single, white, awkward.

the dating game -- single/white/HOT WHEELS

Thu, 19 Apr 2012 14:36:51 -0400

Well, here’s the long awaited scoop from Hot Wheels. I’ve been dating a guy for over two months now, which is sort of a record for me as of late (sad, I know). I really like him: he’s tall, and funny, wears a cute leather jacket, and holds my hand a lot in public. (Sure, he doesn’t really say sweet things or buy me presents, but whatever.) But we haven’t had a conversation about exclusivity, which means, naturally, I hyperanalyze everything he does.

Last week, he picked me up from the airport after a lengthy trip back east. Clearly, picking me up from the airport is a “boyfriend” type thing to do, but of course I find myself doubting the big gestures (was he just sex-starved?) and zeroing in on the meaningless ones. That night he stayed over, and the next morning, he left his toothbrush in my bathroom. When I noticed he had left it, my first instinct was to send a sassy-mean text— the one I had crafted was “You left your toothbrush here. What do you think this is— a fucking B&B?” Clearly, I know how to flirt. But as my fingers hovered over the touchscreen, I paused. What if he left it here to send me a secret message: I really like you and this toothbrush shows that I want to spend many more nights here. Suddenly, there was no doubt in my mind that that’s what he meant.

I asked all my friends for their opinion about The Toothbrush Incident. Every single one them, without fail, said “I’m sure it was an accident.” Still, I could not shake this idea that the toothbrush was the biggest moment in our datingship thus far. A few nights later, he stayed over again. Here was the real test: would he leave it again? Once could be accident, but TWICE? No way. As he slipped out the next morning to head to work, I pretended to be snoozing. As soon as the door closed behind him, I jumped up from my bed, breath held and….. THE TOOTHBRUSH WAS STILL THERE!!! Hurrah!!!

Surely, to anyone, this is substantial evidence that he wants to be my boyfriend, right?

[UPDATE: reading this post over again, I now see why guys think girls are “crazy.”]

what do you do when you don’t want to date anyone else,...

Tue, 03 Apr 2012 03:14:02 -0400

what do you do when you don’t want to date anyone else, but you’re addicted to the feeling of being wanted?

one man can only want you so much until you get bored, he gets bored, & the relationship collapses. the shifts of feelings in a relationship are like a tug-of-war match really.

Most Honest First Date Ever. Check it out. XOXO, The Single...

Mon, 02 Apr 2012 17:10:39 -0400

Most Honest First Date Ever. Check it out.

XOXO,

The Single White Awkward Team.

"Sex Study: California & LA Value Sex More Than Rest Of US" (Click link for article)

Thu, 29 Mar 2012 18:57:09 -0400

"Sex Study: California & LA Value Sex More Than Rest Of US" (Click link for article):

Los Angelians value sex more than any other city in the country. Curious about which states value sex the least? Check out the article!

Hugs, kisses, & eskimoe pies,

The Single White Awkward Team.

This is kind of a busy week for me, so here comes a short post....

Tue, 27 Mar 2012 15:27:00 -0400

This is kind of a busy week for me, so here comes a short post. Plainly said— I’ve sort of taken a page out of SCRUBS’ book and become…a female player. I’ve dated a lot over the past few weeks, met a lot of different people, and completely changed my outlook and attitude on dating. I’m the least emotionally available woman in the world right now, but I sort of learned that the key points to being desirable by the opposite sex are a) Confidence b) Loving yourself for who you are. I’m not a heartless bitch though just because I am dating several people at one— there is one guy who I’ve been seeing for about a month. I like him, but my options are staying open until I get what I want.

Story time. I met this new guy (let’s call him “Pick Up Sticks”) under awkward circumstances while out with SCRUBS last week. We went to a bar on the west side, where we had a grand time scoring free drinks from a nice older bartender and free tacos from drunken foolish men. Anyway, while SCRUBS and I were jiving on the bar dance floor to the tunes of an awesome rock/hip hop/pop cover band, this cute guy AKA “Pick Up Sticks” approached me with an awful pick-up line. I told him that the only way he could redeem himself of being so incredibly unclever is if he took me on a wonderful, elaborate date that I simply would never forget. I was kind of humoring him, but I guess he took me seriously. So I decided to take the red pill and now he has my number.

