15 Essential Dating Blogs for Singles in 2018
❤️ Click here: 30 days of online dating huffington post
Tuesday I reschedule to Wednesday. I decide to play one of my favorite drinking games: Self-sabotage. He continues on to his office; I head back home.
I was thinking we could go to one of those full-service movie theaters. The messages were all nice, although one user messaged me three times. What he is excited about is the he recently discovered.
5 facts about online dating - I'm excited to be going on another first date - let's get some new blood in here!
And yes, you too, Mom. The actual 30-day period took place in the fall of 2013. Why did it take me a full year to start writing about it? This brings me to the warning I should have placed at the beginning of this experiment. If you cherish your soul, do not try this in your own small-but-full-of-character studio apartment. Am I glad I did it? Are there things I should have done differently? Yes, I can play this game all day. Remember we were supposed to go to? Where there was a toothbrush. Like, my own toothbrush. In short, I took this super-romantic dental implement as a sign that we were exclusive. I think I was actually right this time. Fast-forward four days to us at another dinner. I decide that this is probably the appropriate time to come clean and tell him he was part of an experiment. Words cannot describe the awkwardness of this conversation. That came seconds after he told me his attraction to me had most likely been Oedipal in nature, so the brusque dismissal of a fairly transformative experience barely bruised my newly battered and utterly grossed-out sense of self. This answers my next few questions: 1. Are you still together? Or my writing, for that matter. Turns out, not everyone pens their best stuff at their darkest hours. There goes that heroin habit idea. To sum it all up, we covered a lot of emotional ground very early on and internally combusted a few days before Christmas. Unfortunately, the super cute inside joke gifts I had purchased for him were non-refundable. Fortunately, the orchid I had purchased for his mother, as I was supposed to be attending their family holiday celebrations, was also non-refundable. Could I have learned that without this experiment? There are many, many, many creepers and douchebags to sort through in order to find the nice guys. I spent probably somewhere between four to eight hours a day swiping and scrolling to excavate a, for the most part, pleasant lot of manner-minded men. Spotify playlists, restaurant recommendations, P-90x. One of my favorite realizations was that I definitely have a first date sales pitch. And, boy, do I have that sucker down. Now if only I could live up to those buzzwords. Even the worst dates I went on had lasting merits. For me and for many of my friends, years and years of being creeped on by skeezoids have resulted in a reluctance to acknowledge any approach by strangers of the opposite sex. Not to mention that handy little block button. Mostly because I apparently get on all of my dates. Please see PROS: 5. I stopped talking to almost all of my friends during these thirty days. How did I not fwd that spectacularly creepy Tinder convo to anyone?! I found myself white-lying about my evening activities on more than one occasion and feeling not wonderful about it. On this note, the temptation to create a fake life story is definitely strong when it comes to online dating. When you have zero connection to a person, what kind of obligation do you have to keep things honest? I like to underestimate all of the men I date, because I hear lower expectations lead to higher highs. Everyone wants to present their best read: ideal self, but sometimes it would be helpful to have a little bit of that friend-of-a-friend background intel. I always forget to have a third. For a mini little site-specific recap, click. About halfway through the experiment, I began to fear I would never lock down an actual eHarmony date. Too pale, too old, too cheesy, too short, too far away. Where were all the easy-going, adventuresome guys next door?? I decided it might possibly be more fruitful in terms of narrative to stop hoping for Mr. Right and start searching for Mr. I didn't have to look very far. This is a modern dating experiment. To start at the beginning, click -- or jump right in at date thirty below. Tinder Oliver invites me out to an Oktoberfest celebration in Newport with his friends for the afternoon, but my group is having a pumpkin-carving shindig in Laurel Canyon. TO's name has come up in girl gossip seshes along the way, but today it begins its trickling descent to the full crew. Crew: Corliss - you got a guy?? Me: Shoulder shrug Maybe. It's just like, fun. He's, like, really kind. Besides, I'm probably, like, not even going to see him until, like, Wednesday. TO and I already have a date on the books to see Tame Impala play downtown that night. Because nothing that has happened so far has been anything we can control? TO: Come downtown for dinner tonight. Ok, so technically I was supposed to go on another Match date tonight and teeecchhnically I'm not supposed to break any of my dates unless there's a really, really, really good reason - but dinner with TO counts, right? My conscience shrugs impotently in fine-sure-whatever-you-say agreement. TO's buddy Morgan joins in for dinner as well, and we all gather at Tinder Oliver's around 7. I arrive last and walk into a bit of pre-din drama. Apparently, the boys originally met through TO's ex. Apparently, Morgan had invited TO's ex to dinner, not knowing TO had invited me. Apparently, TO's ex was not stoked on the situation. Especially considering I was previously unaware of her existence? Like, three minutes ago previous. Me: She should come. TO: Eh, I don't think that's a good idea. I know you'd be fine; I just don't know about her. Give me one second - I should just go handle this real quick. TO takes the phone into the other room, leaving Morgan and I to chat it out. Morgan: You're handling