Hot Women Also Love Frozen Yogurt

There’s this place on Montana in Santa Monica called “Menchies” and I have to say, the hottest women go there.

Maybe not as unbelievable as that cupcake place but still, it was pretty A-list. Plus, it’s almost all women. Practically no men. It kind of has a day-spa feel to it where women can go to let down their guard, eat two pounds of ice cream, I mean frozen yogurt, and just hang out with other women without being judged.

And that’s where I come into the picture. But don’t worry, I judged them all very favorably. And p.s., why do women in frozen yogurt shops all wear skin-tight yoga pants? It’s totally hot.

I went up to the one guy in the store (he worked there) and asked, “How come there’s so many pretty women in here?” Now this guy was a total stoner type, pretty overweight, with nerd/hip glasses so I knew I wasn’t going to get attacked by my question. He said, “Chicks dig the froyo.”

I asked, “What flavor do the hottest women prefer?”

He didn’t even think about it. “Dulce de leche.”

So I went over to the yogurt machine and said to no one in particular, “Yum, dulce de leche, my favorite.” A women who had just used that machine said, “Me, too.”

I said, “What toppings do you put on it?”

“Blueberries, walnuts, and hot fudge.”

I said, “That sounds terrible. I put crushed kit-kats, mini peanut butter cups, and m&m’s.” I was just making it up as I went along.

“Too much candy. You can’t overpower the yogurt.”

I laughed and said, “Hi, I’m Fletcher.” And I know this is going to sound hard to believe, but we actually ate our yogurts together and I got her phone number and I’m going to call her. Her name is Jennifer and she’s a buyer for a department store.

Honestly, I was just goofing around. I didn’t have some big plan to seduce froyo ladies. It just worked out that way.

Don’t Talk to Girls at the Gym

It’s not like I was hitting on Miss Elliptical.

I was just making small talk. The TV was on CNN and she didn’t have any headphones on, so I said, “Nothing like a G-20 Summit to motivate you at the gym!”

She gave me a prissy look and said, “I don’t think they play the news to motivate us. You have to bring your own motivation.”

What does she work for, Nike? I said, “I must have missed that sign on the door. I saw the one that said ‘Be prepared to show your membership ID’ but the one that said, ‘Be prepared to bring your own motivation’ must have been at the sign repair shop.”

She said, “Wow, that was a really long and complicated comeback.”

She had me. All I could think of was “So’s your face,” but I didn’t say it. Instead I just said, “Looks like you’re busy here so I’ll just leave you alone. Go South Korea!” And I walked away.

At the free weights it was all guys. I bet they would have appreciated my comments about the G-20 Summit.

Moral of the story: Girls at the gym are apparently members of the “Don’t Talk To Me, I’m Working” Union of Waitresses, Exercisers & Airplane Book Readers, Local 545.

I Asked Out Elevator Girl

I saw Elevator Girl on the way down to the lobby. I said, “Hey, Michelle. Big plans this weekend?”

And she said, “Hi, Fletcher. Yeah, nothing too special.”

She remembered my name. That was a pretty big deal!

So, feeling bolstered by my recent success with women, I said, “You know, we should have coffee some time.” But then I started to lose my nerve and began backtracking. “I mean, just because we’re in the same building. I have a girlfriend. I’m not asking you out or anything.”

Michelle laughed and said, “Yeah, sure.” Then she pulled out a business card and said, “Email me when you’re taking a break next time.”

Then we reached the lobby and she got out.

“Have a great weekend,” I said, holding her card with a big smile on my face. I know I am.

What To Do about Party Girl

I’m going out with Marny after work. I know I should break things off with her but Paul says I should “enjoy it while I can” and Neil thinks

I should secretly video tape us having sex so I can watch it later. (Neil may have been kidding but I’m not sure. He probably hopes he can watch it.)

The point is, every guy I’ve talked to says to keep hooking up with her because Marny is hot and willing. One guy posted a comment about how I’m not married and I should be out there having as much meaningless sex as possible.

So I’m conflicted. Not that I have a lot of readers here, but any advice would be appreciated.

My Date with Party Girl

Friday night was weird. I picked Marny up in Hollywood and then drove all the way back to Brentwood for dinner. I should have just said meet me at the restaurant and saved myself 90 minutes but I was trying to make this a real date, and call me old fashioned but I think that includes pick-up service.

Marny looked great. She really is an attractive girl. She’s a little younger than me, 24 I think she said, and she has long, straight, blonde hair. Plus, she’s pretty tall. I’m only 5’9″ and she was almost as tall as me. And she’s very thin. I guess you have to be if you want to make it as an actress.

Anyway, we talked in the car about her typical day. She works as a receptionist for a producer and he lets her go on auditions whenever she wants. She had one audition on Thursday for a new sitcom that she thinks went well.

