The Red Carpet Was Actually Blue

I have never been nominated for anything before, so walking the red carpet (which was actually blue) at the 25th Annual Independent Spirit Awards was a whole new experience. We arrived at 5:15, were tense and anxious like everyone else, and had little idea what to really expect. We were instructed to walk to the far end of the tent where nominees were standing in line to enter. Thankfully, we spotted our publicist, Mickey, waiting to help maneuver us through the carpet experience. Whether you are attending or working the event, adrenaline is running high. Even with Mickey, we were anxious about making the long walk in front of press.

When you are a celebrity, the press shouts your name, hoping for an interview and the celebrity or their press agent decides whether or not you speak to them. However, when you are unknowns like we are, our publicists pitches our story to the press and they decide whether or not we are worth interviewing. Seeing the woman from AP shake her head 'no' could have been humiliating if there were not hundreds of other press people squeezed shoulder to shoulder for another 50 yards. Plus, we arrived way before all the celebrities did, so there were plenty more press pitches to be made, as journalists stood idly by, waiting for the famous to arrive.

A waiter walked by with a tray of Jameson cocktails. I grabbed a glass, swallowed a big gulp, and imagined my entire body taking a deep breath. We were very excited to be nominated and extremely grateful to be in the company of so many talented filmmakers, so I wanted try to relax, focus and remember the entire experience, rather than let my nerves get the best of me. One of my friends said, "Keep your head up and just look into people's eyes and into the camera and you will be fine." That was the best advice he could have given me.

We did interviews with Reuters, Canal Plus, George Penacchio, IFC and a few others before Vera Farmiga raced past us down the carpet. Hundreds of press and paparazzi were shouting her name, wanting her attention . She stopped and posed as they screamed at her, "Turn this way!" "Vera over here!!!" "Give us an over-the-shoulder!" "Turn around!" "VERA! VERA! VERA!!" I was frightened for her as she continued to pose and smile. If this is the kind of treatment actors face on the red carpet, I can only imagine how scary it must be when paparazzi approach them on the street, stick a camera in their face and shout questions, without the benefit of a rope and security holding them back.

We rode the elevator up to the roof (with Vera Farmiga) where the tent was set up for the main event. There were thousands of people mingling about, but my eyes were immediately drawn to two twin, bald security guys guarding a table where Sir Elton John was eating his dinner. Alan Cumming, Mia Wasikowska, the actor a.k.a. Jason Stackhouse, John Waters, Helen Mirren, Christopher Plummer and Olivia Wilde were all there. Seated at the table next to us was Anvil. If you haven't seen Anvil: The Story of Anvil, add it to your Netflix list. Lips Ludlow and Robb Reiner were the "demigods of Canadian metal" and had a hit album in 1982 with "Metal on Metal". They inspired a whole generation of heavy metal bands, but their career never took off. They've been chasing their dream ever since. Their friendship and passion for music is a sweet and inspiring story that will rock your socks off. They won best documentary.

As the ceremony was beginning to start, two cameramen approached and told us to stay put."Best First Feature" was the second award and they wanted to make sure we were on camera when they announced it. Every molecule in my body was vibrating. Three years of hard work and passion climaxing in this moment. We knew we were the underdog and had no chance of winning and that Jeff Bridges in "Crazy Heart" was considered the favorite. We watched as the trailers played for each movie, "Crazy Heart," "Paranormal Activity," "A Single Man," "The Messenger" and then... "Easier With Practice." Our names were on the screen. The camera flashed on me and Kyle for two seconds before they opened the envelope and announced "Crazy Heart" had won. I received 17 texts from friends saying, "We saw you on TV!" Jeff Bridges gave an amazingly heartfelt speech as I thought to myself, "He's perfect for one of the roles in our next movie. We have to make that happen."

We are the only movie in our category without a studio behind us. So, we had no domestic distributor, no team of executives, no marketing machine, and no money for prints and advertising. What that means is that Kyle, his partner Gary who created all our artwork, myself, a few others and Mickey were our 'studio'. Only a month ago, we were picking up the film trailers from Deluxe and driving them to the Sunset Laemmle and FedEx-ing them to the Quad in New York. Our mini 'studio' accomplished a phenomenal amount of work in a short amount of time-- so now we were all thinking... "We can finally move on to our next project."