this well. I sort of feel like this whole situation should faze me more than it does. Unfortunately, I was never really blessed with the jealousy gene. Can't fit a lot of judgment in this tiny room! A few minutes later, TO returns to the kitchen, and we head out to Izakaya for a delightful little dinner full of so much proper etiquette. My parents told me to eat like a lady. I told them I didn't want to be a lady. They enrolled me in etiquette classes. Always the consummate brown-noser where strangers were concerned, I quickly acquired delicate handholds, proper posture, and an affinity for all things Emily Post. Great for my parents; less great for my dating life. Calling all Patrick Batemans - quick snare in aisle three! Thankfully, TO seems to supplement his decorum with sanity. TO seems less than thrilled to follow him down that road. There's a moment of befuddling silence. Turns out, several years back, TO shacked up with a married woman and her kids for a solid length of time. I'm assuming that marital status had a few qualifiers. He hadn't planned on sharing that little nugget with me this early on. So many reveals, all in one night! Again, I'm sort of feeling like this whole situation should faze me more than it does. After dinner, we move forward back at his place. Just, like, I get to wear his softest t-shirt. TO: It's been awhile since I've been with a new partner. I hate the word partner. The next morning, I wake up completely and totally unsure of how I feel about everything. Now that the experiment's over, reality's starting to sink in. I also wake up to text messages from a few of this experiment's loose ends. I guess I have some tying up to do this week... It's at Lawry's which might seem an odd choice bc my out-of-town college friend wanted to go there. I'm going to head toward Beverly Hills around 8pm. I hope this does not come off as either presumptuous or an imposition as regards where I will lay my head this evening, but I thought I'd park my car at or near to your place and we could take a taxi or Uber from there to the restaurant. I'm anticipating enough martinis and wine to make driving a dumb idea. Here is some weird music: Let me know if the above plan sounds ok and I will see you soon. Me: The above plan does not sound ok. Please revise and advise. But I'm seriously considering upping my maintenance level for my next experiment. Not that my sanity or my liver could survive another one of these suckers. Dinner with TO's college friends! Excellent impression, here I come. He warns of potentially bland, law-centric conversation and invites me to bring along a friend for reasons of comfort. One of my most entertaining cohorts signs on for the gig, but comes down with the plague the morning of. At this point, I'm pretty sure TO thinks I have no friends. I've met so many of his and he's met... I'm really active on Instagram? You should totally follow me. We stroll over to Lawry's and join his friends in the entry. I am immediately overwhelmed. They have all known each other for years and their group seems to be pretty insular, with no one reaching out to include me in convo. Never stopped me before! Heeded or not, I toss my two cents in wherever I see a slot, determined to win 'em over. Conversation picks up over prime rib them and fish me , when I discover the chick seated to my left is hilarious. We have some laughs, take a few photos, and head across the street to Bazaar at SLS to get properly trollied. A few hours later, Tinder Oliver and I are back at my apartment. I decide to play one of my favorite drinking games: Self-sabotage. TO is looking a little confused at my lack of, um... I steal a trick from improv and jump right from A to C. Me: I just, I don't know, I haven't, like, slept with that many guys. TO: I haven't slept with that many girls. I press on, determined to make it weird. Me: This is the point where I usually bail out. What are you even talking about? Thankfully, TO seems to be equally over-intoxicated and counters with a few sweet nothings that fade into sleep zone. The next morning, we awake to multiple phone calls from one of my nearest and dearest. By the fourth call, I decide it's probably an emergency and he's probably dying, so I answer. He wants to have a boozy brunch. Me: I hate you for waking me up. I thought you were dying. I'm really happy he throws out the correct name, as my BlackBerry is decently close to TO's ear. Tinder Oliver agrees to come for a quick bite, but says he must run home to a full day of work after that. Seven hours later, we've migrated from Pearl's to Rock and Reilly's to Cabo Cantina. I had been slightly afraid he might think my friends were a little too crazy, due to a couple party-happy out-of-towners, and that my friends might think he was a little too boring, due to his seemingly serious nature. Thankfully, everyone seems to love each other. Er, everyone actually says they love each other. When Tinder Oliver steps out for a moment, I turn to my friends: Me: totally tipsy Do you like him? Not embarrassing at all. TO and I part ways with the group around 7p to get me home and changed for a costume party. As he helps me into 137 hook-and-eye closures, I start to think that it might be sort of really nice and useful! RULE 1: YOU MUST BE COMPLETELY OPEN TO THE PROCESS - INCLUDING THE IDEA THAT IT MIGHT ACTUALLY LEAD TO A RELATIONSHIP... So many deep breaths. The whole planning for the future before we've even met thing is so transparent slash nauseating. Also, 'u' is not a word. As you can see. I gathered as much. Thank you so much for the reminder. This entire conversation is making me want to die, so I go to Yogurtland to suffocate my troubles with bizarrely accurate artificial flavors. The conversation unfortunately continues en route. Am I really going on this date? RULE 4: SAY YES TO SOMEONE WHO IS TERRIBLE AT COMMUNICATING VIA THE WRITTEN WORD I had crafted this rule with grammar in mind, but I suppose douchebaggery counts as well. Also: RULE 5: SAY YES TO SOMEONE WHO IS 39 OR OLDER