Tonight is judgement day. This could go down in history as the weirdest, most awkward date of my life— and that’s saying something.

-PLATH-PIE

What if women acted like men & men acted like women in the...

Sun, 25 Mar 2012 21:54:28 -0400

What if women acted like men & men acted like women in the dating world? Check out this hilarious video.

XOXO,

The Single White Awkward Team

No, I will not call you 'daddy' -- single/white/HOT WHEELS

Wed, 21 Mar 2012 13:02:51 -0400

Whoa. As of four minutes ago, I’ve had the awkwardest revelation of all.

I’m at the office, so naturally I decided to not work and spend some time outlining the “type” of guy I’m typically interested in. I tried this last year and decided I liked engineers/designers who play hot/cold all the time and are probably libertarians. This was alarmingly true in multiple cases— the first four guys I slept with were all engineers or were pursuing a degree in engineering. I was surprised by this pattern, because I never fancied myself much of a science-y girl, but I also appreciated that if I continued in this vein I’d have a husband making a six figure salary pretty quickly. Big house, steady mortgage payments, kids going to private school. Things were looking good for me.

However, since I moved back to LA, I noticed my pattern change completely. The last three guys I’ve dated grew up in the white ‘burbs of New England, moved to Boston for college, and then upon graduation moved out to LA to be screenwriters. They are all around 6’ 2”. The last two guys I’ve dated even have birthdays five days apart. Say WHAT?

Anyway, until four minutes ago, I was completely content with that pattern. “Hey, in LA it’s hard to avoid people trying to break into the biz,” I said to myself. “Hey, maybe I’m more attracted to Boston kids because I went to school outside of Boston?” I mused. Then it began to dawn on me: Why does this type of guy seem soooo familiar? Oh right, because it’s my DAD. My dad grew up in New England, went to Amherst, and moved to LA at 24 to be a screenwriter. He’s 6’2”, a self-proclaimed ‘funny guy’. I knew that this was a cliché, but I never thought it would happen to me. Gross.

- HOT WHEELS

The Ideal Counterpart to Single/White/Awkwardness -- single/white/SCRUBS

Wed, 14 Mar 2012 20:18:00 -0400

I’m one of those people that writes everything down, not because I want to but because if I didn’t I would likely sit alone at home and never know where I was supposed to be, who I was supposed to be with or what I am doing there. I have recently taken to jotting quick notes in my iphone’s notes section when I don’t have a pen (more likely: when I’m out at a bar and getting kinda sauced and I can’t find my pen or a scrap of paper in the giant oh-so-LA purse I am carrying).

Full disclosure: I’m admitting the last part because all of these notes are of the ridiculous variety. And by that I mean the single, white, awkward variety. Here’s the most recent:

Puss and Booze: the name of a future lesbian bar and music venue to answer the lack of lesbian clubs in LA. In a city with a million gay bars, where’s the love for the lezzies? Coming to WeHo as soon as we can afford it… likely never.

“We need a guy that doesn’t know he’s hot, a beautiful insecure guy with a big heart and bigger dick.” —A few of the SWA girls on their tipsy estimation of the perfect man.

—Scrubs

P.S. In unrelated news, I went to the courthouse near downtown to take care of a ticket that it was against my principles to pay and who did I see there???

Willam Belli from my favorite trashy show on TV, Ru Paul’s Drag Race. I’m especially proud because I recognized him out of drag and mustered the courage to verify his identity. The real kicker came when Willam tried to cut in line and started a full on altercation with a rather rotund black lady that was not having it. In case you’re wondering, yes, I did get to hear Willam call a bitch a “Bitch” at a courthouse. I’ve never felt so white and awkward at the same time—it was magical.

Got a question? Shoot.

Mon, 12 Mar 2012 02:55:18 -0400

We’re all open books here. Without covers of course. Curious about any of the info in our posts? Do you have a question you want to ask one of the bloggers? Click the black ribbon tab on the upper right hand corner of the main page and a drop-down menu will appear. From there, click the ”?” button and submit a question.

