Dick Pics, Death Threats, and Dating 101, Act Like a Lady

Dating is a terrible, confusing vortex, and we have some LadyGang rules to live by to help you get through to the other side. We are going to share our most cringeworthy and heartbreaking moments, so that you can learn a lesson or two from us. We’ve been fooled, stuck, lovesick, and embarrassingly obsessed so many times we’ve lost count, so hopefully you can try to avoid being as pathetic and bamboozled as we have been. We want you to have your happily ever after, whatever that means to you. Although we think our heartbreaks made us who we are today, these rules will help you stay confident, stay focused, and stay out of the dicksand. We know that you won’t follow them. In fact, we know you are probably going to do the exact opposite of what we tell you to do. But when you’re drinking your fourth glass of pinot and weeping as you watch Love Actually for the millionth time, don’t forget that we told you so.

BE INDEPENDENT. That old saying “How can you love someone if you don’t love yourself?” is cheesy as hell, but it’s true. You need to be complete on your own before you can enter a healthy relationship. Financially, emotionally, and mentally. Every day, people fall in and out of love, people leave, and, it’s dark, but…people die. And at the end of the day, you need to be able to be alone with yourself, so make sure you’re okay with that.

DO YOUR RESEARCH. If you’re meeting a dude off a dating app, get on Google, tap into your inner Nancy Drew, and find those skeletons. Unless he’s in the goddamn CIA, he should have at least some form of social media you can stalk. Jac got catfished by a guy once who said he didn’t have Instagram because he was in the FBI, but shocker…he was actually just married. Make sure he hasn’t killed anyone or been arrested for tax evasion. Then you’re good to go.

HAVE A TWO-DRINK MAXIMUM (OR MINIMUM). We polled our LadyGang, and the results were completely split on how much to drink on a first date. Some girls slam two shots of vodka in the parking lot to take the edge off, and others cut themselves off after a few cocktails to keep a clear head. So the consensus is to do whatever makes you feel the most comfortable, but be safe and share your location with a friend just in case the dude is a serial killer.

PUT YOUR WORST FOOT FORWARD. Okay, don’t take this one completely literally, but just be yourself. Don’t pretend to be a perfect, buttoned-up, false version of yourself. Don’t rehearse the best answers you think he’ll want to hear. Don’t be scared to say what you think and feel. He’s going to figure you out eventually, so it’s better to just put your cards on the table and be authentically you from the start. The right man for you is going to love and embrace all of the qualities that may have scared other men off in the past.

RESPECT YOURSELF FROM THE GET-GO. We hate to break it to you, but the way a guy treats you on your first date is pretty much how he’s going to treat you for the rest of your time together. Stand your ground and demand respect from the very beginning, and set the stage for how your relationship will grow and progress moving forward.

DON’T PUT ANYONE ON A PEDESTAL. If you’re in a dry spell, feeling dickpressed, and finally meet someone new, it’s easy to get ahead of yourself. Women in general are pretty optimistic and trusting when it comes to love and relationships, and we tend to only see the good in someone and ignore the red flags. You know how it goes: You go on a first date, he tells you a few nice things, and before you know it, you’re envisioning what your future kids will look like. You’re scribbling his last name on a napkin like you’re in seventh goddamn grade. You’re completely ignoring his justache and the fact that you don’t really know what he does for work, because sometimes it’s fun to live in the clouds. Here’s a pro tip: Just look at his bare feet. It’ll bring anybody back down to earth.

GETTING TO KNOW SOMEONE TAKES TIME. We’re here to remind you that you barely know a guy after a first date (or five), and you have just as much of a choice to continue dating as he does! This isn’t about just hoping he likes you, because the power lies in the hands of both of you equally. The sole reason why we date is to get to know someone and figure out if this person is worthy of committing to. So take your time, be rational, and remember that it takes a while to truly know someone.

