The lights are dizzying, frantic. No set pattern to them, as they dance sporatically across a crowded wooden floor, spotlighting the few open sections of plank in time with the pulsing bass thump thump thump coming from the speakers. Everybody around me is sweating, in a daze, totally lost but all attuned to the beat of the tribal mix coming from the DJ in the corner. I spy the occasional glow stick mixed in with the crowds but for the most part the place is a sea of bodies flailing in time with the beat.

Dinner with Renee, the blond surfer girl who lives down the street from me has turned into a late Thursday night at Level 3 in Hollywood. She is looking great as always, tonight trading in the powder blue board shorts I'm accustomed to seeing her in for a tight pair of low-rise jeans that grab and accentuate in all the right places, and a Bebe half-shirt that shows off a belly button adorned with a flowery, jewel-bespeckled navel jewelry. Bottom line - this girl is hot. Wiping aside a bead of sweat that has made it half way down her forehead, she dances past me yelling a barely audible "I'm gonna sit it out for a while" as she makes her way for a row of sofas along the wall behind us. I follow suit, as I can put up with dancing only for so long. Besides, what better excuse do I need to be seen with such a great-looking chick?

As I lay next to her on the couch, our bodies against each other for support out of sheer exhaustion, I can smell her scent, that odor that's hidden below the perfume and body wash. The primal scent of a woman that's not usually noticed. Hers is nice, a subtle and pleasant odor that's a mix of skin, hair, and heat. We hold our position on the couch for a while, holding each other up as throngs of people continue away on the floor. Time seems to stop, and though there are easily over a hundred in the joint it feels like Renee is the only person in the club with me. It's a good feeling, but it's also a little eerie that I'm so attuned to the person beside me and nothing else.

We made it home after midnight, and after a few bouts of serious making out at her door, I said goodnight and walked back up the block to my place. No need to rush things. Besides, I know where she lives. Things were looking good with Renee. She was "as advertised."

Things were very much different the following night when I went out with Austin. She didn't beat around the bush. I knew she was using our night out as a precursor to sex. She wanted to get laid. Older women streamline their needs. Everything's on a schedule.

What was supposed to be an evening of dinner and a show at a local comedy club quickly got rescheduled. "Why don't we change things up and go back to my place for a drink?" asked Austin, gently rubbing my lower leg and ankle with her stocking-clad leg. What was funny wasn't that she was bringing up drinks after we had just finished a dinner proceded by a pre-meal drink and a bottle of wine with our entree. What was funny was how damn obvious she was being about it. Why beat around the bush? The double-standard is amazing; any guy following this tact would be walked out on. But I am a guy so we went back to her place for that drink after cancelling the reservation at the club, and she got what she was after. I don't think this will be an ongoing thing. I was a means to an end.

People will tell you with convicton that you find love when you are least looking for it. It's a nice Hallmark sentiment, but what does it mean for those of us not searching for love whatsoever? People like me who are happy to jump from date to date, relationship to relationship, fling to fling, without worrying about the reprocussions? You've got to admit, there is an allure to this approach. There are no arguments to get caught up in, no shared living spaces with the hassles over who gets the most closet space and use of the TV remote, and when it's over it really is over, closure and all. No baggage you have to porter about as you move on. It's romance and lust without the pitfalls.

I guess that kills the Hallmark notion.

I was thinking about Marnie, the girl I met at Sharkeez that night I tried to get Allen to think about picking up women from a more scientific point of view. I walked over to the phone where her number lay scribbled quickly on a napkin. I should give her a call, ask her out. The question was where to go, what to do. I thought about this as I held the phone in my hand, and then placed it back on its cradle and the napkin back on the table. I'll give it more thought. Sunday was coming up quick and with it my rendevous with Katie at Brewski's. That should be my focus. I went for the phone again, this time to call Katie, but I was instead met with the ring of an incoming call. ID said it was my brother. It probably his wife Marie. He never calls. I let it go to voicemail, then checked it a moment later.

"Everybody is coming up here for Thanksgiving dinner," Marie's message played back, everyone being my family and up here being my brother and Marie's house in Carpenteria, "and we'd love to see you as well. Space overnight might be an issue, I'm not sure we have room for everybody. Call and let us know." I'd probably just stay at a hotel nearby and keep my sanity intact.

I erased the message and then clicked over for a dial tone so I could call Katie to tell her I was looking forward to seeing her Sunday night. Women like the baited breath concept, that you're pining away for them, even if you're not. It puts a little umph in their preparation and presentation for the first date. Besides, I wanted to let her know it was on my mind, that I'm not some dolt who makes arrangements and quickly forgets them. If she wants that in a man she can have her pick of just about every other Southern California guy.