Cutting it close on getting this one in. Old man creepy douchebag, here I come! There is not not enough cookie dough in this toppings bar to quell my anxiety. As he continues an inane one-sided chat right up to our date, I begin to gather that he thinks he's much more charming than I think he is. This should go smashingly. Spoiler alert: It doesn't. From intro to exit, every word out of his mouth is laced with condescension. I inquire about his work, his family, his hopes and dreams - searching, nay, BEGGING, for one nugget of earnest decency. I finally realize what this is. That stereotypical LA guy on Tinder. Get in, get buzzed, get out, get busy. This is the worst. When he has tired of picking apart my every word and attacking my idealism, TM heads to the bathroom. I brace myself for his return. The bartender cringes in commiseration. He's been privy to a few of my less memorable dates, thanks to the Duplex's close proximity to my home. Really digging our rapport. TM's return is delayed as he pauses to lay it on thick to some girl at the other end of the bar. How did I end up here? I prepare for a quick exit. TM is completely amenable. TM: See you on Facebook. At least we're both on the same page - er, newsfeed - here? He heads back in, presumably to track down his post-washroom prey. I trudge home, inexplicably upset by the date. On one hand, I am so happy this disaster came at the end of my experiment. On the other hand, I am so disgusted and disheartened. After such a good run of genuinely nice guys, I had almost forgotten about the other shoe. Thanks for dropping that fungal reminder, Tinder Mason. I call my best friend to cry out my general disappointment in boykind. Can I stop dating now please thanks. How is your week going? Hopefully not too crazy. Day 24: eHG: What does your Wednesday look like? It took us awhile to get here. Turns out scheduling thirty dates in thirty days is every bit as onerous as it sounds like it would be. Or would later work better. Me: Lunch is perfect. This means I'll get an entire night to myself. Oh happiest of happy days. So few men seemed to be up for afternoon adventures during this experiment. I'm guessing that was largely related to their desire for a cocktail-fueled meet and greet. Either that or they have real jobs to attend to during the afternoon. But this is L. Grew it out for a costume party. Come Wednesday, I'm a little nonplussed at the idea of driving out to the Westside for lunch with a stranger, but I'd like to get my eHarmony numbers up, and lunch with a seemingly kind soul seems like a very non-threatening way to accomplish that goal. There is also every bit as much chemistry between the two of us as I had anticipated -- er, every bit as little? There is zero chemistry. When eHG ducks into the restaurant to place our orders, I check my phone for messages. When he returns, he asks how many questions I have conjured up for him. I was supposed to be thinking about you. The novelty of the first date as a concept has definitely started to wane at this point. Apparently, I've been lucky to encounter a generally sane lot of suitors. His gold medal winner is a woman who threatened to pull a gun on him, out of nowhere, as they sat on the couch in her home. On their third date. I'll never feel safe on one of these suckers again. We somehow manage to stretch our meal over two hours. He says he'll take that as a good sign; I don't have the heart to tell him that I'm sort of just a really good read: excessive talker sometimes. Somewhere along the way, the topic of post-date etiquette is broached. No harm, no foul. There goes that whole. I do definitely appreciate the sentiment though, and sort of wish I could like one of these really, really, really nice guys. If they were just a little more confident. A lot more confident. Just a lot more confidence and wit. RULE 6: NO BAILING ON A DATE OR A GUY UNLESS THERE IS A REALLY, REALLY, REALLY GOOD REASON. ZERO CONFIDENCE AND NEGATIVE WIT IS A REALLY, REALLY, REALLY GOOD REASON. I don't have to explain myself to you? But that's a purely hypothetical story for another post. And it definitely didn't end with me coming off like a stage-five clinger. I may get a few folks together for dinner and drinks down here. I will figure out plans. Aim roughly for like a 730 arrival if that works. At this point, normal me would have stopped dating anyone else because I like to tote all my eggs around in the same questionably crafted basket. Date five here we come! Honda-Ya is a yummy sushi place inside what appears, at first glance, to be a deserted mall, straight out of a horror movie. What that first glance belies is the adult child's wonderland that awaits upstairs. Bowling, arcades, bars, sushi, and karaoke all under the same roof?! Be still my pre-pubescent heart. Morgan's running a little late, so TO and I settle in at the bar next door to wait. I'm definitely going to need a solid cleanse after this experiment. Stick with me, liver!! It'll all be over soon. TO delves a little deeper into family stuff, and it sounds like he and his sister have a super cute relationship, which I think is always a good sign. I choose to forego earnestness in favor of self-deprecation, tossing out a couple zingers that revolve around my awkwardly broad shoulders and incessant need for attention. He promptly dismisses both, stressing my femininity amongst other excessively redeemable traits. It sounds like he's got me on a standard-sized pedestal, which is always a great sign? He's a total sweetheart. Apparently a recent ex of his is not. A hits with the force of a mid-size vehicle. TO and I obviously aren't at the whole relationship point yet, but this conversation is still making me a little uncomfortable. I feel even more uncomfortable a few hours later. Back at his place... Unfortunately or fortunately, for my feelings of things don't exactly... TO: I think I'm still a little nervous around you. I go with over-honesty. I'm usually the nervous one. Just let him have this one. When I wake the next