KEEP YOUR OPTIONS OPEN. Sometimes we jump the gun and get so excited about a new guy that we throw our rolodicks away too early. Unless you’ve had the exclusivity conversation, you need to assume by default that everyone is dating and sleeping with other people. Think like a dude, and force yourself to date other people until it gets serious with the guy you’re really feeling.

NEVER TEXT HIM FIRST. Keltie and Becca take this one literally and will still never text their husbands first. But this is the LadyGang way of saying, let him court you and chase you a bit. Let him prove he’s interested. Call us old-fashioned, but you should never have to always be the one initiating conversation and asking to see him.

UNFOLLOW YOUR EXES. If you start dating someone new, unfollow anyone that you’ve dated, period. We know you want them to see you live your best life, and we know you want them to be jealous of the new guy, but posting things in the hopes that an old flame will see it is petty, messy, and unfair to the new dude. Also, how gratifying is it to slam that “unfollow” button? SEE YOU IN HELL, TRAVIS.

DON’T RUSH INTO THINGS. If there are problems in your relationship, a ring, a wedding, or children will not solve them. If anything, rushing into these huge life commitments when you’re not ready will exacerbate any deep-rooted issues you may have. Instead of putting a Band-Aid on a huge gaping wound, take a long hard look at what is causing all of the distress that is making you want to anxiously jump into something you’re not prepared for.

IF THEY CONSTANTLY LEAVE YOU FEELING CONFUSED, THEY’RE NOT THE ONE. You know what mixed signals are? They are disinterest mixed with boredom. If they’re stringing you along, or always hot and cold, or one foot in and one foot out, they’re just not that into you. We don’t care if they text you all the time. We don’t care if he’s super sweet when you’re together. If you want to be with a guy and he’s avoiding commitment like the plague, he doesn’t want to be with you, period. Men are black-and-white, and if they want you, you’ll know.

YOU CAN’T CHANGE A MAN. And you definitely can’t change how a man sees you or ultimately loves you. If he enters the relationship with the upper hand, he’s probably always going to have the upper hand. You will know in the beginning how a man sees you, and that will probably be how he sees you forever.

YOU DESERVE SOMEONE GREAT! You’re worthy of a big love. Don’t get dicknotized. Only date men who look at you like you are God’s gift to the world (because you are). You can tell immediately if a man is going to appreciate and admire your greatness, so stop chasing the unattainable and unavailable. You should only be with a man who makes you feel amazing about yourself all of the time. Your confidence and self-worth should never come from a man, but it’s pretty damn incredible to constantly be assisted and lifted up by your partner. And you can tell pretty much immediately if you’re dating the type of man who will treat you like a queen.

A WHITE LIE NEVER HURT ANYONE. Need to break things off with someone you’re casually seeing? Tell them that you recently rekindled a flame with an ex and that “out of respect, you’re going to stop seeing other people.” We know honesty is usually the best policy, but this is a little loophole that you can use to avoid hurting someone’s feelings while not being a total dick and just ghosting. It’s pretty iconic, we know.

IF SOMEONE WANTS TO LEAVE, LET THEM. This one is pretty self-explanatory, but you should never have to beg someone to be with you, ever.

HIS NEXT GIRL ISN’T BETTER THAN YOU. And she definitely doesn’t have a golden vagina. She just expects less than you did and puts up with more bullshit than you were willing to put up with. It’s easy to think you had a profound impact on his heart and trained him to be a better man, but the truth is, he just dated a weaker woman after you. If a guy treated you like shit, you bet your ass he’s treating his new girlfriend like shit, too. So congratulations on adding this guy to your porkfolio. Time to move on!

Dating in Los Angeles is a bitch. There is this weird sense of entitlement for anyone who moves to LA to pursue their “career” in the entertainment industry. The city is filled with the “next big thing” from every small town in America, but in LA, you’re just a stinky little turd in a massive sea of semi-talented, extremely attractive movie star wannabes. But these mediocre douchebags think they’re God’s gift to women, and they act like their shit don’t stink. (Spoiler alert: It smells like a flat vodka Red Bull and Taco Bell Crunchwrap Supremes.) And every guy has Peter Pan syndrome (a.k.a. guys who are incapable of growing up into functioning adults and live in a perpetual state of college-frat-boy). Middle-aged men with receding hairlines and sciatica fill the trashiest clubs in Hollywood, trying to fuck Instagram models half their age. How sweet.

