On a scale of 1-10, how hot would you rate…

Yea, I’ll admit it…I was recently rated a 3 — I didn’t argue. Maybe that’s why I have deep-seeded dating issues because I’m aiming for a 6, 7, 8…the bread that’s wayyy out of my league. I should go dumpster diving and slum it. Do you think I can find good bread while digging through the trash? Because the saying goes: One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And I am a diamond in the rough, like a piece of coal.

There’s a quirky theory that runs rampant through the streets of San Francisco — that at best, only 6′s & 7′s exist here. The belief is if you transplant a San Francisco “10″ to any other place (Las Vegas, Los Angeles, etc.) they’re only really a 7. Gee…that grass sure looks greener on the other side…Good thing I’m a 3, so I don’t even have to deal with those calculations! I just find it disturbing that people even rate others, like some review on yelp. Stop complicating your life because you’ll get stuck in the decimals. Honestly, there are more important things to spend my time on — how to increase my net worth.

However, even though I’m a 3, I’m actually “hands down the best kisser EVER” …urbandictionary said so.

Dear Mr. Right (or Mr. Right Now),

We haven’t been properly introduced but I’ve dreamed about you ever since I was a little girl and old enough to wish on stars. You’re my star — knight in shining armor coming to rescue me, your damsel in distress. When we meet, I’ll know it’s you because I’ll be overcome with emotion equivalent to an asthma attack and you’ll sweep me off my feet, tossing me over your shoulder like a fireman…or pirate. I’ll exclaim to my girlfriends that, I’m gonna lasso that man, and marry him! because you give me goosebumps, heart palpitations and even come with joint healthcare!

You won’t need lines, or gimmicks, or routines, because you’ll have me at “HELLO” — actually words won’t be necessary at all. You’ll look deep into my eyes and fall head over heels where you’ll promptly whisk me away to our own private island / chateau in France / winery in Napa. Not only will you be rolling in dough from saving the lives of starving children in Africa, you’ll have made it big during the dotcom boom but have the sensibility to pullout before the Great Recession.

You’ll understand that when I say, “Do you want dessert?” what I really mean is “I want dessert, but I’m too much of a pig to eat it on my own.” But even if I gain 5, 10, 50lbs, you’ll still think I’m sexy and F*able. But please, never when I’m not in the mood…

You’ll throw rocks at my window in the middle of the night to capture my attention and hold a boombox over your head, professing your undying love in the middle of a thunderstorm. You will not be gay. You’ll burst in the chapel and save me from marrying the douchebag standing to my left, because you have the sixth sense to help me even when I don’t know it myself.

And I’ll wait for you because I’m a princess — my daddy told me so! From the moment I could comprehend, I’ve been force-feed feeble tales of Cinderella, Snow White & Pocahontas. The Little Mermaid ain’t got nothin’ on me because I already have both my feet. No flipper babies for us!

So, what do you say, Mr. Right? Let’s go get hitched and ride off into the sunset together…

Yours Forever,
A douchette baguette

It’s kinda interesting that eHarmony.com makes you take a gigantic personality profile test. I think it’s a fabulous idea to know what makes you tick before trying to find your better half. Recently, I had to take a personality test for work and I’ve been reading about myself for the past two weeks non-stop because it’s surprisingly accurate.

Apparently, I’m rare — 2-5% of the population kinda rare. I’m also a natural born leader (i.e. I have bigger balls than you do) with all the suave + charm of a cult leader. But in my defense, the people of Rome loved Julius Caeser! He used his power to make Rome a prosperous, open, and trustworthy place to live — that’s exactly what I do in relationships.

But then I noticed a very odd trend in my personality profile. Of the 10 notable personalities that I fall in line with, only two are women. One is a lesbian, and the other took various stands against her own sex. I’ve been told that I’m intimidating by both boys + girls. It’s because I’m not afraid to bite and most people don’t really want to date someone that intimidates them. So, unless I want to go into the dominatrix business, I’m screwed. Wait. On second thought, I wouldn’t even be screwed properly IF I was a dominatrix because it’s all about keeping the slave an arm’s distance away.

And in case you were wondering, if you’re breaking skin when biting you’re doing it all wrong.

I’m seriously beginning to believe that the art of conversation is going the way of the dodo bird. Because you and me…

We need to talk.

Did that sentence send chills down your spine? Are you frozen with fear? When your significant other whispers those four little words, does your stomach take a turn for the worse? Because all I’m asking for is a little conversation.