Or simply click here: http://singlewhiteawkward.tumblr.com/ask

You can post anonymously— in fact, we encourage anonymous posts. Get to it!

XOXO,

The Single White Awkward Team

"i'm a player, but i don't fuck a lot" -- single/white/PLATH-PIE

Sat, 10 Mar 2012 16:02:00 -0500

I’m a hot mess. Aside from car trouble, work, and some family drama, my lust life is really what’s making me most crazy. And hopefully thinner because I’m eating half as much as I used to. Yes, feel bad for me and bask in my sexorexia. Before you judge any further, I’m not actually having any sex right now. Only single, white, awkward situations for me. Feeling a little saucy today, so I’m going to list off my dudes like a short (s)hit list in no particular order:

1) “The Mystery Man” aka “Mr. Rabbit”— the guy who interrupted my date from a few weeks ago to get my number. I’m renaming him Mr. Rabbit because the big mystery turned out to be that he’s actually a magician, which he revealed 5 minutes into our date. He didn’t show me any tricks, aside from the quick maneuver he did with his fingers. Calm down, I’m not referring to anything dirty here— it was a clean-old, “oops, I cut off my finger” trick. I’ve only been out with him once, but we hit it off. He’s quirky, funny, and very ambitious. He was respectful enough not to kiss me on the first date, but I’m not sure if I’d see him again. The problem is that he was tad touchy-feely for my liking, but sometimes I wonder if it’s just the bubble tightly packed around my body that makes me itch at any sign of premature affection.

2) “The Baseball Player”— this is the one from college that I regret liking so much. We haven’t spoken in a little over a month because I accidentally slipped and said Commander’s name (their names are similar!) when I was referring to Baseball Player. I get it— I’m a horrible person, but I thought it was funny. I guess he forgot about that night though. Anyway, he called me one night out of the blue last week to invite me to his room mate’s party when he, himself, wasn’t even in town. A college party? With a bunch of co-eds? And sticky VD-ridden couches? And Popov? Oh, bang, baby, bang me against the wall four times over. I continued to humor him mostly because I was curious about what the hell it was that he wanted. My first instinct was booty call, but I was assured otherwise. Baseball player starts to list off some memories, which actually makes me feel all warm and tingly inside like a hot double chocolate chip muffin soaked in dark cherry bourbon. Until of course he confesses that thing that no girl wants to hear 2 years too late: “you’re the one and there must be a reason why we always come back to each other.” Suddenly, my muffin crackles and burns like Sylvia Plath’s head in an electric oven. I quickly retorted that he should know better than to feed me glib lines after taking 3 months to ask me out, 3 dates to kiss me, and 3x3x3 months to be the 3rd notch on my belt. I remind him that lonliness and a high sex drive are not good identifiers for finding the one. I wished him luck at his game and told him I’d call him later. We’ll see and then we’ll know.

3) “The Hottie”— On a shallow note, this guy is the hottest out of the group. He has a beautiful apartment in Venice, plays on a semi-pro soccer team, works in the industry, has a nice body, and cute face. We talk on and off, conversation doesn’t go static, but I know in the back of my head that I’m going to get bored. On our first date, we walked on the beach, grabbed some food, threw back a few margaritas, and had great physical chemistry. For the first time in my life, I allowed someone to kiss me on a first date. I kind of hate myself for breaking one of my rules and killing that 23 year prude streak. However, a big part of me wonders if I succumbed to the kiss because of the tequila pumping through the veins. We go back to his place, and start heatedly making out in his hallway. Suddenly, he picks me up and tries to take the games to his bedroom. NOPE. I hit the brakes (meaning I suddenly become a lot less flexible than I was 20 seconds ago) and let him know that I want to take things slow. Very slow. 27-year old big-shots aren’t used to hearing the word “no” as easily as let’s say— a 21, 22, or 23-year old guy who is still trying to figure his life out. Anyway, he stops pressuring me and we take his dog for a walk. Either way, at this point, I’m thinking that I’m pretty sure he’s more attracted to my ass than my personality. To his credit, my ass is tangible— you can’t really cup a personality in your hands and get the same carnal effect.

