In Conclusion/What I Learned

**If you're coming in late, click here to start at the very beginning - God bless and good luck**

If you’re reading this, you’re most likely aware that I once decided to go on thirty online dates in thirty days and (over)share my experiences with complete and total strangers. (And yes, you too, Mom.) The actual 30-day period took place in the fall of 2013. Why did it take me a full year to start writing about it? Let’s just say it was a rough and bumpy road to recovery. 

This brings me to the warning I should have placed at the beginning of this experiment. If you cherish your soul, do not try this in your own small-but-full-of-character studio apartment. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. Are there things I’d do differently? Probably not, because I don’t believe in learning from my mistakes. Are there things I should have done differently? Indubitably, but I try to avoiding admitting when I’m wrong, so we’ll go with…nope again. (Yes, I can play this game all day.)

Here is a brief, self-asked/answered Q&A to wrap this sucker up:

So wait, what happened with Tinder Oliver*?!

Remember that Tame Impala concert we were supposed to go to? We never made it because we ended up attempting to grab a “quick bite” before at Alma. That quick bite turned into an intimate** three-hour dinner followed by a scary movie back at TO’s place. Where there was a toothbrush. For me. Like, my own toothbrush. This was a big step up from the last time I had a toothbrush at a guy’s place (purchased/placed there by me) and he later texted, asking if I could come pick it up and remove it.  In short, I took this super-romantic dental implement as a sign that we were exclusive. (I think I was actually right this time.) 

Fast-forward four days to us at another dinner. TO tells me his parents are “quite curious” about me and then jumps into a big reveal about a super personal family situation. I decide that this is probably the appropriate time to come clean and tell him he was part of an experiment. Words cannot describe the awkwardness of this conversation. (Well, there are probably a few that could, but I’m pretty sure they’re medieval/or German.) I decide to start by telling him that my mom calls him “Tinder Oliver”, Tinder included.  When he shifts somewhat uncomfortably at that, I know we’re in for a more-than-slightly torturous tete-a-tete.

All things said (too many things, some might say) and done, he pretended to be okay with it, but I’m pretty sure he never was. Actually, I know he never was because in the midst of our nothing-if-not-memorable break-up, he used the phrase, “that’s not normal” in reference to this project. That came seconds after he told me his attraction to me had most likely been Oedipal in nature, so the brusque dismissal of a fairly transformative experience barely bruised my newly battered (and utterly grossed-out) sense of self.

This answers my next few questions:

1.     Are you still together? No. The first two months were magical/wonderful/easy/full of I love yous (him), meeting parents (us), and pick-ups from the local jail (me)(more on that [much] later in another, still-to-be-written post). At week eight, the relationship did a complete 180 and became confusing/weird/emotionally destructive. I apparently “ignored a lot of red flags” (another quote-pull from aforementioned break-up), and to be honest, when sh*t went south, I spent most of my time trying to figure out what I did wrong and who he wanted me to be, which wasn’t great for me, my sanity, or our relationship. (Or my writing, for that matter. Turns out, not everyone pens their best stuff at their darkest hours. There goes that heroin habit idea.) To sum it all up, we covered a lot of emotional ground very early on and internally combusted a few days before Christmas. Unfortunately, the super cute inside joke gifts I had purchased for him were non-refundable. Fortunately, the orchid I had purchased for his mother, as I was supposed to be attending their family holiday celebrations, was also non-refundable. That indulgently pricy blossom was a true f*cking beauty and looked amazing on my vintage desk for the next four months.

2.    Did you learn anything from this experience/or grow in any way(s)?

Yes! I’ll expand on this with a pros/cons list:

PROS of subjecting myself to this grueling gauntlet of Internet-initiated dates:

  • I no longer feel like a high-class hooker when I go to meet strangers in public places. Stare all you want, curious/judgy onlookers – zero shame over here.

  • I met some really nice dudes! Some I’m still friends with, some I still have inappropriate dreams about, and some were just lovely to cross paths with on this awkward journey we call life.

  • I learned that 8/8:30 is an age-appropriate dinner time in this city. No more 9:30/10. Unless you want people to think you’re 24. The whole, I’m-just-trying-to-fit-more-of-my-own-single-life-into-my-day-before-squeezing-in-this-date-with-you thing is not an explanation that makes guys want to marry you. (Sorry, Mom, I will try to be less comfortable/happy all by myself.)

  • I ended up with a boyfriend! Now the world can stop asking me how on earth I’ve never had a bf and stick to asking me how on earth I’m still single.

  • I learned that there are a lot of really nice guys out there on the Internet/in life in general. Could I have learned that without this experiment? Sure, probably. Would’ve I? Probably not. There are many, many, many creepers and douchebags to sort through in order to find the nice guys. My notably low tolerance for all things shudder-inducing would have led me to abandon all apps at the first DTMO***. I spent probably somewhere between four to eight hours a day swiping and scrolling to excavate a, for the most part, pleasant lot of manner-minded men. You can’t really do that if you have a real job, but that shouldn’t rule out anyone still reading this.

  • I got gifts! Spotify playlists, restaurant recommendations, P-90x .mov files…I may have lost a small chunk of my soul, but I gained many, many life enhancers.

