Dating is for the Disinterested

Last week a male friend of mine and I discussed how America is the only country that has this complicated game of ego and juggling we refer to as dating. Europeans don’t date multiple people at a time. Neither do Australians, South Americans, Asians or Africans. In other countries, courtship goes something like this:

1. Man sees woman he likes and gets weak-kneed.
2. Man, through ridiculous poetry or other gallant gesture, asks woman out. (Well, in France anyway. In Southeast Asia leaving a dairy cow on the front porch can be construed as sign of interest)
3. Woman says yes.
4. Man puts all his effort to impress this one (yes, only one) woman.
5. Woman spends her time wistfully thinking about this one (yes, only one) man.
6. After the first date the smitten two smile and sigh and build a couple-hood. They have no desire to meet anyone else…well, until the French man decides to take a mistress.

Minus the mistress part, why can’t we emulate the rest of the world? It’s romantic, it’s easy, and it’s a focused effort. Why do we feel a need to date multiple people and spread ourselves thin?

Theory Number #1-The Ego Boost:
Having multiple men interested in us makes us feel desirable and dreamy and puts an extra skip in our step. Never mind if it’s the homeless man on 6th and Market telling me I’m a “damn sexy bitch.” Attention, even from a crack pipe aficionado, feels good. Men, I believe, take this to another extreme. It’s an ego boost to have many women interested in them, yes. But if a man can master SLEEPING with multiple women….well, that must mean he is God. Even some translations of the Koran depict a man’s heaven as having sex with 72 (virgin) women. Of course here on earth any man that has 72 women sleeping with him likely isn’t that selective or have much else going on in his life.

Theory #2: “I don’t believe in love at first sight”--The Backup Plan
Gone are the days of falling in love with the dark stranger in the Starbuck’s café. “Down with (immediate) Love” is the motto of the 30 somethings. As we get older and jaded we don’t trust a man after one or two dates and must have backups readily available. Even the book, “The Rules” advises us to have multiple dates with different men lined up so that we don’t become too attached to any one and risk a broken heart. The issue with the backup plan is that we never really are focused on one person, and always in the mindset that something better could come along. This lack of focus mutes any chance of a romantic success. During my FeDoo phase I double and triple booked men into my Saturday. God forbid I make one date special and prep with a bubble bath, blow out and Marvyn Gaye. The result was a frazzled FeDoo: frizzy hair, deathly tired, and no ability to keep the names of her daters straight. I realized that no man interested me enough to sacrifice my whole day prepping for, which brings me to Theory #3.


Theory #3: Disinterest.
Mazz was perplexed. One of the guys she had been casually dating wanted to spend time with her next weekend. But Wednesday-Sunday were designated for Happy hours, group dinners, singles parties, etc. “How can I find time to date this one boy when all my nights are filled looking for new boys?” she asked. Alexis responded wisely, “Perhaps if you are still dedicating time to find boys instead of going out with them, you haven't found the one you want to be with.” After all, even the douchiest of all douchebags are known to stop their philandering and looking for “something better” when they find someone they genuinely like.

Meet Stu—one legendary douchebag—now engaged. “I put the D in douchebag. I swore I would never settle. There were too many hot girls! But then I met Sarah. All of a sudden I started playing Louis Armstrong’s cheek-to-cheek and dancing with my broom at home. I daydreamed….. of us on deserted beaches, of us during the holidays, of us having a mini me. Sarah had none of the qualities on my long list of necessary attributes. (i.e. she wasn’t a Playgirl bunny, hated sports, and had a stuffed animal collection.). But it didn’t matter. I didn’t care about any list or dating anyone else that may “fit it better.” Instead of wanting to cast a wider net, I wanted to constrict mine around Sarah.”

So what’s a girl to do? Do we sit patiently until we meet a man that makes us want to dance with a broom? Or do we get out there and continue to meet men, even though some are about as interesting as a dirty sock? There has to be some balance. But I agree with Stu---the right person will make us throw our long “list” out the window. If only I knew where he was.

Quantity Vs. Quality.

Yes, there has been a lapse in blog entries…mainly because the new FeDoo’s life is jam-packed! In the past few weeks my girls and I have expanded our nets to meet as many available bachelors as we can. Although quantity, not quality was the motto.

Widening the nets meant three things---date younger, date older, and turn business into pleasure.