We completed Easier With Practice over a year ago and were disappointed to learn that we did not get into any of the top film festivals including, Sundance, Berlin, South by Southwest, Tribeca or Venice in 2009. However, shortly after the Sundance announcements, Trevor Goth and Mike Plante, who produce Cinevegas, invited us to premiere at the Palms in June. We were really excited but we had six months to sit on our hands and wait. When you finish an independent film, the most important item on your list of things to do is have people see the film. So we kept ourselves busy by looking for a sales agent, investigating alternative ways of indie film distribution and anything else to make the time go by faster. Once Cinevegas came, we were excited to have a live, unbiased audience see the movie. Cinevegas was the beginning of an amazing year for "Easier With Practice" all culminating as it was released in L.A. and NYC last week and here we are at the Spirit Awards.

Halfway through the event, our sales agent arrived at our table and said, "Oh I finally found you." He introduced his handsome friend, "Carolyn this is Tom. Tom, Carolyn," as he pointed back and forth to the both of us, "Single. Single. 46. 44." Oh, if meeting available men could always be so easy.

A stage manager wearing a headset requested Kyle follow him backstage. Kyle was up for the "Someone to Watch" Award that comes with a $25,000 prize. Gary and I were hoping, praying that this meant he won the award, but for all we know, all three nominees had been taken back stage. Many of you know that I met Kyle when he was 23 and we were both working for Warren Beatty. It was only Kyle's second job since graduating from film school. Anyone who talks with Kyle for five minutes knows how smart he is, and how passionate he is about making movies. He knew more about film than many directors I had worked with over the years. So when he told me he wanted to make a movie by the time he was 25, I knew he would accomplish his dream. It was a happy day when the crew sang "Happy Birthday" to Kyle during principal photography on the set of "Easier With Practice" for his 25th birthday.

So, as John Waters and Olivia Wilde walked out on stage and announced Kyle as the winner of the "Someone to Watch" award, I felt so proud to see him accomplish so much in a few short years and now, finally everyone knew what we had all known for years... and that is that Kyle has a big career ahead of him. When he arrived back at the table, the other filmmakers sitting with us raised their glasses and said, "We've got a winner at our table! Cheers!" We all clinked our glasses and drank to the win. We were elated. What an amazing night...

"Enjoy it now because everyone will forget about the Spirit Awards once Sunday arrives for the Oscars," a film agent whispered in my ear. Such is Hollywood...

"The Emotional Rollercoaster of Dating" or... "Dating Sucks"

Having embarked on my journey of 'positive attitude dating', I have to admit that it really sucks when you finally connect with someone and, for one reason or another, no relationship develops. Dating has become a numbers game for me. How many dates do I go on before I meet someone I like? And, when I finally connect with someone, how can I know if this is the beginning of a healthy, long-term relationship, or just a couple of dates that will suddenly turn south?

I met Mike three weeks ago. He was sweet, caring, funny, handsome and energetic. He reminded me of the boys I grew up with in St. Louis. He was the cool guy in high school with long blonde hair, who every girl wanted to date. He drove the black Trans Am with the gold eagle emblazoned on the hood, as "Rock and Roll All Nite" blared from the speakers. He was cozy with a hometown aesthetic. I laughed a lot with Mike, and when he wrapped his muscular arms around me, I relaxed into him, content to stay there forever.

I liked Mike. Thinking about him made my stressful life feel a little less stressful. My heart beat faster each time his name appeared on my cell phone. I was happy, and for the first time in a couple of years, I was willing to open my heart again. I started to feel a little less alone in the world.

My friends and business associates are accustomed to seeing me arrive solo for parties and events. So, the rare times when I actually bring a date, the poor guy is typically, mercilessly scrutinized. I have often fantasized about dating the 'perfect man' and not always being the third, fifth, seventh or ninth wheel at a dinner party. I imagine guests making comments like, "Oh, good thing Carolyn waited so long. Look at the wonderful man she met at this time in her life. They seem really happy. What a great couple." I imagined what they would say about Mike, if we dated long enough for me to introduce him into my circle of friends. I was hoping, praying that no red flags would rear their ugly heads in the meantime.

I have only known Mike for a few weeks, but, in between lengthy and intimate phone conversations, Mike has flaked on me a number of times. Some days I receive numerous texts and phone calls and other days he completely disappears, forgetting plans we made. He always apologizes and chalks it up to one particular drama he has in his life and has disclosed to me. I was unsure what to do, so I asked Ivo for a male perspective (realizing the fact that actually asking Ivo what all this meant was a big red flag in itself). "He's got you on the hook," Ivo said, "and he's leaving you dangle in the air." He was right. I exposed myself. Mike knew I was interested in him but he wasn't taking me off the hook, or throwing me back in the water. The 'skip in my step' was now a pit in my stomach. I was somewhere between heaven and hell. Was he blowing me off or was he just indecisive?