  • I learned a lot about myself. One of my favorite realizations was that I definitely have a first date sales pitch. And, boy, do I have that sucker down. Now if only I could live up to those buzzwords.

  • Forcing yourself to go on dates can actually be a really great thing. The problem with being totally okay with yourself/by yourself is that it makes it really easy to be lazy and not put yourself in potentially uncomfortable situations. Even the worst dates I went on had lasting merits. Read: Blog fodder.

  • I talked to so many strange men! For me and for many of my friends, years and years of being creeped on by skeezoids have resulted in a reluctance to acknowledge any approach by strangers of the opposite sex. Online dating takes the pressure off and gives us back a little control – if the initial convo gets weird, we can get out at anytime without explanation, abuse, and/or apology. Not to mention that handy little block button.

  • I learned that a third-night stand in Manhattan Beach will always be a little disappointing. This may sound like a negative, but I think it’s something every girl should learn at some point in her life.

THE LESS FANTASTIC THINGS:

  • It’s exhausting. I’m probably stating the obvious here, but a date a day is a lot. Even if you’re mildly employed. Mostly because I apparently get schmammered on all of my dates. Remember that part earlier where I said I’m not 24 anymore? Social drinking now requires a very reclusive recovery – a recovery that lasts longer than twenty-four hours and isn’t solved by a Bloody Mary brunch. Jumping right into dating a self-proclaimed functional alcoholic didn’t really help the whole cringing-liver/loss-of-brain-function situation either.

  • It eats up a lot of time. Please see PROS: #5. I stopped talking to almost all of my friends during these thirty days. Which made drumming up hilarious screenshots/content later much harder than it should have been. How did I not fwd that spectacularly creepy Tinder convo to anyone?! Oh, because I was too busy nestling up in fetal position/attempting to pick up strange dudes from the comfort of my bed. My bad.

  • It is a little weird. TO’s break-up declaration wasn’t wrong. I’m overly honest and have a totally monogamous nature – to the point where I generally have trouble dating more than two guys in the same month, let alone eighteen. I found myself white-lying about my evening activities on more than one occasion and feeling not wonderful about it. On this note, the temptation to create a fake life story is definitely strong when it comes to online dating. When you have zero connection to a person, what kind of obligation do you have to keep things honest? Isn’t it much easier to tell them you’re going spear-fishing in the Cayman Islands for a week than to be like, sorry I’m going to be having liquor-fueled heart-to-hearts with nine other men in the next seven days, so I’m going to have to ask for a rain-check on this date situation. Even if you’re a grown-up and can say that to a guy (I’m not/can’t), who’s to say he’s going to act like a grown-up and take it in stride. (I like to underestimate all of the men I date, because I hear lower expectations lead to higher highs.)

  • You don’t know anything about these people. If you can construct a new personality, so can they – and I don’t necessarily mean in a malicious way. Everyone wants to present their best (read: ideal) self, but sometimes it would be helpful to have a little bit of that friend-of-a-friend background intel.

I’m sure this list could go on for days, but I’ll leave it right here because the pros greatly outweigh the cons, and I think that’s a fairly accurate assessment. I’m glad I did it. I absolutely recommend a less manic version – unless you’re a totally manic person, in which case, please, follow in my delicate, generally pointy-toed, shoe steps.

3.    Damn it. I always forget to have a third.

(For a mini little site-specific recap, click here.)

 *Not his real name
**I hate the phrase ‘intimate dinner’, but this one really was that cheesy/lovely/may as well have been the cover shot for Montecito Magazine.
***Those of you who know me might be like, “But wait, I thought making out was one of your favorite hobbies?” It is. Only I prefer mine to be with a stranger I just met in the very real corner of a very dirty bar I’m so embarrassed to be at I won’t even bother pocketing a matchbook.

Trust Your Instincts

About halfway through the experiment, I began to fear I would never lock down an actual eHarmony date. Even with the experiment’s rules locked firmly in place, I wasn’t even remotely attracted to a single earnest soul. Too pale, too old, too cheesy, too short, too far away. Where were all the easy-going, adventuresome guys next door??

I decided it might possibly be more fruitful in terms of narrative to stop hoping for Mr. Right and start searching for Mr. Very Very Wrong. I didn't have to look very far.

Read More

Date 30: Tinder Oliver

This is a modern dating experiment. One girl. Five dating sites. Hundreds of chats. Thirty days. Thirty dates. Eighteen guys. (?) boyfriend. To start at the beginning, clickhere -- or jump right in at date thirty below.

Date 30/30: Tinder Oliver* (!!!)

Tinder Oliver invites me out to an Oktoberfest celebration in Newport with his friends for the afternoon, but my group is having a pumpkin-carving shindig in Laurel Canyon.

TO's name has come up in girl gossip seshes along the way, but today it begins its trickling descent to the full crew.

Crew: Corliss - you got a guy?? (Laughter. Heyyyyys.) 
Me: (Shoulder shrug) Maybe. I don't know...you know. It's just like, fun. He's, like, really kind. Whatever. We shall seeee. Besides, I'm probably, like, not even going to see him until, like, Wednesday.

(TO and I already have a date on the books to see Tame Impala play downtown that night. Because nothing that has happened so far has been anything we can control?)

...

TO: Come downtown for dinner tonight.

...