4) “The Commander”— Oops. I performed my first act of dating self-sabotage and brutally ended whatever physical relationship that was left here. I’ll rewind. We accidentally sexted for a week, then switched it up to platonic friendship, he attained a fake blonde sort-of girlfriend in the process, we slept in the same bed like a married couple who hates each other, and then I found her jewelry on the floor near the foot of his bed the next morning. I felt like “the other woman” without even getting anything incriminating out of it. Usually, all I’d have to do is just starfish on the bed with him and something sexually gratifying would happen. Well, this time: NADA. I slept in a bed with a dude and spooned. I do not like to spoon unless it occurs after the fact. But there was no fact. The only fact that I can muster up out of this incredibly disturbing situation is that I was awkwardly dressed like a disco whore— leopard glittery hot pants and a velvet halter top. (Yep, wore the wrong theme to a birthday party that night and he was still not trying to pentrate the ridiculousness that was me.) He just held me a little and then fell asleep. To his credit, at least his sheets were just washed that day. How polite. Then, the next morning, I did the one thing no single, white, awkward blogger should ever do— I told him about the blog. And now he knows everything. So, this is the point where I close that chapter in my life unless of course we’re both two single, white, awkward drunks sometime in the far and desperate future. I realized it the next morning— we have absolutely nothing interesting to talk about anymore. It’s really strange how that happens because I felt so head over heels for this kid from like October of last year to early January. Now, he seems like an entirely different person to me who frankly could care less if I jumped off a bridge or sold my first screenplay. I do quietly thank him for inspiring me to write again after an 8 month hiatus, but a part of me is hurt by the fact that he saved all his cute dates like movies and plays on her and spent his drinking-induced, spontaneous adventures on me. I know he is attracted to women who have low-stress, uncomplicated lifestyles who pose in fake modeling pictures on Facebook/Tumblr and work part-time at Forever 21 or Hot Dog on a Stick in the mall, when I myself am…so far from that. I know this because he alluded to it the next morning. It’s difficult not to be bitter in a situation like this because you’d think that men these days would appreciate a stronger, independent woman. Apparently not. If you’re reading this now— I realize my sass is hard to swallow, but I think we’re finally even? This time, I’ll let you extend the olive branch though. Actions speak louder than words.

5) “The Crush” — Lastly, this is the guy I want to like the most. My interest is dispersed throughout the masses at the moment, but I definitely enjoy talking to this dude. He and I have hung out a few times, we talk often, and share a lot of commonalities because we’re in the same industry. He wants to be a full-time director, moves from production job to production job regularly, and has been involved with a few films that were submitted to Sundance in previous years. He’s talented, a good cook, and busies himself with a bunch of cool hobbies like beer brewing, biking, and leather-branding. He’s a nice guy who grew up on a farm, but at the same time rides motorcycles and has a tattoo. His bad boy/good guy appearance attracts me enough to stay intrigued even though he’s not my quintessential type. Honestly, he reminds me a little bit of Commander in terms of his physical appearance and his mid-western roots. A part of me says run for the hills— the sweet guy from out of state tends to throw the most curve balls.

Hopefully, by the next blog entry, the list will greatly diminish. I’m starting to feel like a player, and I only half like it.

"HIGH SCHOOL STRIKES AGAIN, AND SUCKS" -- single/white/HOT WHEELS

Thu, 08 Mar 2012 12:05:00 -0500

In the 9^th grade I was head over heels for this guy named Tom. That’s his real name—I’m not giving him a nickname because I feel like the name of your high school crush is too important. It forms a sort of iconic impression in your mind. I was rarely lucky enough to end up in a class with him, and at the beginning of high school you only get to know the people in your classes. So, I memorized his schedule and would take roundabout routes during passing periods to try to run into him (the run-into would always consist of “hey!”, “hey.” I don’t know why that was so compelling for me).

Anyway, we never dated. He ended up dating my best friend, I ended up dating his good friend for years. By the middle of the 10^th grade I had lost interest, but I still think about him as my “high school crush.” A week ago, 10 years after I met him, I got a second chance with Tom. Spoiler alert: it was terrible.