You would think by now that I would have some kind of radar for love. But everyone has their own language and some native tongues are harder to learn than others. I reflected on Mike's behavior over the past three weeks, what he told me about himself, about his past relationships and what I had surmised about him. He's introspective. I think Mike processes everything inside and has a hard time letting people into his life. His gregarious, charismatic personality is a cover for the tender, fragile heart that lies beneath. His sweet, but protected soul is hard to reach and get to know. I suspect he lives his life by going with the flow and letting things happen, rather than taking initiative. We are all works in progress, but I suspect Mike is more of a project. Whether my thoughts are right or wrong, when a man wants to see you, he will go to great lengths to make it happen, and I certainly wasn't hearing from Mike. Regardless, thinking of him still brings a smile to my face.

Writing this blog has really forced me to dig deep inside myself and discover what kind of relationship I really want. I dream of finding a partner with whom I can build a strong friendship and have the trust and love to jump into the abyss together and explore each other openly and honestly-- and discover all the deep, complex layers that make us unique human beings. A healthy emotional and intimate life is what I seek in a partner... and to finally know what it's like to have a loving partner and that we will always be there for each other.

So I have flung myself back into the dating pool and I will keep swimming upstream until another man casts a line in my direction and I take the bait. And, as daunting as dating can be, I will continue swimming until I will have no reason to continue writing this blog. I live for the day that I can write the words, "I met someone. Signing off..."

A Date With Rome (Part 1)

When my last relationship ended, I was not excited about jumping back into the dating pool. I was 43, my self-esteem was low and my 'fat' jeans were feeling much too snug. I had also moved to 'Toluca Woods', which is the name realtors created for the less tony area north of Riverside Dr., above posh Toluca Lake, hoping to entice potential buyers to what's commonly known as 'North Hollywood'. "Carolyn, did you know North Hollywood has the most registered sex offenders in southern California?" asked my friend Mark. Great. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear, when moving into a new house in a strange neighborhood.

It was fall 2008, we had just finished the movie, the holidays were approaching and I had at least a month off to decompress. I curled up on the sofa, turned on the TV and caught an interview with Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote the best-seller, "Eat, Pray, Love". I thought a book about healing from a failed relationship could be inspiring after an exhausting year.

I read the entire book in two days. The way Gilbert describes Rome and the people who inhabit the city was intoxicating. I impulsively logged onto the internet to find out how much a Roman holiday would cost me. A little adventure in an historic city with incredible art could kick start my personal life. For a mere $489 I could be wandering the cobblestone streets of Rome. However, since I work for myself and don't always know when the next job is coming, I contemplated whether I should save money and stay in my sex-offender-populated neighborhood, or fly to Italy?

Bleary-eyed from the long flight, I dropped my luggage off at my bed & breakfast, tucked away, off a side street. Then I found a little cafe on Piazza Venezia near San Marco, ordered a glass of wine and watched the people pass by. Rome was beautiful, vibrant and amazing. I met Paolo and Vicenzo there. Vicenzo was a bodyguard for one of the Superior Magistrates and was carrying a gun. He was very excited to discover I lived in L.A., which was the only city he had ever visited in the U.S. He spent a summer at UCLA learning how to speak English. "No one speak Italian in Los Angeles!" said Vincenzo with a very heavy accent, "They have no the patience with me when I practice the English."

Paolo drove the high judge's bullet-proof car and was the spitting image of Jean Reno. He said very little, as he inhaled deeply on an unfiltered cigarette. I spent about an hour with the two of them, discussing the best places to visit in Rome during my stay. The Colisseum was next on my list, so I thanked Vincenzo for unexpectedly picking up my lunch tab and headed toward the bus stop.

Paolo & Vicenzo quickly exchanged words, then Vincenzo said, "Wait here." The two of them disappeared around the corner. Moments later, an older model Fiat, with one-inch thick windows screeched to a halt in front of me. Paolo was behind the wheel and Vicenzo was riding shotgun. "Get in," he said, "we'll give you a ride to the Colisseum." "Vicenzo," I replied, "I am a female, traveling alone in a foreign country and you are asking me to get into a car with two men, who I just met." "I'll leave the windows down," he said. It took some manpower to roll down the thick, heavy windows, so I knew if I needed to get out, I probably could. "Not if the car was driving 80 m.p.h." my brother later pointed out.

