All the women who independent! Throw your hands up at me!

I've been single for a while now. 

Well, I've been officially single for about a year. And since I spent all of 2011 in a long-distance relationship, my independence was never affected. When I have a flat tire, I call AAA (or Pinata). When I go to the grocery store, I manage to carry all six of my grocery bags to the house all by myself in one trip. Yes, six bags of groceries for one person. Don't judge me. When I need to reach something on the top shelf, I climb. When I need to open a jar that's really stuck...I swear like a truck driver and bang it on the counter until it opens! "You're mine...bitch!"

Where am I going with this? Well, I've just noticed now that I kind of have someone I can depend on, my inner "independent woman" is resisting a little bit:

Ron Swanson, noticing me climbing on a chair to reach a mixing bowl...trying to balance on my tiptoes: "Need some help?"

No.

Ron Swanson, watching me try to carry my purse, heavy coat, scarf, suitcase, and shopping bag to the car: "Can I carry something?"

No. I got it.

Ron Swanson, listening to me scream about the mouse that's been terrorizing my bedroom lately: "Do you want me to come help you, or do you want to just come over here?"

No. I'll handle it.

I bet Beyoncé carries her own bag.

Thanksgiving Rules for My Mother

A lot of you reading this blog might think it's strange that its #1 fan is none other than...my mother. Yes, I admit it's a little strange to have her reading the details of my sex dating life, but we have a close relationship (and I would probably tell her most of this stuff whether she wanted to hear it or not).

When I accidentally invited Ron Swanson to Thanksgiving Dinner wayyyy too soon in our courtship, I told my mom the news. I'm sure she was more than thrilled -- typical Jewish mother behavior.

Before "the big day," I gave her THREE important rules for meeting Ron Swanson:

1. Under NO circumstances may you refer to him/introduce him as my boyfriend. He's not my boyfriend. He's not my friend. He has no label. His name is "Ron Swanson."
2. No awkward posed photos. Mom, can we both agree you kind of broke that one??
3. No references to my blog. I'd already told him about it, but there's just no need to make things more awkward. Imagine walking into a room full of people who already know allllllll about you...

As I went through the rules with my mom, she laughed as she remembered a very similar conversation we had when she planned to chaperone my 5th grade dance. She said I gave her an index card with very similar restrictions. Little did I know, it's been sitting in her nightstand for the last 17 years...

I was nervous as I sat in the car before heading into my mom's house with my newest suitor. But I was reassured by the calm of Ron Swanson. The night went off without a hitch, and I think he passed the family test. And more importantly, my family behaved themselves. And he still wanted to continue hanging out after we left!

I'm thankful for how pleasant it all turned out. And I'm also thankful for my mother. Moms are the best. xoxo

I'm Thankful for...Word Vomit

Soooo...what would you say if I told you that on my third date with Ron Swanson, I invited him to my family's Thanksgiving dinner?

You're so right. I'm fucking insane.

It.just.slipped.out.
WORD VOMIT.

He asked me about my plans, and I told him I was heading to New York for a family trip, leaving on a red eye after Thanksgiving dinner. He offered to drive me to the airport.

"Aw, that's so sweet but I don't want you to have to leave your plans."

"I don't really have any plans...Actually, this is my first year on my own for the holidays."

Oh fuck. That's right. Last year he was married. 

My Jewish instincts kicked in: MUST FEED STRANGERS!

That was a week ago. And now it's here...and we're still hanging out. And he's still game to come, despite me letting him know it would be okay to bail at any time.

So, um...Happy Thanksgiving! Wish me luck.

I'm feeling a little like the turkey the day before Thanksgiving...

How to Woo a Guy with Dr. Dre

Ron Swanson asked me on a second date for Friday night. I was anxious to see if there would truly be chemistry...or if my two beers and nerves had been an influence. I let him pick me up. Mostly because I wanted him to see how comically close we live to one another. In LA, that just never happens. When I saw him smiling at the door, I knew it would be okay.

He took me to an adorable Italian restaurant by the Venice pier, decorated with twinkly lights and painted walls to look like we were dining in Italy. Suddenly the waiters passed around song sheets and the whole restaurant lifted their wine glasses to sing, "That's Amore." He sang along (terribly) and I just laughed. We talked about singing, and he told me his go-to karaoke song is "Forgot About Dre." I dropped another piece of silverware. Apparently I really need some lessons in etiquette. 

As we left the bar, he asked me if I wanted to go out where some of his friends were. I was slightly reluctant, but said I was game. We started walking back to the car, but then he took my hand and turned around. "Nevermind them," he said. "I'd rather just continue getting to know you tonight." I'm not sure if he meant that, or if he was also reluctant...but I was happy with the decision. The only problem is, I looked around and we were staring at two of Busy Builder's usual spots. He could definitely be inside. Eh. Oh well. 