We ran into each other at a memorial service for a friend’s mom, a completely inappropriate place for any budding romance to begin. We chatted briefly, and then later he messaged me on Facebook asking if I wanted to hang out. It was totally innocuous, but I could feel 14-year-old me freaking out. We grabbed dinner a few days later—it felt a little date-y but I couldn’t quite tell, and I wasn’t sure if I cared as ten years had passed and the flame was gone.

But when he asked me out again, I knew that this was a date, and I decided this one was for 14-year-old me. I needed to get a kiss for her, and then be on my way.

It started out really well. He looked good; I looked good. We had a good rapport. We laughed, we tried escargot, both did our best impressions of French accents, and split some crème brulee (can you guess what kind of restaurant we chose?!). It was a steep bill, and he picked it up after some feigned dissent from me.

Then he invited me back to his place. I didn’t really want to go, because it had been 9 years since I found him attractive, but I remembered that I needed to see this through, for her sake (14-year-old me, remember??) It went downhill from the moment we entered his room. While I sat on his desk chair making small talk, he said, sitting 10 feet across the room, “I thought we could make out.” Of course, nothing made me want to make out with him less. Ignoring this, we continued chatting, and ten minutes later he repeated the request (SERIOUSLY?). To get him to stop acting date-autistic, I kissed him, and we proceeded to make out with the skill of 14-year-olds for a few minutes. I have never felt less chemistry. Afterwards, I pulled on my boots and raced out the door… we haven’t spoken since.

So was the 14-year-old me a total idiot, or was 14-year-old Tom hot shit?

-HOT WHEELS

If you were curious about how things usually go down, please...

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 04:26:52 -0500

If you were curious about how things usually go down, please refer to the chart.

"Online Dating's Strangest Sites" (Click to view link)

Fri, 02 Mar 2012 00:59:00 -0500

"Online Dating's Strangest Sites" (Click to view link):

Online dating tends be most popular via Match.com, OKCupid, and E-Harmony. However, there’s a lot more out there for your strangest needs including sites like “Date My Pet” and “FarmersOnly.com”. A little more curious now? Check out ”Online Dating’s Strangest Sites”.

Sincerely yours,

The Single White Awkward Team

"That 2 for One Special" -- single/white/PLATH-PIE

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 21:37:00 -0500

Last night, I went out on a date with a guy I met a few weeks ago. Let’s call him “Crazy Eyes”. Not because he has a lazy eye or anything, but it was classic hot guy, big-ego syndrome channelled with horrible eye-contact. We met up at a bar called Laurel Tavern for drinks— good pick, and I was right. Unfortunately for him, but I’ll explain later. Anyway, I was late, per usual, but I figure if a guy can put up with it on the first date, he sure is a keeper because I’m just always going to be late for everything going forward. There’s only 2 things I’m on time for: a) my career b) my family.

So we’re about to order and Crazy Eyes is so turned on to the fact that I select a Manhattan as my drink of choice. I don’t need to tell him that my little “friends with benefits situation” turned me on to whiskey/bourbon in general— we can keep some things mysterious. Anyway, things kind of fall apart from there. Crazy Eyes likes really good movies, but he’s kind of boring. Crazy Eyes also thinks Zombies are for weirdos— you should have seen the expression on his face when I mentioned that I like the show “The Walking Dead”— pure disgust. Aside from that, his cellphone was out on the bartop during the entire date, which is a major pet peeve of mine. Don’t worry, we’re getting to the inciting incident in a second. So, Crazy Eyes and I are hitting a lull in the conversation, when his phone rings. He checks it, slides it back onto the bartop, scans it again and then says to me “Sorry, I actually really need to get this. It’s a recruiter.” Crazy Eyes steps outside to leave me alone— unattended, unprotected, and completely unhibited— at the bar.

So, I take a sip of my drink and my own eyes begin to wander— across the bar at another cute mystery guy. Mystery Boy is seemingly ordering a drink and makes eye contact with me. He smiles. I smile back and do the thing I always do— look away. I continue sipping my drink, but I’m just curious. And so incredibly bored on this date. My eyes scan the bar again. Mystery Boy smiles at me again. I smile back and swirl my drink fliratiously (not as direct as the “bend and snap”, but this is bold for me). I hold eye contact for a beat and then drag my eyes away. I am trademarking this move as the “look & hook”. I can already see him from my peripheral vision sidling up to my end of the bar. He taps me on the shoulder. I turn around.

