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Avoiding the Vacuum Syndrome

Posted on April 22, 2017 | Leave a comment

stoptalking

The ‘vacuum’ is a syndrome. And I’m a magnet for it. Just ask my college BFF. She can tell you many stories about ‘girls night out’ that resulted in me getting sucked into this vortex by a man who needs a therapist to help him. It sort of goes like this: all the other girls are having fun at a bar, a party or a venue—giggling, talking with all the men who have flocked over, dancing, etc. At one point, someone in our group wonders, “Where’s Laura?” until they find me sitting at a corner table with the first man who introduced himself to me. I’ll have a panicky look on my face, that he clearly doesn’t notice. I’m desperate to get away, but am stuck in his mid-stream confessional rant. I am a magnet for TMI conversations with random strangers.

Now I know the only way to true intimacy, joy, and a real connection is through vulnerability—but Jiminy cricket, not in the FIRST encounter! Why is it that I’m the girl random men, at bars or events, or first dates, like to confess to? Why can’t I be that girl that fun men drag to the dance floor? Why can’t I be like my college roommate who always ended up meeting men who’d later take her to concerts, dancing, or to see comedians?  I’m the gal men want to take out to eat, or go on walks with and TALK. I mean, I have countless stories like this. I’ll go to a bar with friends to hear the local band and dance and instead, end up hearing about one man’s horrific child abuse; or another man’s endless thoughts of suicide after his divorce; or how another man just can’t get over the fact that his mother died of cancer 5 years earlier. These sort of deep convos happen within minutes of our meeting. Well, not always within minutes, but SOON after. I call it the vacuum syndrome because by the time I realize I’m in one of these situations, I have a hard time just getting up and leaving, as the man is typically mid-sentence about something horrifically sad and I feel bad for this person.

But the thing is, I need to feel bad for myself. I need to have more healthy fun in my life! I need more levity, more spontaneous dancing, more gut-hurting laughter. I need this sort of abusive encounter to stop. Especially now. I’m a single mother. So I take care of my sons 24/7. Even when I’m out, I wonder if the babysitter fed them well. Only during the 4 weeks they are with their Dad, do I get that mental vacation from responsibility and worry. I don’t need another drain to my energy or another person who needs a mother, therapist or savior. That needs to be clear.

My line of work is also very giving. As a therapeutic yoga teacher, I listen to others a lot. I can also feel their dis-ease and we talk about it and practice meditations that will help ease chronic pain, anxiety, fear and even combat cancer. I love what I do, and I love my boys and my life. But when I go out, I want to laugh, be silly and basically not be asked to listen to horrific tales as a bar-stool therapist.

Recently, a few girlfriends convinced me to do online dating. I don’t date the men I meet in my yoga classes, that would be unprofessional. And I don’t go out as much as I’d like, so meeting new people outside of my neighborhood or my circle is a challenge.

I naively thought this vacuum syndrome was over. I mean I live in sunny southern California where the skies are blue, the ocean is near and there are many playboys who want to stay young and play forever. But my recent parlay into online dating was disastrous. I mean, ridiculous. I should send each and every man I met for a date a bill for my services.

First, there was the man recently separated who went on and on and on and on about his ex. I told him to stop. Did he even read my online dating profile that said only to reach out if you want to try to make me laugh and lets not talk about exes? Um, clearly not. I ended up coaching this gentlemen and reminding him that his ex is the mother of his children. That it’s important to try to understand before being understood. To practice taking deep breaths and responding, rather than reacting, and to stop talking smack about her in front of their children. At the end of the date, that I cut short, he gave me a big bear hug and told me he loved me. YUP. I RAN to my car!

Then there was the guy who told me about horrific abuse by his father, toward him and his mother.  We had just ordered our meal. I had given up alcohol for lent, but was DYING for a drink as he spoke. I felt like an addict needing a fix. He just wouldn’t shut up. And he was beautiful. So damn beautiful. I remember just mentally drifting, so his voice sounded like Charlie Brown’s principal, wa wa wa wa wa wa wa. As I looked up at his gorgeous mouth I recall thinking: What a pity. If he could’ve just made me laugh, had a casual evening, I would be kissing those lips later. But NO, this former football player and model kept going on and on about how much his mother went through at the hands of his father, their divorce, being raised by a single mother—and then he started crying. Not just a little tear, FULL FORCE crying. Shoulders shaking the whole bit. “I’m so in awe of what you do. Single mothers are beautiful.” Um, OK. What the hell do I do with that? Again, what a pity. He drank an entire bottle of wine and most of the evening I barely got a sentence in, and when I did, it was to reassure him. He even told me a detailed story about a horrific rape he witnessed. I had to put my hands up and stop him. My stomach was turning. By the time we said goodbye, I had NO desire to kiss that man. No attraction to this gorgeous person. I drove home calculating the babysitter costs and feeling super drained and resentful.

