By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
By Charles Lam
Dating a Mexican girl will gift you many things. You'll learn another language and inevitably get an invite to a family function, whether a wedding, a quinceañera or a carne asada Sunday. If you're not Mexican, expect everyone to talk shit about you in Spanish; if you are, expect everyone to talk shit about you in Spanish and English. But at least you'll get to take a plate of carnitas home.
THE GOLD DIGGER
She's the gorgeous gal who will only date you if your American Express is black, your Mercedes is S-Class or above, and you were in college when she was still in utero. If you're none of the above, you might've bought her a drink at Gulfstream or Charlie Palmer's, a drink she quickly drank after seeing an Irvine Co. exec sit at the table across the room from you. Don't worry: In 20 years, her daughters will be all yours.
THE POOR LITTLE RICH SOUTH COUNTY PRINCESS
She grew up never setting foot north of the El Toro Y unless she attended Orange County School of the Arts or one of the Catholic high schools. Her dream is to buy into one of Irvine's latest developments or—if that doesn't pan out—a condo in Rancho Mission Viejo. The only reason she's slumming it with your Garbage Grove or Anacrime self is to spite her family—but once she has shocked her family, she'll marry a Mission Viejo douchebag and live as a housewife who lunches at Fashion Island or South Coast Plaza, the farthest north she'll ever dare to go during daytime hours.
THE BEACH BABE
The first famous girl in Orange County culture (despite our pre-World War II agricultural dominance, our farm girls could never compete in the national consciousness with those of Wisconsin or Iowa), the beach babe has enraptured OC's male mind since the Gabrieleños were camping in Bolsa Chica. When not traveling the world doing ads for Quiksilver or Billabong, she's posing for BL!SSS and sunning across OC. Unless you're in the action-sports industry yourself, your relationship is doomed to end when she finds a skier or surfer who's better-looking than you—and you know she will.
The best part about Orange County dating? Even if you can't get any of the aforementioned honies at their prime, you'll sure as hell nail them when they graciously transition into MILF-hood. In fact, all of these archetypes, as with tributaries to the Mississippi, lead toward a river of MILFs that dominate the county dating scene: We have the randiest collection this side of a Brazzers reel. The Real Housewives of Orange County only scrapes the surface of how they roll. And because we ain't sexist, the MILF inevitably attracts gold-digging young guns looking to get their bill paid at Javier's, the Quiet Woman, Foxfire—or any bar in South County. Are those breasts real? Only one way to find out!
* * *
You get with this guy because the prospect of going out with the next Mike Ness or Tony Kanal is exciting—and besides, you'll be on the guest list at all the shows, plus be able to get into concerts that matter due to your beloved's connections. But reality sets in fast: the grind of serving as your guy's impromptu stagehand from backyard shows to shitty South County clubs to opening at the Coach House to maybe getting a slot at an all-day festival at the Observatory or Burger Records in eight years to gigging anywhere and everywhere possible during OC Music Awards season. The absolute lack of money—and when there is money, it gets dumped into the next bad YouTube video. And he lives for NAMM. Then he takes off on tour, and you're left to ponder whether all those Instagrams of him with fans are pre- or post-coital. The tipping point comes when you have to call your mom's AAA for the umpteenth time after his band's van fails to start off I-10 outside Quartzsite.
He always dresses sharp, always desires and spends money, always volunteers for the Orange County GOP, always is a smug douche. This guy thinks President Barack Obama is the devil, illegal immigrants are ruining this country and Reagan is god—though he has no feelings whatsoever. Usually, this type is in the closet. He'll take you to Newport or Laguna for a date, with the occasional SanTana stroll to show he's hip. Unless you're also conservative, you'll dump the guy after he becomes insufferable—which will take a couple of dates.
THE SUGAR DADDY
While the gold digger is an OC girl archetype, I don't believe most women who go for older men necessarily do it for money. Sometimes, the men of OC are really boys; sometimes, you gotta swing a couple of years or decades above your generation to find true love—or at least a summer romance, or even a guy to buy you a drink for the night. As for the guys who fall under this category? Always white-collar, always wearing a watch, always old enough to remember when new televisions still came with a UHF nob. They are very full of themselves yet insecure—why else would they go out with women the age of their daughters if not to desperately try to prove how hip they remain, Rogaine be damned?