Or tonight. Ok, so technically I was supposed to go on another Match date tonight and teeecchhnically I'm not supposed to break any of my dates unless there's a really, really, really good reason - but dinner with TO counts, right? (My conscience shrugs impotently in fine-sure-whatever-you-say agreement.)

TO's buddy Morgan joins in for dinner as well, and we all gather at Tinder Oliver's around 7. I arrive last and walk into a bit of pre-din drama. Apparently, the boys originally met through TO's ex. Apparently, Morgan had invited TO's ex to dinner, not knowing TO had invited me. Apparently, TO's ex was not stoked on the situation. Specifically, me.

Awkward. Especially considering I was previously unaware of her existence? Like, three minutes ago previous.

Me: She should come.

It's halting. But it's genuine.

TO: Eh, I don't think that's a good idea. I know you'd be fine; I just don't know about her. Give me one second - I should just go handle this real quick. I'm sorry.

TO takes the phone into the other room, leaving Morgan and I to chat it out.

Morgan: You're handling this well.

I sort of feel like this whole situation should faze me more than it does. Unfortunately, I was never really blessed with the jealousy gene. Also, I'm still friends(ish) with basically everyone I've ever dated**. (Just friends(ish).) Can't fit a lot of judgment in this tiny room!

A few minutes later, TO returns to the kitchen, and we head out to Izakaya for a delightful little dinner full of so much proper etiquette.

[Sidebar: Once upon a time, I held my fork with a firmly clenched fist. My parents told me to eat like a lady. I told them I didn't want to be a lady. They enrolled me in etiquette classes. Always the consummate brown-noser where strangers were concerned, I quickly acquired delicate handholds, proper posture, and an affinity for all things Emily Post. Forever. Great for my parents; less great for my dating life. Calling all Patrick Batemans - quick snare in aisle three! Thankfully, TO seems to supplement his decorum with sanity. Yay, growing up!]

Mid-meal, Morgan brings up a woman from Tinder Oliver's past. TO seems less than thrilled to follow him down that road. There's a moment of befuddling silence. Turns out, several years back, TO shacked up with a married woman and her kids for a solid length of time. (I'm assuming that marital status had a few qualifiers.) He hadn't planned on sharing that little nugget with me this early on. So many reveals, all in one night! Again, I'm sort of feeling like this whole situation should faze me more than it does. Mistakes. Learning. Moving forward?

After dinner, we move forward back at his place.

...not that far forward. Just, like, I get to wear his softest t-shirt.

TO: It's been awhile since I've been with a new partner.

I hate the word partner.

...
...
...

Holy sh*t, THE THIRTY DATES ARE OVER.

The next morning, I wake up completely and totally unsure of how I feel about everything. Now that the experiment's over, reality's starting to sink in. This is real. Like, real real. Shudder. Gulp. Shudder. I also wake up to text messages from a few of this experiment's loose ends. I guess I have some tying up to do this week...

*not his real name
**And by dated I mean, went to dinner with one to six times (and you know, like, planned our future weddings/named our future children and all that stuff)

Date 29: Tinder Oliver

TO:

M'lady,

Dinner is at Lawry's on La Cienega at 9pm. It's at Lawry's (which might seem an odd choice) bc my out-of-town college friend wanted to go there.

I'm going to head toward Beverly Hills around 8pm. I hope this does not come off as either presumptuous or an imposition as regards where I will lay my head this evening, but I thought I'd park my car at or near to your place and we could take a taxi or Uber from there to the restaurant. I'm anticipating enough martinis and wine to make driving a dumb idea.

Here is some weird music: http://bit.ly/1f1oZhZy

Let me know if the above plan sounds ok and I will see you soon.

Me: The above plan does not sound ok. Please revise and advise.

...just kidding. But I'm seriously considering upping my maintenance level for my next experiment. Not that my sanity (or my liver) could survive another one of these suckers.

Dinner with TO's college friends! Excellent impression, here I come. He warns of potentially bland, law-centric conversation and invites me to bring along a friend for reasons of comfort. One of my most entertaining cohorts signs on for the gig, but comes down with the plague the morning of. At this point, I'm pretty sure TO thinks I have no friends. I've met so many of his and he's met...zero...of mine. I'm really active on Instagram? (I am. You should totally follow me here.)

We stroll over to Lawry's and join his friends in the entry. I am immediately overwhelmed. They have all known each other for years and their group seems to be pretty insular, with no one reaching out to include me in convo. Never stopped me before! Heeded or not, I toss my two cents in wherever I see a slot, determined to win 'em over. Conversation picks up over prime rib (them) and fish (me), when I discover the chick seated to my left is hilarious. Fantastic. We have some laughs, take a few photos, and head across the street to Bazaar at SLS to get properly trollied.

A few hours later, Tinder Oliver and I are back at my apartment. I decide to play one of my favorite drinking games: Self-sabotage.

TO is looking a little confused at my lack of, um...protective devices, so to speak. I steal a trick from improv and jump right from A to C.

Me: I just, I don't know, I haven't, like, slept with that many guys.
TO: I haven't slept with that many girls.

Excellent yes and. I press on, determined to make it weird.

Me: This is the point where I usually bail out.

What are you even talking about? Please stop. Please stop now. Thankfully, TO seems to be equally over-intoxicated and counters with a few sweet nothings that fade into sleep zone.