Didn’t these men see my profile? In the headline, it clearly stated “Life can be too serious these days. Reach out if you can make me laugh or have a silly evening.”

There were a few other dates that were nearly as bad. So, the online profile is now down. The only reason I did this experiment was to get over someone, but instead, I ended up missing him even more. I miss silly energy. I miss laughing. I miss having someone need me as a woman, and not as a mother or a therapist. Single moms and yoga teachers give and give and give. I want someone to lift me up and not take care of me necessarily, but to add some lightness to my highly responsible world. Just because I’ve lived through a lot, doesn’t mean that I necessarily want to talk about it all the time, or marinate in deep heavy topics. There is a time and place for everything. These men need to contact a therapist, a counselor, a support group or come to one of my yin restorative yoga classes. But going out on a Saturday night, for me, needs to be light and fun.

For now, I’ll either stay in and binge on netflix comedies, or go to a friend’s hip hop dance class, or take paddle boarding lessons to hopefully play with some dolphins. If I meet someone doing things that make me smile, great. But I’m not going out of my way, paying for a sitter, to just get sucked into the vacuum any more!

Here’s to Healthy Love & LIGHT & SILLINESS this week. 🙂

L. XO

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Dating and the Wisdom of a Dog

Posted on August 14, 2012 | 2 comments

Libby in Malibu, 1999

Last night I had a marvelous dream. Charles Kuralt  was interviewing me for a Sunday Morning feature about my dog Libby. Now Libby has been dead four years, but she came back to life last night in my dreams. My sweet Weimaraner was licking my face and charming Mr. Kuralt who was asking me how rescuing Libby from the TN mountains eventually rescued me. And it’s true. I was restless and lost before Libby grounded me. Of course, you may be wondering right now how my story about my sweet dog has anything to do with venturing into the dating world as a newly single mom—but just hang in there. I’ll get to that connection in a minute.

In my dream, I am standing in a field with Mr. Kuralt in the early morning dawn as we watch Libby run majestically after balls. I tell him my story  about moving from New York City to edit a small magazine in Atlanta and how I had to leave the full-bred Weimaraner I adopted with my ex-boyfriend, back in the city. Against the wishes of family members who had witnessed me moving from town to town for newspaper jobs and graduate school—and who didn’t think I had the ability to care for an animal or the stamina to stay in one place long enough to care for another creature—I put in my application to adopt a rescue dog with the Southeastern Weimaraner Society. Within a week, I was introduced to Libby: a petite Weim who had been beaten and left in a snow bank in the Tennessee mountains—most likely by hunters disappointed in her lack of hunting skills and skittish manner. I walked into the rescue society, sat down on a chair, and within moments, a shy Libby tentatively walked over and put her head on my knee. With all of the hyper and happy Weimaraners jumping around in the back yard and some in the house, I looked at this wounded animal, who was so skinny you could see her ribs, and that was it. She had claimed my heart. A few weeks later, on Valentine’s Day, (the same holiday, coincidentally, that both my sons were later conceived) I adopted my first child in 1997.

Libby was extremely skittish and frightened of loud noises. I had to earn her trust and to work with several trainers just to get her to go to the park with me. She would walk down the street with her tail tucked under, ears back, legs crouched low, as if she was just waiting for another loud blast or skate boarder to send her running back home.

As you can imagine, the first year with her was quite challenging. Just when she seemed to be getting better, something would happen that would send her into a tailspin and she’d break free from her lead and run full speed—sometimes into the street towards on-coming traffic—with me screaming and running after her. And the things that really sent her off were usually just big men, wearing hats and boots, who naively walked over to pat her. She was incredibly beautiful and everyone wanted to meet her when we were out on a walk. Sadly, she was terrified of a certain type of man, which I began to think must remind her of of the hunters who had abused her. The type of man that scared her most were tall, big, boisterous, and usually wearing boots and hats. I began to stay clear of men like this too, just out of habit from our walks.

