Posts Tagged ‘numbers’
AMBIGUOUS JOB GUY: What do you do for a living?
We’ve all done it, fantasized up a real job behind a guy who we inherently knew had a fake job, or even worse, no job. Perhaps it was his big brown eyes that made us want to believe that he was really a “Record Producer”. Perhaps it was his eloquent speech that made us want to believe he was a “Neurosurgeon”. However, it was definitely the holes in his story, shoes, and jacket that led you to believe that he was telling lies and not just simple lies, gargantuan, designer, Dolce & Gabana lies. Yes, big fat Natalie Portman, Academy Award winning lies. As the saying goes, go big or go home!
The funny thing about Ambiguous Job Guy in Los Angeles is that he’s usually detectable by key words like, “actor,” “entrepreneur,” and my personal favorite, “Real Estate.” Immediately abort any form of conversation with a man who says that he “does real estate.” To be clear, one doesn’t actually “do” real estate. One usually sells real estate, buys it or flips it, but NEVER does anyone simply “do” real estate.
The first dead give away in spotting Ambiguous Job Guy is his schedule. If he has the time to call and text you all day long, cute as it may be, he’s probably not busy at WORK. He’s most likely at home watching paternity tests on Maury and learning how to make Diet Pepsi BBQ sauce on the cooking channel. Yes ladies, unless you’ve hit the trust-fund-baby jackpot, this guy is probably not “doing real estate.”
The second dead give away is his quality of life. Be careful, this one is tricky! Quality of life is subjective for the most part and relative to factors like age, and whatever profession Mr. Man is claiming. For example, if he’s over 35, has two roommates, no car, and pays for all of your dinners with a prepaid Visa, chances are he doesn’t “do Real Estate.”
The third and final dead give away (and I could go on), is a man’s SHOES. Aside from all other of forms of wardrobe malfunction, the shoes cannot tell a lie. The shoes are the insight into the source. The shoes are the glue that ties everything together. The shoes validate industry, versatility, and swag. For example, if a man throws on some nice fitted jeans, a fitted sweater and some fresh, clean sneakers, there’s a good chance he’s a successful person with industry flare and interesting conversation. Same outfit with Gucci loafers on and he’s probably a lawyer, or some type of corporate or finance professional. Having said that, if his sneakers are dusty, or the GG’s on his loafers are upside down, I think it’s safe to assume that he probably doesn’t “do Real Estate.”
Working Girl Swag in LA…
Finding a great job in Los Angeles is a lot like finding a great man. Ideally, you want to land at a great company with a good solid history, some basic benefits and the biggest payoff of all; long-term stability. Should you be lucky enough to find such a man, oops I mean job, you should hold on to it, appreciate it, and invest your time in truly becoming a part of that company’s vision. All too often we hop from job to job to find that perfect balance of great pay and awesome colleagues. When we take the time to research these companies we should be looking a lot deeper than just salary and brand. Sometimes a smaller company, off the beaten path of corporation, can provide a much more rewarding work experience than a major conglomerate brand where you could easily get lost in the machine.
The same theory applies to dating. Sometimes the guy with the shiny car and the assumed big salary proves to be a horrible experience. You may find yourself drowned out by the chick inventory residing in his iPhone or, even worse, an enormous all consuming ego. The less flashy guy, with the nerdiest collection of Star Wars trilogy swag you’ve ever seen, can turn out to be just quirky enough to be oddly refreshing in a montage of man mediocrity.
Regardless of whether you’re looking for a man or a job, one thing that’s for certain is that you will fail to land either if you’re not on your A-Game. Quiet as it’s kept most employers want the best candidates who are savvy enough to stay on top of their appearance. Even the most qualified candidates fall victim to the clunky black loafer, a fashion no-no in the corporate world of sexy pencil skirts and Prada pumps. After all, getting in the door is 90 percent of the hustle; the other 10 percent resides in your ability to prove that you’re sharp enough to hold some staying power. A job interview is a first date, except with a company instead of a man. Looks, conversation, listening skills, engaging gestures that let the speaker know that they are not only being heard but that their words are actually landing somewhere on your brain are all qualities that you must exhibit if you’re going seal the deal on the man of your dreams, oops I mean job of your dreams!