Dating older: In high school, age gaps were defined in terms of 1-2 years. Why, dating a boy a year ahead of you indicated a higher social status, automatically giving you access to the “cool circle.” If one year in high school got me "cool"—what about multiple years older now? Determined not to be an ageist, I decided that love had no upper threshold. This meant that yes, I did end up on a dinner date with a man who was in possession of a cane. And not the candy kind. The caned man, however was gentlemanly, thoughtful, and offered to take me to Paris for the weekend. He knew his wine, spoke of exotic places and had more romance than the entire striped-shirt Marina clan put together. Caned man put the “W” in woo. Alas, if only I were 60. I was tempted to accept the Paris offer but quickly thought of the SATC episode where Samantha ran out of the luxe penthouse at the sight of a droopy ass. All the wooing in the world won’t firm a saggy butt. I’m back to being an Ageist. Or perhaps a Firmist.

Dating younger: Back in high school, dating a boy a year younger indicated that you were a social pariah, not cool enough for a man with facial hair. Thanks to Demi Moore the tides have turned. Dating a younger man proves you still have a six pack.

The best thing about a younger boy is their sheer gratitude for dating you. Why, before they met you, these young men only had Saturday night dates with their right hand (a la the "reverse stranger"). In addition, these young pups are impressionable. Dating a young 20-something is like going to the store and purchasing a mix for “Create-your-own-man.” “Reduce the hoodie here, add a dash of Prada there, sauté in fine wines”…..you get the picture.

Mazz met Bobbie out at a college bar. Never mind that he was born in 1986. He was chiseled and happy and eager to have a woman buy him beer. Mazz decided to pretend to be 23 as well….until the first date when young pup wanted to take the bus to dinner. And dinner was defined as $2 Taco Tuesday. Just like I couldn’t stomach a saggy ass for Paris, Mazz couldn’t forgo style for a tight one.

Business to Pleasure: Networking is the new black. In these recession times Rolodexes are more valuable than gold. But why use them just for business? At a technology launch party I met VC Savvy Eric. VC Savvy had a potential client for my firm. I was intrigued…and also curious if VC Savvy had potential for anything else. Thus we had a conference call on Wednesday and then a date on Thursday. The problem, I realized, with business to pleasure is the blurred lines. Do we expense the tab? Do we talk revenue projections or about where we grew up? And would a kiss interfere with my ability to garner more clients? Would I be seen as a girlfriend and less of a partner? I decided that in these troubled times, unless it’s true love, a man is not worth a career sacrifice.

So there you have it…. Lot of quantity and very little quality. I think I am about to throw in the FeDoo towel. It’s been a fun ride, but let’s face it, I’m a romantic. Surface level encounters are fun but too shallow for the wistful artist in me. In the spirit of Valentine’s Day I’ve decided to forgo quantity to wait for love…or at least a lot more “quality” lust. I am human after all.

Becoming a FeDoo (female douchebag)

In my hunt to further understand douchebags I dedicated the week to surrounding myself with the enigmatic species. Although my first inclination was to be judgmental of the D-bag way, I actually found that douchebags have some useful pieces of advice. The D-baggy men were on top of their game, made things happen and were leading pretty fabulous lives. What’s wrong with that? If Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City could “have sex like a man,” then why couldn’t I “date like a douchebag?” I decided to take some key douche bag traits and morph into a FeDoo-the female equivalent of our lovely male counterpart.

Top FeDoo Moves—stolen from the male douchebags:

Aggressiveness gets the prize: As previously mentioned, my flirting attempts are usually about as aggressive as a sloth in a coma. Douchebags are always aggressive though, even when approaching women that are clearly out of their league.

Therefore in an unnamed bar in San Francisco I decided to become an approacher of men. Not one or two but rather four rather attractive men were across the bar giving me the eye. At least one seemed to have an accent, my motivation for action. “Juliet,” my friend Eva said, “Go over there. You have nothing to lose. If you believe you’re hot, so will they. FeDoo it, honey.”

I downed a drink and trotted over while humming “Eye of the Tiger” for added confidence. “Hello boys,” I said. “Mind if I squeeze in here for a drinkie?” Hello boys. That’s all it took. Hours later the four Australians were still with us, flirting, chatting, and telling off color aboriginal jokes. The next morning the first text message to hit my screen was “G’day sexy.” Now...which hot Aussie to choose……or can FeDoos choose all four?

