There’s that feeling. You know the one. The one where you meet a great guy, you start to like him, and then he tells you he’s moving to South Africa for several months. Oh you don’t? That’s because this type of phenomenon, known as The Great Disappearing Act, often flies under the radar, although it has been happening more and more often. . Apparently, guys are now so afraid of commitment (and to be fair, who the hell said it was going anywhere in the first place?) they are crossing oceans to avoid “the talk.” In addition to cross-country escapes, guys have also found the following excuses (according to my incredibly reliable sources) successful to parlay the one-on-one party into a more menage-a-trois friendly circumstance: serious illness, deportation, thinking with the wrong head, and a form of claustrophobia so rare, it only affects its victims when they’re forced into monogamy. Scientists are currently looking for a suitable vaccine for said situation, but are strangely preoccupied with the swine flu. Someone should seriously tell them to get their priorities straight.
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.
Last Thursday, Aqua lounge was swimming with various people for the JDate trivia night. Guys and gals from various L.A. zips came from every which direction to join us for drinks and forget for maybe five minutes this swine-flu-is-the-new-SARS debacle everyone’s currently entangled in. I hope they sort this thing out soon because it’s cramping my style. That’s probably really selfish of me, but at trivia night, it seemed to be the conversation on everyone’s mind. It was like this little viral dominatrix whipping us into a frenzy, and leaving us ultimately trapped between the sheets- and not in a good way. My fellow teammates (carefully conjured up to win of course, because I have pros from different area codes,) were more than good sports, and even though we came in- not first, we had a great time. It was unanimously decided that happy hour is an institution that needs to be implemented more often, and hopefully next time we can leave the doctor’s mask and antibacterial at home- it simply doesn’t match the Prada heels. Even though a Nip/Tuck in the 90210 is on the hotlist, a pandemic will never be the new black. So, if you’re sick, think of it as a solo practice sesh for seven minutes in heaven, and join the rat race sans mask ten days later. It’s simply proper ill-ettiquette, plus, I promise to get your first drink. Come out and you’ll see like at Aqua, there were plenty of fish in the sea.