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.

(Part 1) It's An Odd Feeling When A Date You Don't Know Cancels

I started online dating again. In the past, I was on Match and, with the exception of a few guys, I met a lot of... characters. None of the men looked like their pictures and two showed up wearing Hawaiian shirts. I try to experience every date like a new adventure, but the guys I met on that site had to be the most lackluster men in L.A. I remember meeting Larry, a real estate insurance claims investigator, at his favorite chain restaurant (this last sentence would have been more than enough warning for any woman not to go). I stared into my glass of bad red wine, trying to visualize where all the exits were located. Maybe during his long pontification, I could sneak out undetected through the side door. But no, I was sentenced to two hours before he took a breath, and I could interject to say my parking meter had surely run out.

I tried eHarmony too and met one very smart, interesting man. My initial impression of Mark was that he was gay. He worked in publishing, looked about 50, was dressed nicely but just seemed to be more effeminate than any straight man should be. He was also the ex-husband of a very wealthy woman, who is a friend of my former boss... which made me feel immediately insecure because she makes 100 times more money than I do. We sat at the bar and talked for two hours and never experienced a pregnant pause. But, it was getting late and, although I enjoyed my time with Mark, I did not have any romantic interest in him, and I suspected he felt the same way toward me. As I thanked him for the drinks and stood up from my barstool, he took particular notice of my footwear and complimented me, "Those are beautiful shoes you have on," he said. I was wearing a pair of Pradas I purchased at the end-of-a-season sale from Neiman Marcus 5 years ago, and realized Mark probably already knew that.

If I never went on another dating site in my life, I could die a happy woman. But I had lunch with a business associate last week who mentioned his son met "a really fantastic girl" on "Millionaire Match". "They've been dating for over a year," he said. I had checked out Millionaire Match in the past but felt artificial trying to find a man based solely on his net worth. However, you don't have to be a millionaire to be on the site and, in order to write about dating, I have to actually go out on a few dates, so I pulled up the website and joined.

The next morning I had multiple emails in my inbox from potential suitors. The first guy I clicked on had put me in his 'favorite' box. He was nice looking, so I read his profile and thought that we had common values and interests. I sent him a brief email. He called me later that night and I immediately liked the sound of his voice, which was kind and soulful. Our conversation lasted for a couple of hours, covering a lot of personal ground. The anonymity of a few photos and a phone provided free license for an open and honest conversation with a total stranger. Closely examining Steve's picture, he told me that he was often referred to as the 'Jewish Richard Gere,' which is ironic since people tell me I look like Julia Roberts because of her big, red curly hair in "Pretty Woman" (and I'm friends with the "Latino Richard Gere"). Steve's a native New Yorker from a prominent family, who now lives in a small town in Northern California-- 374 miles away, according to Millionaire Match.

Other notable emails included a dinner invitation from a 6'6" Yugoslavian man in Santa Monica, WHO TYPED ALL IN CAPS. Six feet, six inches, is really tall. "Oxygen doesn't travel to the brain the same way when you're that tall," noted a male friend. "I'd be careful with that one." A very handsome Italian man in San Diego sent me an email that said, "I don't like name Carolyn, I'm calling Carmela". I thought he was making some obscure reference to "The Sopranos," but no, he just didn't like my name Carolyn and was calling me Carmela. The last email from him that I read said, "Can u make me a star like clooney status???? Lol". (Part 2 continued below...)

(Part 2) It's An Odd Feeling When A Date You Don't Know Cancels

I also received an email from a "75% Italian and 25% Persian" Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, whose specialties are noses and boobs. Danny's profile said he was 40, but he looked more like 50. He emailed me his phone number and wrote "call me". However, my own experience has proven that I have much better luck when a guy is pursuing me, so I emailed him back with my number instead. "How much do you weigh?" he immediately asked. "138," I responded. I weighed myself that morning and knew I was 141, but "130-something" sounds much better than "140-something" so I lied about 3 pounds. "Have you ever had any work done?" "No," I said. I understand the attraction to plastic surgery, however needles, botox and cutting flesh scare me. He directed me to his website to prove he was really a surgeon. There were 'before' and 'after' pictures posted of a nose job and a breast enhancement. I have to admit the new boobs looked really natural. "Would you ever have yours done?" he asked. "I like my breasts," I said, "So, no, I would not 'enhance' them". Was he looking for a date or more clients?