Equal opportunity: I have noticed that douchebags do not always have discriminating tastes. I have personally witnessed good looking D-bags make out with women that resemble old shoes. Not that I want to kiss aged leather, but perhaps we should be less selective, widen the pool, and see if anything good comes out of it? In a normal situation I don’t give a man the time of day unless I have measured his bicep circumference (yes, I carry a measuring tape in my handbag), gotten his IQ scores, medical records, and adequately quizzed him on Obama’s stimulus plan. 1.5% of the male population can survive my interrogation, which is likely contributing to my datus hiatus status. I decided to FeDoo it and be more open minded. If the guy can make me laugh, he’s in.

Make things happen: Douchebags make shit happen. They do not wait around for Lady Luck to play her hand. Rather, they spank Lady Luck on the ass. Some friends of mine had mentioned a male friend they had that I would likely get along with. “Platonic get along or naked get along?” I asked. “Perhaps both” they said. I could wait for the fates to bring us together OR I could give Luck a hearty ass slap. I propositioned my friends, “Here’s my photo, here’s my number. If he likes it, tell him to call.” I knew that if he had any douchebag in him he’d dial up. Over the weekend I got a ring. Score!

“Sooooooo…..I hear you like to eat and drink."
“Yes, I hear you like to eat and drink as well.”
“So what should two people do that like to eat and drink?”
Needless to say we decided against a walk in the park.
“Anything you don’t eat?”
I quickly decided not to list all my food allergies or pending diet plans. After all I was a FeDoo.
“Babe, I eat it all.”

Exaggeration does not equal lies: Douchebags don’t always lie but in order to get what they want they may exaggerate *slightly*. We all know too well that they are good at telling women what they want to hear in order to lure them into bed. So why shouldn’t we follow suit? If hot men guess that I am 25, I am certainly not going to correct them. In addition, if my job sounds too intimidating (for those 25 year old men, that is) I see nothing wrong with telling them I am a flight attendent. Men have a fetish for flight attendents. Therefore Mazz and I have memorized the entire United Airlines take off spiel so that we can repeat it in bars as proof of our employment status.

Hit on people you shouldn’t hit on: Douchebags hit on everyone showing no regard for social mores. Capitalizing on how douchebags go after every available female, I decided that I would go after every available male.

My brother was in town to visit his old b-school friends for a guys weekend. I quickly interrogated him on the status of each one –Single? Hot? Rich?

“Juliet...you cannot date my friends—they are all douchebags.”
Little did he know that only piqued my interest.
“Well, your friend Arthur seems nice….”
"No." he said.

Obviously my brother was determined to keep me chaste for the weekend. Little did he know I was a new FeDoo and had no regard for morals. I decided to secretly scan his blackberry and determine the location of the male bonding party where I would make a "surprise" appearance.

Hours later I was dancing and grinding with Arthur. I distantly heard my brother's voice in the background.

“Hey who did Arthur pick up?"
“Oh, he’s with some 25 year old blond flight attendent.”
“She looks just like like……hey damnit Juliet!!!”

Once my brother discovered it was me I was promptly escorted off the dance floor and lectured. But not before I got in some “close dancing” and dropped off a phone number.

FeDoo-the way to live in 2009.

The Spectrum of Douchebags

As previously discussed, the alpha male quotient in San Francisco is low. And the few that appeal to us seem to be fondly referred to as Douchebags. Who wants a Douchebag? Certainly not me… but then again, there are some Dbag characteristics that we actually secretly like. After all, these men must have something good if they can snare so many women.

In the alpha male family there are multiple types of men….and all line up somewhere on the Douchebag spectrum. The trick is to find out where they lie, and ensure that you end up with one with moderate edge and not a million STDs. Yes yes, I am suggesting that a little Douchebag-ness isn’t all bad. My boss once told me, “Juliet, all men are Douchebags. You just have to find one that isn’t as much of one as the others.” Therefore, Mazz and I went to Aspen for New Years, possibly the Douchebag capital of the world, to do some research. Male confidence was high from either mass riches or the high altitude. Perfect research territory.