So, when I entered the dating world back in 1997, after my move from Manhattan, it became clear, early on, that certain men just wouldn’t do. As I mentioned, if a large boisterous man who clomped when he walked, even tried to approach my door, she would run in circles barking with her tail under until I finally put her into her crate to calm down. But it was always the same. The men who threw their keys down loudly or didn’t take their shoes off or who came into the house talking loudly and who didn’t make an effort to help calm her down: didn’t last very long. And the ones that would later make fun of her when she was put into her crate, who would agonize her and tease her by stomping loudly or banging on the crate while laughing, were the worst. I knew instantly they HAD TO GO.  Can you even imagine doing that to an abused animal? That’s the type of boy who would bully awkward or disabled children on the playground in elementary school. And you would be surprised by just how many men did that sort of thing to Libby while laughing and then later saying to me: “How in the world can you put up with such a crazy dog?”

I’d be thinking, “How can I put up with You?!”

I mean think about it. Sure, I had a special needs dog who had been abused and required much TLC, but she turned out to be the most loyal and kind friend I’ve ever known. (Read this article I published about how Libby literally saved my life.)

After a few months of watching her, that first year, it was clear that she had a six sense about men. Libby could smell kindness or cruelty in a person—which is a critical ability to have when you are venturing into the dating world. I wish more single moms had her keen sense. She was insanely smart. She wasn’t a Lab you could bribe with a dog biscuit. No, you had to BE a certain kind of person for Libby to love you.

I remember learning much about the character of family friends over the years by watching how they interacted with Libby.

For instance, on the day that I was throwing a party, a new friend won me over by laying down under my desk for almost an hour so that Libby would come over and lay down beside him. He kept rubbing her ears and calming her down as I rushed around the apartment putting things together for the party.

Another friend of a friend completely surprised me by his kindness. Every time he’d see Libby, he’d lie down on the floor near her and put a tennis ball under his chin. He’d smile and giggle as Libby would shake all over and inch closer and closer to him, as she so desperately wanted the tennis ball. After a few times of this, with her timidly taking the ball out from under his chin and running away, the two became fast friends.

It became a joke with me and my girlfriends: Want to know if you have a nice guy? Put him through the Libby Test. (Looking back, I can see how single moms, especially, could really have benefitted from this.) Since Libby is no longer here with us, here’s a condensed list of what I have learned from her.  To find a kind man, who has a chance of developing love for your children, as well as you, stay clear of men who:

  • are boisterous.
  • are aggressive.
  • wear baseball hats indoors.
  • interrupt you.
  • are impatient.
  • make fun of, or taunt, anyone who has been abused or is disabled.
  • hunt birds.
  • clomp loudly when they walk.
  • make sudden and unexpected moves.
  • yell or shout commands.
  • hit you (or children) when you (or they) misbehave and are already scared.
  • drink too much.
  • are very tall and/or very big. (hmmm…maybe there could be an exception here!)
  • break things or bump into furniture often.
  • have an anxious temperament.
  • whose legs bob up and down impatiently when they sit at a dinner table.
  • run their hands through their hair over and over again.
  • often clear their throats in a passive aggressive and loud way.
  • listen to rap or metal rock at loud volume.
  • wear large pinky rings that bang against table tops.
  • drive recklessly or approach turns quickly—causing anyone in the back to slam against a window.
  • have dramatic mood swings.
  • don’t play ball.
  • don’t give belly rubs or back scratches.
  • are always on the computer or iphone, so one hand isn’t free for those belly rubs or back scratches.
  • don’t cook or share home-cooked meals (especially those including bacon).
  • don’t bring home or play with toys.
  • don’t ever go on morning or early evening strolls.
  • don’t understand the value of long, slow car rides with the windows down.
  • don’t like to snuggle while watching movies.

What do you think? Was Libby on the right tract?

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Parenting a 3-Year-Old: Emotional Whiplash

Posted on May 20, 2012 | 4 comments

I felt instant recognition when reading the poem “Duality” today by the blogger Ineffable Mr. Jones. (Here is a link to his beautiful poem.) I realized as I finished reading it, that it described today (and almost every Saturday for the past year) perfectly. I adore my three-year-old, but the tantrums and the screaming when I ask him to do or not do something, put me in a tailspin.

