A guy friend, who is a dating coach out in L.A., recently made a presentation at a dating conference.  As I curiously watched his clip posted on Facebook, I thought he hit his most salient advice to date:  Girls, don’t do a thing!  Hmmm…The beauty in its simplicity. You don’t have to do a thing besides look great, be friendly and some subtle flirting never hurt anyone.  A little frustrating, but true.  Think about it, how many times have you cared less about a potential prospect and despite your lack of attention that guy came on stronger and with more resolve.  And then, the times you sat there and analyzed, planned, gave hints, maneuvered, nudged…and got nowhere besides being frustrated.

Bottom line: If the man is interested, I agree with my male friend’s opinion…they will surely let you know.

Dating in L.A., more often than not, is not entirely unlike surviving the 405. It basically makes you want to just drive right off the road rather than actually driving to where you want to go. But you still try and merge into whatever lane looks like it’ll have you at the desired destination fastest. Problem is, when you finally successfully set yourself up in said lane, it comes to a complete standstill and you’re left to try and merge into another. So you turn up your radio or talk on your cell to block out the outside drama. But that distraction only serves to introduce you to the next near-death experience, which is pretty much what happens when you listen to several different friends’ dating advice. Someone tells you to play hard to get, another tells you to tease, and before you know it you’re left with whiplash from all the emotional extremes. Too bad a chiropractor can’t tweak you back as easily from this as after a five car pileup. Then, just as you’re sure the only thing left to do is turn off the engine and leave your car stranded in the middle of this ferocious freeway altogether, you see a really cute guy in the car next to you. So you speed up, slow down, try and find the right pace, and it begins again. Or at least it keeps you going until the next time you want to crash and burn.

The most dangerous creature stalking this silver-screen city is the actor. You assume that this situation will resemble every other relationship you’ve ever had. The teeny weeny minor complication you fail to notice, is that this particular brand of boy is, in fact, not as easily erasable as other varieties. So, because the Surgeon General has neglected to warn the public about the dangers this type of tryst can cause, I have taken the liberty of drafting a disclaimer. Be warned that if one chooses to engage in a relationship with an actor, or less specifically, any member of the entertainment field, be aware that said sinfully sweet scenario is less than easily erasable. An on-again-off-again relationship can go from third time’s a charm to a three-peat mistake in an L.A. minute. The starving artist you very intimately familiarized yourself with is not a candidate for the hit it and quit it kind of escape, and before you can change the channel, they end up as a repeat appearance on not only your favorite show, but in your life! Let it be said that no amount of drugs that serve to satisfy said starving artist can induce an Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind scenario, and you’re stuck with memories that rerun repeatedly from your screen to your psyche. Beware of the aspiring Academy Award contestants. One day, they’re orchestrating signs to hold on the nearest freeway exit that read “will act for food,” and the next they’re jumping from paper to play to pop star faster than the new Ferrari goes zero to sixty. So, before engaging in a little off-screen action, you have to ask yourself, is it worth it? And when it isn’t, well, in the grand tradition of every actor beforehand, repeat after me: I’d like to thank the academy…

Allow me to introduce you to a dating trend gaining more popularity than Michael Jackson’s parents’ house: friends with benefits. Mostly the arrangement is implemented when you find yourself in pre-nuptial purgatory, and the little label-less lover is a seemingly low-maintenance godsend. Suddenly, you’ve found yourself in the perfect relationship, and the only thing better than a boyfriend is the ease of speed-dial sex, guaranteed delivery within thirty minutes or less – and even Dominos has yet to perfect that deal amidst L.A. traffic. Plus, instead of carbs you’re opting for cardio, and saving money by not driving to the gym (your wallet will thank you later). Between the fabulousness of your new, easy affair, and freedom to find another lover with a later expiration date, women are learning the joy of this coital contract. If you read the fine print however, you’ll notice the tiny matter of heart v. head. You’re familiar with the case, you studied it back in high school (and a couple more times in college – but who’s counting). The little matter was crucial in implementing the new policy in which guys and gals establish guidelines to prevent the little nuisance known as love. Love is a complicated, high maintenance mess of a virtue that only serves to stress its victims into an early retirement from the dating game. Thus, the FWB arrangement was spawned to serve as your sexual savior. If only your iPhone had an app for that – we’d be completely self sufficient! So interview your available candidates, take ‘em for a test ride, and exercise the joy of the newfound fling freedom! Just be careful to uphold the lines in your little verbal agreement, lest you let love complicate your lives. Besides, it’s just until you find something better, right? Unless he finds it first.