The traffic was backed up for miles but it didn't matter. Paolo turned on the siren and drove fast down the wrong side of the street the entire way to the Colisseum. Opposing traffic quickly veered out of our way and I was delivered to the Colisseum in a matter of minutes. "Grazie mille," I said repeatedly as I exited the car. (Part II below)

A Date With Rome (Part 2)

I awoke one morning and the rain was coming down hard. So I decided to travel to Naples and find the pizzeria that Elizabeth Gilbert described in her book. The train ride was 2-1/2 hours through beautiful countryside. As I looked out the window, I realized I had broken my promise to my good friend, Roberto, that I would not travel to Naples alone.

I exited the train at the station and found a much less rosy version of the city than what Gilbert described. Street urchins manned their posts, all eyes upon unsuspecting tourists. The expression "they'll steal the socks off your feet" originated in Naples. I slung my overnight bag over my shoulder and held on tight, quickly maneuvering my way through the perimeter to a safer area.

I found a small shoe store with an elderly man sitting next to the register. He spoke no English and my Italian was poor, so he asked me to wait for a moment. I waited patiently for about 15 minutes until he said, "Uno momento," again. Finally an elderly woman came out from the back room and tried to understand where I wanted to go. After much gesturing between the two of us, she realized I was looking for Pizzeria da Michele. She hit the side of her head and rolled her eyes in astonishment that I had traveled so far for pizza around the corner from her store. She took my hand, and personally walked me up to the front door of Michele's. She wished me good luck and left.

It was 10:30 in the morning, so I easily found a seat and immediately ordered the double mozzarella, as Gilbert suggests. As I waited for the pizza, I realized I had absolutely nowhere to go. I had no hotel, no idea how to find one and the streets of Napoli were not so friendly. I wondered if I should just get back on the train and head back to Rome. I'm in Italy so I looked up at the ceiling and prayed, "please give me an answer as to what I should do next".

The pizza arrived on an enormous pan. "I'll never be able to finish this," I thought, but I dug in. The pizza was absolutely amazing, exactly as Gilbert describes. The juices and oils from the cheese settle in the middle, creating an astonishing mixture of aromatic and savory delights. The thin crust was perfection... crispy around the edges but doughy in the middle. I was completely in heaven as I devoured the entire pizza.

I didn't know the next time I would be in Naples, so I contemplated ordering another pizza as two young girls and a man entered and sat at the communal table next to me. I was relieved to hear them speak English. I listened for awhile before interjecting and asking where they were from. The two girls were exchange students from San Diego and Franco was the American Consulate in Naples. Who better to tell me where to stay and what to do than Franco? My prayers had been answered.

Franco hooked me up with a hotel on the ocean, overlooking the Old Spanish Castle. I spent a portion of the day at a museum and then wandered around the city. Later, I met Franco for dinner and we ate a classic Neapolitan, family owned restaurant. The mother cooked and her son just kept bringing one amazing dish after another until we said, "Basta". The next night we had sushi in a little restaurant, high up on a hill, with a hundred and eight degree view of Naples, which was breathtakingly beautiful. I was so happy to be out of Los Angeles with no cell phone, no text messages, no emails, no responsibilities and wanted this moment to last a very long time.

The next day, Franco had business in Rome, so I hitched a ride back with him. His parents were both Italian, but he was born in Southern California and was a USC Alum. I traveled all the way to Napoli and met someone who grew up about 5 miles from me in L.A. After one last evening together in Rome, we said goodbye.

I took one last walk around the city before heading to the airport. I noticed many people lining the streets and wondered what the excitement was all about. Up ahead, a parade of sorts with a man wearing a red suit, was being driven on what looked like a white sled. "It's Christmas time. It must be Santa Claus," I thought. Nope. It was the Pope!

When You Leave the Door Open... and He Slams It Shut

I met Andrew online. He was warm, friendly and a straight-shooter. One of his rules was, "If you're not interested in someone you meet online, don't return their texts, emails or phone calls. It keeps the door open and leads the guy to believe he still has a chance. Trust me on this," Andrew said.

Really? If someone is terminally weird, I can see not returning a message. It seems kind of rude, though, if the guy is nice but just not the right guy for me. Why not be an adult and say, thanks but no thanks?

He was 53, and a divorced architect. At our first meeting, at the Coffee Bean, he was late showing up and was covered in mud from one of his job sites. But he was ruggedly handsome and easy to talk to, so I was interested in learning more.

