The candles are lit and I smell like I just rolled through a lavender field while  smeared in pumpkin pie — the chosen arousal scents for men. THIS is where the magic happens and all I’m missing is the music. Everyone’s got their own groovin’ mixtape and there’s a bunch of bread online that tells you what they think a girl would like to hear.

I’m going to tell you what this girl likes to hear :: boom chicka bow-wow ::

• Alannah Myles: Black Velvet
  This song is sexy, sultry, and her voice sounds like she smokes a pack a day. I love metaphors, similes and anything that brings you to your knees…

• John Mayer: Slow Dancing In A Burning Room
  He’s the ultimate douchebag, but he still makes great music. But if a boy ever told me he wanted to sell all his stuff and snort me, I’d probably run.

• Usher: Nice and Slow
  Girls are like cars — sometimes you need to warm ‘em up. Generally this means nicely & slowly.

• Nine Inch Nails: Closer
  There’s nothing sexier than saying, “I wanna F-you like an animal.” Seriously. Go try it, and then tell me the results. If she slaps you, it means she really REALLY likes you.

Last week, I received a polite email in my inbox for a guest blog! And here’s the twist, I actually went on a couple of dates with the boy awhile back. I wrote about his bad manners here, but that’s because he’s wrote about me first here. It’s all water under the bridge…so, read my guest blog over at gkdating.com.

Want a guest blogger on your site? Feel free to email me!

My brother used to lament that Asian men were the plankton of the dating totem pole. He was constantly griping about how his slimmer physique = less masculine = perceived gayness. At 5’8″, he’s average height but would never be considered tall by American standards and social norms dictate that the boy should be taller than the girl. He blamed it on the portrayal of Asians by mass media. According to his theory, I fared marginally better because Asian girls = exotic = sex fiend nymphomaniac.

There’s a term for bread obsessed with Asian girls and after moving back to the Bay Area, I run into this type of boy a lot. What’s even creepier is when I’m given a passing grade by his parents based on my ethnicity! Because somehow my chinky eyes = I’ll take care of you forever, even when we’re old and gray. That type of comment should be reserved for an individual’s character & personality; never race or background.

Racial profiling exists — especially in the dating world. I understand that people have preferences, but limiting yourself to ONE type of bread means that you’re closing yourself off to the other possibilities of carb-laden goodness. And bread is always much more inviting dressed up in butter / cheese / nutella — think of the possibilities! Yum.

I moved…across town. That’s what has been keeping me über busy this past week. Technically I’m in the same city, but at least it’s a different zip code. You know how addicts sometimes have to move away from their addictions towards recovery? Well…

I have an addictive personality.

However, it tends to manifest itself in simple things: bread & coffee rather than jazz & booze. I also google obsessively — about everything. So, I try to keep the stalkerish habits to a minimum. But it’s really really difficult to break bad habits. I should know, I’ve been a nail biter for 10+ years. Addiction is a cycle and it’s time to break the cycle of bad boys, bad relationships, and bad bread. Because I found myself in the bakery yesterday, the last hour before closing and there was a 50% off basket full of bread goodies — things that were obviously being discounted because it was no longer “good”. I stopped myself from buying into the 2-for-1 deal because I’m better than that. I deserve fresh hot straight from the oven bread, damnit!

It’s time for relationship rehab. Sex addicts in rehabilitation have ground rules: no masturbation, no seductive behavior, and of course, no sex. What does this translate to for me? No relationships…at least for a day/week/maybe month, and definitely none with douchey boys.

I take for granted that you’ve read the “about this blog” link and understood it. Because when I started blogging last year, I read Penelope Brazen Careerist’s Guide To Blogging, chose a topic I loved to write about, and started furiously typing. At first, I thought it’d only be my friends reading about my adventures, but I’m slowly gaining ground — like a snowball in July.

The link between bread and boys evolved during my college years. It was the secret language created to gossip about boys without actually using names. There’s a bunch of types of bread out there in the world and there’s a whole lotta types of boys too:

• white bread – It’s exactly what you’re thinking…yup, he’s white, mainstream, All-American probably corn fed and plays football.
• wheat bread -  If you’re going to reach for carbs, at least devour the type that’s good for you. There’s also whole wheat disguised as white bread too!
• rye bread – Dark, dense, high in fiber (means it’s good for you and keeps the pipes moving) and usually stronger in flavor/personality.
• donut – Not only is this bad, this type has a hole in the middle; never trust bread that has a giant hole in the middle…

That’s just a small sample of terms but I’m sure you get the jist…

So while everyone else is making new year’s resolutions, I’m going to make one that involves YOU and this blog. I’m aiming to have 50 subscribers by the end of 2010. All you’ve got to do is press that cute little button in the top right corner. I’m letting you know exactly which button to push to make me the happiest girl in the world. Oh, and if you were one of my previous 8 subscribers…go ahead and press the button too (I switched feeds). If you really want to show some love; spread the word and tell your friends because I’m not just another sassy dating blogger — I can actually write!