I should also mention that none of these morons gallivanting around Hollywood have real, steady, paying jobs. Oh, you’re a writer / actor / model / musician / producer / influencer / living in a one-bedroom apartment with four of your friends until one of you makes it? If you’re a college student, great! Go chase that dream, boy! But not so attractive when you are in your late thirties. The jig is up. But please tell me more about your groundbreaking screenplay, Hayden. Did you invest all of your savings into Bitcoin, too? Don’t even get me started on how many grown-ass men say they’re a “Midwestern boy chasing his big dreams in LA.” You are forty-six years old, George, STOP CALLING YOURSELF A BOY.

And listen, I’m all about chasing your dreams. I have always been a creative, and I have never had a “real” nine-to-five job other than my two-week stint at Old Navy in high school (more on that later). I lived most of my twenties with no stability, a lot of financial risk, and I have always had to pay my health insurance out of pocket. I have an unconventional professional life, and I constantly juggle a dozen “jobs” at once. I think the difference is that I can tell when it’s time to move on. I am perceptive enough to admit when something isn’t working, and I know how to pivot my goals without everything crashing and burning. I chase my dreams, but my dreams are to be a boss bitch. So when I’m on a date with forty-four-year-old Jimmy who still has three roommates and has spent his last $50 on improv classes so he can’t afford drinks this time…there is a bit of a disconnect there, to say the least.

That being said, the number of these losers I’ve been ghosted by is honestly astounding. The dating app culture of today, mixed with living in a city where everyone thinks they’re the next Chris Hemsworth, is an equation for the typical LA dating disaster. Dating apps promote this culture of abundance and replaceability. With the next swipe, there is always someone prettier and younger and more successful than the awesome girl you just took out. If someone is less than perfect, it takes no effort to just toss them in the trash and move on to the next. It’s a peak example of our disposable culture at work, and for someone genuinely looking for a potential lifelong partner, it can get extremely frustrating and disappointing. But, lucky for you, I wasn’t worn to the ground and jaded at the point when this daring tale takes place, so here we go.

In my first round of adult singledom in my mid-twenties, dating apps were this fun game. I had just gotten out of a relationship, and I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I just wanted to have fun, and it was the first time I was meeting new guys outside my group of friends and going on actual dates. Tinder was my own cute, fucked-up version of Pokémon, but I was trying to catch all of the superhot, super-unemployed dudes. When dating apps were first released, all of my girlfriends were single, so we would have competitions of who could go out on the most ridiculous date every week. We would meet up every Taco Tuesday and, in roundtable fashion, take turns telling our entertaining yet terrifying tales of dating in Hollywood. I am a sucker for a mimbo, so I usually won these competitions. When I was just looking to smooch a hottie, a nice head of hair and big biceps really outweighed the fact that he didn’t know who Neil deGrasse Tyson was.

I tried every new dating app as they were introduced. Tinder was the OG, and, surprisingly, in the beginning there were some semi-decent dudes on there. But it wasn’t long before it turned into a dick-pic-sending, douchebag-filled nightmare. I’ve always said, send me a pic in a suit going to your professional job, and I might be impressed. Bumble is nice because girls make the first move, so it weeded out some obvious creeps, but the ones that slipped through exposed themselves pretty quickly nevertheless. The League, an app originally for Ivy League graduates that expanded to business professionals, seemed appealing, and I actually went out with a few lawyers from there. But they turned out to be just as bad as the actors. Raya is another “super exclusive” app aimed at celebrities and creatives, but in reality it was filled with a bunch of “photographers” trying to creep on young girls and “actors” whose claim to fame was being background in a local Denny’s commercial once. However, there were some good celebs on there, including John Mayer, Brett Eldredge, Kevin Durant, and my ultimate dream man, Diplo. I matched with Dane Cook two days after a crazy breakup, and honestly it felt like a gift from heaven. His pictures were more photoshopped than a Kardashian’s, and I had to pretend that I didn’t know his entire Harmful If Swallowed CD by heart (OH YEAHHHHHH), so I think we talked about salt-and-vinegar potato chips instead. He used way too many emojis, so I eventually stopped responding, even though I am a sucker for a good potato chip. But my favorite celeb match was Josh Groban. Ugh, Josh, if you ever read this, I think you were the one that digitally got away.

