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

Can Men and Women Just Be Friends?

 I met a guy last month that isn’t my typical physical type. He has a full head of hair (I usually go for bald or shaved) and he has a beard (I’ve never been attracted to facial hair), but there was something about him that from the second I saw him I knew I was in trouble. As I write this, I realize just how crazy it sounds that in that moment I knew this stranger was going to a good friend or something more. As I’ve gotten to know him, I have developed a bit of a crush on him, but I didn’t know if he liked me as anything more than a platonic friend.

We like the same things, hang out at the same places and he’s just as OCD as me. We’ve been going out together three to four nights a week, sometimes as a group and more recently just us together. But, it was unclear if we were going out on dates or just hanging out as friends. He was always paying and he would walk me to my car and kiss me on the cheek, but I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. So one day I asked him and he said he just wanted to be friends and I responded with “Ok. Good” (which was a lie). The next day we went out on what I can only describe as the most awkward yet really fun non-date, date.

I had a feeling that he had just said he only wanted to be friends for the same reason I had, I didn’t want to jeopardize the friendship. So I decided I would bring my A game and really test the waters. The next night we went out with a group of friends and I wore a very sexy dress with an open back and a pair of to die for five-inch heels. If he were interested in me I would know that night. One to many drinks later we woke up no longer just friends.

He is great, a total gentleman, he can even cook, but now I'm regretting our drunken night together. Our relationship had changed, whether we wanted it to or not. I'm over analyzing our conversations and his text messages and I worry if we pursue a relationship it will jeopardize our long-term friendship. I knew what I was doing when I wore the dress and I got what I wanted, but did I? 

Los Angeles Men

It’s hard to meet new people anywhere, but Los Angeles is a city where your car is a second home. Going out takes planning, taxis are hard to find, public transportation is a joke and drunk driving is common. Dating someone who lives 10 miles away means driving at least forty minutes, add in traffic, it could take more than an hour.

Finding a guy in LA who likes you just the way you are is like going to Cabo to ski. It’s fucking impossible!!! There are exceptions, but they seem to always have more baggage than any metrosexual hipster struggling actor who doesn’t realize he is not famous.

The exceptions:

1.) Divorced with kids – They will commit, but they have major baggage. Kids, an ex-wife, they usually live in the suburbs to be closer to their kid(s). Most of their free time if not all revolves around the kid(s). How well does he get along with the ex? Why did they break up?

2.) Never married, no kids, 35 or older (for some reason they usually live in Santa Monica and in the same apartment since college) – They are very nice and polite, usually a bit boring, but they have major commitment issues. Their longest relationship is usually less than 2 years or more than 4 years. Run away immediately! Don’t believe the line “I just haven’t met the one.” He probably did meet her, they are still friends, he still loves her and he regrets not proposing to her because he hasn’t met someone like her since (including you).

3.)Paper Perfect – He’s not bad looking, great chemistry, is financially stable, has a house, no kids, but you aren’t attracted to him and just want to be friends. He’s totally into you and therefore you can’t be friends. 

Other basics:

If he seems to good to be true, he will break your heart.

Trust your first impression.

If you go dutch before monogamy, he’s either poor, cheap or an asshole. Sometimes all three.

I have a better chance of winning the lotto than finding a good man.

Wish me luck.

An Aussie Named Tommy Lee

Two weeks before Christmas, Summer and I were once again at Bar Marmont. Summer had struck up a conversation with Tommy Lee, a 29 year old, musician visiting from Australia who we thought was gay. He was the perfect distraction from her recent breakup. They spent much of the night dissecting text messages from Summer’s latest ex.

At 2am, after many drinks, Summer and Tommy Lee started making out at the bar which lead to a happy ending in the ladies bathroom.  Turned out he wasn’t gay.

Being the designated driver for the night, I offered to drop Tommy Lee off at his hotel on Rodeo Drive. It should have been a fifteen drive, but thanks to Summer’s advice to just go straight we ended up in San Pedro at 4am. By sunrise we were in Beverly Hills.