morning, we're on opposite sides of the bed, and I immediately feel kind of weird slash sort of abandoned. I tiptoe out to grab some water, and find him in the middle of the bed upon my return. Cue: Several hour cuddle sesh. All feelings of abandonment are immediately vanquished. I have to get up. He goes out to the kitchen. He returns five minutes later. TO: It's not quite 11 yet. We return to super snuggly dreamland. Swoon TO: I'm requesting you on Facebook and , so I can see if you post anything new on your blog. TO: I gave your a read over the weekend. You're a great writer -- your personality really comes through, as does your funny. Looks like someone's learned the way to my validation-hungry little heart. We go ahead and put a date six on the books. I just, uh, have to make it through two other dates with two other men first. Is this experiment over yet? TJ: Would you be up for doing something in Manhattan Beach Friday night? Translation: Would you be up for doing me in Manhattan Beach Friday night. Reading right between those well-spaced lines, Tinder James. I'm not really the one-night stand kind of girl. Not that I think there's anything wrong with being the one-night stand kind of girl... Granted, this is our third date, but it still sort of feels like the same thing. With TJ's half-baked plans and could-be- much much -better conversation, I don't really see a date four in our future. I tell TJ to expect me around 8p. I'm going to get cleaned up. You can park at my place and we can head out from here. Not even pretending to meet somewhere else. Really digging the efficiency here. My GPS continues its campaign for most useless navigation device of the year. If I could use the map to navigate to this destination, I wouldn't be asking you, now would I. No, really, don't come down. Fun fact: Long distance drives do not make anything grow fonder. TJ: Are you hungry? I mean, I haven't eaten yet, if that's what you're asking. We walk down to Pisces Sushi on Highland, where we have an almost average conversation over sushi, sake, and Sapporos. Might need something a little stronger to make this happen. We stroll down to a little dive bar. Well, I should specify, we stroll down the street and stand on the corner for a solid six minutes, debating where to go. This is your hood, TJ -- call an audible. Please make something audible. His voice hasn't gotten any louder since our. I still don't understand how a voice can be so consistently soundless. Sawdust on the floor, peanuts on the table, and remarkably stiff cocktails a mere order away. And somehow perfectly appropriate for the evening at hand. Two loaded cocktails later, TJ finally starts to open up -- about his anger management issues and penchant for bar fights. Maybe we should go back to that less conversation thing. He also hates his roommate, so I have that to look forward to when we get back to his place. Thank you, Jesus, for bolding and italicizing the expiration date on this one. We stop at a liquor store on the way back to grab, well, more liquor. Because, you know, our souls are so compatible and stuff. Seriously, man, I can walk. This is so awkward. Currently regretting every peanut. The next morning, he's fixing me a cup of tea, I'm fixing to leave, and my BlackBerry has found itself in a fix. Cue: One of the more excruciating hours of my life. Later that evening, I'm at dinner with one of my guy friends: Me: Dude. WTF did I do to them. From all the SEX you had last night. You've got to get yourself in sex shape, girl. He then theorizes logistics, landing on what he believes to be the exact play-by-play of my ab-ripping rumble in the heyyyy. Really happy he's finding so much pleasure in my pain. Really happy all of our mutual friends are finding so much pleasure in my pain. GF thought this landmark event was 100 percent deserving of a group text announcement. I need new friends. Tinder James would text weather nonsensicals for a couple days and send a status check one week later. TJ: Hey, how was your week and weekend? I can barely remember anymore. This will be date four with Tinder Oliver. Rollicking good times all around. After receiving the above text, I go ahead and cancel Friday morning's activities, just in case of a sleepover. Because I'm classy like that. But, like, you know, totally spontaneous, too. Thursday afternoon, I realize I'm a bit overdue for a visit to , my favorite wax-wielding Russian. Because the only thing better than paying someone else to strip each and every hair from your lady parts is conducting the massacre yourself. HOW DID THIS EVER BECOME A THING. I also find that I really enjoy being in this new, sort of burgeoning couple stage - I have never felt so adored. Except possibly at a gay circuit party, but that's a whole 'nother ballet. When we're chatting up the party's host, he inquires about TO's recent trip to Asia. Host: After experiencing all that, are you content to settle back here in LA? TO starts to say he has considered moving to Asia full-time, but backtracks, glancing sideways at me. Hey - you do you. It's probably best not to start planning out our future life together at date four. We continue our meander through the festivities, chatting, checking out views etc before settling in with the crowd out on the patio. Random Friend: So how long have you guys been together? TO and I smile at each other, his hand on my waist. TO: Uhhh four dates? I nod, shyly, in confirmation. RF: Oh wow - that's it? It seems like you've been together for a while. TO: They were really long dates. Me: We logged a lot of hours. We then proceed to elaborate on each individual date, at RF's request. RF: So whose turn is it to plan the next one? Everyone looks at me, expectantly. I pretend to look over my shoulder, spinning innocently in a circle as if searching for someone on whom to pin this responsibility. We are so annoying. Around midnight, we've exhausted all hors d'oeuvres and my stomach is still grumbling. If left to my own devices, I tend to forget things like dinner. We