We sat on the upper level of the bar and it seemed like this surfer crowd had chosen an array of rap music on the jukebox. And then "Forgot About Dre" came on... I challenged Ron Swanson to rap along, since it IS his karaoke song, but about half way through, I told him I could out-rap him on that one. Hello! It was one of the 9th grade jams for suburban white kids in the valley! After I nailed Eminem's verse, he burst into laughter. "Your coolness factor just went way up!" Obviously.

And that's how Dr. Dre and Eminem got me a third date.

I won't message you back if... #5

...you have a creepy tattoo...and/or a nipple piercing. 

Clearly he did not notice my photo eating a hamburger, which in my eye, is a gift from the man up above. 

Mmmm sinfully delicious animals.

Fortune Cookie Fail

Sometimes when I'm hungover and slightly depressed about my love life, I head for Panda Express.  I can't help it. I find orange chicken comforting.

You may have noticed I was not posting as frequently as I usually do, and it's because a lot has been going on..things I would love to write about, but would hate to be ridiculed for. Maybe it's the change in season, but I've been getting a little antsy, feeling a need to make some changes to my personal life. I need some advice!

So there I was, finishing up my fried rice, when I thought..."Hey Lindsay, maybe your fortune cookie will help you decide what to do!"

Did Panda Express just call me fat? Fuck off.

The Speed Dater

Another first date.

He seemed nice online. He acted very quickly, suggesting a coffee meet-up. I agreed. I arrived at the local Starbucks right on time. He paid for my pumpkin spice latte. That is possibly the most exciting part of the date. 

The Speed Dater must have prepared a list of questions:

"Tell me about..."

Next topic.

"Tell me about..."

Next topic.

"Tell me about..."

And then he checked his phone. The Speed Dater told me he was starving and needed to go so he could eat dinner. I was home within an hour.

Hmmm. Was it something I said? Think back to topics, Lindsay...Very typical conversations: music, traveling, Israel, work, family.

Maybe The Speed Dater was really hungry. Or maybe he wasn't into me. I won't hold my breath for his call.

Mmmm pumpkin spice latte. 

Takin It Back, Tuesdays #8

The Co-worker

It was a very fragile time in my life when I began working at a little mom-and-pop restaurant in Newport Beach. First night on the job, I ended up hanging out with a group of my new co-workers and one of them told me I was beautiful and he wanted to marry me. We kissed. He wasn't at all what I was looking for, but I will admit it was convenient.

We had quite the dramatic "relationship." Working together meant fighting about work...WHILE at work...before work, and after work. But somehow we kept finding each other. One moment he would tell me I had saved his life, the next he was throwing a fit because flowers were delivered to me while I worked my Valentine's Day shift (they were from one of my best friends...a girl). Talking to her last weekend, I thought about my time with him. I can't remember most of it. Perhaps I blacked it out because it ended so badly. (I moved to Israel. He stopped talking to me. He moved on after about a week. He got married. He had a baby.) But the greatest blessing from that relationship was the package deal that came out of it: his friends. 

The Co-worker was a transplant. And one by one...his friends moved to Newport, eventually filling a house. My best friend is right: I didn't just date him. I was the house girlfriend. I spent many a night dancing with those boys. I've seen all four of them running around ass-naked (not by choice) and I know whose dick is the biggest. They took care of me, too...but most importantly they knew that when I spent the night, they could probably get a free breakfast the next morning at our favorite local spot.

On this particular morning, I woke up in the house that smelled of surfers, cigarettes, and beer after a night at a lingerie party The Co-worker bartended. I ran around the house, jumping on beds to get the boys to go to breakfast. But since I only had my nighty from the party (covered by The Co-worker's jacket) we needed a pit stop at my place. We piled in the car and started the half-mile commute. The Co-worker thought it would be funny to roll down the windows, blasting his music and honking to wake up sleepy Newport Beach. And right as we pulled into my alley, a cop turned on her sirens. I died. The cop would surely see my outfit was only underwear. She came to the window and could immediately smell the alcohol from the night before. The Co-worker took a DUI test. The roommates and I couldn't help but giggle. The situation couldn't have been more awkward until...on the patio above our car, a dog started taking a massive shit. The Co-worker barely passed the test, and we made it safely to the restaurant. After such a hilariously typical event, I offered to buy breakfast for the group.

He ordered two meals. Then puked in the parking lot. 
...Did I mention he's married now? And has a baby?

Good times. Love those boys.