One minute I’m breathless and shaking. He’s thrown something again. He’s hit me. I’m struggling to pick him up, while he kicks, and put this 40 lb bruiser into his time out chair that I literally have to strap him into. I’m trying to stay positive, but typically fail. I wonder why I was chosen to deal with this all alone.  And then, maybe 10 minutes later, when he calms down, all I can think is how grateful I am he is here with me. I learned a few weeks ago that my rough and tumble three-year-old isn’t creating antibodies. Yup. It’s like he’s never been vaccinated. He has no antibodies to Tetnus, for instance, or Pneumococcal. That’s why he’s sick so much. That’s why he’s a cranky bugs most days. That’s why his adenoids are so swollen ALL the time and he can’t sleep well. That’s why he’s had pneumonia so often and is vulnerable to getting it again. After 20 days straight on antibiotics last month, I found a specialist and had his blood drawn. Thank God. We’re going to solve this. He’s going to be okay.  My heart swells with unconditional love and fear just thinking about it.

But…WHY he has to scream, throw things, kick and hit when he doesn’t get his way—to the extreme that he does—is driving me to the edge. It’s like emotional whiplash on a weekly basis. Today, I went from being madly in love with my little guy while playing sweetly with him—to choking down dark anger and frustration when he threw books off his bookshelf and screamed full tilt because I dared to ask him to put on his shoes a few minutes earlier. It’s the emotional equivalent of one minute cruising sweetly down a dirt road through the countryside on a gorgeous summer afternoon—to banging your head and neck on the back of the seat as you are jolted into Mach 5 speed—thrusting you madly into outer space. And this happened over and over again today, as it does on our weekends. I want so badly to stay in pasture thoughts and soul snowing love as Mr. Jones so eloquently put it. But my weekends with my little guy propel me like an emotional pendulum back and forth, again and again. I can’t let him get away with his tantrums and bad behavior. I have to be firm and put him in time out every time. I do. But it’s hilariously exhausting as I carry him up the stairs, still limping in my boot from my injury, to put him in his time out chair. But it’s what I have to do right now.

For those of you who may think I’m missing the forest through the trees, know this: Of course I’m madly in love with my little boy. Of course I’m meant to lasso this challenge and grow spiritually because of it. Of course he will grow out of this or I’ll find a specialist to help me if necessary. He has to get better physically and emotionally. I CAN do this. I HAVE to. So even though it’s been one month without a weekend off and I’ve got two more months to go, I’m going to mentally strap myself into this pendulum and remind myself to try to enjoy this maddening ride. Single parents out there, can you relate?
Here are Mr. Jones’ simple words. See if they resonate with your world:

“Duality”

by: Ineffable Mr. Jones

Turmoil…

an ocean mind..

spiritual avalanche…

bleeding….             bleeding…

Life!

* * *

Peace…

Pasture thoughts.

soul snowing.

breathing …. breathing

Love!

Life.

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Help from Dr. Drew AND Dr. Pat Allen! What a Week!

Posted on October 11, 2011 | 1 comment

Photo By: Thomas Hawk

Ok, so this week has been wonderful and nuts! Sorry for not writing in sooner … Today I’m getting filmed for the Dr. Drew’s Lifechangers show! Earlier this week I filmed little snippets of Jamesy at bedtime, who has been a horrible sleeper since day one! Their top sleep expert and Dr. Drew’s film crew is coming over tonight to give me the tools to get this little guy sleeping on his own by his 3rd birthday! I’m SO excited. I just can’t imagine sleeping in my OWN bed again every night! How many nights have I woken up at 4 a.m.—yet again—smooshed into the slat of Jamesy’s bunkbed, fully dressed, without brushing my teeth! Ah, I’m SO excited and grateful for the help Dr. Drew!

And, last week I interviewed Dr. Pat Allen, best selling author and therapist for the Millionaire Match show, who really gave me tough, straight talk. She minced NO words when giving me the tools I need to get back out into the dating world. Her advice will help all women who want to avoid falling for the wrong guy yet again.

So, stay tuned! I can’t wait to update ya’ll on both of these experts! Wow, great advice for dating AND a sleep expert to help me get my little guy sleeping on his own. 2012 might just be my best year yet!!

