(Joe’s note: In honor of France, I am taking most of the month of August off from the column. I will be traveling, visiting family and attending a wedding. While I’m gone a few of my friends have volunteered to guest-write The Joe Donatelli Column. They are all very talented people and I hope you enjoy their work.)

Nobody dates in L.A.
By SARAH BROWN and ABBY KINCAID

The following situation actually happened to Abby:

“This is such a date,” said the 31-year-old man-child as we shimmied into our seats and awaited the start of the movie. “I can’t remember the last time I went on a date,” he continued with a touch of bewilderment. “What do you mean you can’t remember the last time you went on a date?” I asked, mirroring his tone of surprise.
 
“I mean usually, you just get together and hook up,” he responded. I had been in Los Angeles a mere six months. The dating language he spoke was foreign. But eight months later, when he started “hooking up” with another girl, and explained to me that eight months of what I thought was dating was something quite different, I realized I wasn’t in the proverbial Kansas anymore.

It’s a fascinating thing, this dating Petri dish we call Los Angeles. In addition to the “Baywatch” promise of sun, surf, boobs and blondes, Los Angeles offers one of the most diverse dating communities in the world; and with diversity comes difficulty. Why, in a city loaded with attractive, talented, and available singles, is finding even a nice, simple one-on-one date, let alone (gasp) –a relationship!– so challenging? We posit the following theories. 

1. Dating distracts you from your goals of fame and fortune
Los Angeles is where America’s most insecure people come in droves in the hopes of flipping the proverbial bird at their high school tormentors through the achievement of fame and fortune. Dinner with someone you like is a mere distraction from the single-mindedness required to achieve ultimate payback at your 20-year high school reunion. We think, “If I go to dinner, and I like this guy, and he likes me, I’m going to have to make time for him. If I have to make time for him, I’m going to have less time to flat-iron my hair and experiment with new Sephora products. If I have less time for these things, I’m going to look less hot. If I look less hot, I will feel even more insecure than I already do and some other hot girl will get the kernel of fame that I might have gotten … and then this guy will cheat on me with her!”

This scenario works for guys as well … just simply replace hotness with money or success. The point is, dinner is simply too intimate, and the ultimate possibility of rejection too great. So, instead, we get drunk and randomly make out at parties a few times before taking the “date” step. This way, we already know hot tongue action is just a bottle of pinot away. No need to fear rejection, which not so surprisingly, is the crux of our second theory.

2. Fear of rejection
To add insult to injury, these people, with self-esteem so epically low that they actually care about getting the last laugh at their high school reunion, have masochistically chosen a career path with built-in, repeated opportunities for rejection … i.e. actors, musicians, writers, comedians, etc. They are routinely told things like “You have a ‘Simpsons’ chin,” or “You need to tighten up your muffin top,” or “Your script … it’s just not that funny … and we’re going to go in a different direction.”
 
The absolute truth is that these inconsequential things really do matter in the entertainment industry. That “Simpsons” chin WILL look weird on camera … your muffin top WILL look horrible in the Speedo scene … and your script, even if it is a freakin’ hoot, WON’T get financing if that stick-in-the-mud in the suit doesn’t get the joke. These are the realities of the daily rejection we artists face in Los Angeles, and it becomes part of the baggage we carry with us. As such, we’re not only carrying the standard, “I’m a geek in designer clothing who hates his father” baggage that everyone carries. We’re geeks in designer clothing who hate our fathers and who were told two hours before the date that our noses were too Moe Szyslak and we’d maybe work in this town after rhinoplasty. Since the date itself offers even more chance for rejection, we develop heightened anxiety about “dating” and again choose to get drunk and make out. Seriously, nobody wants to hear “I’ve decided to go in a different direction” twice in the same day.

(Above: Typical Los Angeles woman on a Friday night. dragonflaiii/flickr.)

3. Opportunists in sheep’s clothing
Or hot mini-dresses, in this case. A male friend who has since fled Los Angeles summed it up like this – no one wanted to go out unless he could do something for them or introduce them to someone. Our guess is that men encounter this more than women; however, the rise of Ryan Reynolds suggests that this practice is not limited to either gender.
 
Perhaps the real problem here is that there are simply too many people in Los Angeles who CAN offer some sort of career advantage, and who will do so for the chance to play with a hot young thing. But then, dating is always a game of give and take … and because many people in Los Angeles are career-driven, dating becomes a tool used for career advancement, rather than a step to finding a relationship. To quote Kanye, “I ain’t sayin’ she’s a gold digger…” – but she may like you a little bit more if you can introduce her to the head of new talent at CAA. And if you can’t, but you are willing and able to buy her Louis Vuitton, then you’re golden too … because, well, maybe we are sayin’ she’s a gold digger.