Ace a First Date: For Girls

Since Ace a First Date: For Guys has been a popular post, I figured it's only right we do a list for girls. I didn't want to write it from my perspective since clearly I am not an expert. My best single guy friend helped me put together a list of do's and don't's for the ladies!
Here are Pinata's tips for a great first date (with commentary by yours truly):

1. Don't check your phone; put it on silent. ~ Your work emails and texts to friends can wait a couple hours. Lindsay says: it's okay to check and update your friends when he goes to the bathroom...just don't get caught!
2. Don't talk about your exes. ~ This should be self-explanatory, but why do girls always do it? Guys don't care. Lindsay says: resist resist resist the urge to talk about "...this one time, my ex and I..." I think very often we jump back in the saddle right after a break-up (unlike guys who seem to wait FOREVER) so it happens to be fresh in our mind and hearts. 
3. Be cute, but not slutty. ~ Lindsay asks: How should a girl dress on the first date? Guys are always so casual. Pinata says: Not overly trendy...show some skin, but leave some mystery. "Get the gears turning, but don't show what's under the hood!"
4. Don't be picky when ordering. ~ You don't want to seem indecisive or high maintenance. And yes, it's okay to actually eat more than a salad.
5. Don't get drunk. ~ Pinata recommends 2-8 drinks, Lindsay says: Eight drinks?!? WTF? I'd be on the floor. (He was joking.)
6. Be engaged. ~ Ask questions. Try not to just answer his questions and ask, "what about you?" Be creative.
7. Laugh at jokes and smile a lot. ~ Lindsay says: I am so good at that! Wait, why don't I have a boyfriend?
8. If you talk about something you both like, suggest you do it together. ~ This shows the guy that you are interested in seeing him again, and you want to create a personal, special memory.
9. At least offer to pay for your portion. ~ It gives the guy an opportunity to be the man, say thank you, and let you know they've got it. Lindsay says: Bleh. I disagree. Maybe that's why I'm single.
10. Appear kissable. ~ We both agree that if you like someone, the first kiss should happen on the first date. Stay close so the guy knows you want to be kissed. Face him; give the opportunity. Fumble the keys, Hitch-style.

What do you think, people?

Grocery Guy

It's no secret that the grocery store is a common place to check out, and potentially hit on, attractive people. While I cannot recommend dating someone who works at a grocery store, I will say I enjoy being approached while doing my shopping. I really need to learn to dress a little cuter when I go...I'm always wondering why guys approach me when I'm in sweats, no makeup, and yesterday's hair.

I ran in for a quick little trip to my local store, and while wandering in one of the aisles when I heard a friend, "Hello." I barely had time to look up and say hi back before he was on his way down the aisle. It didn't hit me until a few seconds later that he was just some random guy talking to me...and he was really cute!

I managed to see him again on my way out. I got in the same line. When he finished check out, he simply looked up, smiled, and went on his way.

WTF? We totally had a moment!

Weddings.

I'm going to another bachelorette party tonight. And then on Saturday, I will attend my third wedding of the season. I was invited to four. Each two weeks apart from the next.

So I have to go to a bunch of weddings, celebrate love, and spend a buttload of money...but I can't even drown my single sorrows in ice cream because I have to look all cute in hopes of a single man at one of the events?

Yay.

This made me want to call attention to the greatest tumblr, sent to me by a co-worker and then again by my Lil Sis. That's right. The #myfriendsaremarried tumblr.

Enjoy.

WHEN I LOOK AT MY CALENDAR AND HAVE WEDDINGS AND BRIDAL SHOWERS FOR THE NEXT SEVEN WEEKS

You said it, Britney.

Ps. Congrats to all my newly married friends! I love you! (And I hate you....just kidding. Kinda.)

Takin It Back, Tuesdays #4

The Mormon

I googled Jews in hell...
and Rachel Berry popped up.
I love her.

In honor of it being Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year to all the goyim), I decided to write about the first time I realized religion might matter in a relationship. Oddly, The Mormon is the one boyfriend I had that everyone remembers. My family treated him like their own, my friends all met him, and even my family in Chicago remembers "that one guy with the tongue ring." Yes, he was a Mormon with a Metallica tattoo and a tongue ring. I was 19; don't judge me. He worked at Dave & Busters...what do you expect? Note: he still works there, I think. Dodged a bullet!

I'm gonna go right ahead and say that The Mormon didn't come from a family with a strong moral background like I'd always imagined in Mormonism. His mother was an adult convert...after leaving the Hell's Angels. She HATED me because I am Jewish. And because she knew I had a tattoo (two at the time). You can't even imagine how much this would shock me. I mean, I'm a parent's dream girlfriend for their son! It was a constant battle with The Mormon, because he never believed she had it out for me.

One day after The Mormon's mother "treated" him, his twin brother, and me to a Del Taco dinner, she asked me a very strange question.

MM (Mormon Mom): "Are you nervous?"

Me: "...about what?"

MM: "Going to hell when you die."

Me: "Well actually, Jews don't believe in hell. So it's all good!" No that was just in my head. What I really said was, "Umm..what?"