So remember, always look your best, let your appearance evolve with the times and choose attire that you are comfortable enough to feel empowered in. There’s nothing sexier than a great fitting suit that accentuates your curves, at the same time letting the world know you came to bring “the business.” Head out into the world with confidence and get your LA Working girl swag on!
THE BRANJELINA EFFECT
Missing Person: Former BFF, five-foot-five, brown hair, brown eyes, substantial addiction to low-rise skinny jeans. If found, please let her know that she’s totally gay for blowing off the only person in the world who will listen to her woes should her latest man accessory bail for the girl next door.
Well it finally happened. After all those late night jaunts to the Good Bar, Bar Marmont, Bar Chloe, and Vinoteca, the new Wine bar downtown, your BFF has landed a man. Are you jealous? A little yes but that’s not the reason that you’re so upset. You’re upset because it seems that your friendship had an expiration date this whole time. No nutritional facts, no warnings, no sell by date other than the unspoken understanding that when your wing man finds a new love interest it’s time to throw out the Friday night routine and role solo. Why does this happen you ask? Well, because the reality of momentary, mind-blowing orgasms is much more interesting than the mere prospect of momentary, mind-blowing orgasms.
Now all of your plans, including GIRL’S night out, will inevitably include HIM and you’ll never get to speak candidly until she feels like venting about his latest ambiguous text message. Of course there will be excuses upon excuses when your amigo doesn’t feel like hurting your feelings and flakes on your awesome concert tickets in order to stay in and eat saturated fat take-out while watching Lord of the Ring’s re-runs with her new beau.
Unfortunately this is one of the annoying rites of passage for any friendship. Stay diligent and always incorporate your friend into your plans whether she rsvp’s yes or no. After all, friends don’t let friends lose themselves in relationships. However, when you find that your friend is caught up in couple bliss don’t forget that you too will one day be the girl dipping out of happy hour to hang out with Mr. Right now.
Drunken Hot Mess…
Public Service Announcement: Drunken hot mess stops being cute after age 25. Translation, after 25 it is no longer acceptable to hurl in public or show off your latest VS collection boy shorts via peep show. After age 25 you’re supposed to keep your composure and hug the porcelain Jesus in the privacy of your own home (like the ever-so-sophisticated 30 plus crowd does). However, as with everything else in life, there are outliers. Sometimes the wrong mix of cheap vodka and cream cheese French toast create the perfect storm during a Halloween party and you find yourself huddled in the bathtub of some strangers’ mansion slurring strange references to turkey patty melts from Mel’s Diner (but I digress).
In music videos everyone pops bottles all night long, dancing to hooks that often rhyme with Grey Goose, Patron, and Moet. Therefore, it’s entirely understandable for women (and their male counterparts) to completely lose their ish when they happen to be holding a shot and that one song comes on talking about “blame on it the alcohol.” Not that a song should ever be the catalyst for inebriated tomfoolery, but I do see the logic (and lack thereof). Having said that, below are some guidelines to help gauge when you may be approaching your potential for public embarrassment.
1. The bouncer starts looking cute: Yes he’s tall, buff and in a suit, however, chances are he’s worn that same suit every night to work for the last 7-10 days. He’s sweated in it, spilled after-hours club food on it, and ironed out the wrinkles from last night’s bus ride home. To be on the safe side, disregard anyone wearing all black until you get home.
2. The Guy whose advances you ignored for the last 2 hours starts looking cute: Yes, compliments are wonderful. BUT, when the guy who almost got slapped for landing a cheap feel on your lady lumps starts becoming charming to you, it’s clearly time for an intervention. His breath didn’t get any cleaner, he’s holding the same cup of 7up over ice that he had when you got there and he’s still wearing the fake Fila/Prada sneaks. IT’S TIME TO GO!
3. All of your sentences begin and end in slobber: Even though it is quite an impressive feat to sing the entire Destiny’s Child catalog entirely in spit while doing the Dougie backwards at 3am on a Sunday, some talents are better left unseen. Let the world peel back that layer upon request (please).