Minibag: This man is a Douchebag wannabe. He is a huge fan of Mystery, the pickup artist, and tries to learn all the secrets to attract women. He really has no game but pathetically tries to win you over by the pickup artist's #1 rule: first put you down and then build you up. Aspen is full of these men; those small-statured men that try to tell you how much better a skier they are than you. The Minibag may be confused with a Douchebag by his false air of confidence…but he will easily crumble. The way to determine his true wimp status is to remain aloof and disinterested. Only a true Douchebag will pursue you relentlessly. Whatever you do, don’t end up with a Minibag.... you'll be kicking him to the curb in no time.

Alpha Edgebag: The Alpha edgebag is the man that has minor Dbag characteristics. He is self assured, perhaps even cocky at times, and goes after what he wants. He is actually interesting and doesn’t allow his edge to go overboard to make you feel uncomfortable. Mazz and I spotted an Alpha Edgebag our fist night in Aspen. He approached us by saying he needed to sit closer to the fireplace for warmth. He then told tales of motorcycle trips, and through his Edgebag stories, managed to get Mazz to first gaze into his eyes, and then lock lips. This Alpha Edgebag assured Mazz he didn’t want to sleep with her, just kiss her…thus making her feel relaxed and well, more interested in sleeping with him. (For the record though, she didn’t—we were just here on a research trip and we never mix business with pleasure...). The Alpha Edgebag is delightfully smooth…..and has potential.

Moderate Dbag: The Moderate Douchebag is a bit more dangerous. His confidence is bullet proof and for some reason you never think to question anything he says. Aspen has many men in this category. The men that live for the highlife, immediately manage to plug into the most promising scene and are determined to be opportunistic when it comes to interchanges with the opposite sex. Some are more than opportunistic. They make things happen and women....come. One Moderate Dbag threw a very exclusive lingerie party in Aspen where women couldn’t get in unless they stripped down. Yes, the Moderate Dbag isn’t a relationship person…but thankfully never pretends that he is. However, the Moderate Dbag isn’t all bad…if you are okay with a 24 hour relationship.

Complete and Utter Douchebag (CUD): This is the man who would rather watch porn than have a bonafide conversation. The CUD isn’t always that attractive but through sheer will manages to sleaze his way from party to party, girl to girl, making inappropriate comments at all times. There is a legendary CUD in Aspen—Johnny Aspen. J.A. is mid-40s, never had one serious relationship and through shady wheelin’ and dealin’ made a shady fortune. J.A. doesn’ t care about meaningful interchanges or experiences—just material possessions and well-photographed parties. Through his non-stop hip gyrating and propensity to provide ‘party favors,’ he manages to get into every club and party. He also lies to women about his PJ (that's Private Jet for the Aspen illiterate) and/or his desire to get married to get them into bed. Beware of the CUD. Not only will you be duped, but you may not even have that great a time in the duping.

What type of Douchebag is right for you? Likely depends on what you want….long term, short term, no term. And remember that even the most endearing man with the courtesy of Carey Grant still has some Douchebag in him.

Single for the holidays

I love the holidays….I love the songs, the food, the décor. I like being able to walk around in a Santa hat and shout out 'ho ho ho' with good reason. I like being naughy AND nice. I enjoy the bustle of holiday shopping, trying to pick out the perfect gift for the perfect person. This year however, I had many less presents to purchase. And it wasn’t because my family turned Grinch. It was because... this year I was single.

I have no idea how I managed to snare boyfriends all the prior holiday seasons past….but I always had someone to wrap for, someone to snuggle up to, someone who knew exactly how I liked my eggnog spiked….if you know what I mean.

Part of me found my brazen singleness liberating…why, I could kiss whomever I wanted….bring on the mistletoe! In fact I could walk around with a permanent mistletoe swig attached to the top of my head! Fa la la la la…….

But then I remembered…There weren’t many available kissing options where I was going for the holidays----I was going to a small town in the great arctic north….where the odds are good, but the goods are odd.

So instead of doing what most women do, and try to score a date before New Years, I decided stay single rather than getting cozy with a grizzled one tooth wonder. I would use the time to reflect on my many months of singledom, and take the lessons learned into the New Year……with hope and aspiration for a better dating future.

2008 Dating Lessons Learned
1. Datus Hiatus is overrated. It does sound really cool to say that you are PURPOSELY choosing not to date and er…uh…“work on things” but really….how much celibacy can one take? It’s a cop-out. We all know it. No one wants a hiatus. Not from sex anyway.