“I thought I’d say “hi”.” (I hope this was worth it)

“Hi.” (You look good up close)

“So, are you on a date right now? Is that your boyfriend?” (Now that I’m here, I have no idea what to say)

I nod—

“Not my boyfriend, but yes on a date.” (I’m available)

“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re having a very good time.” (I hope you’re not having a very good time, otherwise I look like a douchebag)

I cock my head and give him my best Mona Lisa smile. (Am I that obvious?)

He shakes his head and smiles—

“I noticed you smiled at me…” (I think she wants me)

I interject—

“I smiled at you because I thought you were cute.” (Okay, maybe I want you)

“Wow. Well, I think you’re cute too.” (Did she really just say that out loud?)

Mystery boy turns around and notices a man standing behind us with his arms crossed over his chest staring us down—

“Wait, is that your date over there?” (This is going to get awkward)

I turn and laugh—

“No, that guy has been standing behind me like that the entire night. My date is making a call outside, but he should be back anytime now.” (If you don’t do this quickly, I’M going to look like the douchebag)

“Well listen, I’m ____. I’d love to grab your number, shake your hand, and I’ll slip away like this never happened.” (Let’s roll the dice and hope for high numbers)

“I’m in.” (Winner, winner, chicken dinner)

I slip him my number, he shakes my hand, and slips away. Just like he promised.

5-4-3-2-1….Crazy Eyes walks into the bar, sits back down next to me and apologizes. Absolutely clueless. We finish up the date not too long after and by the end of the night, I already have a date with Mystery Boy later that week.

Maybe it was an average Monday night, maybe it wasn’t Happy Hour, but I definitely got my 2 for 1 special that night.

—PLATH-PIE

"4 Ways To Tell If An Online Dater is Lying" (Click to view article)

Sat, 25 Feb 2012 00:00:00 -0500

"4 Ways To Tell If An Online Dater is Lying" (Click to view article):

Does he seem too good to be true? Are his photos from 2006? What does “entrepeneur” really mean on a dating site? Check out this article for 4 ways to tell if an online dater is lying.

XOXO,

The Single White Awkward Team

"Got Some VD Lovin on the Courts'" -- single/white/SCRUBS

Fri, 24 Feb 2012 17:00:00 -0500

I mean it was Valentine’s Day, who cares…right?

Sometimes it’s alright to settle for lovin’ when you’re not in love. Yes, this post is late. On the bright side, it’s because I have been out too much and didn’t have the time to write. First, let’s rewind to my last post for a moment:

I apparently have a Valentine…more on that later. I have a dodgeball game that night though which I’d much rather do instead so I asked if we could just postpone till the weekend. I didn’t think that was a big deal but my friends wondered why I didn’t invite him to the game instead. The reason is that I feel weird about having a Valentine I don’t really know very well. I like him a lot, we can talk endlessly, and have a lot of the same quirks, but we haven’t kissed yet and the whole V-day cliché seems a little weird if we’re not there yet.

Now that you remember what my week before V-day looked like, I can go into how everything actually panned out—as you can infer, it went a little differently than I expected. The set-up: let’s call him Pretty Pretty Cowboy, he’s on my team and maybe I subconsciously wanted to be at dodgeball on Valentine’s Day so that I could shamelessly flirt with him for fun. What I didn’t expect, the look-and-hook worked better than I thought. The week before, I played coy, he asked where I was running off to but he got my name slightly wrong so I told him I would have stayed longer if he got my name right. Of course, I didn’t tell him my name right then, that’s not part of the game, I left quickly and mysteriously—definitely not what he’s used to. I knew the bait had been set, now for phase two.

Disclaimer: I am not one for games when seeking a relationship, this was purely carnal. I didn’t see a future but still thought he was gorgeous, now you know my weakness…the pretty ones make me swoon.

