L.A. Affairs

Moving to L.A. was a chance to begin dating anew. No one seemed quite right. Well, there was this one woman I liked spending time with, but she’d firmly said she didn’t like to hike, and that’s something I love...

I told my dates upfront: I’m in it for the fun, not the long-term.

Instagram was right: Keeping a relationship a secret can sometimes be just what that relationship needs.

I understand not unloading all your personal baggage on the first date. But by date No. 2? That’s the time to say: ‘By the way, I’m married and have three children.’

I thought the date went well, but he never called or texted. I tried to remain positive, and drove my friends to insanity with constant questioning about whether I should play it cool or follow up first.

We’re getting closer, but there’s something that we haven’t done yet, something that will catapult our relationship into “couple” status… We haven’t taken an “usie.” We haven’t whipped out the cellphones, hit the front-facing camera button and grinned wide for the camera, our faces cheek to cheek in love-soaked glee.

I can’t help but think that cancer — this horrible disease — is what brought us together.

It’s a stereotype to say all L.A. men are like this. But there are enough tools out there to make me wonder: Which guy deserved a gold medal in the Tool Olympics?

My mom told me to wear a red dress in my dating profile. At 69, I figured: Can’t hurt.

It was her vintage look in her online dating profile that pulled at me. She appeared to have a ‘70s sense of thrift-store fashion that complemented her seemingly slender frame. Plus: No kids! Not allergic to dogs or cats! Born, raised, and still living in Los Angeles! The dating gods wanted me to win.

When I started dating again after a bad breakup, I vowed to look out for those ominous signs of trouble — and to address my own red flags.

He walked me to the car that night, and asked if he could get in and talk. Here it comes, I thought, and braced myself for the “just friends” speech.