So, two and a half years later…

Am I right?

I was determined to abandon this blog and begin adult life not revealing my personal dramas to the outside world, but I am so compelled to tell the story of the past few weeks with a boy called The Growler, that I brought it back just for this post.

Lets start off with the reasons why I should have known it would end poorly.

1. He is my co-worker. Granted it’s at an extremely part-time part-time job, but it’s never a good idea to date a co-worker EVER.
2. He just broke up with his girlfriend. And when I say he just broke up with her, I mean he broke up with her and started seeing me about two days later. Guys, I swear I’m smart.
3. He wears fake eyeglasses.

In spite of knowing these things right off, I let my uncontrollable physical attraction and his promises that I was NOT a rebound decide that I would date him.

Now let’s review what little I know about his girlfriend, and judgments I have made about her based on these facts.

1. She is 43 years old. He’s 28. Ick.
2. She doesn’t have a job. She is an intern at a shitty low-budget production company. Before you go giving her the benefit of the doubt and thinking, “Oh she just left her first career and is using her savings to follow her true passion of being a director!” – don’t.
3. She is living off her parents and The Growler’s money. She is allowing her old, decrepit, retired, pension-living parents to pay for her apartment in the Hollywood Hills and her brand new Fiat.
4. She taped a photoshopped picture of cats in space onto her dashboard. I don’t know, and he didn’t know either.
5. She pawned aforementioned Fiat that she never really owned in order to purchase facial injections to make her look younger.

Needless to say, this chick is a winner. Forgetting about the Growler, for a moment, there is nothing more sickening to me than someone at that age who is so spoiled that they’re mooching off their senior citizen parents so they can frolic around L.A. dating young idiots, having mental meltdowns, and partying with people half their age (or other spoiled brats their own age). It is actually disgusting. Get a job. Move to the valley. Don’t reproduce.

But as far as the Growler is concerned, I’m going to leap over how well our parts fit together and the romantic dinner dates and the huffing and puffing over his bipolar mood swings and skip to the finish.

On our last night, as we tucked ourselves into bed, his cellphone rings. He immediately answers it. It is very obvious who is on the other side. I can hear the gargling, drunk wines of a nagging female (Are you busy….ARE YOU SUUUUUURE) on the other end as the Growler manages to put on his pants and step outside.

Yes – he actually saw he was receiving a call from his ex-girlfriend while he was in bed with me and answered it without even hesitating. I don’t know if that was the worst part, him leaving my apartment, or him coming back to tell me she was drunk in Atlanta and sleeping with another dude. I truly cannot discern the most disgusting part of that evening. But it was most certainly the end of our affair.

I tried to confront him later, although I don’t know why. Social media had confirmed to me that he at least was seeing her (in what capacity, I don’t know nor do I really need to know). I guess I really just wanted an opportunity to put him in his place with some biting sarcasm, blank stares, and condescending laughter. I’ve got two more working shifts with him, so I might get a chance hurt his feelings just a little bit more. If all else fails I can always nonchalantly inquire, “Hey, so did you girlfriend find a job yet? No? Dang.”

Boys suck and are gross.

With Alotta Love,

zeezeecakes

I’m broke so, please buy it for me.  Thanks.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Pretty cool right?

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

With Alotta Love

zee zee cakes

Sorry it’s a mediocre scan.  I was sleepy.

Alright.  The dresses aren’t awful, but that model – eek.  If they’re not gonna try to sell me with glamour they can at least sell me with a pretty face.  I’ll fall for it.

I’m an advertisers dream.

A&E – still not a fan.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

I ran into my friend who I used to dance with here at school while I was waiting for the tram today.  I was so excited to see her, and even though we only had about five minutes to catch up before I had to run, we attempted to update each other on our lives.  She’s one of my favorite people, if for anything, because she has this purity and liveliness about her that isn’t annoying or naive, but instead draws you to her.  It was such a joy to see her. 

Then, as the tram was pulling up and I was saying goodbye she tells me that her and the Dark Temptation are “sort of dating.”  The Dark Temptation who just happens to be the opposite of all that is beautiful and pure.  He who

1. Cheated on his girlfriend.
2. Cheated on his girlfriend with me.
3. Cheated on his girlfriend five times with me.
4. Lied about having a girlfriend the first time he cheated on his girlfriend with me.
5. Showed no remorse about cheating on his girlfriend with me any of the five times.

Think what you want about me sleeping with a dude who I knew had a girlfriend.  I don’t feel bad about it, I didn’t when we first did it, and I can’t imagine feeling bad about it in the future.  But I do know that he is a scumbag who I would never date and never let any of my friends date.

Here is where my dilemma begins.

