Forget what they say about people in LA not drinking. From Friday night to Monday morning, every bar is packed with older women who seem to have just one aim in life: to get through the weekend without even touching the $10 they came out with after work on Friday, and get rich blokes to provide them with cocktails and copious amount of champagne until they (a) fall over, (b) fall into bed, (c) find themselves unexpectedly in Vegas, having tied a whacking great knot (marital, or literal, around their new spouse's neck, depending on their luck).

US television has been quick to cash in on women seeking a fast route to snare a man and his fortune. Megan Wants a Millionaire featured the proverbial blonde with large breasts looking for exactly what it said in the title. At the end of each episode, the unlucky reject/sad sap of the week was handed a card and informed: "I'm sorry, your credit has been declined". The show was pulled, when one of the former contestants was found dead, after being sought for the murder of his wife.

My current obsession is My Antonio, which features a group of women in Hawaii, all trying to pull the Hollywood actor Antonio Sabato, and it is hilarious. This diverse group of women, which includes a NASA researcher, a nurse and a Playmate, really seem to care for nothing in life but getting this undoubtedly handsome man. Antonio's mother Yvonne, who also stars, clearly hates them all.

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Even Antonio's ex-wife Tully is in the mix, and to me it's pretty obvious that the pair got it together before the show began and then used this rather spurious means of making some cash out of it.

I thought I might stand a better chance with Millionaire Matchmaker, which is set in LA, and boasts a wider cultural diversity than the shows offering just one man or woman whom everyone else must fight over.

Why did I bother? Having seen the millionaires on offer, I can only assume that presenter Patti Stanger has bagged all the best ones for herself and her mates.

Patti runs an elite matchmaking service in LA, and in series one concentrated on wealthy men looking for women. In series two, rich women and rich gay men were added to the mix (tough luck if one were a lesbian with dosh), so there were more fruits for the picking, but, alas, a lot more fruit pickers. It certainly appears to be a much-needed service in the city, where women constantly bemoan the lack of available men. I am quick to reassure them that I have now lived in five different countries, and they may as well stay put, because it's the same story the world over.

Millionaire Matchmaker was therefore the first place I turned to here for advice in my quest to pull a rich man who was more than just the wad in his pocket (size isn't everything, after all).

I quickly learned from Patti that you can say goodbye to your inheritance when your rich man pops his clogs, if you slept with him on the first date (you have to hold out until they have opened a veritable MFI warehouse store of doors for you, apparently). Oh, dear. From the guys on offer, I would sleep with them ONLY on the first date.

Take Hatch. He sounded a possibility, as he liked short women, and, in particular, women of 5ft tall. Five feet exactly. Which is what I am.

My chances would have been quickly blown, because at the initial 'mixer' party he went straight for a woman who needed to duck when she entered the room.

Then there was Jimmy, who wanted to meet a cultured, Polish woman, who could speak Italian. Specific, or what? He blew her out when they went on a tour of LA and she declared: "I don't know what's in the Getty." That would have been fine, had she not also said that she was a tour guide. Serves your own right for being so fussy, Jimmy-boy.

Patti employs date coaches, therapists and personal shoppers to try to match like with like, and claims to have a lot of luck with what she believes is her true vocation in life.

I am now re-grouping and going along with her main suggestion: that a man will get his act together quickly if he "senses another penis around". I've already started auditions.

To read Jaci Stephen's blog LA-Not-So-Confidential in full, go to LAnotsoconfidential.blogspot.com