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5 DATES FROM HELL
    Men who are two-timing, cheap, and utterly revolting—what’s not to love? A special report from L.A.’s dating battlefield.
    BY BENJAMINA FRANKLIN
    Here’s the deal: Since my boyfriend and I broke up, I can’t seem to find a decent guy. Maybe I’m a loser magnet with low standards.
     Maybe I’m
too
picky. Or maybe it’s that I live in Los Angeles, where single women outnumber single guys by 127,000. We at Filly decided
     to get to the root of the problem. My assignment is to go on five dates with five eligible guys, and strip these men—and myself—bare.
    DATE ONE: KENNETH BREEZE, THE ACTOR
    How We Meet: I approach Breeze in front of the guacamole dip at a party and tell him to drop the chalupa. He asks me out.
    Stats: Was the guy in the AmPm commercial who says, “There better be a jumbo chili dog in it for me!” On a good day looks like Jared
     Leto.
    The Date: Breeze arrives at my house wearing a cream-colored sweater and jeans. I hand him a glass of Merlot, and he insists on taking
     my new computer for a test drive. But he’s a PC person, whereas I’m a Mac person, and this sends Breeze into brand-identity
     posturing. He peppers me with questions about my G3, and in an attempt to defend my computer choice, I start gesticulating
     wildly and, yes, that’s when I spill red wine all over his shirt.
    Breeze rips off his sweater and starts scrubbing it in the kitchen sink. “How is it?” I ask from the doorway.
    “Probably ruined,” he says. “And it’s Armani.”
    Ugh.
    We go to dinner at Mr. Chow, a trendy Beverly Hills restaurant. Breeze gripes about his latest audition, brags about the directors
     and casting agents he knows. I start feeling better about myself—he’s a consummate name-dropper. But when we leave the restaurant,
     I commit the ultimate dating faux pas: I slip on my heels, butt hitting the ground, feet flying into the air, right in front
     of the crowd waiting for the valet. Breeze offers me his hand, saying, “Apparently, coordination isn’t your strong suit.”

    Postdate Phone Status: He doesn’t call me, I don’t call him. I consider this a tie. Even though I spilled, and even though, okay, I fell on my ass,
     how tacky was it of him to tell me the label his sweater?
    DATE TWO: EVAN KATZ, THE PRODUCER
    How We Meet: At a Fourth of July barbecue in Beachwood Canyon. Katz introduces himself, saying he wants to know everything about my life
     as a journalist for a script he has in development.
    Stats: Produces teen comedies for Universal. Has a fondness for wire spectacles. Owns a cat named Robert Evans.
    The Date: Katz takes me to a local Italian restaurant, Ca’Brea, where he’s on a first-name basis with the hostess. Over pap al pomodoro
     he tells me about his collection of African art and passion for black-and-white photography. I’m thinking: He’s smart, he’s
     got taste, what’s the catch?

    After dinner, we go to a cocktail party. Katz is a perfect gentleman—even goes to the bar to get me a cocktail napkin when
     I mistakenly splash scotch on his Prada suit. (I’m a klutz. I get that now.) Everything’s going great, until a mutual friend
     approaches and whispers, “Ooooh, now that you’re Evan’s beard, you’ll get to go to all the great parties!”
    Postdate Phone Status: Katz is gay but closeted, so it’s a friend thing. Sometimes he brings me to events as his date, while I help him pick out
     sweaters at International Male.
    DATE THREE: ELLIOT EILERMAN, THE MUSICIAN
    How We Meet: A setup. I meet a friend for drinks at Snug Harbor in Koreatown, and Eilerman’s sitting in my seat.
    Stats: Not that I’m mad. Looks a little like Sean Lennon, plays guitar in a rock band that gets some radio play on KROQ. Lame band.
     Cute guy.
    The Date: We hit it off. When he asks if I want to check out his temporary digs in the Oakwoods, a Studio City residential hotel (dubbed
     “the Cokewoods” by actors who get put up there by Warner