All jokes aside, I really did put my best foot forward going into the dating scene. I’m a monogamist at heart, I would like to think I’m a good person, and at the end of the day I’ve always just wanted to find my forever dude. But here was one of my biggest problems back in the day: I drank too much on dates. Not in the way you’re thinking, though. I was never getting too drunk in a dangerous way, but after a few drinks, I could literally have had incredible chemistry with a brick wall. But, in my defense, there’s nothing better than getting tipsy with someone you’re crushing on. The nerves and the excitement and the booze: It’s the perfect recipe for frivolous fun…and, in my case, dating disaster. So I’d go on these mediocre dates with less than mediocre men and leave them drunk and starry-eyed, thinking I met the love of my life every single time. Here is my list of dudes I thought I had INCREDIBLE chemistry with:

One-Hit-Wonder Wally had a very popular song on the radio in 1998 and has done nothing of significance ever since, other than get osteoporosis. Mattress Mike was so busy with his acting career that he “never got around” to buying a bed frame, and he actually slept with his mattress on the floor, college-student style. Street-Performer Sam was…you guessed it, a street performer. He wrote plays that he performed in public restrooms at subway stations. For free. Messy Michael had exposed, tangled wires all over his house. His mantle decor included a plastic jar of pennies, a single used running sneaker, a signed headshot of himself, and a few rogue mummified McDonald’s French fries. Never-Grow-Up Ned answered his door on our first date wearing a giraffe onesie and suggested we eat gummy bears for a snack. I was thinking sushi, but to each his own. Hatfish Harry was only hot with his beanie on. Poor-Sport Peter took me to the state fair and had a macho-man meltdown when I kept beating him in all the carnival games. I actually ended up winning a giant four-foot stuffed banana, and he made me carry it while he moped around five feet behind me with his bruised masculinity and fragile ego all night. Screwvenir Steve stole my Nine Inch Nails shirt after we hooked up one time. Poopy-Pants Paul shit his pants on our first date (in his defense, he had food poisoning, and I went out with him again because I felt bad for him, but he still was a bore). Can’t-Get-a-Credit-Card Cody was $50,000 in debt and expected me to be his sugar mama. Flaccid-Dick Frank wouldn’t stop sending me pictures of his limp penis after a failed first date. D-List Dave was quite a handsome dude in his forties and the villain on a very popular television show. He decided to snort three lines of coke, pop a molly, take five shots of tequila, and then eat an edible in the first fifteen minutes of our date. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, slipped out, and went home an hour into our date. He didn’t even notice I had left until the end of the night. Highdea Hank would get stoned before our dates and blab on and on about his life-changing ketchup car-holder invention. Can’t-Get-Over-His-Ex Carl ran into his ex-girlfriend on our dinner date. He proceeded to leave with her in the middle of said date and stranded me with a $200 dinner bill. These men were all memorable in their own adorable ways, but I am going to talk about the most “LA” dude I’ve ever dated.

One night while watching Seinfeld in bed and sipping on my third glass of pinot noir, I was feeling kinda frisky and needed some male attention. So I did what any other normal, mildly insecure twenty-six-year-old does: I opened up Tinder. After swiping left on around a hundred duds, an actor who played a supporting role in She’s All That, and a loser I had hooked up with a few months prior, I finally came across this total freakin’ babe. 6’5”, forty-one years old, full head of luscious dark brown hair, beefy build, good style (but not TOO good, ya know? He can’t be looking better than me), and the best part: he had a Curb Your Enthusiasm quote in his bio. He was like a younger, taller, buffer Robert Downey Jr., and he loved Larry David as much as I did. HELLO, HAVE I FINALLY SWIPED TO FIND MY SOUL MATE???