V-day came around; it was a themed night so I donned my cutest Valentine’s dodgeball attire, pink short shorts with hearts all over them and tube socks to match. The game came and went and all the singles went out to our local spot to celebrate our loss. Eventually he came over and talked to me for a couple minutes, Teenage Dirtbag showed up at this point so he let us catch up. By this time, I’d had a few drinks and already decided how the night would end up—with me at his place. He got me the next round, gave me one look and went in for the kiss. Damn, he was one tall glass of water, a good kisser, and c’mon, it was Valentine’s Day, so I went for it. I hadn’t let my inhibitions go like this for a long time…not that I really needed more excuses.

It was fun and I don’t regret it one bit. Now for the awkward part: I wish he didn’t leave his shoes in my car; I wish I didn’t have to do the walk of shame the day after V-day, and, most of all, I wish we didn’t have to see each other every week… awkward.

Oh yeah, you’re probably wondering about my actual Valentine… we had a great time [reads “I actually like this guy and don’t want to divulge too much information”] and we’re taking things pretty slow, finally had our first kiss on the third date. I seriously thought I’d landed myself in the friend zone and wondered why he kept asking me out but was relieved when he finally kissed me. I’m usually the one to slow things down and this time we’re just letting everything happen organically [reads “I will not make the first move and he’s taking a long time”]. We’ll see where it ends up, until then, I’ll happily remain single, white, and awkward.

—Scrubs

“THE ACTOR” – single/white/PLATH-PIE

Wed, 22 Feb 2012 21:58:00 -0500

I decided to go out with an actor. Yes, I gave him the benefit of the doubt: he could be the next “Laurence Olivier”.

Not. Cut me some slack, he was cute. Why not.

So we meet up at a bar in the North Hollywood area—apparently, it was a spot he’d been meaning to try out. Well, I arrive (late) and it’s located in the ghetto part of North Hollywood. Yes, there are sketchy, taco-stand clustered, tattooed areas of the valley that people just don’t talk about. I take my sweet ass time to parallel park wondering if it’s in my best interest to get out of my car. I quickly decide that I value my life more than a chance at love, and I’m about to slip my key into the ignition when my phone rings. I pick up only to listen to a syrupy apology from The Match.com version of Mr. Laurence Olivier. He pleads me for me to follow him to another more charming to bar to redeem himself. I watch him in his car across the street flash his blinkers at me. I guess he was also afraid to get out of his car. Interesting. We end up meeting at a nice bar/restaurant in a well-lit part of Toluca Lake. Thank God, but Strike One, dude.

As most guys tend to lie on Match, he’s shorter than whatever he alluded to on his profile. That’s fine because he’s pleasant-looking. I’m not that shallow when it comes to height. I can tell he’s nervous, but he’s polite and nice. Not too nice in a way that I feel bad ragging on him though. He reveals that he’s an actor, specializing in comedy. He’s struggling to get an agent. The conversation drags on like leftover glue from a second-grade Popsicle stick art project. I’m tired after a long day at work and I’m thinking—can he stop asking me questions so I can make my exit? I can’t respect a comedic actor if he’s not even funny! Instantly, I was reminded of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry dates a salesclerk, who breaks up with him because she doesn’t think his standup act is “funny”.

I’m no clerk, and I may be a jerk, but if you’re not good at what you do, why should I consider doing you? Just a thought.

-PLATH-PIE

"Why It's Good to Be Single" (Click to view article)

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 18:26:00 -0500

"Why It's Good to Be Single" (Click to view article):

HAPPY VD, EVERYONE! A little present in remembrance of today— click the link above to learn a few reasons why “it’s good to be single”.

With Love,

The Single White Awkward Team <3

“when shit hits the fan…sort of” -...

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 15:32:00 -0500

“when shit hits the fan…sort of” - single/white/SCRUBS

As if I needed more awkwardness in my life, Friday night, while on a date with Caleb, I saw Sean…the other guy I’m dating.

Actually it wasn’t that awkward, I was walking down the street with Caleb in Santa Monica and walked right by Sean and his male friend. Luckily, we both kind of laughed it off and continued walking. I told my date that I had gone on a date with the other one before (I failed to mention how long ago… it was last week…), he shrugged it off and we continued on our way.