2. Be bold. From Brazil we learned that if we want it, we can have it. Rashly kissing men is the way of the future. Initiating the first move is not only warranted, it’s being asked for! Being afraid of rejection is soooo 2008….in 2009 it time to seize the bull by the horns. What do we have to lose?

3. Try not to drink too much on a first date. Especially if you are like me and get chatty. Remember the escapade with Dr Love? Too many wines had me drunk driving him home…AFTER he heard my entire life saga complete with details from orchestra camp. There never was a second date.

4. Do not strive for stability at the expense of passion. You will undoubtedly get bored. Remember when Alexis was caught between two men, the stable planner and the crazy band boy? Well, let’s just say that stability is nice and all, but wears thin after missionary position #2,043. Get a guy to throw you up against a fence, please.

5. Learn to flirt. Don’t waste time on men you don’t like, but when a prince charming comes your way don’t stare at your toes. Look into his eyes. And wink. Or grab him. Whatever works.

And most importantly, when you know what you want go after it. Dec 31, 2008……find that someone you want to kiss. Kick off the new year right.

Bringing Brazil Bold to San Francisco

Coming back to San Francisco after being in the mecca of men was not easy.
And it wasn’t just the bronzed bodies that we missed….it was the brazen attitudes, the alpha male confidence, the apparent sexual desire, and the courage to do whatever it took to approach a woman. I don’t think I have uttered “damn, boy!” so many times.

Now, we have spoken about alpha males before. Yes they DO exist in San Francisco…but not only are they hard to some by, the few alluring ones are so focused on their own alpha male activities (corporate ladders and iron man titles) that we don’t see them out on the dance floor that often. In fact last time I went out on the SF dance floor I felt I had more balls than the entire male contingent.
Sadly, compared to Brazil, most of San Francisco’s male population is well…..just wimpy.

Luckily, I have a solution. What American men need to become bold is what Brazilian men are naturally equipped with….and no I don’t just mean an impressive banana hammock. What I mean is unbelievable confidence.

Yup, that’s right ladies…we need to do a little ego stoking. True, men do enjoy the hunt….but I think in this day and age they are so lost we need to give them a GPS, binoculars, and even some ammunition.

This means we must make the first move without um, making it look like we are making the first move. Tricky yes….but better than being stuck on the planet of wimps! Let’s transform them! Even if it means pushing a sock down their pants! Trust me, the world will be a much better place.

From Wimp To Alpha—Make the Man Bold Tactics:
Below are a few ideas….with a few options (SF bold or Brazil Bold). Choose the right method for the situation and man.

Touching: As humans we are programmed to respond positively to touch. It makes us happy, hopeful, and yes, even horny.
San Francisco Bold: Graceful touches on the arm, the thigh, any body part while in a conversation gives a man the signal he needs to take things a step further.
Brazil Bold: Go beyond a simple pat and stroke his thigh….and the pair the stroke with a smile or a wink.

Phone numbers: Give it first. What do you have to lose? Men forget to ask half the time. (remember my highly unscientific poll from before?—75% of men are grateful when a woman leads the charge). Next time you chat up a hottie, don’t leave without providing him a way to connect with you.
San Francisco Bold: make sure to always have enough cards on hand to doll one out. Even the skinniest of clutches should have room for a couple.
Brazil Bold: Write your digits on his arm. Offer him a special “incentive” if he calls you the next day. Better yet tell him you will fast forward that incentive to tonight if he programs your number in his blackberry and makes a date on the spot.

Leading the charge: Grab his hand. Seriously. Take his hand and lead him somewhere….
San Francisco Bold: Lead him to a quieter place to talk. Then talk.
Brazil Bold: Lead him to a quieter place….then kiss him. Ask his name afterward. (If the kiss warrants it, that is). A free kiss—unless you have a harelip, what man would refuse that?

Wear less clothes: Duh-no wonder Brazilian men approach women so fervently—Brazilian women don’t wear much. Like a deer caught in headlights the man can’t look away. Unless you are in an office environment, if you’ve got it flaunt it.
San Francisco bold: Figure out what your best feature is (legs, breasts, waist, etc). Design your wardrobe to show this body part off EVERY time you go out on the town….this best feature will become emblazoned in the mind of men. They’ll dream about it at night, they’ll discuss it with their friends. They’ll have to get to know it better.
Brazil Bold: Show off every body part. Let your breasts rub up against the chest of the man you are talking to. Bat your eyes frequently. Make excuses to bend over. Make the men crazy until they HAVE to make a move or they’ll split their pants. As Marvio (a very alpha Brazilian) told me….”Women are ruled by their heart, men by the dicks. If you want to control a man, learn how to manipulate that thing in his pants.”