He invited me to dinner the following Friday at Casa del Mar in Santa Monica. We sat at a table in front of tall windows overlooking the beach. He cleaned up nicely, looking handsome in jeans and a black, cashmere v-neck sweater.

His cell phone began ringing. It didn't stop ringing throughout the entire dinner. His sister called to chat and then his daughter, Julie phoned several times. For her 16th birthday, Andrew had arranged a weekend trip to Las Vegas, complete with Billy Joel concert tickets for her and her boyfriend, Ben. Kids from upper-middle-class families in Los Angeles lead extraordinary lives, I thought. When I was a kid, I got dinner at the local Italian restaurant, which included a slice of chocolate birthday cake with a sparkler.

Julie and Ben were driving up to Vegas this particular Friday night, but had been informed by friends that they might not be able to check into the hotel since neither one of them were 21. Andrew worked the phones, talking with the hotel clerks, and managers trying to get them registered. He apologized profusely between each call, explaining that this was an unusual instance.

I couldn't help but overhear the conversations Andrew had with his sister, his daughter and her boyfriend. I'm sure a lot of women would have quickly lost patience with him, but I was impressed by his calm, supportive manner. They looked to Andrew for advice and guidance and he was happy to be there for them. How different life must be if you can count on your father and know he'll be there for you, I thought. I could not imagine, back in the day, tracking my father to one of his haunts or heading to The Last Chance Saloon for a little paternal advice.

The next morning, on Valentine's Day, my phone beeped with a text, "Wanna go to Vegas today?"

Despite Andrew's efforts, Julie and Ben had been unable to check into their hotel, so Andrew had prevailed upon a childhood friend to put them up in his condo for the previous night. The friend, a comedian and an alum of Saturday Night Live, was a bit of a germaphobe and doesn't like people staying in his place," said Andrew, "so I convinced him it would only be for one night." We were flying to Vegas so Andrew could check the kids into their hotel, then planned on flying back to L.A. that same day. He picked me up on the way to the Burbank airport.

As we approached our gate, the ground crew shut the door to the causeway. We'd missed our flight by 30 seconds. The next flight wasn't for a few hours so we passed the time getting to know each other better. We started comparing tunes on our iphones and by the time the jet was taxiing for departure, had progressed to our 'worst relationships ever'.

We met Julie and her boyfriend, Ben, at the Venetian front desk. Ben has his own band whose songs were already getting airplay on college stations and they were close to signing a label. Julie was beautiful and examined me from head-to-toe, curious who I was, accompanying her father to Vegas. I hoped I was cool enough in her eyes to get the thumbs up. Meeting someone's kids for the first time is always nerve racking. Not to mention, if you get the kids' approval, dating their dad can be a lot less challenging.

By the time Andrew got them checked in, we found out that there were no seats left on flights back to L.A. And, since it was Valentine's Day, all the hotels were booked up too. We tried every viable option, including towns outside of Vegas, but nothing was available. Other than sleeping at the airport, there was nowhere to go. So Andrew called his germaphobe friend again. I didn't hear the conversation, but gathered it took some convincing on Andrew's part to get the condo again for another night.

Yes, it was a bit awkward spending the night in close proximity to someone I had just met, but being the good sport, I went with the flow. What else could I have done? We stopped for toiletries. Damn, why didn't I bring my makeup bag? Well, at least I had my sunglasses for the early morning Vegas sun.

Back in L.A., Andrew and I continued to see each other. He made dinner for me one night. I joined his office's Oscar pool (and failed miserably). He indicated he was ready to move our relationship ahead to the next level. And then - nothing. I never heard from him again.

I went over everything in my mnd. I was surprised, but not devastated. But why the cut? I thought it had all been good. I called my psychic friend, Bill Burns, who is amazingly accurate at zeroing in on personalities. If you give him a name and/or a photo, he can tell you all about a person and why a relationship may or may not work out with someone.

"He has intimacy issues" Bill quickly said, "Well he doesn't really. It's all in his head, but he doesn't realize that. You need somebody who will always be there for you. He isn't 'it'. Better you know now, than six months down the road." What Bill said seemed entirely possible. I will probably never know if he was ultimately right or wrong, but it was enough information to stop obsessing about what happened, chalk it up to another dating experience and just move on.

Four months later, I was traveling back to the Palms for "Easier With Practice's" premiere at Cinevegas. In the cab from the airport, I texted Andrew, "We arrived in Vegas for the film festival today and are staying at the Palms. Couldn't help thinking about our weekend adventure. Hope you and your kids are doing well :)"

Adhering to his own rule, I knew he wouldn't reply to my text, but I hoped it would, at the very least, make him smile.