The next morning, we awake to multiple phone calls from one of my nearest and dearest. By the fourth call, I decide it's probably an emergency and he's probably dying, so I answer. It's not. He's not. He wants to have a boozy brunch.

Me: I hate you for waking me up. I thought you were dying.
N&D: You love me. Are you coming? Come now. We're hungry.
Me: Maybe. Hold on. (to TO) Do you want to go to brunch?
N&D: Are you with someone?
Me: Maybe.
N&D: (laughing) You slut. Tinder Oliver?

I'm really happy he throws out the correct name, as my BlackBerry is decently close to TO's ear.

Tinder Oliver agrees to come for a quick bite, but says he must run home to a full day of work after that.

Seven hours later, we've migrated from Pearl's to Rock and Reilly's to Cabo Cantina. Happy Saturday, Sunset. I had been slightly afraid he might think my friends were a little too crazy, due to a couple party-happy out-of-towners, and that my friends might think he was a little too boring, due to his seemingly serious nature. Thankfully, everyone seems to love each other. Er, everyone actually says they love each other.

When Tinder Oliver steps out for a moment, I turn to my friends:

Me: (totally tipsy) Do you like him?
N&D: (smiles up at TO, who, unbeknownst to me, had just returned from the washroom and was standing directly behind my right shoulder) We love him.

Not embarrassing at all.

We have a rollicking good time/plan future double dates/etc etc. TO and I part ways with the group around 7p to get me home and changed for a costume party. As he helps me into 137 hook-and-eye closures, I start to think that it might be sort of really nice (and useful!) to have him around on a more regular basis.

...

RULE #1: YOU MUST BE COMPLETELY OPEN TO THE PROCESS - INCLUDING THE IDEA THAT IT MIGHT ACTUALLY LEAD TO A RELATIONSHIP

...

So many deep breaths.

*not his real name

Date 26: Tinder Oliver

TO: I'm leaning against doing that party in Bel Air today, but would still love to see you tonight if you're game. I may get a few folks together for dinner and drinks down here.

Me: Ok cool. I'm game ☺

TO: Great. I will figure out plans. Aim roughly for like a 730 arrival if that works.

Totally works. Dates one, two, three, & four with TO were all spectacular successes full of fun slash conversation. At this point, normal me would have stopped dating anyone else because I like to tote all my eggs around in the same (questionably crafted) basket. But, thanks to the rules of this experiment, I have remained busy/slightly unavailable/dating other people, all of which I think has played well in terms of that whole 'keepin' 'em wanting more' thing I've heard so much about. Date five here we come!

Tinder Oliver and I have a glass of wine at his place before heading over to meet his friend Morgan* at Honda-Ya. Honda-Ya is a yummy sushi place inside what appears, at first glance, to be a deserted mall, straight out of a horror movie. What that first glance belies is the adult child's wonderland that awaits upstairs. Bowling, arcades, bars, sushi, and karaoke all under the same roof?! Be still my pre-pubescent heart.

Morgan's running a little late, so TO and I settle in at the bar next door to wait. I'm definitely going to need a solid cleanse after this experiment. Stick with me, liver!! It'll all be over soon.

TO delves a little deeper into family stuff, and it sounds like he and his sister have a super cute relationship, which I think is always a good sign. I choose to forego earnestness in favor of self-deprecation, tossing out a couple zingers that revolve around my awkwardly broad shoulders and incessant need for attention. He promptly dismisses both, stressing my femininity amongst other excessively redeemable traits. It sounds like he's got me on a standard-sized pedestal, which is always a great sign?

Eventually, Morgan arrives. He's a total sweetheart. Apparently a recent ex of his is not. Apparently everyone hates her because she totally f*cked him over slash was dating other guys while they were together. A Friday night flashback hits with the force of a mid-size vehicle. TO and I obviously aren't at the whole relationship point yet, but this conversation is still making me a little uncomfortable.

I feel even more uncomfortable a few hours later.

Back at his place... after telling me he's never made out with someone like this/or this much -- or at least not in, like, five to ten years (big range, much?) -- he finally goes in for the proverbial home run. Unfortunately (or fortunately, for my feelings of post-Friday whoreishness) things don't exactly... work out.

TO: I think I'm still a little nervous around you.

Having spent 29 years of my life trying to get guys to not have sex with me, I'm not entirely certain what I'm supposed to do/or say here.

I go with over-honesty.

Me: Ha. I'm usually the nervous one.

...

Really, Stacie? Just let him have this one.

When I wake the next morning, we're on opposite sides of the bed, and I immediately feel kind of weird slash sort of abandoned. I tiptoe out to grab some water, and find him in the middle of the bed upon my return. Cue: Several hour cuddle sesh. (All feelings of abandonment are immediately vanquished.)

TO: Ugh. I have to get up. It's 11 a.m.
Me: Noooo.

He goes out to the kitchen. I lag behind. He returns five minutes later.

TO: It's not quite 11 yet.

We return to super snuggly dreamland. The [late] morning [eventually] proceeds with breakfast -- this time around, he has black tea in his cupboards, presumably purchased with me in mind. Twinge. Ache. Swoon

TO: I'm requesting you on Facebook and Twitter, so I can see if you post anything new on your blog.