Don’t let all of this push you over the edge. You know they’re out there – those girls and boys who look at the scenarios described above with utter disgust. The question is how do those boys and girls find each other? Maybe you need to hang out in different bars. Maybe you need to go to the Laundromat more often. Maybe you men should take a yoga class – but stay away from Pilates. Those girls are out for blood. Anyway, they’re there. Don’t give up. There’s just a lot more crap to sift through in this town. The logical solution, then, is for people to go on more dates. So get out there, single Los Angeles. Go forth, in pairs, to modestly-priced yet tasteful sit-down eateries, movie theaters and mini-golf courses.

(Abby Kincaid appeared on the Feb. 14, 2008 podcast “Abby Valentine’s Day.” Sarah Brown is a loyal column reader and podcast listener. She is married. She did not meet her husband in Los Angeles.)

I don’t have a lot of rules. In fact, I really only have one special rule. As low-maintenance as I am, you’d think this rule would be something universally reasonable, but it has proved to be surprisingly controversial.

Rule 1 (of 1): Please close the bathroom door.

That’s it. Simple, right?

Wrong.

I have talked to married couples about the Open Door Policy and it is fair to say – through my unscientific polling – that three out of every four married couples leaves the door open when nature – in both of its glorious forms – calls. I can hardly begin to explain how much this bothers me. It’s huge – a complete deal-breaker.

There are very practical reasons to close the door. The main reason is that I don’t want to smell or hear anything you’ve got going on in there. If I did, I would occasionally open the door while you’re in there and say, “Hey babe, I just want to get a big waft of what you’ve got cooking. Let’s turn off the fan. I want to savor this.”

That will never happen.

On a more personal level, I want the door closed because it preserves my positive mental image of you. When I think of my girlfriend, I don’t want to think of a half-dressed woman grunting on the pot while thumbing through a gnarled, old Us Weekly. We cannot choose the images that are seared into our brains forever. There is one girl I went out with who will always be Orange Girl. We went out, went to a bar, she had a tan and the funky bar lighting hit her and she looked orange. Now she’s Orange Girl forever. It’s burned in my brain. I can’t marry someone who, when she calls my cell phone, my mental image is of her nodding her “no” with her face scrunched up while spraying a can of Glade.

(Above: This couple is fucked.)

I have this theory. When you’re in a relationship with a woman, you’re actually in a relationship with three women. You are dating the woman as she is, full of virtues and faults, and that is the Real Woman. You also are dating the woman as you want to see her, an idealized vision of the woman that encompasses all of her virtues. She is the Wonder Woman. The third woman you are dating is the woman who scares you to death, filled with faults and problems than can’t be ignored – the Psycho Woman.

(You can replace Man with Woman in each case. This cuts both ways.)

When you start dating, the woman you meet is the Wonder Woman. After six months, or when you move in together, the Real Woman emerges and eats – sometimes literally – the Wonder Woman. Most of the time, Real Woman is just as lovable as Wonder Woman because you understand that her virtues outweigh her faults.

This is how you can tell where Wonder Woman starts and Real Woman stops. The first time you tell your mom about your new love, the words you use to describe her are actually describing the Wonder Woman.

A man would never say, “Julie is an account executive who lacks confidence because her parents were pieces of crap, which is why she never pursued her dream of dancing and instead embarked on a career path she does not enjoy. She drinks too much wine.”

A man would say, “Julie is smart and professional and she loves to dance and have a good time.” That’s his Wonder Woman.

When a guy complains, he complains about the Psycho Woman. He is only seeing the parts of her that emerge when 1.) She does not want to be in the relationship anymore 2.) She feels she is not being treated with the respect she deserves 3.) The relationship has outpaced her maturity.

There you have it – my Three Woman Hypothesis. Every relationship is Big Love. This is why men drink.

All of which, unbelievably, brings me to my point.

I object to an Open Door Policy because – besides being gross – it destroys my mental image of both the Real Woman and the Wonder Woman. The Real Woman is always in flux. She is a battle between the best things about her versus the worst things, and the last thing I need is a “worst things” visual of my girlfriend on the can. Worse, the Wonder Woman image gets completely annihilated. The woman you respect so much, the wind beneath your wings, the soul mate who comprises best parts of yourself reflected for the whole world to see – she’s gone. She’s taking a dump in a Port-O-Let.

