November 27, 2011
September 12, 2011
Reprinted from — over 10 thousand Twitter followers can’t be wrong–
One of our names begins with T and the other with A – we’re a magical combo representing the front and the back, the best of both worlds, the humps and the lumps. We’re girls with similar life paths, who came to Los Angeles ages ago and earned our stripes looking for love among the Hollywood hipsters. We are here to share what we’ve learned with you, with the charm of Southern gals and the smarts of city vixens.
A has dated so many LA guys that she couldn’t come close to naming them all, and sometimes doesn’t recognize them in public. She keeps a spreadsheet of the ones she slept with – not because the list is that long, but because some are so easy to forget.
T has managed not to kill her boyfriend, somehow.
Take 1: The Set-Up
What happens when T tries to make a match for A? Somebody ends up in prison. Read on to find out who …
The T Side:
In the six or so years I’ve known A, I’ve tried to play matchmaker with her a few times. I set her up with the muscled bassist in my boyfriend’s band. I set her up with a quiet roommate who made video games and wore glasses. I set her up with a bad boy who had wild black hair and wore bandanas around it.
At this point, A’s probably second-guessing my attempts, as I’m 0 for 3 with the above-described young “gentlemen.” However, I assure her I’m responsible for one successful marriage – when I was a freshman in college, I introduced two people who are still together with two children now.
Back to Los Angeles – I was producing a photo shoot for a clothing designer, and one of the boy models was from the same state where I went to school. We’ll call him “M.” M and I kept in touch and I found him to be an awesome guy, except that he had an insane girlfriend who tried to kill every female who ever spoke to him. I’d kidnap him from her and we’d drive around and talk about basketball, living on the opposite side of the country from where we grew up, and what we hoped to get out of LA. M was always easy to be around, just like I found A to be.
After M had gotten rid of said deranged girl, I thought that he and A would make a cute couple, since A hailed from the same region. This was after A and I sat outside at wooden picnic benches one night in the back of a decaying dive bar in Echo Park and she was making a list of things she’d like to see happen in her life. I recall one of them being “to be a cute little old woman with a cute little old man.”
My chance didn’t come for some time since M moved away, but as soon as he got back to LA I booked them both for the day. I have a nice set of photos of them in the sunshine, on the Santa Monica Pier. I was pretty satisfied at this union I created.
This is where I’ll hand it off to A to tell you what happened after this. Apparently boys are a different story when they’re just your friends, as opposed to when you get involved with them in a romantic sense. I’m no stranger to having guys purely as friends who are total cads to women …
The A Side:
When you’ve banged your head against the wall that is LA dating long enough, you give up on success on your own terms. So even after a couple of laughable set-ups by T (one guy secretly hooked up with my friend, the other barely spoke to me), when she suggested an afternoon outing with her friend M, I was immediately in. Immediately, because I knew of this guy and he was hot – the kind of hot that makes you click longingly through their Facebook photos on a regular basis for years on end (not that I did that).
I stepped out of the shower that day to find Mr. Click-Worthy playing banjo on my sofa, like the hipster gods had just dropped him there (nice touch, T, letting him in while you walked your dog). He took a nip from my Jack Daniel’s before we’d even left for brunch (flag), invited me on tour with his non-existent band (flag), took us to the frat house where he worked (flag) and polished off a bottle of cheap bourbon by mid-afternoon (flag). But he was still charismatic and disarmingly hot, so when he took me on the Ferris wheel at Santa Monica Pier and we kissed overlooking the Pacific, I was pretty giddy.
By evening, he’d told me I was beautiful a few dozen times and couldn’t keep his hands off me, but he was also too drunk to stand up. However, he was still hot, and I had just been crushingly dumped. He was perfect post-breakup, don’t-care distraction material. But it’s hard to REALLY not care, especially when they’re SO good-looking and you DO like them and hanging out is FUN, you know? So even as I told friends I didn’t trust him further than I could throw a bottle of Xanax and he blacked out entire evenings we spent together, I was secretly wandering into dangerous real-feelings territory.
After a road trip on which he bought Smirnoff Ice because it was the most alcoholic thing at the gas station (flag), he mentioned meeting up with an old friend, and the text odes to my beauty and charm stopped cold. It wasn’t surprising, since these types tend to burn bright and fast. But it was still a let down, especially when “old friend” turned into “new girlfriend” within a week or so. It became less of a let down a couple months later … when he tried to kill her while she was sleeping. He’s in prison now. So thanks T, but that was three strikes, and you’re out.
T is currently bench-warming for a bit, but who’s next in line for your perfect match? Ask us questions or tell us your set-up stories in the comments! (click here)
We’re having a “mancession”.