At dinner, she was talking about all the plays she’s done and her scene studies or something. I noticed the menu had been poorly formatted where the prices didn’t line up. Usually this is because someone used the space bar to line it up manually instead of the tab key and I tried a gambit of telling the waiter.

“Any questions about the menu?”

“Yes, I have a question. Did you ever notice that the prices don’t line up?”

I explained my theory about the space bar and the waiter seemed to be very sympathetic. He said he does freelance graphic design and he’d never make that mistake. But no one ever noticed it before and I wondered whether a graphic designer really could have missed something as obvious as that.

Anyway, I thought it was funny, the waiter did, too, but Marny just stared at me like I was crazy. Like, I was Rain Man or something.

The rest of the night I just focused on listening to Marny talk incessantly about acting. I asked other questions, like where she grew up and stuff, but it always came back to acting. I don’t want to sound like an elitist dick here, but “intellectually curious” would not be how you would describe Marny.

I took her to a jazz club after dinner. (Again, I wanted this to be a real date and I planned something special.) The weird thing was that I was glad not to have to listen to her anymore, but at one point, she held my hand and rested her head on my shoulder.

That kind of freaked me out. Again, it’s weird because we already had sex. But the intimacy of her holding my hand felt so… premature. I was really uncomfortable.

The other weird thing is that I thought the date was kind of blah. She had made a pretty mediocre impression on me. We didn’t really connect. She didn’t like my musings on tabs vs. spaces and I knew right then and there that we’d never have a future together. I didn’t want her to be my girlfriend. I didn’t even want to go out with her again.

But outside the jazz club, she kissed me. We made out for a while. And then I took her back to my place and we, you know.

So Saturday, I felt like shit. I think she really likes me. Probably because I’m such a good fucking listener now. But I can’t keep leading her on. It’s not right. I’m not 22 and capable of meaningless relationships anymore. Maybe this is what growing up is all about. I want more. I don’t want to just hook up. I want someone where there’s an end game. I feel like I’m one of those women from a bad romantic comedy. But it’s true, I want someone who I look forward to spending time with.

Still, there’s something intoxicating about having someone be more into you than you are her. And a totally hot girl, too. Intoxicating is definitely the right word. It feels like the beginning stages of addiction. (Educated guess only.) I know I need to end it before it goes too far.

Oh, and by the way, we already made plans for a third date for Wednesday.

Another Waitress

Sleeping with Marny made me forget all about my lunch with Paul on Saturday. He’s been following my exploits on the blog and I think he’s come around to thinking this is pretty cool.

I was feeling emboldened by my break in chastity and wanted to show off how well I talk to strangers now. So I starting talking to the waitress. It went something like this:

“Hey, you’re new. I haven’t seen you here before.”

She said she started a few weeks ago so I asked where she worked before that. In less than two minutes I found out she was a fit model. I’d never heard of this, but apparently it means she’s a perfect size 4 for a particular brand of jeans so they use her to make more size 4 patterns. You could say she’s the Platonic size 4.

She went off to put in our order and I looked at Paul feeling smug. He had just watched the whole time and was pretty impressed by the whole conversation.

When she came back, I asked some more questions, but this time she only gave me one or two-word answers. Not sure why I suddenly lost my rapport with her, I tried again when she brought out our food.

She looked at me kind of annoyed and said, “Look, no offense, but I don’t date customers and I’m super busy today so…”

I turned red, she took off, and Paul laughed at me. Was it my hubris that had gotten the better of me? Or did I break the rule about seeming too creepy? Or is it just waitresses who are buzz kills?

Party Girl

I went to that party at Scott’s friend’s apartment in North Hollywood. First of all, what a dump. How do people live there? I live in Brentwood where it’s literally ten degrees cooler, and by the way, it’s not much more expensive.

I know people who live in Santa Monica who pay the same as chumps in the valley.

Anyway, the party was at this director’s apartment. I use the term “director” loosely, as he has “directed” one short film starring Scott, and it’s about a guy who stops a mugging/rape only to find out in the end that it’s really just a cat and I guess he imagined everything else. I won’t go into detail about how bad the film is.

The party was mostly actors and I will say that actors are a pretty attractive bunch. There were a lot of cute girls there. I didn’t know anyone other than Scott so I made a beeline for him. He introduced me as his “lawyer friend” and I had to keep correcting him since I am a banker, not a lawyer. But he was already too drunk to make the mental note and continued calling me a lawyer.

I met a few people through Scott, including one really hot “actress” named Marny. I met a few other people on my own, asking a lot of open-ending questions. The one thing I learned was that it’s hard to make it big as an actor. That’s all anyone talked about. Auditions, callbacks, getting an agent. I saw “Swingers” a long time ago and it was exactly like that. I think when people found out I couldn’t help them they kind of lost interest.