A Date With "Rock Star"

His email said, "OK OK Finally, a profile I like! :) Before I sound like a book, please take a look at my profile. If you like what you see and read, I would love to talk". I clicked on "Marc's" profile and thought, "Oh. My. God. You have got to be kidding me!" I could never go out with a guy like this. I declined and did not return his email. A day went by and he sent another, "You are so beautiful it isn't even funny. Love the hair! I would love for you to take a look at my profile, let me know if you would be up for conversation... and you work with nonprofits, me too." OK, what woman doesn't love to hear a man call her beautiful, and this guy was being persistent. I clicked on his profile again and looked at all the glitzy photos and wondered if I could actually go through with meeting someone like Marc. I had no idea who this guy could be. There are a lot of weirdos in L.A. and he could easily be one of them.

I was never into musicians either. I dated plenty of bad boys in my 20s, so why go there again at this point in my life? Not to mention he's eight years younger than me. I am typically attracted to men my age, or older. I once dated a navy seal when I was 38 and he was 27. I was constantly doing the math in my head... when I'm 50, he'll be 39. Great, I'll be disintegrating just as he's coming into his prime. It's hard enough living in a city where 50 year-old men marry twenty-somethings, so why start off with such a big handicap?

My friend Ivo came over and I showed him all the men who had emailed, winked or added me to their favorites on this dating site. I asked him to pick out the men he thought I should pursue. I had not chosen so well for myself in the past and thought that maybe a male perspective could steer me in the right direction. He studied all the pictures and read all the emails. He weeded through them pretty quickly and narrowed his choices down to two men: a tall Latino guy named Rio... and Marc. Just then, as if on cue, another email from Marc popped into my box, "I know you're thinking about it. Come on... you're close. Let's meet for coffee." Ivo and I burst out laughing. How could I not meet this guy?

"He's got something going on," said Ivo. "That attitude at his age means the guy has security about himself, he knows who he is and that's his dream and he's living it." Ivo's words rang true. I am always saying I want to meet a man who knows who he is and has a good sense of humor. I just never thought he would come in a package like Marc.

We met for coffee at Urth cafe. I found him sitting at a small table, patiently looking around and waiting. He has a really nice face, I thought. It took about 5 minutes to realize Marc is a very sweet, smart and hilariously funny guy. He's from a small town in upstate New York, lived in Chicago for many years and moved to southern California only 2 years ago. He has been experiencing what most people go through when first moving to L.A. and that is... it's hard to find good, quality friends here.

It was Super Bowl Sunday and he had a party to go to and I had another date. Marc asked me where I was going and, since I'm not a good liar, I told him I was meeting another man from the same site. "He was really arrogant on the phone, so I'm not expecting too much," I said.

On the surface, Rio was more my type than Marc. He was tall, dark and handsome... but then again, Marc was tall, his hair is naturally brown under all that blonde hair, and he was surprisingly handsome.

I drove over the hill to Studio City to meet Rio. We met outside of Jamba Juice and I listened to Rio talk for quite some time. He's a photographer, a healer, a filmmaker, an editor, an artist and I think he also said a horse handler. He was an odd mix of arrogance and insecurity. If put to the test, I could tell you many fascinating details about Rio's life (such as why he's currently prohibited by the government from traveling outside of the country) but he probably couldn't even tell you my last name.

After 90 minutes, I left and, as I was driving home, I received a text from Marc. "Do tell. Was he arrogant? Were you right?" I thought it would be tacky to repeat anything Rio said, but one comment he made stood out in my mind, so I texted Marc back, "He and Freud think a lot alike". Marc responded, "Lol... That just made me spit out my coke".

I liked Marc but my friend Joan asked me how I could take anybody seriously who legally changed his name to "Rock Star". Yes, Marc showed me his California driver's license and his name had legally been changed. I had to admit it seemed a little odd, but Marc and his identical, twin brother (legal name "Super Star") run a nonprofit in Chicago called We Are One, that helps get kids off of drugs. They recently completed a CD with some famous musicians to help raise money and the name change is part of their marketing ploy. However, my male friends were much more accepting. I showed the picture to my friend Chris in Scotland who said, "Cooks, that is the single greatest photo I've ever seen!!!!! Where can I get one of those guitars?" I realized Marc's not only living his own dream, but the dream of pretty much every guy I know... and in the world. "I can't believe no one did it before me," stated Marc. I agreed.

