Affairs is our weekly column about the current dating scene in and around Los Angeles -- and finding romance in a wired world. Past columns and submission guidelines are at latimes. Years later, I ran into him on the Writers Guild of America picket line. I was working on the Universal lot as a Web developer, but even though my job had nothing to do with writing, I felt terrible having to cross the picket line every day.
I decided the solution was to bring in solidarity doughnuts. So I donned a red T-shirt and showed up with two dozen glazed, and, to my pleasant surprise, I saw that cute TV writer again. His name was Corey, and we picketed together for an hour before I had to report to work. Are you a veteran of the L. Share your story. Would this be a deal breaker? He planned our first date: dinner at Malo in Silver Lake. My friend Jen marveled at this choice of location.
Jen was right: He did like me, and I liked him. I lived in a Craftsman fourplex that overlooked Echo Park Lake. I shared my one-bedroom apartment with a roommate and her deadbeat boyfriend, who both occupied a curtained-off section of the living room. Corey had an adorable bungalow near Santa Monica College all to himself. I found myself staying at his place more and more often.
My life was a giant rhombus of endless traffic β the to the to the 10 to the to the , repeat ad infinitum. Everything in our relationship had to be planned. There was no casual popping by after work.
If I forgot something at home, it was left forgotten. More than once, I found myself waiting for Ross Dress for Less to open, so I could look for a sensible button-up because I forgot to pack a clean shirt for work.
