Summer Lovebug.

They say that spring is the season for love.

That may be true for some, but here in Los Angeles it’s all about summer. Pool parties, dance festivals, weekend trips to Vegas, perfect weather — there’s a virus in the air that everyone is breathing.

It’s hard not to get wrapped up in this summer’s love feast with the tan bikini wearing blonds strutting around the poolside in heals. Finally, the tall actor hotties you lust for can take off their shirt to reveal six pack they work so hard on all year long. And yes, you can shove your bikini clad booty into their pelvis to the lyrics “oooh baby you want me? You can get this lap dance here for free…”

It’s summer time.

And even if you’re not into the hotel poolside culture, who can resist all the girls in crop tops and see-through sundresses strolling down Venice Blvd?

Fall in New York may be around the corner, but this summer there is no better place to be than LA.

…except Ibiza…..maybe….

Dating Guide

Here is an impressively accurate dating guide about dating culture in Los Angeles. It even schooled me on a few things… Check it out.

Le Bel Ami…

I have stopped processing when a man is beautiful…

Cognitively it no longer registers in my brain.

A month ago I met the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.  He stood there tall and confident, and with a self-assured gaze. His crisp, blue button down shirt that rolled that at the cuffs betrayed him as a foreigner to Los Angeles. Upon our meeting, his first words were to inform me that he’d studied economics at Harvard. I smiled and nodded, pretending not to be impressed.

It was a magical weekend. We spoke frankly about our lives and about the world. The liaison was as intellectual as it was romantic. I felt free to be my true self — or at least free to be the idealized version of who I’d like to be.

When the weekend was over, I found out the terrible truth…

He had a girlfriend.

“What is the point of meeting the PERFECT guy,” I later vented to my girlfriends, “A man who is tall, handsome, charming, attentive, well educated, and has a great job, but who is also a man who cheats?”

What is perfect anyway? Does it lie in those superficial qualities that we deem so important (beautiful, well off, ivy-league educated), or is it something internal that is more difficult to gauge?

Sometime has passed and I assure you that I am fully recovered with many other adventures to share, but the effect is that I can no longer register beautiful. It’s like I am color blind….I can see tall, I can see sexy, I can see charming and intelligent, but beautiful no longer registers. I just don’t see it. 

Not that it’s a bad thing! With dulled senses comes the ability to perceive hidden attributes invisible to the naked eye. I have begun to sense qualities like sincere and faithful — qualities that enrich my definition of perfect.

Spotlight: Bricks & Scones

For months I’ve been searching for the perfect café.

A couple grabbed my attention for a short while, but none have grabbed me as deeply as Bricks & Scones on Larchmont. It’s a block away from the crowded hustle and bustle of the Larchmont strip and offers a quiet, serene patio to read (or draft your script) without the pretentious scenestery vibe of – say – Urth Café or Starbucks. Their scones are deeelicous, they offer an impressive variety of unique teas (j’aime le thé
rose champagne), and best of all they serve Intelligentsia coffee. Could there be anything more wonderful?

Bricks & Scones

403 N Larchmont Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90004

Spotlight: Where to flirt in Hollywood

I’ve said it before, it’s hard flirting in Hollywood…

There are just too many Hollywood scenesters, wanna-be models, and actors. I’ll let you in on a secret about LA…..People find each other through networking, working at a job, and life experience. Not necessarily at scenesters venues. 

Still, if you are interested in a little harmless flirting then I recommend…

Tropicana at the Roosevelt Hotel

7000 Hollywood Blvd
Hollywood, CA 90028

On a sunny weekend afternoon, Tropicana is popping with hipsters, scenesters, and industry folk ready for a cocktail and a quick dip in the pool. Unchanged from its 1940s glam Hollywood layout, the place is said to be haunted by the ghosts of former hotel guests Marilyn Monroe and Montgomery Clift. Don’t worry about too much about that though, enjoy lounging by the poolside while you sip your drink and listen to great music. Don’t forget your bikini and high heals. Someone is bound to approach before the day is over…

Hotel Cafe

1623½ N. Cahuenga Blvd.
Los Angeles, CA 90028

Not feeling the scenester crowd? On a Friday night, check out a local favorite musician playing at the Hotel Cafe. That way you can hit on hot guys who like the same kind of music. You can never go wrong with, “How did you hear about the band?”

Drais

6250 Hollywood Blvd
12th Fl
Los Angeles, CA 90028

If you’re into scoring hot chicks at nightclubs, than I recommend Drais. There’s something about the layout of the place… Drais hosts top of the line cliental but the bar is just as accessible as the VIP area. Outside there is gorgeous patio and pool with a panoramic view of the city. It’s not easy to get in and it costs a pretty penny to book a table. Hit up The Colony on Cahuenga if you’re looking for something a bit more accessible.

This is my list and I will admit, I am a Hollywood Beezy at it’s worst. Let me know where you guys like to flirt in other parts of town…

Le Figaro.

I fell in love with Figaro a few months ago.

With it’s brief yet pertinent menu filled with delectable brunch and dinner options, cramped outdoor seating, slow service, tasty boulengerie goodies, it’s about as close as you can possibly get to a vrai French cafe. Waiters are dressed up in charming old fashioned garcon costumes. You’re likely to see locals heading home with a baguette under their arms (stupid hipsters). No need to fly to Paris to shoot an outdoor cafe scene, just head to Vermont.

Believe me, I’m not dispelling a secret. This place is an LA classic.