Not to get all Carrie Bradshaw on you – why not? the movie is a hit – the first time the bathroom door is left open, it signals a change in the relationship – a point of no return. If you take the open door without comment, expect other degradations to follow. Most couples can handle it, but not all and certainly not me. If you fight to close the door, remember that you are not only fighting for a sanitary living environment, you also are fighting for the essence of your relationship. You are saying, “A heart can only be open when a bathroom door is closed.”

It is a question that has plagued single men for the last 12 years.

How long should a guy wait to call a girl after he gets her phone number?

Before the 1996 movie “Swingers,” this was a non-issue. I was in college in 1996. When you got a girl’s phone number, you called her a day or two later – end of story. “Swingers” – because it was so brilliantly written and acted and directed – introduced a whole new level of neuroticism to the dating scene. Suddenly men were dealing with an issue that had never been an issue. Here is a link to the scene that caused the insanity.

After watching this movie, otherwise normal men started asking, “How long do I wait to call? Three days? Six days? Is that money?” We became deathly afraid of scaring away nice babies who were ready to party. Meanwhile a nation of women waited on the other end of a phone that took longer and longer to ring wondering what the hell we were doing. It is no coincidence that this is the same time that Alanis Morissette’s career took off. We gave single women the slim opening they needed to get into angry chick rock. Lilith Fair started in 1997. These things are not accidents.

More than a decade later it’s clear that “Swingers” has proved to be both a blessing and a curse. On one level it is hilarious and one of the most quotable comedies ever and has brought years of joy to my friends and me, especially when we’re in Las Vegas. On another level, this movie ushered in an unfortunate era of poor dating etiquette, wallet chains and martini shirts.

(Above: There are guys who still dress like this.)

The movie’s good far outweighs the bad, but the bad is regrettable. This is not the movie’s fault. We just weren’t ready for it.

The best historical parallel I can draw is when a bulimic Kimberly on “Diff’rent Strokes” taught young girls everywhere how to eat all they want and still stay thin. America was not ready for this information. Young women never saw the dark side of bulimia, only its practicality and joy. The same went for “Swingers.” The characters were cool guys. They could pull off waiting six days to call a girl. Sophomores at Ohio University could not. We were not cool. Guys got depressed and mopey. All of the sudden Radiohead got huge. These things are all connected.

So here we are today – the year 2008 – and my friend Mike gets a phone number and asks me, “How long do you think I should wait to call her?”

My first thought was, “This must end.”

I will answer this question once and for all.

I love “Swingers.” It’s a great movie. Line-for-line it’s probably the best comedy of the 1990s. The key word is comedy. The “how long do I wait to call?” scene was not intended as a template for courtship. The intention of that scene was to satirize the jerks who populated the Los Angeles dating scene in the mid-1990s. (Sadly, things are now worse. Today’s Los Angeles woman looks back on “Swingers” as a more innocent time, a “Little House on the Prairie” era compared to the current “Flavor of Love” scene.) Unfortunately there are men who still ask themselves or their buddies, “How long do I wait to call?”

The correct answer is – it doesn’t matter, call her when you’re ready. That was the point of the entire movie, which for some reason everyone always forgets, instead choosing to embrace the lasting memory of “those guys’ shirts were pretty awesome.”

(To hear Mike, Carlos, Joe and Lauren Ashley Bishop discuss “How long should you wait to call?” on The Second Column podcast on iTunes, click here. No iTunes? Click here.)

Readers often send in suggestions for the column. I love this for three reasons:

1.) Each suggestion offers a window into my readers’ madness
2.) I don’t have to think of a column topic that week
3.) With the time I save I can look at photos of erotic falconry

My friend Allegra wrote in suggesting I explore why men “have a weird thing” for waitresses. She is a waitress. Allegra wrote, “Maybe you can finally give me a conclusive answer to this riddle that has plagued waitress society since the beginning of time.”

This idea covers many of my favorite subjects: relationships, work, sex, human behavior, money and women carrying food towards me. The question itself sparked so many answers that I couldn’t narrow the answer down to just one reason. This topic overfloweth. That is why I present, in honor of hardworking waitresses everywhere, the 15 reasons why men “have a weird thing” for waitresses.

15. Waitresses are strippers with food. I mean this on a business model level. Both vocations exchange a service the man desires (cheeseburger delivery or boob delivery) in order to earn a to-be determined gratuity based upon overall performance. Customer and employee benefit from the transaction. The woman is paid. The man receives a service he could not get at that moment from his wife/girlfriend/loneliness. Waitresses and strippers go home with a stack of singles. This is not a coincidence.

