Until LA, I have rarely had bad dates. By bad dates, I don’t mean bad people. I mean nice people. But just that feeling of wow, I really need to escape so I can be back at home staring at the wall blankly for hours again because that would be so much more enjoyable. Sometimes, it takes a long time to not feel drained and then to recover from being drained.

I was actually excited to meet date #1. He is a cinematographer with some kind of military honor. We met at a wine bar within walking distance of both of our apartments. He was exactly as late as it took him to walk to the bar. I hate lateness. It was 8pm. I was starving. He had been in LA for 10 years, never killed anyone, went to art school in Israel, and now was a cinematographer verging on producer who taught classes at the American Film Institute. We drank 2 drinks and went to another bar called “Good Luck Bar.” I politely bid him adieu after that. I’m pretty good at the 1:1 conversation for the most part, especially with men. I carried it as far as I could. Then I went home and ate the remaining 5 slices of whole wheat bread at home and passed out.

Next day. I receive a message from another Israeli guy I had been talking to. I had been talking to him online earlier in the week, and we had agreed to have dinner at an Indian restaurant. I accidentally unmatched with him and felt bad, so I somehow managed to find him on Facebook. Anyway, he messages me and wants to meet. He’s been driving around all day fixing garage doors. I know the biggest garage door opener company because I’m random, so I mention it to him. We have a conversation. We agree to meet at a bar in Hollywood that I found on Yelp while on the elliptical at 8pm. Then I drive by the bar, and it looks crowded. We agree to meet in Los Feliz. I’m at a bit of a loss for meeting spots, so I suggest the same wine bar from the day before. We sit at the same corner loungey table because it’s the one that’s open by chance. He just moved here from Israel in November after giving up his career as a web developer. We talk about mysticism, partying, and a range of other topics. He had somehow gotten out of military service by pretending to lose his mind. His accent makes him hard to understand. He tells me a crazy story about a time he went to a psychic in NYC where the woman knew that he had had a twin sister in the womb who died. She told him about his past life in Egypt and asked him for $2400 to remove the blockage in him, which is exactly how much he had in his bank account. I didn’t want to know if he had handed over the money, so I didn’t ask, and I talked enough so he wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell me.

These were perfectly fine interactions and interesting people, but energetically draining. I may be done with dating, dating Israelis, and going to this bar for a while.