He messaged me immediately with a reference to my picture at Stagecoach (country music fan…check!) and we instantly started vibing. He was witty, hilarious, SUPER sarcastic and self-deprecating, didn’t take himself seriously—basically everything I was looking for in a man. The banter was quick and smart, which is the biggest turn-on for me.

He didn’t have anything on his profile referencing what he did for a job, so I was nervously crossing my fingers that this forty-one-year-old hottie wasn’t sleeping on his friend’s couch as he chased his impossible dream of being the next Jason Momoa. So, after some flirty back-and-forth, I decided to just rip the Band-Aid off and ask what he did for work. He responded immediately that he was the “voice of Acura” and did some acting on the side. All right, all right, looking good. For those of you outside of the hellhole of Hollywood, you can actually make pretty good living doing legitimate voice-over work. “The voice” of an entire car brand means national commercials. So as long as he had a job bringing in some kind of dough, I can get behind whatever weird acting passion projects he has. Also, fingers crossed for a super sexy voice.

And, boy, did the sexy voice deliver. We connected during a super busy time for both of us, so we didn’t actually meet up in person for about a month after we matched. I was traveling to Vegas for a trade show, and he was down in San Diego for Comic-Con, so during this time, we texted nonstop and talked on the phone almost every night. His voice sounded how an expensive Scotch tastes: deep, rich, husky, and extremely intoxicating.

Why was he at Comic-Con, you ask? Well, apparently he was starring in a film about an aspiring washed-up actor who was down on his luck in Los Angeles (sounds familiar) and who transforms into a superhero at night. He was at Comic-Con promoting the film, and he let me know he was even doing a bit with Jimmy Kimmel to promote it. He kept me updated about his activities during the day, sending me pictures of him dressed up in his costume and everything. I know nothing about the Comic-Con world, but it all seemed pretty legit.

I will make a sidenote that, as usual, I immediately googled his name after we matched. Nothing really came up, which was strange, but I knew this was his first actual role in a major movie and they had only begun to start filming. I tried to YouTube the Jimmy Kimmel skit, but it must not have been released yet. I also looked up virtually every Acura commercial and couldn’t match his voice to any of them. These were all definitely glaring red flags, but he kept making me laugh, and did I mention he was hot? So I let it slide.

He was kind of hard to get together with in general, because he was working a lot on his movie. We would make plans, and they would fall through at the last minute because he had to work all of a sudden, or he wouldn’t get his schedule until the last minute, or it was always changing, or he had to be on call just in case they needed him. The excuses were endless. I didn’t work in the entertainment world myself, but I was smart enough to know that filming schedules don’t just “change around last minute.” There are hundreds of people involved in creating a movie, so you need a schedule and call sheet approved very far in advance. Again, kinda fishy, but whatever.

After a few weeks, our schedules finally aligned, and it was time to meet in person. I was nervous because we had weeks of conversation and amazing banter built up, so my expectations for our in-person chemistry were pretty high. I invited him over to my apartment because it felt like we already knew each other, and, to be honest, I kinda just wanted to get straight to the making-out portion of the night. For some odd reason, I trusted him to NOT be a serial killer.

I put on my favorite pair of leggings that made my butt look extra perky with a cropped T-shirt (no bra, duh). Casual but cute vibes. My Le Labo candle was lit, and James Blake was spinning on my record player (pro tip: ULTIMATE sexy-time music). At 7:00 p.m. sharp, I heard a powerful knock on my front door, and I knew it was my big, husky dude. I downed the rest of my rosé (gotta have that pre-date drink to cut down on the jitters), popped in a piece of gum, and answered the door with an elegantly disheveled, “Oh, hey there, stranger.”

