Scott Speedman Shook My Hand & I Forgot My Name

I had never seen Felicity until last year and once I started I was hooked. Ben reminded me of my fiancee before he became my ex-fiancee. For a few weeks, every night after work I would watching Ben and Felicity and their roller coaster relationship and in some crazy way it helped me deal with the unraveling of my personal life.

In the end my Ben left me feeling broken and ten years older. Thirty, single and having a pre-mid life crisis, I decided to move from New York to sunny California with this idea that happiness and love were only a plane ride away. I'm still working on both.

 I love everything about LA including the traffic (yes really!) except for the men. I wish I was kidding when I say that the men of LA (99.99% of them) are douche bags and flakes, but I'm not and they are. The problem with LA is that every minute a prettier, thinner, younger version of you is descending on the golden state with dreams of making it big as an actress or model, but eventually settling on just finding a rich man to marry. So for someone like me; size 4, attractive, red hair, who likes to eat and drink (sometimes even alone at a restaurant on a Saturday, which I learned is unheard of here), isn't impressed by expensive toys, doesn't want a sugar daddy and who is brutally honest, I will probably be single forever in this city. I've accepted this and become use to being a ghost at bars. Men rarely approach me when I'm out, apparently I give off a bitch vibe. 

But, then last week for a moment I wasn't a ghost in the crowded, pretentious bar. I was somebody. That was the night I met Scott Speedman. I saw him enter the restaurant with what looked like a motorcycle helmet (I have a thing for motorcycle riders) in his hand (later realizing it was a jacket) and immediately said to my friend and the rest of the bar "That is not who I think that is. Oh my god. I'm having a moment." I repeated this a few times even after my friend told me that Scott was standing right behind me. A moment later he sat down next to my friend and then I said to him, "I'm probably going to embarrass myself here, but I love you." (I was on my second drink) To which he said "That's not a bad thing." and then he put his hand out and said "I'm Scott." As I shook his hand I remember smiling and staring into his eyes for longer than I think he was comfortable with thinking to myself (OMG! I think we are having a moment) or maybe he was just waiting for me to say my name, which a minute later I remembered. 

He asked how long the restaurant had been open. I said, "It's a fairly new place. Great until about 9:30 when it becomes douche bag central and then we start counting plaid shirts." He laughed and said, "Well it's a good thing I'm not wearing one." My friend and I resumed are very important conversation about the nicknames for the bartenders we have crushes on. He seemed quite amused by our ridiculous chat. Because really what does one talk about when Scott Speedman is eves dropping on your conversation that would sound remotely intelligent, yet not completely stupid? He asked us a few questions about the menu, but seemed preoccupied with looking for his dinner date who arrived a little while later (which after Google stalking a little bit, I think was his ex-girlfriend.) As he left to go to his table he said "It was very nice to meet you." See there still are a few gentlemen left in LA, they're just all not single and some are even movie stars.

The bar was filled with gorgeous model types as it is every night and yet he chose to seat with us. Sometimes being normal and the girl next door beauty pays off even though I didn't get his number. He's just a normal, nice guy who everyone thinks of as Ben. 

Scott, Thanks for making me feel like the popular girl and being the envy of all the way more gorgeous women sitting at the bar that night. For a moment I felt like the most beautiful, most popular, most desirable woman; even though I know I'm not your type. Maybe, one day our paths will cross again. You know where to find us. 

Kate

Burger Well Done

I’ve debated whether or not to talk about my recent ex, but since we are never ever getting back together, he’s fair game now. As relationships go, this one was a relatively short one, six months of happiness or so I thought.

We were never right for one another and although there were plenty of warning signs I stupidly hoped that his quirks would grow on me. He had so many great characteristics that are so rare to find in a man or at least the ones I've dated. He was very loving, caring, supportive and affectionate, but he was also very judgmental, stubborn, a super picky eater and ultimately a jackass.

He was very stuck in his ways. Almost forty, he had never been married or engaged, he was afraid of commitment (red flag), thought that having children was selfish, thought that going out for drinks or food during the week was abnormal and he only ate burgers well done, Margarita pizza or well done chicken. Which even if you aren’t a huge foodie like me still makes dining out anywhere decent nearly impossible.

I had originally nicknamed him “Rainman” because without fail his schedule every day was so predictable. But, since I was dumped via text he’s become Berger from the Sex and the City. Although I still think being dumped on a post-it is probably worst than in a texting conversation that started with him saying, “We need to talk” and my response being “What are you dumped me?” which was followed by him saying “Yea, pretty much.” When I returned to his place, after just being there an hour before and everything seemed normal, he had already started to pack up my belongings. So considerate of him :o

I shouldn’t have been so upset given our differences, but I had gotten so use to him being around and our weekend routine. We were basically living together and just a few weeks before he had asked me to officially move in with him. But, I knew the honeymoon phrase would end eventually and I was super creeped out that his apartment was decorated with items left behind from his exes. All I could think was one day I was going to be another ghost which is mainly why I was afraid if I did move in with him I would be thrown to the curb when we broke up like the others, which is exactly what happened.

So, I guess the point of this story is never get to comfortable in a relationship, never move in with someone before at least a year together , never compromise who you are to be with someone (they obviously aren’t the right one) and never dump someone via text and be offended when they call you an asshole, because you are.

Dating Blows

For those of you who stumbled upon this site after a google search for something related or unrelated to this page, welcome. If you are a follower of Love Bites (http://summerpeterson.blogspot.com) welcome as well. This blog was created because dating in Los Angeles is like an urban myth. The men here are all characters; some good, some bad and some so terrible that I'm seriously considering never dating again.

I hadn’t completely given up on love yet, so six months ago after breaking up with my fiancé (it would take a lifetime to explain why, so I won’t), I followed my heart and moved across the country to Los Angeles, the place where dreams come true and love is in the air, or so I thought. A few stories about our relationship were documented over the years on the Love Bites blog. We were on and off for eight years which like most relationships ended quite horribly. Like Taylor Swift and any one of her exes we too are never ever getting back together.

Turns out happily ever after stories were created by writers who tend to find love in the form of alcohol, drugs, caffeine or sugar.  So here I am living in the Hollywood Hills thinking that if Lauren Conrad can find love here so can I. Turns out reality television is less truthful and less hopeful than Days of our Lives.