A Different Point of View

I met Nick at a memorial service last October. He walked up to our group, just as a former co-worker asked me in an inappropriately loud voice, "Are you dating anyone now or are you still single?" I cringed. We were there to mourn the death of a friend, not talk about my dating life. "There's no good men in L.A.," she shouted again. "They all suck."

I turned to Nick and introduced myself. He worked in the entertainment industry, but was taking some time off to help kids in a third world country. We exchanged business cards, but I never heard from Nick until he started following my dating experiences online. We emailed back and forth a few times and then six weeks later, we met for drinks. He offered to write a piece for my blog, so I happily accepted. Here it is:

"These words, are truly, sincerely, really being written by a boy, mid-date with the infamous Carolyn. It's true.

In light of her entertaining blogs, I half-seriously offered to make a contribution from the male's perspective - even during the same night.

The glugs of Jack Daniels made me think this was a good idea, but honestly, I'm having my best (date) time in recent memory, and this exercise gave me extra time with her.

I knew Carolyn in a very quick and random way and although hopeful, could not bet the farm on this date -- I'm younger (and if the navy seal couldn't cut it...) jetlagged, just home from more than a month on the other side of the world, and well, whatever else... life. Sparks rarely fly, so the odds were against us.

This being my side of the story, I only get to speak for moi, a needy Cancer. I fished for some positive feedback throughout the night, as my own enthusiasm grew, but like a poker player at the final table, I could read little from Carolyn.

She kissed me back and I'm still sitting next to her. You would think that would be all I need to know, but strangely that's not the case.

On the page, and in person, Carolyn is what we all say we want-- smart, funny, soulful, and attractive -- that more or less is the magic combination, and in cities like LA, two out of three is a win. At 37, and never married, I'm now holding out for three or more, which leaves me with combinations like a Mensa member who volunteers a lot at the Laugh Factory, but looks like Harvey Keitel. I'd like to wait for all four, but that seems a distant dream with the sense of humor being the Lochness monster of the group -- often spotted from a distance but, in reality, only a rocky outcrop in the mist.

Along comes Carolyn and indeed she is all four. You'd think I'm a friend helping her out at this point by writing this, but no. It's the truth. For some reason, I love the idea of sharing this as it's happening, for better or worse -- either way you were here."

I read Nick's piece to my friend Ivan this morning, asking if he thought it was a good idea to post his very complimentary words online. "Are you kidding me?" he asked. "I pay someone $800 a month to tell me how great I am. Post it."

Thank you Nick.

A Potpourri of Potential Paramours

It's not every day I receive an email from an online dating site with multiple photos of a handsome, muscular guy in his underwear, swinging a tree branch on the beach... but "Jake" certainly put a smile on my face yesterday. His message read, "I found your profile interesting and would like to hear from you." Damn, this guy lives in New York. I wonder if he ever travels to Los Angeles?

Dating can be hard work. The amount of time that goes into booking a date can vary from one email exchange, to more than two weeks of emails, texts, phone calls and voice mails back and forth. Sometimes plans are made, then canceled and then made again. All this energy and effort to meet a total stranger who posted online what could be an outdated photo and his own personal, glowing written review.

Some of my friends, all of whom are in relationships, think making dates is really fun and easy. "Carolyn, why are you online? Meet someone organically. Go to parties." I do go to parties, but couples only know other couples and rarely invite attractive single men or women to their parties, since they are all married. Or, they invite one single guy and watch all night to see if any chemistry develops between us. I am constantly working, traveling and meeting new people and rarely connect with someone who isn't already married, or gay.

"Don't talk to guys for too long on the phone," said my friend Dennis, "I guarantee you they're watching a game, reading a magazine, or checking out more 'inventory' online, while you think they're getting to know you better." I had already discovered talking to guys on the phone for hours before meeting them, was a complete waste of time (I See You But You Don't See Me). There is no way to tell if there is chemistry between two people by talking on the phone. Our mental images, hopes and desires rarely measure up, to who shows up for the date. Not to mention, the anonymity of the phone is a free pass to divulge intimate information to a complete stranger, that you haven't even shared with your own closest friends.