Geez I really hated her. And you know what? Her son wasn't exactly the perfect Mormon role model. He had a tattoo she didn't know about (but he never defended mine). And he definitely didn't follow the whole, 'no sex before marriage thing.' Every time I pass that big ass Mormon temple on Santa Monica Boulevard, I think of how bizarre that relationship was. Where are the nice Jewish boys at??

Happy New Year!

Must Love Meat

I've dated my fair share of vegetarians, and it's fine in the short-term, but really there's something about it that I just couldn't handle FOR-EV-ER. I may be a California girl who loves a good organic salad and quinoa, but I need some red meat in my life. To show potential suitors just how important hamburgers are to me, I use the photo below as my main photo on dating sites:

Sometimes I feel a little strange using it, considering The Aussie took it on my trip to Australia. I've never been sure if my huge genuine smile can be attributed to him, or the massive burger with fried egg topping. It could really go either way. This photo seems to attract all kinds of interesting "ice breakers" from guys online:

"Hey baby...I'll give you some meat" 

...is the obvious response, and sometimes guys don't get the Asian Tourist pose and actually insult me for using a knife and fork on a burger.

So readers, I challenge you to a caption contest! Give me your best shot!

When all else fails...

...let your friends respond to your online messages.

This is a story of a girl who felt like no one would ever love her, and she might as well give up on the whole "online dating" experiment. The only guys messaging her were ugly, fat, and/or bald. And she just got dumped by yet another guy...one who is on a website ACTIVELY pursuing a girlfriend. She started to feel like maybe she's just not girlfriend material.

She drank a lot of beer to make herself feel better. Her guy friend listened patiently to her complaints, and offered to respond to the messages she received.

Well, why not?

The next morning she woke up hating herself for drinking so much beer, but had 15 unread messages in her inbox. Wow! That's awesome....wait. That's weird. [Insert lightbulb for what happened the day before] Oh fuck.

The messages varied in awesomeness, but this was her favorite:

Oopsies.

That's Not Fair.

I'm a planner. I also have a concert ticket addiction. I usually buy two tickets and end up scrambling to find someone who wants to go with me. #singlegirlproblems

As I had begun to introduce The Busy Builder to good music by providing him with some new cds, (ultimate girl move to make him a mixtape) I thought it might be time to invite him to be my date to one of my many concert events. I was extremely nervous to ask him because I had a strong feeling that he would say he would be working and could not attend. When I asked him, he told me his brother was in town for his birthday that weekend, but he thought he could make it work by going home to be with family Saturday and coming back for the concert on Sunday.

This was not just any concert. It was a show at the OC Fair, one of my favorite Orange County events. And even more awesome that the band, Young the Giant, is from Irvine therefore playing a hometown show!

Beer + Fried Food + Carnival Games + Rides + Live Music = 

Best Date EVER!

I double, triple, and quadruple checked if he could come. I even watched as he entered the event into his Google Calendar. Considering his flaky history, I was feeling very nervous when I told some of my friends from Newport Beach to meet us there. I told one of my best girl friends to be on call as a back up date to the show. She understood. 

Friday night before the show, he asked me to go out on a date to Wurstkutche in Venice (I totally recommend it, btw. Rabbit and rattlesnake sausage for the win!) While playing games at the bar, we befriended one of the hipster bartenders. The Busy Builder called me out, shouting to the bartender, 

"Can you believe this girl? She invites me on a date to a concert, but has a back up plan because she thinks I'll flake!!!" Hipster Bartender was on my side. I fucking love hipsters. And beards.

Saturday morning, The Busy Builder left my house for his parents' home. I didn't hear from him all day or night. That's fine; he's with family. Sunday morning, I jumped up at 7:30am due to my phone receiving a text:

"Hey, so I'm really sorry but I told my parents I needed to leave this morning and they are freaking out. It's become a huge deal because I'm an idiot and thought my brother's birthday was Saturday but it's really today and they planned this big birthday dinner for him. I feel like such an asshole, but do you think you can take your friend to the concert? I'll make it up to you."

Please don't do this. You promised me. And this is exactly what you knew I was freaking out about. And also, of all the times to pussy out and text instead of calling...this is not that time. 

We spoke on the phone for about ten minutes of him apologizing and saying what a jerk he was. I told him I was horribly embarrassed and didn't see why he didn't make sure something like this wouldn't happen. He could have asked his parents for the weekend plan. If he cared about me at all, he wouldn't have let it go down this way. "There's no way you can make this up to me. It's way too soon in our dating for you to make me cry." 

It hurts my heart to even write this entry. But thanks to my amazing bestie and the power of a deep-fried klondike bar...I pulled myself out of bed and drove to the OC Fair without him.

Goodbye, Busy Builder. Guess you are just too busy to care about my feelings.