Remember! Friends don’t let friends drive drunk, drunk dial, or dance drunk in stilettos. Lastly, if your friend does not want to end the party (and we all have a friend that never wants to end the party), as a last resort, take them to a karaoke bar, where every drunk has their day and promptly passes out after a long-winded Celine Dion bender.
A Lady Never Tells: But a Groupie Just Might…
Once in while, LAG feels the need to make a public service announcement. So, today’s topic boys and girls is “The LA Groupie.” If the LA dating scene is known for nothing else, it should be known for its plethora of beautiful gold-diggers, also known as “groupies.” What people fail to realize about LA groupies is the magnitude to which they exist, so much so, that an entire subculture of young women groomed for groupiedom has emerged. There are TV shows, books, dating sites, and clothing stores that actually cater to the LA groupie. Heck, even entire families have publically embraced and exploited the groupie subculture, thus creating the very controversial “groupie nepotism.” You’ve seen them! They’re the ones dressed for the nightclub at basketball games, the ones standing in the front of every line at every club with a celebrity headliner, they seem to know everyone from the promoter to the bouncer to the bartender on a first name basis.
Now, Wikipedia defines the groupie as “A person who seeks emotional and sexual intimacy with some form of CELEBRITY. “Groupie” was derived from the word group, in reference to a musical group, given that the groupie phenomenon emerged from popular music groups of the 50’s and 60’s. However, the contemporary groupie is about seeking financial security and notoriety for her celebrity conquests. Today’s groupie isn’t about the mere rush and excitement of sleeping with a celeb, oh no, she means business. And, why not? Being a groupie is BIG BUSINESS!! We’ve all heard the tall tale of the video vixen turned millionaire for merely publishing the names and details of everyone she gave an “oral exam” to, industry wide. And, certainly you’re no stranger to the Celebrity-Wife reality shows where almost none of the women are actually “wives.” Don’t hate, they’re still getting a check, seemingly out of thin air at that. Granted, these women usually only get 5 minutes of fame (1/3 of the 15 minutes that real celebs get) but it does offer the smart ones a chance at some real opportunities for monetization. Sadly, few take advantage of such opportunities because few are actually smart enough to do so. You see, what drives a groupie isn’t her educated business savvy as much as her savvy for played out monogram bags and red bottom shoes that she only hears about and sees in music videos (I digress).
Now, given that LA is host to so many different types of celebrities, (movie stars, rock stars, rap stars, basketball players, football players, producers, directors, reality show stars, etc., etc.) you can only imagine the various strains of groupie that follow. Some of them may even be lurking amongst your own social circles, right under your nose. To that end, I’ve created an efficient and classifiable way to identify the LA groupie. NOTE: there are several hybrids of the categories outlined below but I felt it necessary to start with the basics, the canonical staples if you will, of the Groupie kingdom.
First off we have the “Veteran Groupie”: The Veteran groupie is the saddest groupie of them all, primarily because she is old and no one told her that her days were numbered 5 years prior. She’s at the club regularly, usually with a crew 7-10 years younger so that she can blend in appropriately. The veteran groupie has a fierce body. In fact, one only knows that she is of a more mature age when they get above her neckline. There you’ll find the over-compensated make-up that only a cougar or a clown could appreciate. However, the Veteran Groupie does pave the way for the Green Groupie (refer to the description below) also known as “Baby Groupies.” For what is a student without its teacher?
Next, we have the “Green Groupie”: Contrary to her title, the Green Groupie is not about world conservation and recycling. The Green Groupie is fertile ground, impressed by anyone on TV whether they’re in a commercial or a full feature film. The Green Groupie’s innocence is her biggest draw. Regular guys like her because they can introduce her to their friends. She technically still has girlfriend potential given that she is relatively undiscovered. Celebrity guys like her because their celebrity friends have yet to add her to their celebrity to-do list. Either way, she’s kinda doomed from the start.
