Boy game and girl game are two very different things. Let’s be honest, I would never want to compete with the plethora of dating coaches/relationship experts that exist in the Bay Area because…I’m just not that kinda girl.

But I get it…heck, I’ve been there, I’ve dated a hobo in disguise too…well…reformed vagrant of society. Hers unceremoniously dumped her, mine bicycled off into the sunset becoming a born again Christian — it’s all very San Francisco. And I’m in love with San Francisco…the kinda love that makes you swoon and feel like a stampede of cart-wheeling bunny rabbits squealing “YAY!”. I love the ambiguity of the city and its people but it comes with a price. The admission fee into this carnival-esque scene means that I’m going to have to ask a lot of questions: Gay? Straight? Vegan? Married? Child-Support? Homeless? Do you like America?!?

So, girl game is essentially navigating the murky waters of the dating pool in 4″ heels. BTW please don’t pee in the pool. All the excess chlorine has already stripped many of their boldness (a common complaint of SF-daters). Where did all the boldness go? To the gays, who comprises 36% of single bread in the area. I completely adore the fabulously gay out-of-the-closet-down-the-hall fellas because they understand confidence — the ultimate aphrodisiac. Death to oysters, chocolate and whipped cream because NO ONE feels sexy stuffed to the gills like a beached whale. Is it no wonder that the growing rate of obesity and overweight Americans contribute to the dwindling 44% of those that feel sexually satisfied in their lives?

That’s right, I said it! After reading this blog post, you should get your tush to a gym and work it out.

Every generation is different and Generation Y (those born between 1978-1990) is no exception. We’re like Generation X on steroids. All the things that shaped Generation X: globalization & technology (Boeing 747), immediacy of information (internet), crumbling family structure (divorce) are reaching new heights. MTV has taught Generation Y to filter information at rapid pace and the iPhone not only gives us the power of google at our fingertips — we can take it with us in our pocket!

The prevailing parenting structure of Gen Yers had our elders letting us believe we could be anything we wanted to be. Many youth sports today incorporate a “no-cut policy“. We were winners if we just showed up for the game. People call it positive reinforcement. I call it bullshit.

The typical Gen Yer boy believes he’s the best thing since sliced bread. He’s a winner because he’s been told he’s special, different, and unique his whole life. And he probably is all of the above because his mother needed fertility drugs to help in his conception at age 35+. While growing up, he was coddled and cooed at as if he was the next Messiah. If I want to date him, I have to become Mary Magdalene. She’s the “penitent sinner” aka reformed whore, and the questionable wife of Jesus.

That must be why some girls dress like whores. They haven’t quite figured out the reform part yet.

There’s a chill in the air. And it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas… everywhere you go. A little bit of skin is sexy so all the extra bundled up layers makes me feel like I’m coming down with a case of the blahs. I’m beginning to realize that I date less in colder temperatures — maybe it’s a coincidence?

I’m also a workaholic. So it’s a rare occurrence that I go out for lunch, but every-once-in-awhile the fish tacos are calling my name. I head out to the corner taco joint, and patiently wait for my togo order at the nearest open table by the ready counter. Business bread walks past me once, then twice. On the third pass he casually asks if he could share the table — we immediately launch into conversation. He offers me his chips & salsa! Score!

My number is called over the loud speaker. But I ordered my food togo! I couldn’t think of a single plausible reason on how I could take my togo box and sit back down with business bread for lunch. Because…what if he was just a normal friendly boy that liked conversation? What if I overstep his invisible boundaries? But rules were meant to be broken…I should have flashed my megawatt killer smile and said, “Yea…I’d like your salsa all over my chips.” But I get cold feet too.

For the most part, I have a pretty good idea of how others view me. It’s a mix of rainbow light, crazy emotionally attached, girl that loves bread. But I get really confused when my core friends describe me in ways that don’t mirror the same adjectives I’d use to describe myself. Because if my close friends don’t understand me, then how can the rest of the world?!?

This past weekend I rounded up a gaggle of old college friends. As we were catching up on each others’ lives, I realized that I’m nearly in the same place I started years ago. I’m back to my same weight except now, with a slightly better wardrobe.

At the end of the night, one of my bread buddies volunteered to walk me back to my car. It wasn’t difficult to find, I was parked next to a church, under a gigantic lighted neon blue cross. Under its spotlight glow, I confessed to him that I was losing faith — in the entire dating process. Because there’s a boy I’ve been dating on and off for the past several months. Except we’re going nowhere; every date is like the third date and he’s thoroughly happy being a noncommittal singleton. So while I got into my car and turned up the heat to warm my hands, I thought carefully about the next words I’d say to him:

I’m going to walk away from you while I still can. Because right now, I only think about you every other moment in the day. And if it gets to the point where you consume all my thoughts, I don’t think I’ll be able to walk away as intact as I am right now.