The real kicker, Sean sent me a text message right after saying that he was still interested if I wasn’t feeling the other guy. In fact, I’ve heard from him a lot more frequently since then. Funny, how that worked out. I’m not one to ever try and make anyone jealous but that’s what it seemed to do.

Also, I apparently have a Valentine…more on that later. I have a dodgeball game that night though which I’d much rather do instead so I asked if we could just postpone till the weekend. I didn’t think that was a big deal but my friends wondered why I didn’t invite him to the game instead. The reason is that I feel weird about having a Valentine I don’t really know very well. I like him a lot, we can talk endlessly, and have a lot of the same quirks, but we haven’t kissed yet and the whole V-day cliché seems a little weird if we’re not there yet.

Just wanted to get out this quick post before I forgot. Happy Monday and more adventures from your single/white/awkward friends to come!

—Scrubs

“we did it for etta james” – single/white/PLATH-PIE Dear God, a...

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 10:00:00 -0500

“we did it for etta james” – single/white/PLATH-PIE

Dear God, a small, yet progressively growing margin of these men on Match are so incredibly aggressive and strange. However, out of the idiotic ones who don’t know how to spell, make sexual comments toward you as opening liners, or are 20 years older than you, but think they stand a chance to motorboat your precious cargo, there are a few nice guys out there. And that’s actually exactly the same as the bar scene. So far, I’ve been on two dates with guys I met out at bars and two match dates. Something I’ve come to terms with dating in general is— you can have it all on paper, but if you don’t have chemistry, you have nothing.

Going to keep staying positive though, and plug forward. I have a date set for next week, so we’ll see. I’m not as excited as I was before—getting to know someone is hard work! Especially when you’re working 12 hour days and have to meet up with someone for drinks after.

So last Friday night, I went out with some girlfriends to Silver Lake to scope out the bar scene. We had dinner at this cool Indian fusion place and then strutted over to the nearest hipster bar. It was there that I reassured myself that trying other dating mediums outside of the bar scene was appropriate— drunk hipsters are really not my thing. We ended up returning home early to drink/smoke and have a dance party with just us girls. It was a lot of fun, until I realized—I’m way too unsatisfied to go home after this. Actually I’ve been “unsatisfied” for about a month since that was the last time I—well, I did anything, aside from a one-night revisit with my ex fling from college The Baseball Player, who seemed to need it just as much as I needed it. Enough said.

So to deal with my situation. I decided to text the Commander that night (the one who broke it off with me a month ago). The history is that we attempted friendship, but again, I felt unready. I needed more time to process that he didn’t find me girlfriend material anymore. What I really needed was some dates with other people. And really, that’s what made me realize that well…I still wanted a physical relationship with him. So I texted the Commander, who invited me over for bourbon and chitchat at 3:30am. Yeah, not my classiest date night, but at least it was expensive bourbon. I arrived at his place, it was raining, and we were doing that thing where he couldn’t help me find parking by his place because that would be the “boyfriend” thing, but he could walk me out to the car the next afternoon because a friend would do that, however, a kiss would just be inappropriate even though we kissed (amongst other things) the entire night. Anyway, it took awhile for something to happen and we kept talking about stupid things like how Etta James died and how drunk he got at his company party, but the tension was building and I was teasing him about his geek-love for Star Wars until finally… he made a move. The next thing I know, it’s hot and heavy as we’re grinding on top of his Yoda body pillow, with bad thoughts circulating in our groins. Surprisingly, fooling around is way better than before because I’m not worried about waiting for the right time to round 2nd, 3rd, and home base. Snagging him as a potential boyfriend is no longer on my agenda. So after we finish messing around, I paused, looked at him in my drunken haze and said, “That was for Etta James”. Like we needed a reason to get naked. The next morning, his iTunes shuffle selects “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. Guess who I dedicated breakfast to?

Comedy aside, I was surprisingly not attached the next day. And didn’t regret it. I did what I wanted. I still had a great first date last Thursday with this new guy, but I have to say—is there a way to have your cake and eat it too? Serial dating with a playboy on the side? Not sure how long this one is going to last, but I plan on riding it out as long as I can. No pun intended.