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The underrated art of eavesdropping on other people's dates

The underrated art of eavesdropping on other people's dates

Dating in Los Angeles is miserable, not so much because of the rarity of a really good date, but because there’s nothing good about the bad dates. In New York an extremely bad date can be arguably just as good as a pretty good date. In New York, a great date is the best, but after that I think I’d rather have a really bad date before a pretty good date.

This is all based on the formal scientific rankings of: very good, good, pretty good, kinda good, and so-so. But a very bad date in New York City is awesome.

I don’t know if it’s because there are more people around and there’s public transportation, so you always have an out, or because the crazy people are the craziest in the planet. But in New York, I’ve been on dates with girls who have done the following: told me a detailed account of her rape story; taken Xanax which was kept in her necklace locket; tried to have sex without a condom and she wasn’t on the pill; was asked to role play as a rapist.

Those are awesome bad first dates. And in New York, you’re always around people, so you can go up to someone else and say, “Hey, look at the psycho I’m on a date with.”

But in Los Angeles, bad first dates are just bland. There is nothing exciting about them, because most just consist of boring actresses who talk about their attempted careers all night. They hide the psychosis and make you stick around for a while to find them, which isn’t fun for anyone.

Plus if you’re on a bad date in L.A., you’re stuck in the car with the girl all night, so there’s no escape. In New York, you can be near any subway stop and say, “OK, see ya,” but in L.A., you can’t necessarily be out at dinner near La Cienega and Melrose, and walk away with a hearty, “Good luck.” You could, but you’ll lose the chance to ask her friends out.

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A jewdar detector exploded

A jewdar detector exploded

I think the ankle-length denim skirt has to be the worst fashion-religious compromise in the rich tradition of bad Jewish religious fashion.

It’s not like the girls are going all-out Jewish, with the shaved head, wig, black skirt and Orthodox husband by her side. But it’s not the reformed, slutty Jewish girl that we all know and love. It comes off like, “I’m an orthodox Jewish girl. And I also like Roy Rogers.”

In other words, the angle-length denim skirt is the female version of the yarmulke. A three-foot denim yarmulke.

Who is supposed to be fooled by this? It’s not using denim instead of cotton or silk is rebelling when maybe all that’s being shown is a centimeter of sock. And now it has permeated so much that there’s no hiding the Orthodox association.

There’s no getting around the Jewish tradition of bad fashion choices. And this doesn’t help.

There's even a hole in the building

There's even a hole in the building

I had to go drop off a package at Creative Artists Agency, but being the lowly intern I am, they directed me to depths hundreds of feet underground into the receiving docks.

But here’s what’s great about Los Angeles, California. I was on level D of the mail room basement and there were still hot people there. On level D. Four floors into the basement, like forty or fifty feet UNDERGROUND and there were hot people there.

If you go to level D of any other corporation, you encounter trolls and goblins and freaks that they pulled out of the sewers like the Penguin. Not at CAA. They had hot people.

Century City must be the only place in the world where you can go to Level D and the women are still too good for you. It’s terrifying.

megatronDo you ever wish that you could take the most appealing qualities from a variety of girls you have dated and assemble them into one megatron-perfect girl?

The thing that surprises me the most about this, isn’t the fact that I would do it, but how many qualities I would incorporate to accomplish the feat.

It’s not like taking one girl’s looks with another girl’s personality, but you can break it down into alarmingly specific traits. The face from the forehead down, and the forehead up on another (morning, post-sex hair can cause nightmares with otherwise attractive women).

Then you’d want to take the happy-personality of one and the pissed-off personality of another, but you’d want the right kind of humanitarianism for when you show her off.

This is the case for polygamy. Not that you’d want that many women at all times, but you can kind of pick which one you’re feeling at the time. Like shoes. I’m not saying I approve of this. I’m just saying their case is made. I disagree. But that’s what they’re saying, is all.

Hot stoneMy birthday recently passed and my girlfriend got me an awesome birthday present, and even though hers is a while away, it made me start thinking about what to get her.

I had a really difficult time with this, not because I don’t know her, but because I have no clue what girls – as in the three billion of them on Earth – actually like.

I was going through every possible birthday present idea, but they all came down to stuff that I would like and nothing that she would really gush over and would think was awesome. And since I’m ultra-competitive, my presents don’t have to be great, they just have to be better than any present she ever received from an ex.

But then I had an idea.

I started thinking of the exact opposite of what would be the ideal present for me. Once I started brain storming in the vein of, What would be the worst night imaginable for me, the ideas started rolling. It was fantastic. Now I can take her to a really pretentious restaurant that charges a ton of money for small portions of food that doesn’t involve either ‘chicken’ or ‘fingers.’ The other customers will all be pretentious douches who think that understanding a 300-strong wine list is a sign of intelligence, and then maybe I can have her get a back rub by a shirtless Scandinavian guy who will order her not to move so as to not throw off the chi being emitted by the stones balancing on her spine.

cave-paintingWhat is it with girls wanting to show me completely random pictures at a very early stage of a relationship? It doesn’t even need to be early in a relationship, this phenomenon has occurred to me after (or morning after) one-night stands on more than one occassion.

This regularity can’t be a coincidence because of how rarely I appear in a one-stand stand (the ultimate cameo, I suppose), so the odds of having a one-night stand coupled with the odds that I’d sleep with the specific number of girls intent on showing random photos is something like ten to the trillianth power.

But that’s not the point. My point is trying to figure out why I’ve been shown these completely random photographs of people and places that I don’t know, and really don’t have the slightest care to know.

I wonder if this goes back to caveman times. Like a caveman would take his club and bang some girl over the head with it. Then he’d drag the girl into a cave, they’d have crazy caveperson sex, then fall asleep for the night. I wonder if the next morning, the woman would be like, “C’mon, lemme show you my cave paintings. Please, take a look. I paint them all the time. Look, this is a painting of Jenny and Stacy, you don’t know them but don’t the paintings look good?”

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