Now to put my money where my mouth is….off to enjoy the weekend and attempt to Brazilify my town.

The Pursuit of Passion: Bold in Brazil

In efforts to shred all hesitation and be bold, Mazz and I skipped the usual turkey dinner and headed south. South America that is.

As we boarded the plane we stripped ourselves of prudish thoughts, work anxiety, American mores, and anything thing else that would hinder us in our hedonistic quest. We were going to Brazil and we were going to embrace oily tanners (risking skin cancer), thong bikinis (risking exposed cellulite), samba steps (risking humiliation) and a new-found lust for life.

Thong bikinis on overweight men are indeed noteworthy, but the thing that amazes me the most about Brazil is the smiles. Everyone is ecstatic to be alive...from the children playing soccer in the favela streets, to the 90 year old wrinkly grandmothers dancing samba, to the Brazilian models strutting their stuff down the sandy boardwalk. No one there worries about work deadlines, the economy or if their next date makes proper dinner reservations.

I realized the main reason behind the smiles…..sex. Sex and lots of it. No one waits until the third date here…oh no, they don’t even wait until they know your name. In fact, names are not really important at all.....

Getting to "know one another"

In brazil the process is beautifully simple. You walk across a dance floor in a club and two strong hands grab your waist from behind. You flip around and there before you know it, you are given the "Brazilian handshake," the typical male-female greeting of a tongue heartily thrust down your throat. Well hello there, mister. After a quick “is he is hot enough" check, you handshake him back. Depending on the handshake initiation angle, sometimes it is impossible to really see their face. Therefore many times a friend must be recruited to give you a hand signal indicating if you should go in or not. For Mazz and I, pulling the ear meant "oh yes, baby" and touching the nose meant "get the hell away from that dwarf."

If you are lucky and landed a hot one, after a dance or two you are thrown up against the club wall for the next step in "getting to know one another." Within one hour, you are asked if you want to go ‘down by the lake,’ code word for make dirty jungle love in the backseat of a tiny Fiat with no power steering. Sadly, Mazz and I have lived in the U.S. for too long. Going "Fiat" just wasn’t going to happen.

I tried to explain this to my stallion-like suitor. “But I do not understand you Americans," he said in his meshed Portuguese-Spanglish. “Us beautiful. Sex beautiful. Feels good. What’s the problem?”

What WAS the problem? Why can we be make-out whores but refuse to go much further?

In the age of condoms, birth control, and dental dams, what was stopping us? Do numbers on the bed posts really mean that much? Are we afraid of falling in love with our one night encounter? Or are we basically OCD with cleanliness?

Pushed up against a wall, Georgi and I were enjoying the Brazilian process for getting to know one another. As a hand crept up my skirt I was infused with passion and wildness…..but as the hand crept further up I couldn’t stop the American mind. "Where else has his hand been tonight?” “How many hoos has the hand ‘hooed’?” “Has he even washed it?” Dear lord where was the Purell when you needed it?

I had to escape….. I hastily gave out an illegible phone number and headed to the bar destined for vodka. Mazz was talking to an attractive stranger and all of a sudden captured in a mouth cleaning embrace (the Brazilians are not shy kissers). Ho hum….what should I do…I scanned the crowd not wanting to be left out. EVERYONE was making out! Seriously once the clock strikes 2:00 a.m. the entire dance floor is paired off. Thankfully a solo attractive approached me—the brother of Mazz’s new friend. And there we go: round two make out for the evening. It’s a stay-put lip gloss paradise. But once again unwilling to "Fiat," Mazz and I headed home….amazed at how much fun kissing was. We decided: we are bringing back making out to San Francisco! Full-on tongue at the local dance floor.

The next day Georgi called me asking me if I wanted to hang out again and perhaps resume our "getting to you know you." However, kissing Georgi seemed like ages ago…..and why commit to one when I was in hot surfer paradise? Time for another evening of boldness….