But if you’re looking for a Parisian lunch, head to Figaro.

In fact, I think I’ll go right now!

1802 North Vermont Avenue
Los Angeles, CA 90027
(323) 662-1587

L’hipster étrange

Over the weekend I went to a party down in Silverlake at The Strange.

Ever heard of it? It’s one of those underground LA gems perfect for a restless Thursday night. They feature upcoming artists, bands and musicians. Check it out.

Anyway, my BFF and I went to Electro Night for a bit of drinking and good music. The party was fun, but everywhere we looked there were …

….hispters

Skinny jeans. Exaggerated hair cuts with red highlights. V-neck T-shirts with ironic tag lines. Plaid. Dirty converse. Red wine. Superficial cerebral conversation about human nature and literature.

One man wore tine foil on his back like a cape.

Another girl wore a jahab like cloak with tassels that hung in her face.

A few free thinking individuals danced awkwardly.

Other than that, the dance floor was empty.

“These people are awkward” I told my friend. But I was still captivated.

I am compelled to understand “The Hipster“

What is their motivation? What are their values? What is their cast system?

What do they consider sexy and attractive? What are their insecurities?

I think I have my next documentary…

Comportement irrespectueux.

Los Angeles. A place where one can be glamorous in big sunglasses, diamonds, and sweatpants.

My people. My friends. My language. My bed. My car. My mother’s credit card.

(I saw that dwarf actor at the doctor’s office today — you know, that smart talkin’ elf from Bad Santa — Tony Cox.)

Anyway, dressing with class is not required in Los Angeles, but it is much appreciated — particularly further west toward Beverly Hills. So today I decided to wear my mother’s new Anthropologie dress. It’s quite lovely and vraiment LA chic.

Looking lovely feels great, even if you’re running mundane errands. Going to the car wash was on my list of things to do and as I pulled up to the station, the attendant greeted me:

How you doing, Sweety?

Hello. I’m here to get my car washed.

Okay, and what would you like for me to do for you, Honey?

Um, just a regular wash and vacuum please.

And would you like me to fill you up, Sweetheart?

(No put intended, we were standing next to a gasoline station.)

Err, sure.

He ripped it off the receipt and handed it to me.

Alright, there to you go darling just take it inside.

I couldn’t help but feel caught off guard. I wasn’t exactly sure how to feel; a part of me wanted to yell “well I never!” storm back into my Lexus and drive away — while another part of me wanted to laugh bashfully. I just ignored it all together. In fact, I guess it’s a compliment.

Too bad I didn’t get a discount.

Sensualité à Los Angeles.

As far as I know, there are two types of parties in LA.

The first sort is where I went Thursday night: the 18 and up hip hop venue where you pay a fee let boys grind on your booty. If they like what they see, they’ll get your number….

Not everything in LA is like that.

The following night my best friend and I went to a small party where bands showcased their new music. It was nice. Unlike the previous party, people were allowed to meet each other, talk, and dance with a respectable space between them. I liked this party.

But I could not help but feel that I’ve lost something.

Paris taught me the art of being a woman. I learned that sensuality can be found in all forms of life: food, wine, the sun, dancing, walking, sounds, smells… Life is love making at its essence.

But I don’t think people understand that here. People are outrageous, they enjoy hearing themselves talk, they broadcast themselves to impress you, they buy lots of things that are loud and flashy, they wear weird clothes, give themselves stupid titles in order to fit in and detach. They look outside of themselves to fill the inherent emptiness they feel within. Marijuana is the only way to slow down. I take my time apart and remain in my own perfect, quiet world. I don’t want to forget Paris. It must remain untainted in my heart.

Perhaps it will be an adventure to teach the American man what the Frenchman has taught me. If only he can be quiet for a moment, take a deep breath to calm himself, and read what I am saying in my smile. The lesson cannot be explained, only felt. And not everyone is ready for it.

“Grind” avec moi.

Last night I hit up a club in Marina del Ray.

The place was wack and the crowd was full of booty poppin’, ass shakin’ mommas everywhere, but the music was on point so I decided to go in. Inside, I grabbed my girl and took her to dance with me in the center of the room.

Immediately niggas started jumpin’ on us, pullin’ us from behind, grabbin’ my ass, whisperin’ in my ear:

“ay mama what’s your name?”

“Tanika” I responded.

“ay Tanika, how old are you?”

“How old are you?” I audaciously asked. What a stupid question to ask me, anyway. Clearly I’m between 18-25.

“I’m 21. Aiight, you kinda cute, lemme get yo number.”

I felt bad just rejecting the first one, so I innocently typed my number into his phone….and then he just left! So did the second one! By the third one I just shook my head.

“What are you doing tonight, Tanika?”

“Ahhh…Going home…”

I did find one cute guy that I sort of liked, but he kept dragging me to the wall and trying to grind all extra nasty. He would not follow me into the crowd and dance with me like I was used to. And he would not laugh when I tried to joke with him. In the end, he left me for a regular bitch.

What the hell was this place? What’s the enjoyment in shoving my cul into the pelvis of a man I hardly know in front of hundreds of people? And what is the pleasure of kissing someone if I’m know he’s just going to ditch me later? Damn it. Just when I decided to throw out my “rule book” and embrace the adventure of love…

…I rediscover the American man.

grind |grīnd|verb

A form of the most horny dancing imaginable.

Guys looking for ass will grind profusely with random girls

 in order to persuade them to come home and get some bun action.

Involves pushing the male genitalia up the ass of the female.