Lots of love,

Laura x

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The Grass is Greener Where You Water It

Posted on September 22, 2011 | 3 comments

A wise friend told me this and I’ve repeated it to several women recently. I’ve had so many conversations over the past three weeks with a variety of new and old girlfriends who seem be to stuck or tempted by the grass is greener ideology. For instance, one married woman lamented to me that she was a bit jealous of my single status. “I miss getting butterflies while getting ready for a new date! I miss the first kiss, the romance. You’re so lucky.”

Another married woman said to me that she was tempted to cheat. “I can’t stand the monotony. I get criticized for not making a stellar dinner. He points out if I’ve gained a pound, but just sits and watches football and drinks too much. Where’s the fun in that?”

I understand. Really.

Interestingly, it’s not always rosy for the separated and divorced women out in the dating world. Some of my divorced and separated friends seem to be on collision courses. In their frantic search for a new man, they are with people who have addictions or just treat them poorly because that’s who they are. I can’t quite get it.

“I just can’t be without a man,” said one woman who is with the wrong person and knows it. (A person addicted, mentally unstable and unable to NOT hurt her.)

“But maybe he’s treating me this way because he’s confused,” said another who is putting up with so much cruelty from a man that it’s unbelievable and too painful for me to watch anymore.

So I told these women in my life two things (not that I’m a savant, but taking time off from men can really clear your head!)

One: “The Grass is Greener Where You Water It.”

Two: (aka Gloria Steinem): “A Woman Without a Man, is Like a Fish Without a Bicycle.” Think about it. (By the way, I was reading Steinem’s book Revolution From Within in the kitchen of a newspaper where I was reporter in Maryland back in 1992/93 when the publisher walked in, looked at me, and said, “Shit.” He spit out his tobacco in a nearby trash can and continued, “I knew you were smart, but now you’re going to start asking for a raise. Put that Steinem crap away and get back to work.” KID YOU NOT!)

I know I can’t help my friends with their serious issues. (And I understand them as I recognize them in myself.) I can’t make them see that they are lovable. I can’t make them see that they are beautiful. I can’t make them understand that instead of quickly demanding a man commit to them, they might want to take a breather and decide whether or not that new man is worthy of their commitment. How do I help them realize that they are wonderful and deserve love that doesn’t hurt?

I guess I can’t do that. I can only take care of myself. So, I’ve decided to take a time out from men. Why not? This past month four married men propositioned me. (Seriously? What is UP with that?!)

Anyone who knows me well knows that even the most chiseled man couldn’t get my number if he has a wedding ring on. And there lies another problem … many men nowadays just take them off.

But this isn’t the main reason why I’m taking a time out. I’m not as jaded as I could be! No, I’m just exhausted. So thank you to the friends who want to set me up on dates, but no thanks for now. Taking care of two kiddos solo 24/7 is tiring. I love them dearly and thank God for my boys every day. But there’s only so much space in my life. I’m giving it to them (and me) right now.

Secondly, I’m the personality type (cough, can you say co-dependent?!) that puts another person’s needs WAY before my own. I’ve done it my whole life. Maybe you can relate to that one? I tend to wrap myself around the important person in my life and cater to their needs and put my own very far down the list. It’s time to get re-introduced to myself. I had no idea how bad it was until I was on the phone with one of my best friends, whom I’ve known for 25 years. Here’s how the conversation went:

“I’m SO excited! I’ve decided to hire the nanny and go away for a weekend.” I say to her six weeks ago. (She knew I had been brave and broken up with my first boyfriend since my ex-husband. It’s hard to walk away, but I’m learning to take care of myself.)

“Great, where are you going dare devil,” she replies.

“I have no idea.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I’m stumped. I can’t even think of what I want to do or where I want to go.”

There’s a brief pause.

“Is this the same girl who traveled nonstop solo, taking new reporter jobs in random places just to travel. The girl I’d have to track down constantly, who moved to New York on a whim to write and who has at least 25 addresses in my address book?”

“Um, I think so. It’s just been so long you know. I’ve been in lockdown with the kids for two years, I can’t think straight.”

“Yeah. It’s crazy. You don’t even know what you like anymore. But I know who you are and what you like. Wow, you are so lost. Go somewhere, hole up and write.”

I hung up with her and thought about that.

Wow. I really couldn’t think of where I should go or what I should do with any time off. It’s like I had become the caged bird in I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. It’s not quite that bad, but you get the idea.