So many steps!!

TO: I gave your blog a read over the weekend. You're a great writer -- your personality really comes through, as does your funny.

Looks like someone's learned the way to my validation-hungry little heart.

...

We go ahead and put a date six on the books. I just, uh, have to make it through two other dates with two other men first. Is this experiment over yet?**

*Not his real name
**I asked, for the five millionth time.

Date 24: Tinder Oliver

Monday:
TO: Party above Sunset Plaza on Thurs?

Sure! Why not. This will be date four with Tinder Oliver. Date one was an hours-long cocktail sesh at Chateau Marmont, date two an Arctic Monkeys concert at the Wiltern, and our third date consisted of dinner and a haunted house. Rollicking good times all around.

After receiving the above text, I go ahead and cancel Friday morning's activities, just in case of a sleepover. Because I'm classy like that. (And a planner! But, like, you know, totally spontaneous, too.)

Thursday afternoon, I realize I'm a bit overdue for a visit to Anya, my favorite wax-wielding Russian. Half-a$$ed home sesh it is! Because the only thing better than paying someone else to strip each and every hair from your lady parts is conducting the massacre yourself. HOW DID THIS EVER BECOME A THING.

I thankfully survive the procedure/recover in time for TO to swoop me up at 9. The house the party is at is gorgeous and the people are friendly - we run into a couple of our mutual friends, which I find delightful/nerve-easing. I also find that I really enjoy being in this new, sort of burgeoning couple stage - I have never felt so adored. Except possibly at a gay circuit party, but that's a whole 'nother ballet.

When we're chatting up the party's host, he inquires about TO's recent trip to Asia.

Host: After experiencing all that, are you content to settle back here in LA?

TO starts to say he has considered moving to Asia full-time, but backtracks, glancing sideways at me. Hey - you do you. It's probably best not to start planning out our future life together at date four. But also...duly noted, sir. Duly noted.

We continue our meander through the festivities, chatting, checking out views etc before settling in with the crowd out on the patio.

Random Friend: So how long have you guys been together?

TO and I smile at each other, his hand on my waist.

TO: Uhhh four dates?

I nod, shyly, in confirmation.

RF: Oh wow - that's it? It seems like you've been together for a while.

TO: They were really long dates.

Me: We logged a lot of hours.

We then proceed to elaborate on each individual date, at RF's request.

RF: So whose turn is it to plan the next one?

Everyone looks at me, expectantly. I pretend to look over my shoulder, spinning (innocently) in a circle as if searching for someone on whom to pin this responsibility. Everyone laughs.

We are so annoying.

Around midnight, we've exhausted all hors d'oeuvres and my stomach is still grumbling. (If left to my own devices, I tend to forget things like dinner.) We cut out early and hustle over to Dan Tana's for some late night carbo-loading. Once again, the conversation takes a turn for the deep 'n' personal. I can feel myself trusting TO more now, revealing snippets generally reserved for the nearest and dearest. How unnerving.

Post-dins, TO drives us back to my place, pulling over on the street as if to park. We start to make out in the car...as if teenagers. Do I ask him if he wants to come in? Do people actually say that? And if so, how exactly do they say that without sounding like they're in a completely predictable rom-com? He starts to get a little handsy. Welp. Here goes nothing.

I pull back, looking up at him, channeling my best Julia Roberts. (I probably land more on...not Julia Roberts.)

Me: Dooo you want to come in?

...

Bye, dignity.

I hold the coquettish thing for almost a third of a second before I start snickering in a decidedly un-provocative way. So the delivery could use a little work.

...

Turns out, he does want to come in. (Shocking, I know.) His first time in my apartment! So revealing. My space is pretty much a direct reflection of my gypsy soul, so I always feel a little exposed when newbies enter. He seems to appreciate every last detail, grazing his fingers over every last tchotchke.

TO: Ah, it's all coming together now.

I shall choose to take that as a good thing.

...

I'm pretty sure it was.**

THE NEXT DAY: 

TO: Are you doing anything tonight that you can't blow off to come hang w me eastside?

UGH. As delightful as that sounds, I'm pretty sure I have a third night stand waiting for me in Manhattan Beach.  My stubbornly monogamist heart is feeling a a little twinge-y, but I remind myself that we have only been on four dates, and nothing is anywhere near official yet. I uh, sort of have a tendency to jump into things head first - much better to take things slow! This is so good for me? 

...

...

...

*Not his real name.
**Not like that, Mom, sheesh.

Date 23: JDate Jeffrey

JDate Jeffrey: Hey, it's Jeffrey. I made an 845 reservation at Eveleigh. Does that work for you? Also, happy to pick you up, unless you'd prefer to meet there...

Me: Hey! 8:45 is perfect. I might meet you there bc I'll be coming from a work thing. Also because I think you might be an axe murderer.

JDJ: Fair enough. But I can assure you that I'm not an ax murderer. The blood gets everywhere - it's just a mess. I prefer hiring someone to do my dirty work (I'm Jewish)

Me: Thank God. I don't care how I go, so long as the scene is spotless.

MY FIRST JDATE! When I first signed up for that bastion of #truejews, I expected my inbox to be inundated with messages from its millions of John Krasinskis**. Hundreds of John Krasinskis? Ten? One. Can I just get one.