This is reason why I despise online dating and favor meetings in the flesh. Because I want the butterflies, the stolen glances, and the pregnant pauses in conversation. Somewhere along the line people forgot what good conversation could bring. It enhances any situation — job interviews are fun and even peace treaties are signed.

Back in the day, the saying was:

Men want to marry a woman who is a chef in the kitchen, a maid in the living room, and a whore in the bedroom.

But honestly, nowadays, you can hire the first two and just focus on being the third. Heck, you can probably hire all three! It’s less about conforming to the every mold. Each girl wants a boy she can, “have a conversation with…be on the same wavelength…I want him to get me.” These words are the new black. However, be wise with your words because I once read, “a pick-up line is as rude as a pinch on the butt, pushing for intimacy, yet leaving choice to the other person.” Don’t unclass yourself by giving a line, strive for the conversation.

San Francisco is a small town, approximately 7×7 square miles. You stand around long enough and sprinkle in some time — you’re bound to run into someone you know. That someone might even include an exboyfriend whom you haven’t seen in a year. I knew it’d happen sooner or later the same way I know that I’m going to be questioned the moment I shovel food into my mouth.

When I let my hair down on weekends, I lean towards the artsy indie rock hangouts. Earlier this month, a fashion / music / dj extravaganza at Mezzanine landed on my calendar. Statistically, I had a low chance of running into the ex because simply put: I was the creative and he was the suit. But fate likes to play dirty and roll around in the mud so there I am double fisting two drinks, one in each hand, when I feel a tap on my shoulder: “Hey…you’re looking good” he said politely — with a degree in Urban Sociology, he’d always been one of those people that knew what to say. But when I’m unprepared and tongue-tied, I head straight towards conversation skills 101:

• Graciously agree “Yea…”
• Say the same basic phrase by switching a few words around “…you’re looking pretty good yourself…”
• End with a question, so the conversation ball isn’t left in my court “…still working out at the gym everyday?”

I quickly ran out of cordial & courteous conversation so I introduced him to my friend standing beside me. The next day he im’s me outta the blue: “So…your GIRLfriend seems nice…” Because that’s how boys think: If you’re not into him, you’re obviously a lesbian.

I had the opportunity to be part of a video-podcast-youtube radio show about love, sex, dating & relationships. I doubt any of my footage will actually make it off the cutting room floor because while I’m witty with words, I’m horrible on film. Because I don’t admit to being anything other than a slightly quirky average girl wading through the murky waters of relationships and that doesn’t make for good youtubing. I’m not a closet bisexual, chick that chats about cock, or guidette.

But during taping, I was sitting on the sidelines watching a female dating coach being filmed and they were all chewing the fat and shooting the shit about Why are boys attracted to bitches? Why are girls attracted to assholes?

Back in my sexy front-of-house hostessing days, I’d chat it up with the nearby cocktail girls. For these lovely lasses, it was all about the tips and one let me in on her secret: Being a bitch equals more tips. Pouty lips and lustful looks were top moneymakers. The cute & cuddley, smiley & friendly cocktailers were always finishing last. I’m not saying any of these girls were rude or mean, but a haughty air of indifference meant big money-maker suits were trying to impress by flashing the cash.

So why are girls attracted to assholes? No clue. The jury’s still out on that one. I’ll admit I’ve turned down a few “nice” boys in my past, but I’ve been passed on by “nice” boys as well. I don’t stress over it too much because what good would that do? C’est la vie.

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.

• So…you’ve lived in Vegas? When I ramble off the list of places I’ve lived: San Francisco, San Diego, Washington DC, Las Vegas…and the other person immediately latches on to Sin City, I’m typically met with an eyebrow raise. They desperately want to ask if I was a call-girl / stripper / one that performs various acts of indecency, but seeing as we’ve just met — that line of questioning would be entirely inappropriate. I moved there because it was a once-in-a-lifetime design opportunity. Let’s just say I adopted the lifestyle of a local real quick, and if you ever have a chance, visit the Artisan off of Sahara Ave. That place is deathly inspiring. It blows my tits off.

• All my previous Asian girlfriends were designers too. Uh-o. I’ve just been boxed into a corner. But what this statement really means coming from the mouth of a straight single boy: “Yea…I’d do you. You’re f*ck-able. Because I have a type, and you’re it.”

• Did you go to Chico State? CSU, Chico has an Asian American demographic breakdown of 5.7%. If the person wanted to hedge their bets, they could have said UC Berkeley, but something about my personality and conversation skills must be a dead-giveaway that I’m not “public ivy” material. However, in their eyes, I’m deemed party school material.

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.