cut out early and hustle over to Dan Tana's for some late night carbo-loading. Once again, the conversation takes a turn for the deep 'n' personal. I can feel myself trusting TO more now, revealing snippets generally reserved for the nearest and dearest. Post-dins, TO drives us back to my place, pulling over on the street as if to park. We start to make out in the car... Do I ask him if he wants to come in? Do people actually say that? And if so, how exactly do they say that without sounding like they're in a completely predictable rom-com? He starts to get a little handsy. I pull back, looking up at him, channeling my best Julia Roberts. I probably land more on... Me: Dooo you want to come in? I hold the coquettish thing for almost a third of a second before I start snickering in a decidedly un-provocative way. So the delivery could use a little work. Turns out, he does want to come in. His first time in my apartment! My space is pretty much a direct reflection of my gypsy soul, so I always feel a little exposed when newbies enter. He seems to appreciate every last detail, grazing his fingers over every last tchotchke. TO: Ah, it's all coming together now. I shall choose to take that as a good thing. I'm pretty sure it was. As delightful as that sounds, I'm pretty sure I have a third night stand waiting for me in Manhattan Beach. My stubbornly monogamist heart is feeling a a little twinge-y, but I remind myself that we have only been on four dates, and nothing is anywhere near official yet. I uh, sort of have a tendency to jump into things head first - much better to take things slow! This is so good for me? JDate Jeffrey: Hey, it's Jeffrey. I made an 845 reservation at Eveleigh. Does that work for you? Also, happy to pick you up, unless you'd prefer to meet there... I might meet you there bc I'll be coming from a work thing. Also because I think you might be an axe murderer. But I can assure you that I'm not an ax murderer. The blood gets everywhere - it's just a mess. I prefer hiring someone to do my dirty work I'm Jewish Me: Thank God. I don't care how I go, so long as the scene is spotless. Hundreds of John Krasinskis? Can I just get one. Is that even a real height? And how are there so many of you? I have been informed by many a Jewish friend that I am most welcome in their circle. We realize pretty quickly we've already started a chat on Tinder as well. JDJ: I guess neither of us thinks the other is attractive or intriguing at all. Me: Pretty sure that Tinder nod was a drunk swipe. We decide to share a meal. I'm excited to be going on another first date - let's get some new blood in here! I arrive late to Eveleigh, coming in hot from my work event. Me: I'm so sorry! My gay bestie needed a ride home from the event and he's quite possibly the slowest moving human ever invented. JDJ: Don't worry about it; you're fine. You should have brought him with you! If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my gays -- er, perhaps not with exactly... We chat about a lot of things. Mostly my things, as that's where he keeps steering the convo. He starts to inquire about my work projects, but changes his mind, saying he'd rather hear about my and my comedy writing, since it sounds like that's where my passion lies. Straight to the passion. Born in LA, JDJ loves his family, loves his job, loves his life... We close the place down and debate, but decide against, seeking out another bar. JDJ: We should continue this somewhere else later in the week. Me: Yeah, that'd be fun! He walks me to my car and we hug it out goodbye. Me: Haha I trust you're home safe as well? In the drunk tank - with my cell. Bail me out tomorrow and we can continue? Super excited to break out my for date 2. In a totally creepy I-plan-on-marrying-you kind of way. I have since been informed he is not. I still love you, JK. Tonight, possibly, or toward the end of the week are best for me. Check out Jake Bugg if you need to stave off a case of the Mondays. Jake Bugg works his magic on my maudlin Monday, crooning me into a contented state for my third date with eHarmony Andrew. Our was a marathon chatfest at Frolic Room and the an ultramarathon chatfest over football and a Malibu drive. He's loosened up a bit since last time, which makes me a little more comfortable as well. I know exactly what I'm going to order -- shaved Brussels sprout salad and scallops, please and thank you. I feel like there's a metaphor in here somewhere. Conversation flows easily, as it has from our very first date. There is something quite comforting about having so much in common with a person. And he's such a solid, grounded guy, with an obviously genuine heart. In between courses he beckons for my hands, holding them across the table. Feelin' a little PDA-y over here. My apologies to the couple seated approximately 3 inches away from us. Back at my place, he walks me to my door where we have the customary date denouement chat. His hand goes for my hip as his face goes in for the kiss. It's been quite interesting to see each guy's go-to technique. When I finally turn to walk inside, he grabs the door before it can close behind me and draws me in for a good ol' third time's the charm. And then he self-consciously comments on the door handle. How is this attractive, successful, gentleman of a man so nervous right now? And why do I find it more wearying than endearing?? Because I'm usually the nervous one? Because I'm usually the one saying dumb things with absolutely zero pertinence to the events at hand? Nothing like seeing one of your least favorite personal traits reflected in a suitor to bring out your worst emotional reaction! Regardless, it was quite a lovely evening, and I could definitely get used to being treated so gently. Our was a lovely sushi din, the an adorable trip to the LA County Fair, and the a sweet little dine-in movie. OkCT: Let's meet at the Natural History Museum around 12. Depending on the weather, we could picnic outside the museum. If not, they have a cafe inside or we can walk to some places