So it’s been nearly a year since our initial journey through the twisted trysts, loves, and lies started, and I’ve enjoyed divulging every dirty detail to you all. Los Scandalous has been (and I’m grasping for just the “write” word here) educational, if anything. I learned that nine times out of ten the mysterious monsieurs met at various Hollyweird hotspots are here to act. They more often than not (contrary to popular belief) do not end the scene with said script, and their character’s colors are revealed through various dating adventures. I learned that if you’re from some small town you may have manners, but my city will swallow you whole without stopping to digest the situation. I’ve learned that dinner and a movie does not constitute date night. I’ve learned that when you are roped into some mundane movie night (for the umpteenth time) you should make sure to lo-jack your ride, so you can GPS your way back to the getaway vehicle you can all-too-easily lose in the Grove parking structure (not that I’m speaking from experience, of course). I’ve learned that sometimes when you DO happen to bust a blonde moment, it is often an unexpected opportunity to be rescued from the knight, in shining armor.

I’ve learned that more often than not the swift sweetheart is from point blank, Oklahoma and you’re right back where you started. Rockstars, actors, and hipsters are often all the same breed, and you have to try on several styles to see which works for you. (But hey, if the flannel shirt fits…) I’ve learned that the dinkiest of divebars (I’m talking where Converse count as couture) can be the most fun locales for you and your plus one. I’ve learned that your very best girlfriends really will be with you through thick and thin, and even when you change your persona to see just what works for you, they aren’t going to hit it and quit it like a boy (shouldn’t) but might. Think of your gf’s as the Ralph Lauren of people – a classic that never gets old, and is always in style. Flannel shirts might I add, will soon be out faster than a Jersey shore grenade. I’m pretty sure the best pick-up line is being comfortable in your own skin. (Or “How much does a polar bear weigh? Enough to break the ice. Hi I’m insert name here.” It’s a close call between the two.) Between all the “boyfriends” you’ve followed me over the canyon and through the The Hills with, it’s been one hell of a ride. Granted the ride sometimes moves at the speed of a special olympic hurdler but let’s blame that on the ever-unpredictable L.A. traffic.

I’ve learned that aside from your gf’s, you can ALWAYS rely on finding something at the Fred Segal and Nordstrom’s half yearly sales, and that there will be traffic on the 405 at any time during the day and/or night. I’d say there’s comfort in consistency, but really it’s just two aspirin waiting to happen. I learned that ER M.D.’s do not, in fact, resemble the McCast of Greys. What I have yet to learn is why girls listen to things like He’s Just Not That Into You and regard it as gospel. He’s just not that into you? Cool, kick Jo Shmo to the curb and move on to the next man. Time, ladies, stops for no (wo)man. It’s been an absolute adventure and I await many more to come in the following year as I give my regards to Broadway, Brooklyn, Austin and any other alluringly sweet city that holds the promise of something sin-sational.

Au Revoir dolls & dudes.

Los Angeles has been afflicted with a heat wave and it has the San Fernando Valley rivalling the surface of the sun. This pre-summer preview has inhabitants of the 818 wanting to head for the hills, literally, dressed in their birthday suits and accesorized in nothing but SPF. When temps reach above the cardigan requirement for nighttime outings, it means Hollyweird is fair game for all L.A. club-goers, and if this past week is any indication of things to come, then it’s no doubt that a hot-like-hell atmosphere is approaching. Last week’s Les Deux experience was literal. Apparently the ‘as scene on The Hills’ lounge, was having a two for one special on past affairs. It’s inevitable that in a city so small where everybody knows your name, you’ll end up in a face to face, with a close encounter of the ex-kind. Just when you think these ex-files have been closed for good, you turn around just in time to address the one thing you can’t avoid- your past. Thankfully for me, the close encounter was completely cordial (minus the fact that his newly discovered species was wearing absolutely coveted shoes) and so the urge to annhialte the ex was more than extinguished. In fact, it bordered on disconcertingly friendly territory! All in all, the potentially boiling confrontation was brought down to a simmer, regardless of the L.A. temps. The urge to retreat to the beach was quieted, and the following evenings out with my fave go-getter gals were successful in inducing excitement, rather than being a cause for hibernation. The sleepy season is over and the wild creatures from L.A. are out to play. So as the girls and I enjoy Haute nights in couture, we know our former flings will be stalking new prey as well. As for the inevitable meeting of the exes, if you don’t look like a deer in headlights, you’ll survive with flying colors. Lionesses hunt in packs, so I suggest you girls do the same. Just as faux fur was so yesterday, the same goes for former flings. So, go ahead and get yourself another hot date before your former boy toy does! The season for spring flings is in full swing, and the hunt is on.

Well, I’m SweetLo, your average 24 year old just trying to survive the dating scene in the city of angels.  Born and raised in Los Scandalous, I learned early on that in the royal tradition of former inhabitants of my silver-screen laden city that most guys I met were in fact playing a part; and that I was even lucky to find someone else from the same state, let alone city, when I went over the hill into Hollywood.  This hasn’t exactly discouraged me.

In fact, it’s quite the race to find a nice hookup boy, whom I think recently was added to the endangered species list.  So I occupy my time by working out and going out with the girls, always optimistic that the night will be fun, an experience, and always an adventure.  I am almost twenty five and I’m still putting my relationship status in quotation marks as if my actions are alleged and I’m liable to change beaus at a moment’s notice.  Or perhaps they’ll trade me in for a different model.  It’s a tricky business when you gamble on love, but if you don’t play big, you’ll never win big.  It seems it’s simply a matter of deciding how much you’re willing to bet, and most gals would give anything in hopes of a happily ever after.  So I guess Whitney has the City, Lauren has the Hills, and I have Hollyweird; let the games begin.