Our superficial conversation carried on for about 15 minutes. He told me that he had only met two women from the site. The first 'woman' he met actually turned out to be a man and the second woman was 200 pounds heavier than the picture she emailed him, which is why I didn't take offense to his pointed questioning. However, since he was being blunt, I also took liberty. "You look older than 40 and you sound tired," "That's because I haven't slept in 9 years," he responded. "Everyone thinks I'm older because most of my friends are doctors in their 60s." He then asked if I drank and what kind of alcohol I prefer. Red wine or vodka are my typical choices. "What about tequila?" "Yeah, tequila's ok," I answered. "We should get along just fine." he said. I didn't feel like I had much in common with Danny, but I didn't know anyone like him and thought dinner could be an interesting and colorful experience. I agreed to meet him later, after his soccer game. "What are you going to wear?" Ballsy question, but clearly he was gunshy from his two prior, shocking experiences. "A black dress and heels," "What length?" he inquired. "To the knee," I replied. "I like black," he stated, "Now it's your turn to ask me questions." I didn't need to. I knew more than enough.

A few hours later, Danny called. We talked for a bit about his soccer game, before he said he was really tired and just wanted to get home, shower and go to bed. He cancelled... After 9 years, he finally wanted to go to sleep. I had rearranged plans to accommodate dinner with him. It was an odd feeling to have a date with someone I didn't even know, cancel on me. He asked if we could reschedule next weekend. "Can't. I have a friend coming into town."

So here I was on a Saturday night, content watching the SAG Awards (I wanted Jeremy Renner to win for THE HURT LOCKER!) when I received an email from Steve that said "... stop looking at all those boys online, you have a date!!!" My 'friend' coming into town next weekend is Steve, the Jewish Richard Gere. He booked a hotel room and a ticket to L.A. Yikes... I hope we have the same chemistry in person that we have on the phone.

"You're Like A Dude With Boobs..."

...said David, "and I mean that as a compliment." I was in Salt Lake City with David, Kyle and Bob. We had just wrapped a shoot and were eating and drinking at an Italian restaurant, before catching our plane back to Los Angeles. I accepted what David said as a compliment, but then wondered ultimately if I had lost my femininity around men. I grew up with three brothers, I work in a male-dominated industry, my friends are mostly men, and I enjoy the company of men. I'm around men 24/7, yet I'm single and date infrequently. Have I become too much like one of the guys that men aren't interested in me as a woman anymore?

"If I keep eating this way, I'm going to look like a dude with boobs," exclaimed Bob. I laughed as I contemplated my predicament.

My insecurities rose to the surface. Do I need to be more feminine? Should I change my wardrobe? Let's face it, working in independent film and on nonprofit videos, doesn't leave me with much discretionary income for clothing. Teenagers in Los Angeles have a better wardrobe than I do. Maybe I need to dress sexier. Hmm.

Yesterday, I met Tom Ford at the Spirit Awards brunch. I introduced myself and told him our movies were nominated in the same category. I was quite taken by how exceptionally polished and handsome he is up close. Most celebrities look quite different in person, but Tom Ford, wearing his signature sunglasses, could have walked right out of a color, glossy, high-fashion magazine ad. Not a whisker was out of place. He's undeniably handsome and has a movie star look. (I predict Tom Ford will be starring in his own next film). A photographer approached us, asking to take our picture, so we turned and I placed my hand on the back of his 'Tom Ford' jacket. "Oooh, cashmere" I cooed. "This is the most casual outfit I have," he said. "Really?" I said, "This is the most dressed up I get." "No, I do have jeans," he corrected before he graciously exited. I began to assess my own outfit: my favorite J Brand jeans, Zara jacket, Hugo Boss white-collared shirt and Charles David shoes. Oh god, did I really just introduce myself to Tom Ford looking like this? I quickly reassessed the room of independent filmmakers and took solace in the fact that ok, I think I fit in just fine with everyone else.