I seriously, seriously, considered telling her about me and DT when it was going on.  Partially because I knew he was very attracted to her and I had an a feeling that she was attracted to him.  He’s an attractive fellow.  But I have these weird feelings about trying to sway girls away from guys with stories of their indecency.  I also had faith that she would stay away from him.  I was so sure she’d see through the charm and bullshit and see it as it was.  She’s pretty perceptive.  But how could she know how awful he is.

But he didn’t just cheat on his girlfriend.  He didn’t get drunk one night, have sex, and then feel bad about it (not that this is excusable).  He sought me out multiple times with the intention of screwing me and asked me not to tell anyone about us.  That’s lower than low.

I know there are people who think I’m just as low but I have never and cannot imagine every cheating on a significant other.  If I wasn’t ready to commit I wouldn’t commit.  When I do commit, I’m in it all the way.

In any case, I’m wondering if and how I can tell my friend about this.  I feel like I’d be a bad friend if I didn’t tell her what happened months ago.  I’m afraid I’ll come off as bitchy and self-serving if I do, but I really just think she’s way too good for him and I don’t want her to be the idiot his previous girlfriend came to be.  I always thought the girlfriend was so sad and pathetic for sticking with him when he openly flirted with other girls including me.  Will she take it that way?  Will she think I’m just trying to mess up something new and good in her life?

I plan on talking to a mutual friend of all three of us this weekend to try and figure out what to do.  In the meantime, what do you think?  Should I leave it alone and trust her judgement?  Am I butting in if I say something?  Is there a certain way I should go about it?

Woe is me.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

I was a little bummed at first.  I was so looking forward to having another love interest, and he blew it so quickly. 

But, I’m over it.

It only took 24 hours after his text for me to catch someone’s eye, and I think this one’s a winner.

The Film Critic.

He’s in one of my drawing classes, but is in no way an artist.  He’s in the critical studies program in my school (a film school)  and he’s super cute. I definitely noticed his attractiveness way early in the game. 

I swear to you, he looks exactly like Mika with dark hair and a Jew nose.  But since I never caught his eye, or at least never saw myself catching his eye, I didn’t think about it. 

Now, I’m thinking about it.

He spent the vast majority of the class leering at me (which I found totally acceptable), flirting with me, and complimenting me.  Nothing truly significant happened so as of yet there’s only the interest.  But hey,  I’m down with that.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Le Sigh.  Is it me?

The Receding Hairline was such a disappointment.  It wasn’t a fail on the Molasses Boy level.  But it was pretty sad.

First mistake:  He waited until today at 3pm to call me. 

If you’re trying to go on a date with someone, why wouldn’t you at least give them the courtesy of 24 hours notice?  I was pretty sure that he had flaked out on me, and had come to terms with it.  But no, he waited until the last minute to call me.  During our conversation he made his

Second mistake: He didn’t offer to pick me up.

I suppose there’s no rule book for dating, and if there were I wouldn’t want it followed to the tee, but I’m fairly certain that offering to drive your date is obvious enough not to be written in rules.  I had to ASK him if he could pick me up.  That is incredibly lame.

But I let this roll off my shoulders, gave him my address, and hurriedly took a shower and got dressed.  It was after 6 pm and I hadn’t eaten yet all day so I ate a cheese sandwhich, worried that I wouldn’t be able to make it through the screening without my stomach growling like mad.  I scarffed down the sandwich just before he called me to tell me he was outside (which I told him to do, so him not coming to the door was fine), and it’s a good thing I did because of his

Third mistake: He was eating in the car.

Seriously?  You pick me up and you’re enjoying some kind of black bean salad and a bagette from the grocery store around the corner from me?  It’s so ridiculous, it’s laughable.  I didn’t have an attitude about it when I got in the car, but I mean, really?  We’ve got three strikes before the dude even started driving.

In spite of all this, I was determined to have a good time with him.  The conversation on the way to the theater was alright.  It was mostly about film, dance, animation, and things of that sort.  We went to see a screening of two of Yvonne Rainer’s dance films, Trio A and Lives of Performers.  I had never been to the Egyptian Theater, and didn’t know what to expect, so when we got in a line, and I asked him how this worked, he made his

Fourth mistake:  He didn’t offer to pay for ticket.

Sort of.  He says

“Oh, it’s $6 for a student ticket.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, do you not have any cash?”

“Ha… no I’ve got some.  Luckily I brought my student ID too.”

So, you brought me to this show, didn’t tell me how much it costs or that I should bring my student ID (which I normally don’t carry around or even know its whereabouts), and wasn’t expecting to pay for me.  From the look on his face, he obviously was going through some conflict as to whether or not he should pay for my ticket, and when we got to the front, he pulled out a twenty and said,

“Um… yeah can I get two?”

Confused, I ask him if he wanted me to give him money, but instead of saying what he should’ve said:

“No, no.  I couldn’t let you pay, this is my treat,”

he said,

“Um.  I guess, do you want to pay me?”