Lastly, we have the “Groupie By Association”: The Groupie By Association hangs out with groupies from time to time but only long enough to be able to disengage from any rumors that could peg her as a groupie. Make no mistake! If it walks like a duck, puts on heels like a duck, and finds herself at Jamie Foxx’s house at 2am like a duck. It’s A DUCK!!! The Groupie by Association is my personal favorite because she’s clever enough to keep a day job and often vacillates between the average guy and the 2nd tier celebrity entourage guy. Either way she’s not winning, yet she presses on…
Honestly, I’m not clowning; I don’t knock anyone’s hustle. Seriously, we’ve all got a little groupie in us, gotten excited when our favorite singer or actor hit the stage. For example, one might say that I’m a Barack Obama groupie, a Cornell West groupie, or a Michael Eric Dyson groupie versus a Lil Wayne groupie, a Kanye West groupie or a Kobe Bryant groupie. Is there a distinction to be made? Maybe not, but I’ll leave it at that…
Friend Politics 101 – Rule No 2:
Sometimes One Monkey DOES Stop the Show…
Los Angeles socialites are big proponents of convenient nightlife. That is, we frequent venues that are within an assumed non-DUI driving distance where the doorman is familiar enough with your face so as not to have you waiting in line all night. However, once in a while (or once every 3-4 months) we decide to break from our local watering hole routines and follow a very specific migratory pattern (via road trip, or 1-hour plane ride on Southwest). For over the bridge and through the woods lies a magical kingdom, an enchanted forest of drinking, dancing, flirting and whatever else you can squeeze into a 48-hour window of time. Yes ladies, in case you haven’t figured it out I’m talking about VEGAS!!!! Ahhh the joys of Las Vegas… you either love it for its non-stop, high voltage, billboard party life, and cigarette smoke filled casinos or you hate it for its non-stop, high voltage, billboard party life, and cigarette smoke filled casinos.
Upon arrival it is customary to throw caution to the wind and go with the flow (especially if you’re with a group of 3 or more people). However, going with the flow also pertains to “cash flow.” Meaning, if you’re not financially in the right place to take a trip it’s probably better to stay at home, do some laundry, and figure out a game plan so as not to be left out of the next trip’s festivities. Now, this is not to say that a person of modest means can’t enjoy themselves, you don’t need to be a “Baller” to have the ultimate Vegas experience. Plenty of folks drive up to Vegas on the “Baller on a Budget” $300 dollar vacation fund ($100 for your portion of the hotel for 2 nights, $25 on the gas tank, $25 on the magnum bottle of Grey Goose for the room and the other $150 for food, entry fees, etc.). Now that we’ve covered some of the cost effective ways to “do” Vegas, can someone please explain to me how it is that one determines that they will not be paying the $20 entry fee to get into the club only after they’ve bypassed all boot camp style obstacles of the velvet rope? I mean, isn’t this an executive decision that one makes in their head well before stepping out?
For example, it’s Fourth of July Weekend in Vegas, you and your friends decide to party at Jet Nightclub in the Mirage hotel. After chopping it up with the promoter, who you met on Twitter, the seas part and all of your friends are escorted through a crowd of jealous girls saving you an hour and a half wait. You reach the front door of Jet with the understanding that everyone still has to pay the $20 cover because of the holiday weekend. Knowing this beforehand, everyone is in agreement that Jet is the spot for the evening. Fully decked in your most bedazzled Vegas mini dresses, you and your girls are ready to pay the $20 and have an awesome time and an awesome hangover.
Three of you whip out your clutch bags, $20 dollar bills wrapped tightly around your California ID’s. Faintly in the background, Queen Victoria (friend #4) starts complaining about having to pay and how she NEVER has to pay in LA and how she doesn’t even go out if she has to wait in line. Her complaining turns into pouting, her pouting turns to blatant refusal and there you are, faced with the prospect of having to leave one man out. Let the rationalizing begin! You don’t really know the girl, she’s a friend of a friend brought along only by default so as to cushion the costs of the Double Queen Suite you booked at the Hard Rock HRH Tower. Fully prepared to leave her to her own devices, you pretend not to notice the mini conference that she’s holding with the other two girls. As soon as you extend your cash and ID to the guard, your BFF taps you on the shoulder to inform you that friend no: 4 has no cash to get in. Your first instinct is to grab your BFF and head for the entry. Of course, the inevitable domino effect, she feels bad for friend #3 who will be stuck with friend #4 at the Golden Nugget Bar and Grill fending off local degenerate gamblers. A rain cloud of disappointment appears as you’ve come so far only to have to turn around and do the walk of shame back down the red carpet. You feel retarded, like the static rewind button on a VHS tape, because SOMEONE decided that it wasn’t “worth it” to spend the necessary entry fee to party like a wannabe rock star. Of course there are always other spots to go to in Vegas but everyone knows that the spot you didn’t get into is the spot that everyone will be talking about the next day…Womp…Womp!