At the last minute, I decided to cancel the solo trip for financial reasons, but it got me thinking, I really need to get back to the basics. Instead of taking what little time I have to go out on dates and to search for another someone in my life, I’m better off writing, working out, going to Al-Anon (long story) and getting to know who I am again.  You can’t build up strength on a shaky platform.

So, I’ve decided not to heed the warning of one man whose argument to begin an affair with him started with the fact that I wouldn’t be this attractive forever—presumably to be able to attract the likes of him … How sweet right? Be still my heart.

No, I’m going to take the risk of mother time creeping up on me and adding a few more wrinkles and thwarting hot prospects from entering my life in order to focus on … well … me. For once.

If you’re one of those single mommas who are spinning like a top in the dating world, what do you think? Can you try a time out for sanity’s sake too? Let me know how it goes and please share your tips of survival if you are still venturing out in this crazy dating world. Lots of love and luck to you if you are! x

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Rooftop Party or Park with my Boys … Decisions, Decisions!

Posted on September 4, 2011 | Leave a comment

Last week I was actually invited to a party at The Standard Hotel in downtown Los Angeles. (How I managed that, I’m still not sure!) It was perfect timing as I’d been dying to go out and dance for a long time. I remember going to The Standard years ago and how cool the rooftop bar is, the music, the swinging chairs, the mojitos. Well, as you can imagine, I’m not exactly going to The Standard much anymore. But I could picture it like a siren’s call: a nice warm late summer evening, a sleeveless top, tan shoulders, my sexy jeans, heels, a simmering breeze, some thumping Euro Trash music. I visualized myself there and I mustered up the courage to even call a few babysitters. As the day wore on, however, I wondered if I really wanted to go to this party. None of my girlfriends were free, so I’d have to go solo. And sure, I’d like to meet someone, or just dress up and flirt a bit. But anyone I might meet at The Standard would likely have NO idea that nights out during the week for me are extremely rare. I doubt that I’d meet a man at The Standard who wouldn’t be intimidated by the fact that I have two children at home, or that I need to be back by midnight for the sitter. In fact, the only way I’d go to that party is if one of my girlfriends were available and I could just dance, sip a mojito, and enjoy the view. Besides, I just ended my first relationship since my husband. One year after my husband asked for a divorce, I began to date a man. He was the first person I had kissed besides my husband in over 13 years! It was too intense, too wonderful, at times too horrible, too gut-wrenching, too wonderful again and all-consuming. At the end of the day, sadly, loving him hurt too much. Enough said.

So now, a month later, I’m wondering: should I even try to date again?? My boys have been through a lot and I should focus on them right now. So, with that in mind, I hung up my strappy top, my sexy jeans and put away my heels for a T-shirt, shorts and sneakers. I made a picnic dinner, picked up my boys and one of their friends and headed to a local park for an evening playdate/picnic. It was definitely the best decision! No, there was no flirting, no lights, no dancing or mojitos—but my boys had a blast. (And, if you read my post about being haunted by playgrounds, there’s no reason to be in the evening. It’s chock full of dads and working moms who are getting some intense playtime in with their kids after work.)

We lucked into a pick-up baseball game too. While that may be no-big-deal to some kids, it was a huge deal to my nine-year-old William. William has actually never had a baseball lesson before. I could tell by the way this man positioned William and told him how to hold the bat, place his feet, and swing at a certain angle, that he knew what he was doing. I found out later that he’s the baseball coach for a local high school. William was SO excited when he hit a double and coach Mike encouraged him to take up baseball this year. And I was really happy to see this dad in action. (No, he’s not single!) It’s just refreshing to see a dad play intently with his kids. He didn’t pull out his blackberry or his iphone once. He wasn’t holding a beer and talking with another friend while the kids ran around. And his eyes didn’t glaze over while his children talked to him. (All scenes I see often.) No, this guy was playing with all three of his boys and now with William and Coco too. He was hands-on in helping them with the game and with conflicts. I could tell that he’s like this with his kids all the time. He reminded me a bit of my brother-in-law in North Carolina who’s a teacher, coach and a wonderful father. I always chalked up seeing men like that as rare in Los Angeles. You might even say that watching this man renewed my faith a bit about living in Southern California. Maybe there are a few good men here? It’s clear to me that there are some who put their families and their kids first. But it’s also clear to me that I’m not likely to meet a man such as this on a Wednesday night rooftop deck party at The Standard.

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