A few seconds is usually enough time to reveal whether or not there is any chemistry. And, of course there are times when I have more of an attraction to him than he does with me, or the guy is more attracted to me and I'm planning my escape route.

Online dating connects me with many men who I would not typically meet. I generally receive 10-15 emails or 'winks' a day from men around the world. One guy sent me 5 photos of himself, all with his shirt off, making muscle man poses in different cities around the world. A 21 year old kid sent me multiple complimentary emails, so I wrote him back, thanking him, but stating that he was too young for me. He changed his age on his profile to 44 and continues to write. Other men pitch me story ideas. One guy from Belgium constantly 'winks' at me, but never writes anything. And many guys look like they spend way too much time at home alone, in front of their computers, posting photos taken on their cell phones, with their arms stretched out in front of them.

I recently read on someone's facebook page, "What you think about, you bring about". Have I not been thinking hard enough about who the right man is for me? Just then an email popped into my box. It was from "Jake" the guy on the beach in his underwear. "I'm relocating to your area at the end of May." Hmmm... maybe I have been thinking hard enough.

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

"Your relationship with your father directly affects your decisions about your romantic partner," said James, a long-time friend who has been married for 35 years. "It's as simple as that and it's the most fucking complicated thing in the world," he continued. "Great," I thought, "I'm screwed".

In the 70s, cocktails swirled and emotions simmered just below the surface. Quiet lives of desperation were housed on every block, including ours. For better or worse, couples married young and discovered later if their decision was a life sentence.

For anyone on the outside, looking in, I had a decent childhood. We lived in a nice house in the suburbs of St. Louis. Money was tight, but I had my own room, my siblings and I went to private schools and there was always a box of Hamburger Helper in the cupboard. But, you know what you learn and I certainly didn't grow up learning what a loving, supportive relationship looks like in my dysfunctional family.

Dirty dishes and clothes piled high, as my mother sipped white wine, painted and listened to soap operas on TV. I imagine she suffered from depression, wondering how she went from a beautiful debutante and college co-ed to a mom with 6 kids and an unfaithful husband.

My father was really sarcastic. He came in with a smile and jabbed you with an insult. Sharpest tongue won in our family. It was every man for himself. We were trained to expose the weak spot, divide, go in for the kill, conquer.

Normal every day occurrences were land mines for emotional survival. Even the car ride to school could be an emotionally taxing ride. One particular morning when I was ten, I was running late, trying to straighten my frizzy hair. My dad was in the car with my siblings, honking the horn repeatedly. I lifted my head from the ironing table and unplugged the appliance. The horn blasted again. I ran through the kitchen to the back door, past my mother, who says without looking up from her fashion magazine, "Try putting on some lipstick."

As my dad sees me round the corner, he honks the horn again for emphasis. I cram into the back seat with my brothers. "All this time in the bathroom for that?" he shouts, angry for making him wait. "Great!" He throws the car into reverse and screeches out of the driveway. "I think you look pretty," says my oldest brother. "Don't lie to her," says the other. "Yeah, she might believe you!" chimes in my sister. My father turned around and smacked my brothers on their legs, "Shut up!" he says, "The world needs brains too."

Talking about men and failed relationships was easier to swallow eating Kaya toast and Thai rice noodles at The Street on Highland. James was giving me advice about how he has been able to keep his marriage going for 35 years. "You have to learn how to love and trust, especially if you didn't have that as a child."

I've spent my entire adulthood studying relationships and how to build one. I watch how couples respond to each other. All of my happily married friends had strong male role models in their life, and in most cases their own parents are still married. Love, support, trust and guidance was (and still is) a part of their lives. My friends Tom and Susan met each other later in life and I am constantly inspired by how lucky they feel to know each other. I hope one day to have that same experience. What a wonderful feeling it must be to have someone in the world who knows you deeply, understands your strengths and weaknesses, still loves you and wants to know you even deeper.