14. Uniforms are sexy. On the surface, they just look hot. But there’s more to it than that. When a man with a keen mind sees a woman in uniform the following information is processed at microsecond speed. “I know that woman’s status. There is a person, probably a man, who tells this woman what to wear every day. She probably yearns to rid herself of the uniform so she can wear what she wants, when she wants, and be free. I could liberate this woman from that margarita-logo golf shirt. I could be the America to her Iraq in the Middle East that is this cruel Applebee’s. She is my mission to be accomplished.”

OK, Iraq may not be the best example, but you get the point. Men look at women in uniform the way neocons look at poor countries that hate us. With boners.

Did I mention uniforms just look hot?

13. Waitresses are not a man’s wife or girlfriend. I don’t need to explain this one.

12. Waitresses come in many varieties. Every waitress is like a Christmas present. You never know what you’re going to unwrap. Will she be smart, beautiful, funny, sarcastic, professional or some magical combination of all of the above? Or will she be totally dead inside? That can also be good. A totally-dead-inside-woman tends not to complain when you ask for a second ketchup bottle at 3 AM because your friend Frank drank the one that was on the table. She won’t complain. Advantage: Men.

11. Waitresses are hard workers. Men get to watch waitresses work. You can tell a lot about a woman by watching her work. If she works hard, a man thinks, “She would work hard for me.” If she doesn’t work hard a man thinks, “Great rack.”

Win-win.

10. Ordering a meal is a microcosm of a relationship.

Introduction
The waitress and the man say hello. They smile. They learn each other’s names. They exchange pleasantries. Maybe she touches his arm. It’s the first date.

Booze
As with most beginning relationships, alcohol soon makes an appearance. Good times.

Sex
OK, men don’t actually have sex with the waitress in restaurants, unless they’re Bret Michaels. In lieu of sex, a woman carries food to the man and the man eats that food. This can make a man feel as good as sex, without all of the awkward apologizing.

She watches you eat
Fact: The vast majority of time spent in long-term relationships is spent watching the other person eat. The remainder of that time is spent looking out car windows and sighing.

Money
Like the saying goes, we all pay for it one way or another. At least with a waitress, there is the possibility of a doggy bag. You can’t doggy-bag a wife. Or … can you?

Wait, no, you can’t.

That was stupid.

Exit
The meal ends. The man leaves when the man wants to leave. If the man wants to come back, the man comes back. Either way, it is up to the man. Psychologically this is new territory for the average male nimrod.

9. Waitresses have excellent memories. I love it when a waitress memorizes a large order. Mental agility is sexy. It probably has something to do with Caveman Theory. In the days of yore, a woman with a sharp mind could be relied upon to remember where the man put the spear, the milk, the codpiece, the fire, the little baby, the warrior baby, etc.

8. Men often misinterpret small talk. The waitress says, “Hi, sweetie.” The man hears, “You should ask me out.” The waitress says, “I wouldn’t worry about calories if I was you.” The man hears, “You have the hottest body I have ever seen and I want to wear your pants like a hat.” The waitress says, “Come back.” The man hears, “She wants to see me again. On a date. With candles. And music. And maybe putt-putt.”

7. Waitresses know a little bit about everything. You can talk to a waitress. They are generally very interesting people who might be putting themselves through school, who are raising families or who pay attention to the world and can hold an intelligent conversation. Waitresses are nature’s barbers.

6. You can infer information from a waitress. You can take an educated guess about her financial status, personality, work ethic, intelligence, politics and where she’s from. You also can see how well she balances a series of dinner plates on one arm, a key detail in most (all) of my personal fantasies.

5. Waitresses do not make more money than a man. If you’re a man and you’re intimidated by women with money, dating a waitress is not a threatening proposition. Also if you’re a man and you’re intimidated by a woman with money, you’re a douche.

4. All waitresses have another talent. Every waitress is a struggling actress, musician, writer, painter, airline pilot, etc. She has taken this job for the love of her art. She is struggling. She is fighting. She is trying to live the dream. If you’re a man and you don’t find that a little attractive, you need to hand in your balls to the Commissioner of Balls.

3. Only good things happen when a waitress is around. When a waitress comes to your table, the following things happen: menus appear, food appears, booze appears, a woman appears, more booze appears, the table is cleaned, ice cream makes an appearance and sometimes there is sassy give-and-take. It’s all positive with a waitress.

