Whether it was sharing a sundae at the malt shop or a moonlight drive up to lookout point, I was certain it was going to be fun. Instead of shoulder-robing a letterman jacket as the sun dipped over the Pacific, I was rattling through dates that never went on to a second, sipping on cocktails, smiling and nodding and listening to thirty and even forty-something men in well worn band t-shirts tell me all about their latest project. A screenplay, a short film, their directorial debut, it feels as though there isn’t a single person who doesn’t have something else going on as well as their job and it is exhausting. One time, I was forty-five minutes into a conversation before my date asked me what I did for a living.
Upon discovering I write books and not screenplays his emotional chain reaction was intense.
Anything more than two miles from your house is considered a long distance relationship.
Traffic is famously bad here and no one is prepared to spend two hours in rush hour on a ‘maybe’.
Unfortunately it’s a system that only really benefits rich dudes and women looking for a sugar daddy.
My feet had barely touched the ground before they began hurling eligible men my way; ‘Here’s Mark, he’s a set designer! No headshot, not even a passing interest in comedy – improvisational or otherwise – and a home library to rival my own.
I mean, obviously he’s not Chandler but he’s still pretty great.
When I first moved to California, I was given two pieces of advice: when it comes to online dating, never swipe right on someone with a professional headshot as their photo and never, even contemplate agreeing to a date with anyone who lists ‘improv’ as a pastime.
This was good advice and I would have been smart to listen to it. With a teenage reading list heavily weighted towards the Sweet Valley High oeuvre, I was excited to start dating in Southern California.
When it comes to dating with a car, you have to factor in alcohol intake and tricky by-the-neighborhood parking logistics.