nearby. Er, it should be cute. Conceptually, I understand this is cute. Unfortunately, the morning of our date brings to light a saltier side of Stacie. I had been out way too late the night before due to a surprise visit from my bestest friend in the entire world. I was still a bit swoony over Friday night's adventures with. OkCupid Taylor didn't stand a chance -- especially after he sent this text, mid-sandwich orders: OkCT: I was thinking of getting onions myself and then I remembered how much I wanted to kiss you ; Oy vey. Remember all that chemistry you guys had just one week ago?! When I get to the museum's main entrance, OkC T is nowhere to be found. Apparently, he entered through the backside of the building. OkCT: Wait, where are you? Me: At the front entrance. OkCT: I don't know where that is. Me: Well, if you entered through the back, it's probably on the other side of the building? I'll just listen to your footsteps. He finally appears, sweet smile and optimistic outlook intact. I will myself to be kind. We set up a picnic on the lawn in front of the museum. Some things are a bit better in theory than in practice. It only takes us about twenty minutes to consume our deli snacks... I adore the Natural History Museum, and OkCT does his very best to be the most adorable companion. We take ridiculously adorable photos, which we decline to purchase, but it's nice just to know they exist? All in all, I maintain a decent degree of pep and appreciation. Upon our exit, I'm giving myself a mental pat on the back, when OkCT asks if I'm hungry. I should say no; but, as luck would have it, I'm starving, and keenly aware of my empty cupboards back home. He asks where we should go -- after all, I went to school here. Uh yeah, seven years ago. Despite my severe lack of knowledge, I offer a few suggestions, directionally speaking. He challenges every single one of them. I seriously consider hailing a cab back to my car. We end up at a newer venue called Lotus. A fine - not to be confused with fine dining - establishment, offering students and locals the chance to supplement their sushi with a hit of hookah. We'll stick with sushi and soju, thanks. Post-meal, we continue to sit there and chat. I have thrown out more conversation closers than I ever knew existed. My phone is vibrating with text messages from other online suitors. IS THIS EXPERIMENT OVER YET? I just want to sleep. I excuse myself to the restroom for a text check. This is when I see it is eight o'clock. We have been hanging out for EIGHT. Dear Jesus, please let me go home now. I scroll through my messages. I just talked to you three days ago. We've been on one date. Gah who is eHarmony Nick?? We'll research that one later. MMS from featuring a photo of our stolen rose from Friday night. Back to this date I go. When I finally convince OkCT that it's time to head out, we start on a slow meander to my car. Emphasis on both the slow and the meander. He pauses awkwardly here and there, sort of inching toward my face as we talk. Is he trying to work up the nerve for our first kiss? I pause, hoping to help him get it over with so I can get home. He stammers and shuffles back a few inches. We continue our desolate march. Back at my car, I offer him a ride to his, as it's a bit of a trek. This was a bad idea. Down in the depths of a now-deserted parking garage, he refuses to exit my vehicle. I just keep saying how tired I am and how I'm about to fall asleep and how I can't wait to get home, and sort of think he'll get the hint at some point. What he does do is start to massage my shoulders. Holy mother of Jesus, how do I kindly bring this to an end? OkCT: How was that? At this point, it dawns on me that I am all alone in a parking garage with someone I barely know. What if I trusted too soon? What if I die down here? I'm trying to recall if I have a pepper spray stashed anywhere in my Prius when OkCT goes in for the kiss. Is this his first kiss?? There is darting tongue action, sloppy lip stuff, hands around my neck in a decidedly not hot way.... I am backed so far into my seat, I'm pretty sure there's going to be a permanent indentation. When the salacious assault on my face finally comes to an end... I have a funny feeling there will be no date five. Our was a few lovely round s of drinks at Chateau and the an Arctic Monkeys concert at the Wiltern. That was almost two weeks ago. We attempted to calendar a dinner in the middle, but our schedules refused to match up. This third date was to involve both dinner and a haunted house. TO: Before the day gets away from me, am thinking we will do dinner downtown tmrw if that works. I have a hodgepodge of friends going to the spookhouse who may also join beforehand to eat. I meet TO at his place downtown and we walk to meet his crew at the newly opened Peking Tavern. Dinner is delish, friends are welcoming, drinks are plentiful. And then we hit up the liquor store next door for portable flasks of vodka, because apparently none of us are trying to remember anything. I, personally, am attempting to self-medicate my severe case of nerves slash social anxiety. Trying too hard to be cool. You know, the usual. The haunted house is tons of fun. It's wonderful to have a hand to hold through the dark, winding hallways and someone to laugh at me when I get dragged up onstage to the guillotine. Look how good I am at couple-y things!! Post scare-fest, TO and I separate from the group to get some late night grub. Lord knows my over-intoxicated liver could stand to see a few nutrients float by. We have another one of our slightly too deep and one hundred percent too personal chats over food I probably couldn't taste at Pacific Dining Car before stealing the rose from our table and heading back to TO's for a decently PG sleepover. What a bunch of suckers. And it's only been 13 different guys thus far. One home-cooked breakfast, a mini tutorial, and an awkwardly lengthy parking lot makeout sesh sorry, parking attendants later, I'm heading home -- secretly super happy I haven't heard