He. Was. Beautiful. Almost a foot taller than me and with the body of motherfucking HULK, this man was what my heaven looked like. He effortlessly picked me up and gave me a massive bear hug, and I would have been happy to just be crushed to death by those massive biceps.

I offered him a glass of Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch (because it matched the voice), and we sat down to get to know each other. It was one of those awkward, “sit on opposite sides of the couch at first and slowly start moving closer and closer toward each other as we get more comfortable” kind of nights. When I finally felt relaxed enough around him, I eventually draped my legs over his ever so coyly, and we dove straight into the hilarious sarcastic banter we had via text. He was just as sexy, masculine, and confident as I had imagined him to be. We talked about everything from our favorite characters on Lost (John Locke for the win), to how we both want to be great parents one day, to who would win in a Ping-Pong tournament (me).

The conversation was flowing as smoothly as the cocktails, and once I had enough liquid courage, it was finally time to dive into the confusion I had regarding his career. Being the blunt bitch that I am, I was like, “Hey, I googled you and the movie title you’re working on, and nothing really came up.” He responds, “Oh, yeah, well, that’s just the working title for the film. It’s an independent film, though, did I tell you that? My roommate is directing it, it’s his first film since he quit working at Chipotle. Oh, and also I’m not getting paid for it.” OH GOD, HERE WE GO. Honestly, I wasn’t that surprised that this middle-aged man was working pro bono. I should have known. But then it gets worse. I asked him why his schedule was all over the place and why he never really knew his working hours. His response was, “Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you? I’m a method actor. Every afternoon, I get dressed up in my superhero costume and walk around Hollywood Boulevard. I really want to feel what my character feels. I want to feel him in my bones. I want to experience the life that he really had. And I’m getting kinda famous out there. I sign at least one autograph every day!” JESUS CHRIST, DUDE. He told me that he drives past Hollywood and Highland every few hours to “feel out” the crowd and decide if it’s “worth his time” to get into character. If you really want to be a Hollywood Boulevard character, at least be on-brand and go as Wolverine!

And I bet you’re wondering what he was doing at Comic-Con. Well, he went down there to try to crash the parties, and as for the Jimmy Kimmel skit he was boasting about? He was an extra in a crowd of two hundred for a bit on the new Avengers film. He never made the cut. And the best part: he slept in a tent in his friend’s front yard while he was there!

So, my mind is spinning as he’s explaining all of this to me. He sees the shock on my face and jokingly goes, “I know I kind of bamboozled you. I totally get it if you never want to see me again,” and pulls me in for a kiss. I kissed him back because…did I mention he was hot???? My big, stupid, lying garbae.

But wait! The voice of Acura, remember? A few weeks after my fateful date with the superhero, I made a quick stop at the mall to grab a face mask from Lush. As I’m strolling through the crowds, I hear this familiar, deep, husky, sexy voice explaining the accessibility features for a new car. I turn around and there he is, dressed in a baby-blue polo shirt with the Acura logo embroidered on the left side of the chest. We make eye contact, he gives me a wink, and he continues to explain the luxury of adding a moonroof to your new car package. The “voice of Acura” sure was a stretch.

I saw him a few times after that, because I’m not that shallow. And then two things happened.

He sent me a dick pic. And listen, I actually appreciate a good dick pic every once in a while. And I asked for this one, so it wasn’t unsolicited. But this was truly the most mind-blowing dick pic I’ve seen in my entire life, and it left me dicknotized for a good hour. And the size and shape had nothing to do with it. It was the crazy composition of the picture itself. I wish it wasn’t illegal to include a picture of it in this book, because I truly think everyone deserves to see it at least once in their lives. But I will give you the gist of it in the most descriptive way I can. Picture this hulk of a man lying on his back on his bed, phone facing the mirror in front of him. He’s wearing a white ribbed tank top, and his pecs are pushed up so high they’re covering his face. His legs are spread eagle, and his massive penis is just sitting in the middle of it, looking like the goddamn Washington Monument. My eyes couldn’t handle it. The photo was so aggressive and strange-looking that I can’t imagine a single woman on this planet being turned on by it.