In LA, every woman revels in the glorious victory of the FREE DRINK. The free drink is social-scene Darwinism at its finest, the ultimate badge of honor for “Survival of the Prettiest.” The free drink not only validates a woman’s efforts in hair, clothing, and make-up selection, it also sets her apart from the less fortunate souls who did not make it past the process of natural selection (mean girl smirk). While the ritual of the free drink may seem a bit trifling to some, unarguably no better feeling exists than that of the accomplishment derived from public displays of infatuation by a complete stranger. To put it plainly, the free drink makes you feel like the SH*&!!! As you mix it up with your pretend 5-minute boyfriend, for that brief moment in time, you are the bar Prom Queen. However, there are rules to this ish. The free drink does come with a healthy dose of fine print; a print so fine that it seemingly only exists in theory. It would be awesome if we could get SOME form of heads up like…”Tonight on Eyewitness News: We bring you the breaking story of the 1-drink Stalker on the loose. He’s been spotted in local LA bars and clubs hanging around dark corners with 2 free drink tickets and a GPS tracking device. Don’t be fooled by his generosity and harmless conversation! For once you’ve accepted the complimentary Grey Goose N Red Bull Martini, he will self magnetize to the bottom of your glass playing interference to all of your normal guy prospects for the rest of the evening.”
Of course, no such warning signs exist. Shortly after your two best girlfriends find male distractions and disappear into their respective conversations, the 1-Drink stalker is plotting his descent when you’re at the bar alone, at your most vulnerable. Just as you manage to get the waiters attention a mediocre looking man will approach and pay for your drink. Mildly impressed, you’ll entertain some conversation. Five minutes in and you’ll know you aren’t interested but you’ll extend the full courtesy 15 minutes before ditching him to do your final walk around in the bar. As you ease your way off the bar stool you’ll see him grab his drink off the bar in an attempt to escort you to your intended destination. You figure you’ll take the easy way out and hit the ladies room. Hopefully you’ll see one of your girlfriends so you can pretend to be in one of the deepest conversations of your life thus bypassing the 1-Drink stalker. To no avail, he’ll be standing right at the base of the ladies room exit (argggghhhh)!!!
What contemporary science has concluded is that there is no sure-fire way to politely extract one’s self from the clutches of the 1-Drink stalker (outside of leaving the venue all together). Fake numbers, one-word answers, the look of absolute disinterest simply won’t cut it. Thus, much like the Christian based slogan for abstinence, The Best Drink is No Drink if you want to avoid the lurking annoyances of the 1-Drink stalker.
RELATIONSHIPS VS. RELATIONS…The Art of Casual Sex
In the world of art where we celebrate the talents of those who are/were able to create unique representations of objects and people, Jackson Pollack is most remembered for his stylistic defiance of traditional lines, space, and color.
His work, a full departure from traditional imagery, provokes an onlooker to make sense of an overall abstract body of work.
Casual sex/dating in Los Angeles is a lot like a Jackson Pollack painting (metaphorically speaking). It’s contemporary and excitingly colorful. And somehow, in all its beautiful complexity, it makes sense. But, at the end of the day, it’s not something that fits nicely into everyone’s living room. And, you may find that, in retrospect, casual sex, much like a Jackson Pollack, can be just plain messy.