2. Waitresses don’t come with training wheels. When a man sees a waitress, he knows she probably has had roughly 11 to 340 boyfriends in her lifetime. This makes a man – even the ugliest, homeliest man – think that he has an actual shot with her.

1. Waitresses are nearby. I can’t overstate this. For a man to notice a woman, she must be attractive and near him. The job of a waitress is to keep going near the customer and not to look like total hell. Hence, the noticing.

I considered asking my waitress/former waitress friends for their theories on why men love waitresses. Then I thought, “No. That would be like asking the fire hydrant about the dog.” Still, I wanted at least one woman’s perspective, so I asked Allegra for her take:

“My theory is that it has something to do with a subservience/submission kind of thing. Waitresses have to acquiesce to a customer’s wants, and I think this position lends itself to fantasies about acquiescing to sexual wants. ‘Let me know if you need anything at all! I’m here to serve you.’ Also, pertaining to my restaurant specifically, I work at a 1940s-style diner, and we wear short dresses. These dresses are unflattering, but guys always find them attractive.”

As a man what I’m hearing is, “Hey, I like that you’re into erotic falconry.”

(To hear Mike, Sean, Carlos and me talk about this column on The Second Column podcast on iTunes, click here.)

Have you ever wondered why so many handsome men are jerks and so many hot women lack self-esteem? In other words, why do so many people who look perfect on the outside turn out to be so defective on the inside?

I stumbled across a possible answer while reading about – wait for it – tomatoes.

The April 2008 issue of Psychology Today magazine has an article entitled “Booty Marks” by Daniel A. Marano. (If you like seeing the human mind stripped naked and documented in a variety of new positions, I recommend the brain porn that is Psychology Today.)

The article says that small, scraggly fruits and vegetables are healthier for you than the bowling ball-sized tomatoes and oranges on grocery store shelves. When a plant is stressed by drought or lack of sun, nature copes by reducing the size and overall attractiveness of its fruit, leaving it small and gnarly in appearance. According to Marano, “Compact size concentrates the flavonoid phytochemicals that have significant benefits to human health.”

Flavonoids – what a terrible name, was flavosputum already taken? – as well as carotenoids and lycopene are phytochemicals that are produced by plants as a means of coping with stress. All of these things are good for you. Flavonoids, for example, contain antioxidants and anti-inflammatory agents and help fight cancer.

Bottom line: The smaller and nastier the fruit, the better it is for you.

All of which leads me to one possible reason why so many handsome guys are jerks and so many hot women lack self-esteem. According to my Flavonoid Behavior Theory, the handsome and hot endure less stress in life than the non-handsome and hot. As a result, the handsome and hot do not build up the emotional and intellectual phytochemicals that enable the rest of us to be decent, confident human beings.

(This theory also applies to rich heirs and heiresses.)

Let’s say the handsome and hot make up 25 percent of the population, with the other 75 percent ranging between attractive and dumpster. That 25 percent has a lot of things handed to them in life. Doors are opened simply because of the way they look. It happens in relationships, in business, in politics, in doorways. This situation appears to be ideal, but in the end you have adults who act like 12-year-olds because that’s the age when life stopped dealing them things to be stressed about.

The other 75 percent of us must undergo periods of sexual drought and party darkness, often referred to as the teenage years, or in some cases, the now. Our personal flavonoids help us cope with life’s disappointments and we learn to value traits besides good looks. The stress helps make us better people.

According to the Psychology Today article:

“The insults and injuries that plants endure in the wild … provoke their natural defenses and yield fruit that is seldom bigger but often more richer than its commercial cousin.”

Sounds like a description of a lot of people I know.

This is not to say that suffering is a virtue. It’s not. Overcoming challenges is what builds up our personal flavonoids.

(Above: Days like these only make us stronger.)

According to Flavonoid Relationship Theory, if you want a long-term relationship, the big, bright tomato is a non-fulfilling choice. It looks good on the outside, but there is little worthwhile on the inside. According to plants - hey, they have been on the planet longer than us - that which is not smoking hot on the outside stands a decent chance of being smoking hot on the inside.

Am I telling you to chase fatties and dogs? No. Chasing fatties and dogs is a joy unto itself and has nothing to do with Flavonoid Theory. This is not a call to go, in the immortal words of my freshman roommate Dom, “Hoggin’.”

I think what nature is trying to tell us is that the tomato that has experienced no stress in life is probably an airhead tomato. The tomato that has can e-mail me for dinner and dancing at joedonatellicolumn@gmail.com.

(To hear The Second Column podcast on Flavonoid Behavior Theory with our guest, comedian Kevin Ford, click here.)