So I went back to Marny and listened to her talk about a screenplay she’s writing about two women who rob banks and kill other women’s cheating boyfriends (real subtle). To be honest, it made absolutely no sense but I listened and nodded thoughtfully. This went on for a long time. Before I knew it, the party was breaking up and she was just finishing the story.

I figured maybe I’d get her number and call her sometime but suddenly, she says, “You want to go somewhere else?”

I was like, sure. So we went to some bar and had a few drinks. Then, when I really thought the night was over (it was like 4 am), she says, “Do you want to come back to my place?”

To be honest, I was shocked. I was literally speaking only 5% of the time. How can that be interesting enough to invite me back to her place? But I guess she just really likes people who listen.

We went back to her place and well, you know. Sunday morning was kind of awkward but I kissed her goodbye and said I’d call her.

All day yesterday I was thinking about two things: (1) should I call this girl? I mean, I didn’t really find her interesting. But she was very attractive and I think I’ve earned a meaningless physical relationship. On the other hand, where is this going to go? It’s going to end badly if it even begins, so why be an asshole and pretend to like her? On the other, other hand, I did say I’d call her…

The second thing I kept thinking about was Elevator Girl. I mean Michelle.

I Met Elevator Girl!

It finally happened. Just as I was leaving for the day the elevator door opened and there she was. And she was alone. I was caught off guard for a moment but I immediately realized I only had an elevator ride down to the lobby to make this happen so I just got in, let the door close, and said, “Hi, I’m Fletcher.”

I glanced a bit in her direction, but more or less stayed looking forward (i.e., practically no eye contact).

And apparently when someone introduces themselves, it’s a normal human reaction to respond in kind.

She said, “Michelle.”

“I’ve seen you before.” Stating the obvious but it’s a start.

“Yeah, I work at […].”

I told her where I worked.

Ding. We reached the lobby.

“Well, have a great weekend,” I said casually.

“You, too.”

And that was it.

Possibly the shortest, most insignificant conversation ever, but it felt amazing! You know why? Because first of all, I did what I said I was going to do and took control of my destiny. Second, now I know her name, so the next time we see each other, we won’t be strangers. It won’t be weird to talk.

On the drive home, I wondered why this was such a huge thing. I mean, isn’t communication like this the most basic human skill? How did we lose this ability to talk to people?

Janet in Reception

I guess technically it doesn’t count as talking to strangers since I already know Janet, our receptionist on 19. But I don’t really know her, I just know her name. I’ve never actually spoken to her. Until today.

I had a team meeting in the main conference room and after it broke up I cut through reception to get back to my desk. Janet was just sitting there. She doesn’t get many calls. If someone needs to call one of the associates, they dial direct. And who calls the main number anyway? It’s not like a company cold-calls i-banks and asks if they have any debt restructuring specialists.

Anyway, Janet is just sitting there, probably reading a magazine, but I can’t see for sure because the facade is too high. I stopped and said, “Working hard, I see.” I know, real original. Like the stereo guy in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High.”

She looked up and said, “Oh, yeah. It’s a thrill a minute here.”

And that would have been that on any other day. But today I was working really hard on using my powers of observation. I actually looked at her. And lo and behold I noticed something.

“New tattoo?”

She looked at her shoulder self-consciously. “No, well, sort of. I got this last month.” It was a butterfly.

I was about to launch into my usual tirade about tattoos–how it’s impossible to put something truly cool on your body, how lame girls get sayings in languages they don’t speak, how people make frivolous decisions that last forever–but I stopped myself. I think I’m funny. But the conversation isn’t just about me. Instead, I listened. Paid attention. And this is what I said:

“How many tattoos do you have?”

Not totally fascinating or surprising, but effective. I was being interested in her.

We talked for probably ten minutes. She has a boyfriend. She lives in West Hollywood. She went to Cal. State Fullerton. She’s thinking about going back to school for social work.

To be honest, I was a little bored. But it was weird, I felt like I was auditioning her, not the other way around. She was doing most of the talking and so I didn’t have to perform. I wasn’t trying to be funny or charming or interesting. I was just listening to her. And that made it so I could gather information, find out if I liked her, as a person. And she was basically fine. We are infinitely closer now than before. It wasn’t some magical connection but the point is I felt like I was doing the deciding about the future of our relationship.

Maybe that’s key to talking to women. Don’t talk, just listen. Don’t audition, make them audition. Then, if I really like the person, I’d be armed with a million facts about her to segue the conversation into something more.

Back at my desk, about twenty minutes later, something occurred to me. Was I flirting?