When you’re fresh out of a relationship, oftentimes you find yourself looking to recoup some much-needed single girl activities, of which often involve working out, dating, shopping, and sex. At some point you meet a guy and grace him with the goods and it becomes kind of…nice. You hang out back-to-back, you have the “what are we doing” conversation and establish the ground rules. But, the ground rules never seem to cover the real rules. Rules like:
1. Are you having sex with any other people?
2. How many other people are you having sex with?
3. Where do I rank on your totem pole (pun intended)
4. If we see each other out in public with other “people,” are we all good?
5. What types of privileges and exclusivity are you expecting?
It would be awesome if these five simple line items were covered, but the ground rules seem to only be articulated in stupid phrases like “we’re just having fun,” or “we’re just seeing where this goes.”
Then, outta nowhere, he disappears for a weekend. So, you make yourself unavailable for TWO weekends. He leaves you a few voicemails and after a few more missed calls, you finally decide to call and begin the dancing circus all over again.
It was so much easier back in the day when your dad sat the guy down and simply asked, “What are your intentions with my daughter?” Even though your 13 year-old self was mortified at the very thought that your dad might speak to anyone you had a crush on, it let you know where the guy stood (in all of his Junior High ambitions LOL).
The bottom line is this: We are all single, independently-driven dating anthropologists, seeking out and studying (okay yes, occasionally Facebook stalking) all reasonably suited partners. If you want to lock it down and be taken seriously by a guy, don’t give up the business before you establish a solid, mutual understanding of where you both see the relationship going. However, if you know what the deal is going in and you have no intentions of turning the pimp into the pumpkin, by all means be safe and get your Pollack on!
THE NUMBERS RULE; It Doesn’t Count If…
One night over coffee and dessert two girlfriends, Maya and Alene, both age 25, got together to gossip about Maya’s new roommate, Karin. Maya’s new roommate was 28 years old and had slept with approximately 30 different men (give or take a couple). Both ladies were intrigued with Maya’s roomie and her ability to articulate this number with an air of accomplishment, so sophisticated and mature. But, both ladies, judgments firmly in place, still felt that Karin’s numbers were too high for comfort. Too high, that is, until they got on the topic of their own number of shelved sexual partners.
Alene whipped out a notepad and began to draw a line for every sexual partner that she could recall. Every time she hit five she started a new cluster…all of sudden she was on cluster number 4. “Maya, I couldn’t have slept with 19 guys already, I’m a whore,” Alene said with quantitative conviction.
Maya hastily interjected, “Alene, I’m on number 17 so I’m not far behind you and I’m NOT a whore. F*%$K, I honestly don’t even remember some of their names. How did this happen?”
Maya began to sort through her personal catalog in a comical Sherlock Holmes fashion. “Well, what about that guy who was only 4 inches (hard), he doesn’t count right?” “Don’t be stupid Maya,” said Alene, “but that guy I slept with in Miami last summer only lasted like 2 minutes and then he fell asleep so that guy REALLY doesn’t count.” “Wait a minute Alene, he counts!!! You remembered all the dirty details,” Maya retorted feistily. “2 minutes of details does not equal dirty details,” said Alene.
This was getting ugly and time consuming. Faced with the prospect of having to weed though future prospects in the same manner, the girls decided to create some universal rules to live by, thus, enabling them to erase certain guys from their inventory (like an etch a sketch). The rules are:
1. If the sexual encounter is under 3 minutes, it doesn’t count
2. If the fun stick is under 4 inches (hard), it doesn’t count
3. If you can’t remember his name, it doesn’t count
4. If his name is Chris Hall, it doesn’t count
5. If you were too drunk to remember, it doesn’t count
6. If It’s over 5 years ago, it doesn’t count (unless you want it to)
Now, a blog wouldn’t be a blog without the author’s two cents. So ladies, I’ll leave you with this to chew on. If you want to keep your numbers low, think of your lady goods as a shiny new car. Every time you lease it out, typical wear and tear is to be expected. Don’t let these boys run your miles up unless they intend to purchase. If a guy isn’t stepping up to the plate, put your car back on the lot and only let serious buyers take a test drive. And, in case you didn’t know, serious buyers usually put down a card, Ya heard!!! (j/k, not really).