What I did get were a lot of "flirts" from the 5'4" population.

...

Is that even a real height? And how are there so many of you? And why do all of you want to date a 5'11" chick who's not even a member of the tribe? (...yet. I have been informed by many a Jewish friend that I am most welcome in their circle. Ahem.)

Clocking in at 6'1", JDJ is a good-looking guy with a seemingly decent to above par personality. We realize pretty quickly we've already started a chat on Tinder as well.

JDJ: I guess neither of us thinks the other is attractive or intriguing at all.

Me: Pretty sure that Tinder nod was a drunk swipe. Here...let's just say the competition's not exactly fierce.

(Half true.)

We decide to share a meal. I'm excited to be going on another first date - let's get some new blood in here!

I arrive late to Eveleigh, coming in hot from my work event.

Me: I'm so sorry! My gay bestie needed a ride home from the event and he's quite possibly the slowest moving human ever invented.

JDJ: Don't worry about it; you're fine. You should have brought him with you!

Smart. If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my gays -- er, perhaps not with exactly...

We chat about a lot of things. Mostly my things, as that's where he keeps steering the convo. Smooth. He starts to inquire about my work projects, but changes his mind, saying he'd rather hear about my blog and my comedy writing, since it sounds like that's where my passion lies. Straight to the passion. Super smooth.

Born in LA, JDJ loves his family, loves his job, loves his life...who knew there were so many well-adjusted men nestled in the bosom of this city?

We close the place down and debate, but decide against, seeking out another bar.

JDJ: We should continue this somewhere else later in the week.

Me: Yeah, that'd be fun!

He walks me to my car and we hug it out goodbye.

...

JDJ: Home safely?

Me: Safe and sound ☺

JDJ: Good.

Me: Haha I trust you're home safe as well?

JDJ: Nope. Drunk driving accident. In the drunk tank - with my cell. Bail me out tomorrow and we can continue? ☺

Me: Sorry, I think you have the wrong number?

...

Super excited to break out my shiksa necklace for date 2. In a totally creepy I-plan-on-marrying-you kind of way.

*not his real name
**I also thought, at the time, that John Krasinski was Jewish. I have since been informed he is not. Awkward. (I still love you, JK. Forever.)

Date 22: eHarmony Andrew

eHA: Hey there - I'm sorting out my week; are you free for dinner? Tonight, possibly, or toward the end of the week are best for me. Check out Jake Bugg if you need to stave off a case of the Mondays.

Tonight sounds spectacular. Jake Bugg works his magic on my maudlin Monday, crooning me into a contented state for my third date with eHarmony Andrew. (Our first was a marathon chatfest at Frolic Room and the second an ultramarathon chatfest over football and a Malibu drive.) eHA picks me up at 8:30, and we head over to The Little Door for a delightful dinner. He's loosened up a bit since last time, which makes me a little more comfortable as well.

I know exactly what I'm going to order -- shaved Brussels sprout salad and scallops, please and thank you. eHA is less decisive, and asks our server to select his courses for him. So trusting. I feel like there's a metaphor in here somewhere.

Conversation flows easily, as it has from our very first date. There is something quite comforting about having so much in common with a person. And he's such a solid, grounded guy, with an obviously genuine heart. In between courses he beckons for my hands, holding them across the table. Oh God. So sweet. So romantical. So...awkward. Feelin' a little PDA-y over here. (My apologies to the couple seated approximately 3 inches away from us.)

...

Back at my place, he walks me to my door where we have the customary date denouement chat. Pause. His hand goes for my hip as his face goes in for the kiss. It's been quite interesting to see each guy's go-to technique.

Brief pause. He goes back in for round two, "I've been wanting to do this for about three dates now, so I'm just going to keep it going a bit longer." Oh man. So earnest.

When I finally turn to walk inside, he grabs the door before it can close behind me and draws me in for a good ol' third time's the charm. Ho-kay.

And then he self-consciously comments on the door handle.

How is this attractive, successful, gentleman of a man so nervous right now? And why do I find it more wearying than endearing??

...

Because I'm usually the nervous one? Because I'm usually the one saying dumb things with absolutely zero pertinence to the events at hand? Because I am usually [read: always] so mortified afterward?

Nothing like seeing one of your least favorite personal traits reflected in a suitor to bring out your worst emotional reaction!

Regardless, it was quite a lovely evening, and I could definitely get used to being treated so gently.

...

I think?

*not his real name

Date 20: Tinder Oliver

3rd date with Tinder Oliver! Our first was a (few) lovely round(s) of drinks at Chateau and the second an Arctic Monkeys concert at the Wiltern. That was almost two weeks ago. We attempted to calendar a dinner in the middle, but our schedules refused to match up. Distance slash enchantment? Here's hoping.

This third date was to involve both dinner and a haunted house.

TO: Before the day gets away from me, am thinking we will do dinner downtown tmrw if that works. I have a hodgepodge of friends going to the spookhouse who may also join beforehand to eat.

Excellent thought.

I meet TO at his place downtown and we walk to meet his crew at the newly opened Peking Tavern. Dinner is delish, friends are welcoming, drinks are plentiful. Enchantment indeed.

