Sometimes after a excruciatingly long week working with difficult clients, I head towards the nearby mall — mainly because it’s got a really good pastry shop in the center. While chomping on a deliciously gooey filled vanilla custard croissant (yes, I consider it a type of bread too), I ended up in front of a jewelry store. Someone told me once that if you hold your hand just right in front of the glass case with diamond rings and squint…you can almost picture the ring actually on your hand! So, I licked my fingers from the buttery pastry bread, held my right hand up against the store window and squinted.

Looking up, I was caught red-handed! The security guard gave me a friendly wink, opened the door and welcomed me towards the store. I followed the length of his hand towards the nearest case. HUH? It’s all sterling silver…and so is the entire case next to it. Not a single sparkle in sight. It’s at that moment I realize the guard has just sized me up as another girl with eyes bigger than her bank account. I wonder if it was even intentional…

My stance on jewelry has been the same since I entered the dating scene at 18. If you really love it, buy it yourself. And that’s why the smarty-pants diamond people came up with the brilliant scheme to advertise right hand rings. Women of the world, raise your right hand.

Currently, my roommates are my parents. I’m trying to remedy that situation as quickly as possible for a bunch of reasons — probably the one you’re thinking of and a few you might not. Luckily, it’s a little bit more socially acceptable to say, “I live with my parents” when you’re a girl (and I’m saving a small fortune in rent). It’s definitely odd waking-up in the same room I grew up in; my junior high school trophies from volleyball and cheerleading still line my upper shelves, but I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel! If all goes well, I’ll be relocated in new digs with an awesome roomie to boot in a month!

As on I’m on the hunt for a future fabulous apartment on a shoestring budget, I’m trying to stay away from places that might be:

• cockroach infested – more likely in NYC, but very possible in any city with warm climates and close quarters
• pimps as neighbors – all that banging would prevent me from sleep
• near meth labs – because they have a tendency to blow up randomly
• locations police are called to frequently – you know…the dots that appear in the neighborhood watch. Or when the policemen say “I’m doing the rounds” and it means that neighborhood.
• on a faultline – the Bay Area is due for another earthquake…soon
• above restaurants that make curry – think of the dry cleaning bill

I’m optimistic that I’ll find something decent that won’t have me living off bread and beans until my next raise / bonus / lottery winnings. But the real estate game in the Bay Area is no pretty picnic, and then I hear of all the couples who’s relationships have been speed up because they wanted to save $$$! Crazy kids.

So you scored your first date. Now, who pays? Truth is, I generally stay away from dinner dates at first meeting so the bill is never more than $20-30 for a round of drinks (Yea, that could sound kinda pricey to some of you out there, but the Bay Area IS expensive). There’s a whole set of other reasons I stay away from dinner on the first date including: the inherently un-sexy nature of having someone watch me while I shovel food into my mouth, the speed in which I can put away a three-course meal, and what if they’re vegan?!?

A couple of weeks ago, I was on a first date at a neighborhood wine bar (his choice). He obviously knew the staff and was probably a regular. The conversation flowed easily and when he got up to use the bathroom, I noticed the bill had arrived. I sneaked a peek at the cheque, but since we only had one glass each, it was easily under twenty bucks. I pulled out my plastic and felt confident I could squeeze out a second date later, and he’ll just get the next round. I was surprised when I held out the bill to the server I got a two second blank stare. Then he spoke, “You know you can wait for him to get back…” HUH? Did the bar staff think my date would give a better tip than me? I was thoroughly confused.

Tons of discussion can be found on this subject. Women still only earn 78 cents for every dollar in America. If you want to get technical about it, whip out the iPhone and do the math. But let me say, that would be seriously not cool. Some advocate that whoever asks is the one who pays. Pretty much I’ve got one rule. I bring enough $$$ to get me through the date. If its truly bad, I can put down my share and bolt.