Slightly frantic however, I called my brother Leo and asked him if he thought it was bad to be called 'a dude with boobs'. "Well, I don't think it's good," he said, "Objectively speaking, you're pretty and sexy so that's not an issue. But you 'don't suffer fools gladly' and men don't want someone to call them on their bullshit." He's right, I thought. And working in the entertainment industry for the past 20 years, certainly hasn't made me any softer. I contemplated a past relationship. My biggest problem with Kent was that he never dealt with any of his own personal issues. He literally and figuratively swept everything under the rug. It was hard for me to respect a man who wasted opportunities to learn and grow. But, at the very least, I knew after speaking with my brother, that my problem wasn't with my wardrobe.

"Men like that moment of surrender,'' said Ivan, a friend of mine for ages, "That's what it's all about, that moment when the woman surrenders to you". I understood immediately. I know the moment he described and any woman who has ever read a romance novel knows that moment too. Many women's fantasy is to be seduced and eventually succumb to their ideal man. I am no different. But, how could I ever 'succumb' and be 'conquered' if I was considered to be one of the guys?

I did not know where to turn for an answer so I decided to call David and ask him to explain exactly what he meant. "You are very comfortable hanging out with men and can laugh at the same stupid things guys laugh at without acting superior like some women do, especially when it gets really raunchy." Ok, but I asked him if I lost my femininity in the process? "No, Carolyn, besides having red hair, you're a ball of fire," he stated, "You're smart, in touch with your emotions, honest, tall, have long arms..." My confidence was coming back (but is having long arms a good thing? "...but men are fearful of these things and because you are powerful, I think you scare guys off." Oof. I have heard this before... many times. I was sinking back into insecurity. But what do I do? If I had the answer, I wouldn't be writing about my experiences looking for a meaningful relationship in Los Angeles. But what I do know is my life would be a lot less rich if I didn't know all the men who are in my life-- including David who has an amazing wife and kids, is very close to his mother, easy to talk with and completely comfortable around women. As a matter of fact, I thought, David, you're just like a "chick with a penis."

Never Bring a Handsome Man to an Event with Single Men...

...I learned this very important lesson last night. Never be with a handsome man when you're trying to meet single guys. Maybe you already know this (clearly I wasn't thinking) but men lose interest if you are with someone better looking than they are. A client kindly invited me and a guest to a fundraising dinner where one of the videos I produced was being shown to the audience. This particular nonprofit provides free legal services to the underprivileged in Los Angeles and many of their clients are Hispanic. I invited my friend Ivo to join, because he had translated all the Spanish interviews during production and I thought he would be interested in seeing the finished product. There were approximately 950 people attending, mostly attorneys, mostly men and many of them single. I was looking forward to attending.

Once I arrived, I ordered a glass of red wine to help take the edge off of my busy day and feel more confident talking with random strangers. I walked around the crowded room, and came upon three attractive men, who were all probably mid 40s and single (i.e. they weren't wearing wedding rings). They happened to glance over and, as I started to smile, I noticed that any glint of interest, or hint of a smile faded, as Ivo approached from behind me and stood by my side. What was I thinking?! Ivo is an exceptionally handsome man. He is from Argentina, a famous telenovela actor and was in PEOPLE Magazine a handful of years ago as the "Latino Richard Gere". What man in his right mind would approach me to talk if I'm with one of the most handsome men on the planet? Right! And no one did!

I've known Ivo for 7 years and have witnessed women fly across the room, shove me in the chest and stomp on my foot in order to get close to him. He has that charisma that has brought him just as much heartache and pain, as joy to his life. So, what did I do since I was interested in meeting single men but I am with one of the most handsome men in the world? Am I an idiot? Here I am with one of the most handsome men in the world, watching a video I produced on a big screen in front of many people. It was an amazing evening and it was nice to be able to share that experience with one of my closest friends.