We Uber over to Echo Park for the "spookhouse," but find we have about 20 minutes to kill. We also find that they don't serve liquor at their "bar." None of us are trying to remember our death by fright, so we hit up a Mexican restaurant down the street for tequila shots. And then we hit up the liquor store next door for portable flasks of vodka, because apparently none of us are trying to remember anything. I, personally, am attempting to self-medicate my severe case of nerves slash social anxiety. Third date. Meeting friends. Trying too hard to be cool. You know, the usual.

The haunted house is tons of fun. It's wonderful to have a hand to hold through the dark, winding hallways and someone to laugh at me when I get dragged up onstage to the guillotine. Look how good I am at couple-y things!!

Post scare-fest, TO and I separate from the group to get some late night grub. Lord knows my over-intoxicated liver could stand to see a few nutrients float by. We have another one of our slightly too deep and one hundred percent too personal chats over food I probably couldn't taste at Pacific Dining Car before stealing the rose from our table and heading back to TO's for a decently PG sleepover. (You're welcome, Mom.) Notably, the first sleepover of this experiment -- though, possibly only notable to my super classy guy friends who can't believe that I've, "like, gotten, like, twenty different dudes to take [me] out and, like, pay for sh*t without putting out. What a bunch of suckers." Like I said, supes classy. And it's only been 13 different guys thus far. Ahem.

One home-cooked breakfast, a mini Ryan Adams tutorial, and an awkwardly lengthy parking lot makeout sesh (sorry, parking attendants) later, I'm heading home -- secretly super happy I haven't heard back from Tinder Lucas about our possible second date tonight.

TO: You left a sweater here lovely. Just so you aren't worried you lost it. Will bring it next time I see you.

Love next times.

*not his real name

Date 11: Match Nathan

My second date with Match Nathan. Our first was a meh dinner/drinks session, but thanks to my pesky rules, I had no choice but to say yes to tonight - dinner at Baco Mercat followed by a one-man show at Mark Taper Forum. 

A pre-date Gchat from me to one of my closest friends:

“Match Nathan is picking me up in an hour. I’m worried I’m going to seem unexcited/jerkish - especially given how nice he is. I can feel myself doing the thing where I get bratty and over someone, so I’m sort of thinking I might make myself a little pre-date cocktail to tone down my inner a-hole haha. ”

F. I'm out of vodka. 60 minutes to make a liquor run, consume said liquor, and get myself gussied up for this date. Absolutely necessarily in that order. 

Match Nathan had both texted and emailed his excitement earlier that day. Multiple times. I replied to the first two, but found I was short on deep breaths for the rest of them. It's not totally his fault - my anxiety is at an all-time high trying to juggle the whole scheduling multiple dates a day thing, and slogging my way through 18,000 cheese-laden conversations with virtual strangers every hour. And I'm PMS-ing. 

Be nice. Just be nice. Just be f*cking nice.

He's late. Not only is he late, but he fails to give any updates until this text message: 

MN: Downstairs in 1 min...

Is that an order? I slowly lace up my shoes, freshen up my lipgloss, grab my bag, and head toward the door. He calls. I give my phone the death stare down before answering. "Hi, I'll be right out." I exit the building to find him frantically plodding toward me. "We're going to be late. I couldn't figure out what was taking you so long." 

...

This is not going to go well.

On our previous date, when discussing downtown, I explained that as much as I love certain aspects of that part of the city, I find it confusing to navigate. So the first thing he asks me to do on this date...is navigate. That better be some extra dry humor. The second thing he asks me to do on this date is to use my "fancy phone" to let Baco Mercat know we're running late. 

This was a terrible idea.

The third thing he asks me to do on this date is to explain why I didn't reply to his "funny GIF". Because it wasn't "funny"? I focus all my attention on the scenery. Self-meditation is a thing, right? 

At the restaurant, MN takes it upon himself to order for me -- without taking it upon himself to ask me what I'd like first. I take it upon myself to call our server back over and revise said order, adding another Tito's soda to the tab while I'm at it. Dinner is a rushed affair, aside from a five minute disagreement between MN and our server over the correct pronunciation of 'feta'. I watch in fascination, unable to eat, all the while wishing I had made this cocktail a double. 

Post-dins, we scurry over to Mark Taper, get our hands on a couple drinks and a container of gummy bears at the cart outside -- er, I get one hand on mine, as MN yanks the other toward the theater's doors. As we reach the entrance, we run smack into a very dear friend of his. Of course. Hi, sir. Lovely to meet you. No, this is not what you think. No need to remember my name. Can we go inside now, please.

With barely a word, I run to the ladies' room. All attempts at breathing into a paper towel are futile. It was worth a shot. MN is hopping impatiently - but an enamored impatience! - on his toes upon my return.

We walk toward the front. He does have lovely seats.

MN: Oh nice - we have the whole row to ourselves.

Um. For what, exactly? And if we have so much room, why are you leaning your very broad self halfway into my seat?

MN: Make sure you turn your phone off.

Thank you. Am I a child?

The show - Humor Abuse - is delightful. My left obliques get a stellar workout, thanks to my aggressive lean-out. (Sorry, Sheryl Sandberg.) Regardless, I have never been so happy to see a curtain close in my life. Thank God. Now let's get out of this freezing cold, into your car, and back to Beverly Hills.

MN: I want to go check out this fountain over here.