So there I was, losing my religion, in front of a life-sized figurine of Mary and Joseph. How ironic.

The film maker of my original speed dating adventures decided to open a shop of his own: Zoom Dating. Since it was the first event and people can be flaky (not even the good-for-you raisin bran kind), he contacted me (and a few other single friends) as guaranteed eye candy with great conversational skills!

Nine dates total. Three minutes each. Let me tell you, three minutes is FAST. That’s enough for ONE person to give you a reader’s digest version of their life. So instead of asking myself: Would I date this boy? Does he make my mouth water? Do I get warm fuzzy feelings like walking through a bakery? I turned it into something more along the lines of: Would I ever want to have a conversation with this person again? Circle YES or NO.

You’re supposed to receive your “matches” through email the next day…
At 10:30 pm, I started wondering:

• 10:30 – hmm…it’s getting late
• 10:45 – maybe he’s sending the emails alphabetically by first name
• 10:50 – OMG, what if I don’t even have any matches?!?
• 10:52 – …that would explain why I haven’t gotten an email!
• 10:55 – I’m losing my hotness.
• 10:58 – The world is ending.
• 10:59 – *ding* You’ve got mail!
• 11:00 – Hallelujah! 100% success rate
• 11:03 – I’m bringin’ sexy back

You might think that after my posts about bootlickin’ fetishes and my vertically challenged self, that I could put the topic of shoes aside on the shelf. But most women own on average, 19 pairs of shoes — which means I’m behind the times raking it up with only 15. Over half of them are heels and none of those are under 3″ and my everyday ones hover around 4″. According to my conservative sexy secretary friend, it means that I’m always indecent because anything over 3½” is not office appropriate. So, why do I choose to put my lower back through all this stress?

When males were asked to evaluate the desirability of female height and leg length, an average woman with 5’4″ height was rated most attractive when their inseam measured 30.5″ — approximately a 5% increase. And I’ll take all the extra credit points I can get. But here’s my theory, the higher the heel the more likely someone’s going to sweep you off your feet:

• 3″  = sweet
• 4″  = sexy (the is the zone I like to rock)
• 5″   = f* me, tonight.

But it’s not really about how many inches you rock, it’s about how it all makes you feel. ‘Cause that’s what she said.

1. Smile. There’s nothing more disarming than blinding someone momentarily by flashing the pearly whites.
2. Make Eye Contact. You’ve already smiled so there’s no slinking backwards into the dark alley. Make some soul connecting eye contact that says, “That’s right, it’s me (bitch)!” Do not apologize for looking like an over the top tarted artiste in frilly knickers. Own it. Love it.
3. Enthusiastically run up and hug it out. The one that makes first contact gets to set the tone of the entire meeting so be the aggressor and initiate. And who would turn down a free hug from someone looking as sexy as you (in fishnet stockings no less!)
4. Don’t be alarmed. While launching into the standard conventional small talk: “How are you? How have you been?” don’t be alarmed if he answers: “From afar I was thinking there goes one hot chick…then I realized oh shoot…IS that even a girl?!?” This just means you’ve pulled off a pretty impressive feet of dressing like a girl that’s dolled up like a draggy queen who secretly wants to be a woman.
5. Hoop off into the sunset. Yup. Send him on his merry way into the hordes of leather bound semi-clad men by wishing him a gay ol’ time!

Who hasn’t indulged in a little liquid courage now and again, especially on a palm sweating first date. Here’s a word of advice, booze is a bummer. One drink is dandy, but anymore and things get randy. But maybe you like ‘em easy and loose. Be nice and remember to hold back her hair while she’s making left hand turns driving the porcelain bus — she’ll love you forever.

Think about the consequences. Overconsumption of booze, and boys get boisterous, aggressive, and generally man-handle anything in sight. Girls aren’t much better; they get sloshy & sloppy, roofy & raped, and generally get the short end of the stick with infectious diseases. Personally, I tend to drink under the cover of night. Mainly because my asian glow blends better with candlelight dinners and long walks on the beach.

If you’re one of those that needs a drink to help loosen the lips pre-date, post-date, or heck, during the main event there are better choices. No need to show off your oral skills with tongue twisting drink names. Simple is sweet. I never trust a boy that orders fruit flavored concoctions. I’ve said this once, and I’ll say it again, beer goes great with bread and boys. I’ve been known to order a cold one in the middle of a sake bar. If you’re worried that beer is too low-brow for your carefully crafted image, then add some class. Drink it…pinkies up.