Now, we’ve all heard about the popular practice of objectifying women, but today I’d like to raise awareness about a new trendy disorder catching fire across the nation faster than L.A.’s hillsides catch flame in fall: The maddening manipulation of men. Now ladies, baiting a man in L.A. and actually having him be worthy enough to reel in is hard, I totally get it. You’ve gone through all the scumbag fish in the sea that seem to hold the same amount of worth as plankton. Most have the attention span of a goldfish and that’s not helping our little complicated quest either. But restricting your boy to hanging out with other designated male friends simply won’t do! Rosie the Riveter would be rolling in her grave if guys were giving us the same restrictions with the opposite sex, so why in the world would we do that to them? We all know “that” girlfriend. The grim-reaper-like gal using a sickle to sever friendships that have been alive and kicking for years. Hell, you even make an effort to befriend the new addition to his love life! What do you get in return? A slap in the face, a drink spilt on a skirt, and clearly a not-so-cordial cut as supporting actress. Dude, it’s all about acceptance. Your friend likes a chick, you like a chick – and if she’s smart, she likes you too. Jealousy is a one way ticket back to Singleville and let’s face it, that city is already overpopulated. Ménage à trois are in again and hetero-hangout monogamy is so over. Spice up your platonic life and keep things exciting. You might just get thanked for your attitude outside the bedroom when you’re in there later. Get over yourself and figure out that some guys and gals really are just friends – and in a city where everything is fake – couldn’t you use someone who’s real (even if their breasts aren’t)?

Dating in my little city of angels is a lot of things– amusing, repetitive, and most importantly, masochistic. This little gem of an S&M situation is never with said mister of the moment however; no, no that would be sane! Ladies, let’s take a moment to think about all the medieval style torture we force ourselves to endure in order to look pretty hot and tempting for some dude who may or may not last longer than an L.A. minute. First on my list of trendy and torturous ways we girls accessorize ourselves? Stilettos. Now I know they make us look hot in all the right places but what were Manolo and his friends high on when they decided to raise the bar, and our height? Well, I hope they make it over the counter soon, because I’m going to need to stop at Rite Aid to make it through the night in those again. Have you tried driving in them? Navigating the 405 without a road rage induced collision is a challenge in restraint in itself. Add the slippery stiletto pedal to the metal sitch to the daily grind, and it’s a wonder women haven’t completely wiped themselves from the planet, or at least the freeway. The moral of the story is, the next time you dudes think girls have it easy, take comfort in the fact that there is pain radiating throughout their bodies from one teeny tiny torture device in the form of four inches. Oh, the things we do for love…like walking in the rain and the snow in really pretty, but evil shoes.

Lately, it seems that guys are taking dating to a whole other level, literally. Sky high hotel lounges and rooftop bars have been increasingly trendy among the L.A. crowd looking to rise above the insanity that is the Sunset Strip. Now that the traditional dinner and a movie date has not so regrettably been replaced by schmoozing over martinis, the hunt for that perfect place to sip is on, and the sweetest spot so far seems to be sky high. Downing Manhattans above the city is an ideal way to “go out,” and so far my favorite alternative to clubs like Area or My House, which are filled with 500 of your closest complete strangers. These little slices of heaven are the perfect way to log in a little one-on-one time with whoever you’re meeting on top of the world. While you two are enjoying the crystal clear view of cloud nine, you can take comfort in the fact that it’s only a five second elevator ride back down to earth. So, if the sweet serenade of chaos on Hollywood and Highland just isn’t your idea of nirvana, uplift yourself, your spirits, and your date with a view from the top. Here’s a teeny tiny tip: check out those boutique hotels scattered throughout the city; they have a great vibe and an endless supply of eye candy to go along with your cocktail.

So with the rising temps in L.A., everyone is ready to come out and play at night- models, rockstars, and pests. Some guys simply excel in their ability to bug anyone in the vicinity, and inhabitants of the hills have learned strategic moves early on to avoid annoying gnats. First off, boys, let’s talk about opening one-liners. Asking a girl if her father is a thief or a gardener, or if there is a mirror in her pants is not going to help get you anywhere near her, let alone in her. No number of glasses of low cal white wine is going to make any of those oh-so-appealing lines seem any less appalling. The A for effort you were hoping to gain will be replaced with an F for something you undoubtedly won’t be doing that night. Moving right along, lets talk about sleek rather than street savoir fair. In case you haven’t noticed, girls take more than five minutes to get ready, so don’t think you can get away with a wife beater and flip flops. There is a reason grunge died along with Kurt Cobain in the 90s, and while there is always something to be said for low maintenance style, hygeine also offers some serious sex appeal. If girls are willing to flit across sunset in stillettos, the least you boys can offer is a sentence that uses at least one word with more than two syllables. Any less and we’ll be countering with a one-up au revoir. Any Hollywood chick knows the sacrificial statement 4-inch heels exhibit, so if the girl is willing to suffer, the least a guy can do is avoid telling me that though he’s not Fred Flinstone he’ll make my Bedrock. A one-liner like that and he’ll be socially extinct like the rest of the homo erectus men from days of yore. The right ettiquette can help a girl go from zero to lust in 3.5 seconds, so if you don’t plan on sleeping alone, avoid telling your target that her shirt would look better on your floor- or the only date you’ll be getting is with your tivo.