Really? You can HERE your neighbors having sex??? HERE????? I honestly can accept the weird dick pic. The use of “u” and the creepy winky face was bad enough…but the bad grammar had gone too far.

And that, my friends, was the dealbreaker. I never talked to him again after that.

After months of wallowing in a terrible heartbreak that completely destroyed my confidence, I joined an online dating site. After all, it was impossible to get over my lost love without finding a new love. I was at a point in my life where I was constantly around the same group of people, I was traveling on tour and surrounded by mostly women, I had done enough therapy to have a clear vision of the kind of guy I wanted to meet, and “guys with real jobs” was not a group I found myself in very often. So, I set to work on setting up my dating profile. I clicked away, checking the boxes of all the qualities my dream man would have. The great thing about hiding behind a computer while doing this was that I could be completely honest. I devilishly checked off my age group (twenty-five to thirty-five), height requirement (six-foot-plus), and salary ($100,000-plus per year). I added a little about me, that I love reading, dogs, seeing concerts. Things that were turn-offs: smoking, children, nail-biting. Next, in the “what I am looking for” section, I wrote that I was looking for a nice guy, that I had been burned in the past, and that I really needed someone who was 100-percent honest.

I used a fake name. Sally Prescott. I don’t really know where the name came from. I figured I would be more protected from the possible lover googling if I had an alias. Being Sally, I was willing to talk to anyone who happened to introduce himself to me, I felt safe behind my profile, and I cannot believe how many men looked at my glamorous headshot and thought, “Sally Prescott seems like the lady for meeeee!”

I was essentially homeless at the time, definitely brokenhearted from my last relationship person, and totally NOT ready to fall in love. In the days before everyone single was on a dating app, there was a lot of shame around being “pathetic” enough to sign up for online dating. But, surprisingly, I wasn’t the only hopeless and desperate enough romantic looking for love online at all hours of the night.

I chatted away with all types of guys. The attention was creepy and wonderful. Some requested naked photos, who I instantly blocked. Others sent me pictures of their cats, rooms, or faces. I hadn’t checked off an area of the country that I wanted to find my date in, because I wanted to keep my options as open as possible. I was that pathetic. My story was semi-true. I was a professional dancer on tour, and I lived anywhere and everywhere. They lived in Texas—I love TEX-MEX! They lived in Miami—I’ve been there twice and I love the beach!

I connected with a photographer who seemed cool, wrote me constantly, and was an excellent (and pretty hot) distraction. Having never actually met in real life, and after spending hours looking at the two total photos he had on his profile, I was convinced this was THE guy for me. Online stranger man and Sally forever! It just so happened that as the end of the tour loomed, I made the decision that I was going to take a break from my old home in NYC and move to LA. To anyone who asked, I would say that it was because my friends had moved there, or that I wanted a change, but really online “dream man” played a larger part in the move than I care to admit. In a way, I just wanted to feel wanted, and I was willing to move to a new city for that. “You live in Los Angeles, omg! I was just planning to move to Los Angeles. Oh, and by the way, Sally isn’t my real name.”

Almost as soon as I moved to LA, and as soon as he had been properly introduced to my actual first name, I met long-distance online-dating lover in real life. We went on an awkward first date, where I found out he was recently divorced and very much in the same place emotionally as me (i.e., anyone to fill the space will do). We maybe had a second date, and I remember him cooking dinner for me and talking about himself and his ex-wife incessantly, and then after that, while I was driving around Los Angeles giggling with happiness, singing along to love songs on the radio for my newfound beau, he stopped talking to me. That was the end of that. I never heard from him again. Sad Sally. I was now stuck in a completely strange city with no real purpose for being there, no job, no agent, and, once again, a heavy heart. I couldn’t believe that the guy I had met and talked to online for six weeks and went on two dates with after lying about my name and life’s purpose didn’t fall madly in love with me instantly! Can you imagine? I was out of my mind. In a way, it was a wake-up call for me. I said goodbye to my fake profile, and I never went back to dating online.