I must have a stamp across my forehead that says “Talk to me if you’re weird.” Or I’d like to think that my sparkling creative personality is bursting at the seams and my glowing aura can be seen from miles away. Either way, random people (i.e. strangers) like to chat me up on the street.

So, I wasn’t too surprised when a seemingly normal boy complimented me on my black leather knee-high boots while I was waiting to catch the #49 bus. He stood a comfortable arm’s length distance away while he initiated the conversation: “Nice shoes.” I silently waited for the cliché of “Lets f___” to follow. Except it never did, but he did ask me if I’d like a sticker…of a boot. “Sure!” I replied enthusiastically. Why? Because I love stickers. They remind me of the good part of a doctor’s visit…when the nurse hands you a happy face sticker because you survived the nasty needle portion without passing out.

While I was vibing off the warm fuzzy feeling of stickers, the boy continued to ask, “Can I kiss your boots?” I was in broad daylight and a handful of other people were waiting at the bus stop with me, including two of my friends. I felt relatively safe, so I shrugged my shoulders and replied “Uhm….okay.” Kneeling down the boy french kissed my left boot on the toe. When he stood up again, I could see the saliva he left on the leather. I had no words.

My girlfriend that watched the exchange asked me if I felt dirty afterward. Looking at my spit polished leather boot, I said, “Nope. There was a safe layer of leather in between us. Didn’t feel a thing.”

I’ve been MIA lately, but in a good way because that just means my dance card has been full. And when I say dancing, I mean my tush can be found in the gym every free moment I’ve got. A couple months ago my hula hooping buddy and I tried to audition for CheerSF. We didn’t even make it to the auditions. After one clinic with the crazy super powered athletes, I could barely walk the next day! However, during the clinic while I was learning the routine, I noticed my eyes drifting to admire the pretty view — the squad is seriously skewed towards the athletically fit male population! Any one of those guys could toss me over their shoulders and put me into whatever position because they’re that strong. Then it dawned on me why I might be having trouble finding dates lately…I really should stop hanging out amongst gay (friendly) cheerleading squads if I’m looking for a straight boy.

So, I decided to get back into training — with a goal! When I grow up, I want to be a Gold Rush Girl. Since football season just started, that means I’ve got six months until auditions. Wish me luck! ‘Cause I think I’ll need it.

#97 Patrick Watson / Part 4 – A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

It’s not everyday that I fall in love. And to be able to witness creative genius in motion, takes my breath away every time. It’s dirty and beautiful…and I just want to wrap myself up in it like a mexican blanket. Maybe this has nothing to do with dating, but I want to feel like that during a date — spontaneous, intimate, gorgeously sexy…all rolled into one.

Okay. Let me rewind and give you the 411. I was a big time nerd in junior high — the kind that was always chosen second to last for the P.E. teams, sang at the top of my lungs in choir and received the perfect attendance award. For some reason I had a crush on a boy that barely knew I existed. Scratch that, acknowledged my existence by aiming a volleyball at my head. He also had a penchant for asking questions such as: “What type of deodorant do you use? Maybe you should switch…Do you shave your legs?” Geez…I’m asian, I barely even shave my legs NOW. Needless to say he (and his posse of hooligans)  made my life a living hell during those years.

And now, he actively clicked the button to “add as friend” on facebook. But I like to update my status every-once-in-awhile with random things:

• I’m a hot mess.
• Still sleeps with a teddy bear, sometimes.
• Beer is good with bread and boys.

The kinda stuff you have no problem telling your friends, or the checker in the grocery store at 1am. It’s like going to a high school reunion…wouldn’t it be great if all the nerds were cool and the cool kids became the deadbeats of society? I’ve usually got Jesus-esque forgiveness skills, but it’s really difficult for me to forgive the bullies from junior high and the people at facebook were thoughtful enough to provide me with an ignore button.

I’ve been called a lot of things before. It kinda irks me when I hear the word “prostitute” as I’m heading out the door and I was definitely miffed when an ex (who at one point I was trying to be friends with) yelled “slut” when I told him my future plans to live in sin (move-in) with the new boyfriend. It also doesn’t help when my first name is a dead ringer for the heroine of Pretty Woman. But at least she became the epitome of class.

I love nicknames. However, just for the record, I don’t like any of the nicknames described above. But I do love when nicknames come from a place that’s special and unique. I used to get a tiny bit weirded out when boys toss around: babe, sweetie, honey, sugar. They’re good standbys and don’t take much thought or creativity — that’s why you’ll see me using these a lot when my brain has shutdown and accessing people’s names in my memory bank is difficult.

There is one rule to the nicknaming convention. Don’t start giving any separate body parts nicknames. You might think its cute calling the twins: Sloppy and Mr. Snuggles. But then I might think its adorable to call your package: Junior, or Tiny Tim.