What the hell am I supposed to say to that?!  Nah, man, I really don’t want to give you any money?  So, of course, I paid him, looked at his stupid face filled with regret, and walked into the theater.

The films were very avant garde and post-modern, so completely out of my usual realm of interest, but I found them enjoyable enough.  There was a particular solo in Lives of Performers that was incredibly sensual and beautiful.  After the screening there was a question-answer session with Yvonne Rainer that I also found very interesting as some issues within the dance community were discussed.

When it was over and we were leaving the theater, more awkwardness ensued.  He seemed to not want to leave.  At first he was just standing in the theater, excited as a puppy and gushing over Rainer, until I pointed to him that we could now exit.  Once we were outside the theater, he again wanted to loiter until I started walking and he was forced to follow.  And even though I got him walking, he dragged his feet. 

I assume all this was because he wanted our date to last longer, but why not ask me for coffee, or dessert, or even to really eat?  Which brings me to his

Fifth and Final mistake: He ended the date shitty.

He stood on the curb looking into the distance like he was contemplating something.  I thought maybe he’d figure out something we could do to continue the date.  He could have asked me if I wanted to go for a drink.  Snack.  Joyride.  Anything!  Instead he just stood there awkwardly staring into space, searching for god knows what. 

“So, should I take you home?”

“Um…yeah.. I guess.”

We had a good conversation, and in spite of all that was idiotic that occurred beforehand, I wouldn’t have minded spending more time with him.  But I was also kind of over it.  We talked more in the car and outside of my house, but at this point I had lost hope oh-so-swiftly.  I got out the car, no hug or peck, told him I hoped we’d hang out again soon, and walked up my driveway.

Recalling the date (or non-date) in this fashion makes me feel even worse about it.  It was not good.  Outside of the interesting films, it was filled with awkwardness.  My friend says I should give him another try and that I’m being too hard on him, but I doubt it.  It’s not as if there was an incredible amount of chemistry there in the first place, so I don’t feel bad about letting him fall to the waste side.

Am I being too harsh?  Maybe.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

P.S. This is amazing.  I just discovered my Molasses Boy Fail was exactly one year ago from today.  I wonder if all my dates (which inevitably turn out to be non-dates) will come one year apart.  If so, awesome.

What a fool.

The very next day after I became resolved in my decision to stop seeing him, I developed a swell in my breast that sung “SINGLE AND LOOKING!”  At least, that’s what it felt like, because suddenly a dozen dudes were hitting on me.  It’s not that guys haven’t been talking to me for the past few months, but I think there’s something intangible that ultimately made me more approachable and exciting.

I think.

In any case, there are two men on dock at the moment.  First, is Birthday Boy, who is more of a fleeting thought than a real consideration.  I met him on the dance floor while I was well inebriated and gave him my number while grinding.  What can I say – I was having a great time.

To my surprise, and slight discomfort, he contacted me and on Valentines day, no less. 

“Happy Valentines Day love”

I didn’t have his number, so after I determined that I in fact had no British acquaintances, I responded with something along the lines of, “Who the hell is this?”

“Birthday Boy (he didn’t say that, but I’m protecting the innocent here) we met at the shortstop on ur bday”

“Oh okay.  Thanks!  You too!”

I secretly wanted to tell him, “If I have to ask your name, you shouldn’t call me love…. unless you’re British.”  But I figured he was probably cute enough that I might not want to tear him down so quickly.  I expected him to say something after.  The most logical thing to do would be to ask me on a date, or at least out for a drink.   Instead, he waited days later to text me

“Whats up?”

Fail.

The next dude has much more promise, but is less attractive (though he reminds so much of an adorable acquaintance so plus points for him).  Like any love interest I have these days, I met him at a bar.  At first, I barely noticed him – even after he approached me, I just thought he was a funny guy making conversation.  But when I realized he was charming me – he was charming me – and I was able to look past his receding hairline.

Yikes, I know.

We joked about meeting again on a Tuesday (my favorite dancing night) and I gave him my number before leaving.  To my surprise, on Tuesday, I walked into the bar with D, and who was there writing in a mini moleskin like a true emo kid?

The Receding Hairline.

I know it’s an awful name to give a guy I’m actually interested in, but I’m an awful kind of person.  RH, D, and I danced the rest of the night away, and only parted ways once the bar was closed.  He told me I had a beautiful smile when I dance (I don’t’ care if it’s cheesy – I thought it was sweet so lay off), and suggested we see a Yvonne Rainer show on Sunday.  He has yet to call me about details, but I imagine he will do so within the next 24 hours.  Or maybe, change of heart?

I don’t know.  Regardless of how things go with him, things are changing for the better.

With Alotta Love,

 zee zee cakes