back from about our possible second date tonight. TO: You left a sweater here lovely. Just so you aren't worried you lost it. Will bring it next time I see you. Friend Zone Ryan and I have been pals for a few years now, starting back when we used to be neighbors-ish. We sort of hooked up a couple times that first summer, with me pumping the brakes pretty swiftly. FZR stopped trying and I proceeded to pine away. Because there's nothing more addictive than that oscillating trifecta of affection, ambivalence, and disinterest. A few months ago, he skipped my birthday for a stupid reason and I decided we weren't friends anymore. The next week, I ran into him at a mutual friend's party and decided his reason was totally valid and we were totally still friends. A few shots, one very platonic sleepover, and a room service brunch later, FZR was dropping me off at home, saying he was going to take me out for a birthday dinner. And then I never heard from him. We were so not friends anymore. Walking home from a writing session, I hear my name being shouted from a familiar vehicle. FZR: I still owe you dinner! Me: Oh, that's right - you totally do. He continues on to his office; I head back home. We may still be friends, but I have zero expectation of a follow-up to this conversation. A few hours later... Well, color me surprised. I slot him in for Thursday So weird how calendar space can open up like that! He makes a reservation at Hatfield's -- or, as the LA Times termed it back in 2010, a gracious restaurant for grownups. Look, Ma -- I'm a grownup! Really excited for this best friends forever reunion dinner. This is a friend thing. Totally a friend thing. Why would it be a date? FZR's house is pretty dead center between my place and Hatfield's, so he sends an Uber to grab me, with further instructions to swoop him up en route. Belted in the backseat, it doesn't take FZR long to inquire about my personal life. We've never really talked about our personal lives before. Is this his way of making it clear that this is a BFF situation? Or is this him attempting to get a clearer view of the landscape before the night's momentum kicks in? I decide he's asking because he heard about my 30 Days of Online Dating from one of our mutual friends, and is just trying to make conversation without coming off like a stalker. I delve in real deep to the stories of my multiple suitors. He hadn't heard about my project. This is just me cementing my feet in the friendliest of areas. FZR is all manners and charm every step of the way, as per usual. Be still my etiquette-obsessed heart. We cozily settle into the back corner table -- my favorite spot in almost every restaurant. Feel free to pocket that piece of information for future use, gentlemen. Over the Croque Madame, we chat recent trips, etc. Just a month before, I had travelled to his hometown for the very first time. In lieu of way too much truth, I fumble out something about not knowing why I didn't, but I should have, and would absolutely hit him up for the phone-guided tour next time around. Thankfully, the next course arrives to alleviate my awkward. Just as I'm about to take a bite of buttery black cod, FZR launches into a story about a girl he was recently set up with by a friend of ours. Of course she is. Of course you did. Did I mention this cod is delicious? The topic of my brainy twin somehow bleeds into 50 Shades of Grey, a book I have not read and refuse to endorse. FZR says he has encountered more than a few senoritas suffering from post-Christian Grey syndrome -- they come into the bedroom hot, but not necessarily in a good way. All this talk of whores has me dying for another cocktail. FZR immediately spills the charming milkshake shot, attempting to slice into one of those soft-ish pillows. The server's there in seconds to clean it up, assuring us that it happens all the time. FZR: Thank you for that; I appreciate you trying to make me look better in front of her. Isn't she the best date ever -- didn't even skip a beat. My pathetically slutty lashes flutter at the D word. Calm yourself, children; it's merely a polite turn of phrase. You're making us all look bad. We Uber me home; FZR walks me to my door; we say goodbyes. FZR: If you feel like going out and getting really drunk, you know who to call. I might just go ahead and wait a few weeks for my dignity to piece itself together, though, if that's cool with everyone. We're still totally friends. FZR, if you're reading this -- don't make it weird. Good-looking guy from Calabasas. Friends with some of my closest USC buddies. We've barely exchanged Konnichiwas when Tinder Blake asks if we can switch to text, as he is mere moments from deleting his Tinder account. Feeling really special to be his last hurrah? I give him my number on a Monday. He waits until Friday to text. We chat about my week, his dogs, recreational water activities in general, the usual. Sunday evening, he checks in for the actual date-making. How'd yours end up? If you want to grab drinks this week lmk. Me: This week's a little crazy, but maybe over the weekend or early next week? TB: Ya let's do next week. Friday he asks about my weekend plans. I ask about his weekend plans. His silence rings like a procedural sound check. Courting by numbers over there, TB? Monday we set up the whens and wheres for Tuesday. Tuesday I reschedule to Wednesday. Our date eventually happens over beer and wine at 3rd Stop. He is very attractive and very my type, aesthetically speaking. Conversation is easy, if not remarkably simple. His friends are having a joint bachelor-bachelorette party that weekend, complete with matching T's. He's less than excited about it. What he is excited about is the he recently discovered. I get to see pictures. Somehow, we manage to keep this conversation going for two and a half hours, at which point my brain gives up. In the midst of answering one of his standardized questions, my train of thought completely derails. I have no idea where I was going with this. TB: It doesn't matter. Should