new bikes to purchase for an upcoming triathalon (what better way to meet muscled men than by joining this activity?) I spotted a sale at a French Lingerie store. "Bastille Day celebration- 30% off until the 16th." The 16th?! Why this was tomorrow! I would save myself money if I shopped now. I hastily spent a portion of my bike money on undergarments. Afterall, I have always been a believer in "It's not what's on the outside, but what is on the inside that counts." And now feeling indeed beautiful on the inside, attitude changing, I strut off again in the fog....hoping for a bit more success as the week unfolds.