The whole thing is kind of crazy but there are many things about Marc I like, and his energy just makes me smile.

"I See You, But You Don't See Me"

"I See You, But You Don't See Me" is what Steve, the self-described "Jewish Richard Gere," texted me while I was trying to spot him at United's baggage claim. Bad sign, I thought. I'm really good at spotting people in a crowd, but I guessed he probably didn't look much like his profile pic on Millionaire Match. An uneasy feeling grew in my stomach. I wondered why I had been driving my car around LAX, picking up a total stranger in the first place.

My girlfriend Sandy called, asking if there was any chemistry between me and Steve. "I don't know yet," I said, "I haven't seen him. United lost his bag, so I have to keep driving around the airport until they find it," I told her. "You're picking him up Carolyn?" she exclaimed, "The kind of guy you want to meet, is the kind of guy who gets his own car and picks you up". She was right. I shouldn't be picking up random strangers at LAX, who I met online.

This was the first time any man had flown to L.A. for the sole purpose of meeting me, so I didn't know what the proper etiquette was. I figured if a guy was buying a plane ticket and booking a hotel room, the least I could do was pick him up. Steve never mentioned getting a rental car and had always assumed I would pick him up anyway. His email had said, "So.....How do you want to arrange the airport? Curbside? Meet me at the gate with flowers and...dark chocolate (my favorite), marching band (a little too much maybe)?" his 'humor' foreshadowing a potentially tragic weekend, I thought.

Ten minutes went by. Another text appeared. "I am ready for a cocktail now." Hallelujah! Surely this was code that Steve's luggage was found and I was closer to a stiff martini (or four). I pulled up to baggage claim, but still no sign of Steve. I texted him, asking where he was. "Still waiting for my luggage," he wrote back. Oy vey... this "Jewish Richard Gere" better be great.

Uh oh, he's reading my mind, I thought as I read his next text. "I'm worth it," he wrote. The traffic cop flashed his light on me yet again, and motioned me to move on. I found a place to pull over and park. I sat quietly for a few moments, took a deep breath and told myself that everything was going to be ok. Maybe the recent corny emails and texts were because Steve was nervous to meet me too. And I was going to do my best to have a positive attitude and a nice evening.

"You miss me?" he asked. I had not noticed a tall, lone figure approach my car. Steve leaned in my window (a little too close for my taste) and took my hand. I looked at him. Steve said he was 55, but I thought he was 60 and looked nothing like Richard Gere. He wore business slacks, a grey henley under a black v-neck sweater, a blousy tan jacket and thick soled Florsheim's. His clothes were baggy, most likely hiding an out-of-shape physique. Steve got in and buckled his seatbelt. I wanted double olives in that martini.

I have a strange man in my car. I am not initially attracted to him and I'm supposed to entertain him tonight and tomorrow.

As we drove along, I found myself working really hard to have a pleasant conversation. We made it to Cecconi's, one of my favorite restaurants in L.A., in record time. I ordered a sour apple martini and wondered if they offered it intravenously. He ordered a kamikaze and took careful sips. He was hungry and ordered the eggplant parmesan. He took a bite and said, "Oh this is good, you've got to try this" insisting on feeding me. As the spoon neared my face, sauce dripped off the sides, landing on my jeans.

How was I going to spend the whole next day with this guy? I waited for the alcohol to take effect. I ordered another and tried to remember what we had in common and what originally drew us together.

We both had reached out, looking for a connection that could possibly lead to a nurturing, long-term relationship. We each had made significant arrangements to finally be sitting next to each, after our initial contact one week prior. "Chemistry" I thought, "you're an elusive beast." Steve reached over and put his arm around my waist. I then watched his hand as it slid down my hip onto my thigh. He was testing the water and I wasn't jumping in.

The next morning I picked Steve up from his hotel and drove to the beach for brunch. "Did you want to get coffee on the way," I asked. "No, thanks. I had chamomile tea. I have so much energy, I didn't want to be too much for you today." Steve often spoke of his athletic prowess and high energy, but I didn't see it.

Once at the restaurant, we had a pretty interesting conversation about our families. But, he started repeating some of the same stories he had told me on the phone. "Yeah, I remember that story. You told me that one on the phone." I said. "Well, maybe I did tell you that story, but I didn't tell you the part about the encyclopedias. That part was new." "Oh, right, tell me more." Is it noon yet?