I thought about Mike (Fool Me Once) and I asked myself why am I trying so hard to get to know this person who doesn't want to be known? And then I realized he's emotionally unavailable for me just like my father was. On a subconscious level, I was familiar with this territory. What I grew up learning was seeking love, acceptance and understanding from a man who was incapable of giving it, and here I was falling right back into the same mode, reaching out to Mike for the same emotional connection I never received from my father. Hadn't I invested enough time and money in therapy over the years to have moved on from this shit? Am I really 44 and still dealing with father issues? Ugh...

If I didn't grow up learning what it's like to be in a loving, supportive relationship, I certainly wonder if I will ever be able to recognize a man capable of such a relationship.

If eyes are the window to the soul, then I will heed my friend's same advice he gave for me walking the red carpet, "Just keep your head up, and look into people's eyes."

I do not know if deep love is attainable for me, or if I find it, it will last 'until death do us part'. But what I do know is that I am willing to take that risk for as long as I am living on this planet.

Fool me once...

Ugh... why did I fall for it again? I've been on a couple of dates recently, but I haven't met anyone I'm interested in and, since I've been working on a production, my work life has been really busy and stressful. So, late one night, when I was lying in bed, unable to sleep, I heard my cellphone beep with a text. I am not a fan of texting and I typically text only for work-related reasons, or to let someone know if I'm running late. So, I had a pretty good idea who was writing me this late at night. I saw Mike's name on the screen.

"What are you doing?" it read. I had finally gotten the 'idea' of Mike ("Dating Sucks") out of my system. I really liked him but he had flaked on me too many times. I didn't want to open that door again by returning his message so I didn't reply. He texted me again, "Oh, I see," he wrote. Really? Did he? I rolled over. Damnit, now I was wide awake and I knew I would not be falling asleep anytime soon.

I am compulsive about returning emails and texts, whether they are work related or personal. I am consistent in business, and with my close friends and with family members. I do what I say and my friends are the same way. We know we can count on each other. Our word is good. However, sometimes I forget that most people aren't wired the same way and that many people are inconsistent and flakey. I had grown accustomed to Mike's flakiness, and he was used to my consistency. So, when I stopped returning his texts, it didn't take him long to figure out I was pulling away.

The next morning Mike actually dialed 11 digits and called me (lol!). My friend Dennis was right. "If a guy is interested, I guarantee you, once you stop texting him, he'll call you." The only problem was I stopped texting Mike because he was all talk and no action. He was constantly pulling at my heart strings with his complimentary words, but consistently falling short on action :( But, I suspect he liked having me around. I am "the real deal," according to Mike, a honest counterpart he can trust vs. the superficial, materialistic world in which he skims along the surface.

"Did you meet someone?" Mike asked. What an odd question. This guy flaked on me half a dozen times. Why would he care if I met someone? "Here we go," I thought. Mike was toying with me again.

Dennis told me a couple of weeks ago, "Listen, Carolyn, if a guy wants to get to know you, tell him he can talk to you on the phone or make some time to see you in person. You can't get to know someone through text messages." Such a simple sentence that makes so much sense. I had been accommodating Mike's wishes and not being true to myself. When I asked Mike why he didn't like talking on the phone, he told me that he didn't like being in a position where someone could ask him a question he didn't want to answer. "I'm kind of a pussy that way," he said.

I was happy talking to Mike so another week of texting and late night conversations took place. I knew I was descending into what would certainly be disappointment for me again. But what if it wasn't? We made plans to get together yesterday, and as I was driving back to L.A. from Palm Desert Saturday afternoon, my cellphone beeped with three consecutive text messages. If Mike was consistent with one thing, that was flaking on plans. I didn't have to reach for my phone to actually read his texts to know he was canceling. When I arrived home three hours later, my thoughts were confirmed. The first message was him canceling, the second message was him apologizing and the third message was him saying he would call in 'a bit' to profusely apologize and that I can't dare be mad because he "kind of had no choice with this one." Btw... he never called... lol!