I can sort of understand how he is unable to read the emotions undoubtedly plastered across my face - but this shiver is not subtle. There's not so much of a want as there is a need where your jacket is concerned, but that's cool - don't even offer. Let's check out this stupid fountain that looks like every other stupid fountain that was ever invented. And then let's get lost on the way back to your car because you decide to "try a new way". And you should probably yell at the parking attendant while you're at it, too. Because this is all his fault.  

Now, there are a lot of ways this night could end. 

...

What? No. No. There is only one way this night can end. As soon as possible and with me alone in my own bed.

What's that? That's not how it ends?

MN: Want to go grab a drink?

I take full responsibility for this part. I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I had already revealed that my tomorrow was empty. What's my excuse? I'm having a terrible time, despite the fact that you're a nice guy who planned what should have been a delightful evening? I can't say that. So instead, I say yes. Yes, I would love to continue on this four and a half hour (so far) nightmare of a ride. 

He points us toward The Varnish, taking the scenic route down Skid Row, because he's sure a girl like me hasn't seen a thing like that. 

This is so romantic.

I love The Varnish. It is so hard for me to have a terrible time at The Varnish. Let's just say, my plan to stick to one drink goes right out the window when I realize he's settling in for the long haul. I kick back three immediately. Maybe if I get alcohol poisoning, I can finally go home?

At one point, he asks me to tell him about some of my most awkward dates.

I decide it best not to lead with the one we're currently on.

When we finally leave, I do a veritable sprint to the car. He catches up, jogging over to my side of the vehicle. I think he's opening my door; he thinks he's going in for a kiss.

It's not a stellar combination.

MN: I'm sorry. I -

Me: No, it's totally fine. I uh - 

I turn, open the door, and strap myself in.

There is complete silence and zero eye contact for the entire drive home.

...

But he really is such a nice guy?

*Not his real name

Date 8: OkCupid Taylor

Today is the day of my second date with OkCupid Taylor. It is also the day of my second date with Tinder Oliver*. It is also my third double-header of dates in a row. Something tells me I will be sleeping very hard tonight.

Tinder Taylor: Hey Stacie - how does 7 sound for tonight?

F. Tinder Taylor. How did I forget to put him in my calendar? This multiple dates a day thing is just too damn confusing.

Not wanting him to think I'm a flaky jerk, and somehow feeling like the truth won't really play out in my favor, I decide to blame my rain check request on family.

Me: Hi! Omg I'm so sorry. I ended up having to go up to SB for some family stuff. Sort of a long story. Can we do something this week instead?

A long story I have yet to invent. Being that I'm a terrible liar, I make a mental note to come up with something plausible many hours in advance of our eventual date -- and guiltily beseech Karma to be kind.

OkCupid Taylor's and my first date was a decently entertaining - though somewhat friendzone-y - dinner at Sugarfish. Today's activity is the LA County Fair. My inner six-year-old is beyond excited.

We're set to meet at the fairgrounds around noon, as we're coming from opposite directions. He lives in Sunset Beach, a logistical fact that stamps this dalliance with an inky expiration date, but alas, dally we shall.

I hit horrific traffic en route.

Me: I really underestimated this whole traffic situation. In the parking line thing.

I click to send, realizing with horror that the text is on its way to Tinder Taylor. I am officially the worst.

Me: Oops sorry. You're not my mother.

TT: Hah I was very confused!

Me: Haha this damn touchscreen is so sensitive.

TT: Ha true. Say hi to mom.

...Ha. Lies multiplied and crisis averted, I turn my attention to the date at hand. I'm slightly hungover and weirdly nervous -- not the most charming of combinations. Where's a Bloody Mary when you need one? Ahh glory be. There is a mini bottle of wine in the gift bag I stashed in my car after an event earlier in the week. Hello, small children in pigtails and Dora the Explorer backpacks, pay no attention to the drunkard kicking back a cabernet in the backseat of her car. Just keeping things classy over here.

OkC T and I are both a bit quiet and awkward at first -- on my end, it's mostly because I'm trying really hard not to breathe my mid-day alcoholism into his face -- but the day gradually transitions into one huge carnival of cute. We hold hands on the alarmingly squeaky ride, he wins me a giant stuffed Nemo, we split the trio of fried foods, I get hit on by the old man pirate character and sexually violated by a boa constrictor.

Once we've officially won at every adult event, we sneak into the kids' arts and crafts section to design and assemble cardboard robots, earning the adoration of the elderly volunteers. Our creations even have special little sound effect: A high-pitched "Eeee!" for my wide-eyed girl and a robotic "Mmmmrobot" for OkC T's accordion-armed boy. Living life one rom-com at a time.

I have to speed things along at the end to get back in time to meet Tinder Oliver for our date that evening, but I think we accomplished what we came for. OkCupid Taylor walks me to my car, and once again we stand there awkwardly close and silent-ish at the end of our date. Is he just never going to kiss me? I lean forward for a delicate little liplock. A goofy grin spreads across his face. Oh man, is this what it would have been like to date as a teenager? (I was too busy brown-nosing and, like, being involved, to find out for myself.)

We part ways and I speed home to change, nap, and repeat before the evening's Arctic Monkeys concert with Tinder Oliver.

*Not his real name