After brunch, we decided to go back to Hollywood and see a movie. As I was driving through the Wilshire corridor, Steve mentioned that this was the area where one of the women he previously met online lived. She had invited him back to spend the night at her condo, even though, according to him, she was bitchy to him during their date. "I turned her down," he said. I wasn't completely sure of his purpose in telling me this. "Is this the woman who didn't want you touching her $2,500 golf bag or the one who wasn't happy you showed up wearing Birkenstocks?" I asked.

At dinner that night Steve asked me how he thought our date was going. I reviewed his qualities in my head. He was nice guy and he was very pleasant. He was a gentleman and he was also somebody's father. I wanted to be honest with him in a respectful way. I told Steve that he was very easy to talk to, and that I had had a nice time with him, but ultimately I didn't feel any chemistry with him. "Ok," he replied. "So where do we go from here?"

Sometimes I Wonder if there's Something Wrong With You...

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with you that I don't know about since you're still single," said Peter. I was hurt by his comment since I've known him for ten years and we've had many honest conversations about relationships. Not to mention, I have spent countless hours listening to his various marital problems. "Would you consider me normal if I was in an unhappy marriage like yours?" I replied. "Good point," he admitted. "Sorry."

Since I have never married, the question I am often asked is, "Do you think you're afraid to commit?" I didn't think so, but honestly, I don't know. Maybe I am afraid to commit, or maybe I just haven't met the right guy yet. Admittedly, now that I'm getting older (and my life span shorter) committing to someone for the 'rest of my life' doesn't seem so daunting. "How will I ever know if I'm truly in love, and with the right man?" My sister-in-law told me once "well, you just know when you know, and I knew with your brother." They were were married for 14 years before they divorced.

I wondered if maybe I had passed up an opportunity to marry a good man. I thought back over the handful of relationships I had early in my dating career. My very first was "Rick". He frequented the restaurant, where I worked as a hostess during my senior year of high school. It was a conservative eatery where the pudgy manager often rolled his eyes when I wore outfits he thought too fashion-forward for conservative St. Louis. He threatened to make me a busboy once, when I wore a black Norma Kamali sweetheart top, white pleated skirt and red stiletto pumps (topped off with big 80s hair and jewelry). However, it was this particular outfit that captured Rick's attention.

Rick was 25, divorced, had thick auburn hair, not much of a chin and a big nose. Frankly, he looked like a totally buff, but younger Barry Manilow. He sat at the bar each night, stealing glances each time I passed. I could feel his eyes on me and I liked it. I was 18, a virgin, and my hormones were raging. I fantasized about him seducing me... his breath on the back of my neck as his hands grabbed my waist and pulled me in close, kissing me deeply, just like a bad romance novel. "That will be $18.75," I said to a father paying the dinner tab, eyes half-mast, jarred out of my fantasy. Dreaming of Rick seducing me made tedious work hours tick by.

After a week of unrequited desire, I approached Rick and asked if he would like to take me out sometime. Two nights later we had many drinks and ended up on the floor in his office, narrowly escaping a security guard doing his rounds. I was nervous as he looked deep into my eyes and took me. The next day, Rick sent flowers to work with a card that read "thank you". The waiters gave a nod by leaving a small dish of maraschino cherries on the hostess stand. I never saw Rick again... end of trashy romance novel.

Next was Pat, a big drinker, pot head and failed screenwriter I met in NY in my early 20s. He was my roommate for 6 months before he wore me down into being his girlfriend. Our relationship ended after I hit the redial button on the phone, thinking I was dialing my mother and, instead got an answering machine with a young, female voice talking in a thick Chinese accent, "Hello, me not home right now (giggle) peas leave message and I call you sweetie". I didn't think much of it at first, but then came home the next day, the day after that and the next and was greeted by the same message each time I checked the redial function. I wasn't sure if Pat had another girlfriend or was seeing a prostitute. I didn't stick around to find out.

Then there was Tom, who was on the cover of TV Guide as one of the "Hunks of Hollywood" during the late '70s. He had been on a huge hit TV show, but was now doing musicals on Broadway and recording a country album with his band. We dated for a year and I was the love interest in one of his music videos. But, while he was on the road touring with his band, he got some girl pregnant, married her and didn't tell me, until she was nearly in labor.

"Maybe you're just too picky," said an unpleasant woman recently at a dinner party, who is married to a drab man with deep pockets. Well, shouldn't I be picky if I'm looking for a man to spend the rest of my life with?

Maybe there is something wrong with me, but for two hearts to want the same thing, and follow the same path is truly a miracle. I can't just make that happen. However... I do dream of having a relationship with a man, that no matter how much or how little we have, we still have each other.