Any decent guy who needs to cancel plans would have picked up the phone, explained the situation and offered to arrange for another time. Easy. Everyone feels good. Done deal. But the self-described phone pussy clearly does not have the emotional maturity to discuss an easy matter over the phone.

Isn't the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Since Mike has been consistent in flaking on plans, I cannot possibly be mad at him for staying true to his own behavior. However, I am upset with myself for allowing myself to be in this same position yet again. I had given far more credit to Mike than he deserved. I was clearly looking in the wrong place for a mature relationship.

"Carolyn, love isn't perfect or easy," says my married friend Ivan, "You are eloquent and compassionate and charismatic, with the right values. Anyone who gets to grow old with you is lucky as hell... and because someone will". Now those are words based on a twenty year friendship that I can hold onto and thankfully, march forward. Thank you Ivan. I really needed to hear that. :) :) :)

Sushi in a Strip Mall

My close friend Dennis asked me what I was doing last night. "I'm having dinner with a guy I met online." "Baby," he says, "why don't you get out more and meet people in real life?" I told Dennis that if I wasn't online then I would have had only one date last year. The only reason I went online was because I wasn't meeting any single men in Los Angeles. Guys always think it's so easy to meet single people in L.A. But where are they?

I met Dennis twenty years ago in a bar in New York. He owned a number of art galleries across the country and one night, when he was out with members of his staff, he made a bet that he could get a date with me. I knew what he was up to when he approached me because all his co-workers were watching his every move. We dated for a few months and have been friends ever since. Dennis was (and still is) a handsome man and is the consummate bachelor. He has dated more women than I could ever begin to count. So, he's constantly telling me what I'm doing wrong, what I should say and how I should act when guys ask me out.

"Go hang out at Whole Foods. I meet hot women there all the time." We have all heard the grocery store is a great place to meet single people, however my neighborhood Whole Foods is in the heart of West Hollywood, a predominately gay neighborhood. I grocery shop there all the time but have not once been approached by a guy. However, I meet hot women there too. I have been approached by gay women a number of times. One woman invited me for a drink at the Abbey, a well-known gay bar. For a brief moment, I contemplated her offer. She was strikingly beautiful, with long dark hair, green eyes and full lips. If I ever went gay, it would have been with her.

"Where's he taking you?" Dennis asked. "Some sushi restaurant in Encino," I responded. Dennis scolded me, "He should be coming to your neighborhood. Why are you driving all the way to Encino?" Bob offered to come to my side of town, but we had decided on sushi and all the sushi restaurants I like are in the Valley, so I agreed to drive over the hill. Dennis knew the restaurant I was going to. "It's in a strip mall behind a Tony Roma's," he said, "What kind of guy would take you there?"

Frankly, when meeting someone for the first time, I would rather get coffee or a cocktail and not commit to dinner unless there is a second date. But it was Friday night, I was finishing up a very long, extremely stressful week, and was looking forward to a glass of sake. If I had an interesting conversation with the total stranger I met online, then I would consider the night successful-- I realize, at this moment, you are all thinking what a glamorous life I lead.

"You're doing everything wrong," said Dennis, "Rule number one, don't be too accommodating or guys will take advantage of you. I'm telling you this because I care about you. You're a catch. Make him work for you." Then Ivo told me I should never follow any rules. But isn't that a rule too? I just want to be myself. Isn't that enough? Yes, I am accommodating... this is true. I'm always trying to make everything easier for everyone else but, I get it. If a guy doesn't go out of his way for me in the beginning, then precedence is set... he never will. My head was spinning. I started my new dating 'adventure' only two months ago and I'm already sick of dating. According to Dennis, I'm doing everything wrong, which I can't argue with since I'm on my way to a strip mall to have dinner with a man I've never met.

Many of my friends have different opinions about whom I should be dating and how I should go about meeting men. But, right now, I would just like to meet a decent guy. "Ah, but Carolyn," says Ivo with a smile, "Men are not so important."

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)