we head out? TB: We should do this again. Me: Yeah, that'd be fun. Did that go well? Why do I feel so off-kilter? TB: Had fun last night. I look forward to my blog article. In case you're wondering how this one ends -- he texts through the weekend... Guess I'll have to find someone new to chat with about my new favorite Insta account. You know, for like a sort of heads up and stuff without completely coloring the whole thing. Tinder Taylor works as a sports agent, so it doesn't take long for our Tinder tête-à-tête to segue to a shared love of college football. Two days later, he sweetly asks me to dinner. Common interests and visible manners? We set a date for that coming Sunday, which I manage to. Really need to step up my Outlook game. He waits a week to ask me out again. I wait a day to reply. Not purposefully - just having a little trouble keeping up with all this communication. This experiment has turned into the full time job I've always tried to never have. Hope you had a good weekend. I'm pretty open this week if it looks good to get together. Really hoping he can do tonight - I just had a cancellation and need to squeeze someone in to stay on this whole thirty dates in thirty days schedule. Weekend was great, thanks. This week's a bit packed bc a friend's coming in town. I'm actually free tonight, though, if you happen to be around. TT: Ya that sounds good. Have you ever been to Gyu-Kaku? We could meet there at 8 if that works. Shorter than I expected, but a huge sweetheart. And Lord knows my 4. Seconds after our hello, we run into a friend of mine in the entrance of Gyu-Kaku. I introduce TT, immediately adopting the most friend-vibey of mannerisms. The whole blindish date aspect of this thing is still a little weird for me. As we fire up our Japanese BBQ, we talk. We cap it all off with a s'mores sesh, before grabbing the check and hitting the pavement. Post-goodbyes, I turn to walk toward my apartment. TT gawkily inquires half at my back if I'd like to go on a second date. This is the best situation when you like a guy and are so stoked to say yes. This is the worst situation when you think a guy is such a nice guy, but you sort of don't want to say yes. I say yes knowing I'm probably going to ignore his text messages. Because I'm a child who avoids even the smallest confrontation like the plague. No, you know what - this will be such good practice! Practice being a grownup and saying, hey, I think you're a really great guy, but I just don't think we're a match in the board game of love. But yay to both of us for passing Go? One week later, I tell him I have gotten back together with my ex. It's a work in progress. Super cute trip to the County Fair. Third date: OkCupid Taylor: Are you free Sunday night? I was thinking we could go to one of those full-service movie theaters. Sunday night, I'm running late yet again and am weirdly nervous about it. Probably because it's rude and annoying of me. Hopefully not because I'm already starting to get a tiny bit attached. Thanks to some excellent navigation, I make it to the theatre just five minutes behind schedule. OkCupid Taylor is nowhere to be found. Well, this is entirely odd and uncomfortable. I grab a table over in the bar area and wait it out. Ten minutes later, I wonder if I'm being stood up. Does that actually happen? Like, is that a real thing, and is it happening to me? I decide to text him to find out. OkC T: Hah just parked on my way. Possibly a real thing. Not happening to me. He already has our tickets in hand and we make it into the theatre just in time for the last of the previews. Comfy seats, a menu with decent enough options, and a full bar -- big fan. This should be a pretty foolproof date -- I mean, all I have to do is sit there and not do anything weird while staring at a screen for two hours. Perhaps easier for some than others. I start by kicking out my footrest just seconds before a ten-person group comes down our aisle, forcing every single one of them to maneuver poorly around my 6 ft. Then, in the middle of the first particularly weighty cinematic moment, I forget how to hold onto a fork and it clatters against the ground for an abnormally lengthy amount of time. Really holding it together over here. About halfway through the movie, OkC T and I both find out that the seats make those never-get-old sounds of flatulence when they recline. Because we're five-years-old, we think this is hysterical. The people around us do not think this is hysterical. OkC T decides to take this special little bonding moment to reach over and interlock his hand with mine. There is so much movie left. How long are you supposed to do this for? How am I supposed to know when it's okay to unlatch my gentle, gentle grasp? Don't get me wrong -- I LOVE holding hands... I'm looking at you, gym membership. Fortunately, the whole handholding thing goes pretty smoothly read: not sweatily and we decide to decamp to the restaurant next door for a post-movie drink and dessert. Several truths are revealed. Namely, that OkC T was a huge nerd in high school. So many things make so much more sense now. Back at my car... OkC T: I really want to kiss you, but I have these cold sore things from the fair last week. It's really embarrassing -- I get them whenever it gets really hot. Ok, so slightly less endearing -- but also kind of hilarious. We'll just go ahead and hug this one out. Note from the author: my existence is magically tragic.
Q&A: What’s the best advice for online dating over 40? — Susan Winter
TO: You left a sweater here lovely. I enjoy holding hands, frolicking like a gypsy-child and partaking in solo witty banter. Are there things I'd do differently. Unless you want people to think you're 24. I never replied to any of the messages, however there were a few men who messaged me twice despite that, in an attempt to get a response. How did I end up here. I con, hoping to help him get it over with so I can get home. Super excited to break out my for date 2.
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