In an effort to ditch the guys I know I shouldn’t want, but tend to get anyways, I started looking for potential dates in places other than the usual Hollyweird hotspots. What I failed to notice, since apparently it’s been five years since I’ve had a crush and not a crash, was that most of the great guys are always right in front of you. Now, I’m totally against the available “meat” (& greet) market available at the gym. I’m more of a get in, get out, go home kind of girl (insert obvious that’s what he said joke), so I failed to notice that the cardio wasn’t the only thing making my heart race. Instead of the obvious five second once-over that you get along with any cocktail and club cover, the flirty faux friendships formed at any fitness joint are cause for something that has an expiration date beyond that of a one night fling thing. So, take the cardio from the elliptical to a post-work-out wind-down that serves as motivation to stay in sleek shape.

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The dating scene in uber sunny So Cal is great for a million different reasons, namely the variety of options it offers its chic inhabitants when it comes to courting. This week, I suggest taking a break from those haute Hollywood nights and heading over the canyon and straight to the beach! Just because this swine flu sitch has utterly cramped my would-be sun-soaked Cancun extravaganza, does not mean it will keep me from enjoying a little fun in the sun. Come hell or high water, I am getting a tan this summer and I am trading in my porcelain persona for a not exactly redder is better type deal, thanks to industrial strength SPF. One of my fave parts about California is our thousands of hideaway beaches begging locals only to come and bask in the often too strong but oh-so-tempting UVA. Just make sure you and your date, or friends, stock up on the post excursion aloe, because getting high on sun stroke is a less then likely way to score a second date with your little beach bunny. See you at…well, I’m not giving away my favorite place to frequent, so find your own! I do promise a beachy-keen time, where the people watching alone is incentive enough- of course, that holds true for almost every Los Angeles locale.

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So with the rising temps in L.A., everyone is ready to come out and play at night- models, rockstars, and pests. Some guys simply excel in their ability to bug anyone in the vicinity, and inhabitants of the hills have learned strategic moves early on to avoid annoying gnats. First off, boys, let’s talk about opening one-liners. Asking a girl if her father is a thief or a gardener, or if there is a mirror in her pants is not going to help get you anywhere near her, let alone in her. No number of glasses of low cal white wine is going to make any of those oh-so-appealing lines seem any less appalling. The A for effort you were hoping to gain will be replaced with an F for something you undoubtedly won’t be doing that night. Moving right along, lets talk about sleek rather than street savoir fair. In case you haven’t noticed, girls take more than five minutes to get ready, so don’t think you can get away with a wife beater and flip flops. There is a reason grunge died along with Kurt Cobain in the 90s, and while there is always something to be said for low maintenance style, hygeine also offers some serious sex appeal. If girls are willing to flit across sunset in stillettos, the least you boys can offer is a sentence that uses at least one word with more than two syllables. Any less and we’ll be countering with a one-up au revoir. Any Hollywood chick knows the sacrificial statement 4-inch heels exhibit, so if the girl is willing to suffer, the least a guy can do is avoid telling me that though he’s not Fred Flinstone he’ll make my Bedrock. A one-liner like that and he’ll be socially extinct like the rest of the homo erectus men from days of yore. The right ettiquette can help a girl go from zero to lust in 3.5 seconds, so if you don’t plan on sleeping alone, avoid telling your target that her shirt would look better on your floor- or the only date you’ll be getting is with your tivo.

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In A Los Angeles Minute….

My weekend was a complete blur between the drinks, my girlfriends, and jetlag (so to speak, and so it seemed). My Saturday night started out with the girls. I parked in Siberia to get to a fiesta that had us hiking south of the border (Mexican themed, clearly). The party was great and these hostesses with the most-ess were clearly thinking outside the bun! My little posse however had also rsvp’d to a different engagement and so after about an hour of margarita madness, we were on our way to a cute little neighborhood bar in WeHo with our cell phones, lip glosses, and passports in hand.

Apparently we didn’t get the memo that it was celebrity night at this dive and the stars were slumming for sure (Just trying to keep it real I’d assume, or do they need to ‘up’ their street cred for call sheets?). Well, it looks as though my jet setting was not about to end anywhere near the border, because in a Los Angeles minute I was face to face with gents from South Dakota, and later in the night, from Arkansas. Now it will probably come as a shock to you that these gents were out here to make it big on the silver screen, armed with a not-so-crystal-clear perception of how things really go down in my star-studded city. Now, in a city where casting couches are taken for a ride as often as the new Audi A5’s, a girl’s got to have some rules in order to keep her sanity. These rules of course, are subjective to each gal on the go! For example, one of my favorites is friends don’t let friends date actors. This has proven well for me, because if Fleetwood Mac is right and “players only love you when they’re playing”…well, I can’t waste time on a playboy actor who’s ready to switch leading ladies as often as Fred Segal gets new merch.

So at around 2 a.m., I was ready to head home, jetlagged from another amazing night over the hill and through the canyon into Hollywood. I bid adieu to the cross country nomads that came here with the intention of making it big in a city that has the attention span of a goldfish. I told them to “break a leg,” and walked away, armed with new numbers in my cell, my ‘go-to’ girls, and stories that were well worth the chaos. In a city with a fault line as unstable as the majority of celebutantes and their accompanying headlines, you enjoy every second you have, because like inhabitants near the San Andreas fault line know, everything can change in a Los Angeles minute.

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Well, I’m SweetLo, your average 24 year old just trying to survive the dating scene in the city of angels.  Born and raised in Los Scandalous, I learned early on that in the royal tradition of former inhabitants of my silver-screen laden city that most guys I met were in fact playing a part; and that I was even lucky to find someone else from the same state, let alone city, when I went over the hill into Hollywood.  This hasn’t exactly discouraged me.

In fact, it’s quite the race to find a nice Jewish boy, whom I think recently was added to the endangered species list.  So I occupy my time by working out and going out with the girls, always optimistic that the night will be fun, an experience, and always an adventure.  I am almost twenty five and I’m still putting my relationship status in quotation marks as if my actions are alleged and I’m liable to change beaus at a moment’s notice.  Or perhaps they’ll trade me in for a different model.  It’s a tricky business when you gamble on love, but if you don’t play big, you’ll never win big.  It seems it’s simply a matter of deciding how much you’re willing to bet, and most gals would give anything in hopes of a happily ever after.  So I guess Whitney has the City, Lauren has the Hills, and I have Hollyweird; let the games begin.

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