I decided to stop trying to find love as Sally, and I started working on falling in love with Keltie.

WE ASKED THE MEN IN OUR LG COMMUNITY TO ANONYMOUSLY ANSWER OUR MOST NSFW QUESTIONS. HERE’S WHAT WE FOUND OUT:

DO MEN NOTICE MY CELLULITE AS MUCH AS I DO?

Do you even have cellulite?
Is that a type of makeup?
Yes, and I love your booty, cellulite and all.

HOW DO YOU KNOW WHEN YOU’VE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH A WOMAN?

When you would rather be with them than anyone else.
When they fart in your face and you still have a twinkle in your eye for them.
For me, it felt like a haze was lifted all around me and I could see my future clearly for the first time.
I stop thinking about the past and think about the future.
My heart feels stupid.
I become less productive because I spend all my time thinking about her.

Squeeze your finger super hard and cut off all the circulation. It feels like that, but goooooood.
Exciting and you just want to touch it.
Swelling in my pants that could potentially get embarrassing if I have to get up or move around.
Imagine your nipples getting hard, but it’s a giant dick.
Honestly pretty uncomfortable if you’ve got anything but sweatpants on.
Anticipation on Christmas morning.

WHAT IS THE MOST COMMON THING WOMEN DO TO MAKE YOU LOSE INTEREST?

Smoking.
Break up with me.
Nag.
Being superficial.
Attitude and bitchiness.
Constant accusations of stuff that I didn’t do.
Lying.
If she does not care about what I do for her.
Not independent.
Cry about basic things that will be fine in the end.
Play games or act batshit crazy.
Cheat.

Not unless you point it out.
Only if it’s ridiculously long.
Can’t say that I have, now I will be looking, though!
Huh?
If I did, I wouldn’t say anything.
Yes, pluck it.

ARE MEN INSECURE ABOUT THEIR PENIS SIZE?

Hard to compare other than by asking other women. So it seems like we are always asking.
Not me, can’t speak for others.
DEFINITELY.
I’m sure guys with a small penis are.
In high school, yes.
Other men, maybe.
Absolutely. Every guy is scared of being inadequate.
No, every guy thinks his is huge.
Yes, some are, which is why they lift their trucks.
Up to a certain age, until you realize most dudes don’t have a ten-inch penis and all the dudes who said they did were full of shit.

DO MEN NOTICE ALL OUR DOUBLE CHINS WHEN WE ARE ON TOP DURING SEX?

That is definitely not what I’m thinking about, so no.
Nope, too busy looking at boobs.
Yeah, sorry…
Yes, but there are better things occupying our time.
No, there are a few things getting in the way.
No, but I’ll look out for it now!
No! That’s the last thing I’m thinking about.
LOLOLOL wtf? Never noticed this.
What? That’s a thing?
How could you know what you look like from underneath yourself while having sex?
Only if there’s a pearl necklace on it.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT A WOMAN MAKING MORE MONEY THAN YOU?

Sounds like it was a good date.
Probably not serious about a relationship.
I would think she’s my girlfriend.
Fine by me.
This woman’s awesome.
I would think the same as if it was second, third, whatever.
It depends how the rest of the date went.
It all depends on the chemistry. You shouldn’t script it. It should happen when it happens.
That she likes me.

WHAT WOULD YOU THINK ABOUT A WOMAN WHO SLEPT WITH YOU ON A FIRST DATE?

Hell yeah, do it! Better for the both of us.
Happily.
Yes, please! More money for us both!
Good, better Christmas presents.
At this point I’m used to it, but obviously I’d like to make more money so I can treat my girl right.
More power to them, honestly.
That’d be awesome, means we’ve got even more money together.
Why would I care about that?