Conversely, can you be sexy and not be single, or more importantly not care about it – one way or another? Single people do give off a vibe, much like a pheromone, whereby animals of the opposite sex (of the same species) may track you by your scent and you are expected to play nice.

It is this last part that sometimes poses problems. General consensus has it that when you are single, your sensuality (which is so much a part of your natural self - or so you thought) may be used for enticement and entrapment only. It would be nice if you were not expected to turn it on or off, to send a signal, one way or another. And then what about off-days when you’d much rather sit around in sweats and a ball-cap, all turned off? Ah, but then that is exactly why you need that boyfriend or girlfriend by your side – for days like those. Hence the dating game! The process of screening, YAY! When you conduct a job interview, only those that qualify for the job may apply, and then too, you withhold who your favorite candidate is until the next morning when your head is clearer – that helps. However, that’s not how it works in the single gene pool. No. Dating turns out to be more like a cattle call for reality TV. It’s for the publicity. The process of screening, GROAN! Being single takes hard work. It can be so over-rated.

Women’s sensuality can be misinterpreted. The subculture that I was brought up in - never mind the geography - girls are not encouraged to over think body language – sensual or otherwise. It is something organic, unfiltered. The reason being – growing up – they are accustomed to living under an umbrella of protection provided by close proximity to family and friends – loosely chaperoned by a wider surrogate community. They feel comfortable with their sensuality. They do not give much thought to being HOT! At least, not while I was growing up. They do not see the co-relation between the way they look and what it says about them. Simple enough when you are in like-minded company that understands and respects these boundaries. However, cross over to the other part of town, so to speak, and notice the difference.

New York and Los Angeles are perhaps the two best and worst cities for singles. Well, in New York you can go to the theater and hope to meet like-minded people in the lobby or the neighboring restaurant where you congregate before or after. So say the guys! My girlfriends however, beg to differ. These guys are just there to execute a pick up, no less (consider yourself warned). Bars are too blasé for these self-appointed patron of the arts. We should know, they’d rather be seen where the smart chicks hang out. But New York is New York. The smart chick really wants you to think with your head. No, not the little head - the other one. In New York, the smart girl does exist. She is not teetering on the edge of extinction as in LA. In Los Angeles, the smart woman is an endangered species. Provided, it is not your goal to spend eternity in solitary sexless purgatory, you’d better drop the smartness. The dimmer you appear the better your chances are. Work on giving your eyes the slightly glazed-over vacuous look of a deer caught in the headlights – and you’ve got it made! You despair of ever finding a guy that knows how to hold a conversation beyond the requisite ten minutes before he refreshes your drink again – and again. But you keep it to yourself as you sip away. Meanwhile he is working hard. This plan of getting the girl drunk so you look good!?! Not so smart. She may be drunk and you still ain’t looking so good. Sorry Honey, that means you’re not scoring tonight.

LA is like High School on steroids. It feels like back in High school again, but with a lot more booze and cuter guys. The nerds have all gone and hid somewhere - Or gotten a makeover, or something.

Then of course there’s West Hollywood – where you might as well forget about meeting the boy next door, because well, he’s waiting to do the same. All those great looking guys at the gym and the smoothie bar and the cafes on Melrose are already taken. They’re with, you guessed right – the boy next door.

Not to forget the club scene. All those glamorous clubs on Sunset – and we have so many. LA rocks, right? Yeah, right. On a given Friday night accompanied by a group of friends, you walk through the velvet ropes in style - provided your names are on “THE LIST” – only to spend the night being hit on by seedy Talent Agents, one “Celebrity” Photographer and a handful of Porn Movie Producer wannabes. The venues change – went to Boulevard 3 – went to Daddy’s – went to Social Hollywood - same story with a twist – substitute Business Owners for Movie Producers or Photographers or Musicians. Same overgrown boys cloaked in swagger, rattling sabers in their battle against low of self-esteem - strenuously working their “charm” with cloying smoothness, or hiding behind feeble-minded “humor” as the case may be. OK - the fact that the woman has stepped out to a bar/club in her finery, does provide irrefutable proof to these medieval Knights in borrowed armor that she would like some attention – and who could blame Sir Lancelot for saddling up on his mighty steed to rush to the aid of a damsel in distress. How does one advertise the fact the lady does NOT need rescuing – not for now?

So weekend after weekend, men & women play the game and come up empty. Only to start all over again with fresh hopes, come Friday night. Dive in, the water’s fine! Meanwhile, where do you put away that pheromone till you actually need it?

Tori

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