Bunny's Daily Rant: a work of fiction

College Dayz

2009-03-23T17:36:00.000-07:00

Remember slipping into your dorm room at 2am, to find nothing other than your slutty roommate moaning loudly while her one night stand licks her man in the boat? Her piercing scream cover the sound of your drunken stumbling, as you crawl into your own bed. She knows you're there, he probably does too... but they continue to go at it, as you turn over and put a pillow over your head.

Ten years later. Snowboarding trip with all your adult friends... fresh powder's coming in. Nothing like a Mammoth pub crawl. The messiness continues to the house, where everyone hops in the hot tub, continuous boozing. Then when our bellies can't stomach it anymore... snooze. We all past out. Except one. The one that I happened to be sharing a room (not a bed - there were separate beds). 2am, pounding head, nauseous tummy, I need to throw up... squeak squeak, moan, moan, then... "what the fuck is wrong with you?" "Why can't you keep it up?"

Oops, that's the last thing I thought I'd be hearing this weekend... but I guess sometimes it's good to remember how it used to be and remember what aging does to our bodies. Sexual dysfunctions, so don't bang someone out in the same room... because someone may tell your secrets!

Kittens, Bobcats and Cougars

2009-01-14T21:30:00.000-08:00

Going from a Kitten to a Bobcat is not as easy as one may think. It's similar to passing through the threshold from 21 to 25, you know like going from being a child to an adult... but this isn't about MY age. It's about the man on the other side of the bed. At one time I thought that I had learned the best kept secret in town... Divorced Men. They are already trained to know that all it really takes to make us happy is to pay attention when we want them to, listen to our problems without trying to solve them, and telling us how beautiful we are regularly.

But then when that bored me, I moved on to dudes my own age, never been married, successful, and honestly... more pains in my ass than fun. They don't know when to call, how to call, how to fuck even. They are so into themselves that they buy you toys that make them happy for your birthday then wonder why you don't thank them.

So, what is left. YOUNGER BOYS. They are fun, do what you tell them to, and call when they are asked too. And when you tell them to go away. Gone... disappeared into the club crowd just as easily as they appeared next to you at the bar buying you an innocent drink. Then as luck would have it... another one arrives.

Wow. Who knew that life could be this easy, if you just know the secret?

I have now graduated from Kitten (dating divorced/older than me types or men my own age) to Bobcat (5 or 6 years younger). One day, when 9 or 10 years younger than me is finally legal... I will once again graduate - to Cougar. Maybe life does get better for women!!

Love Lessons From the Past

2009-01-03T12:03:00.000-08:00

There is a reason for everything. We live, we learn and we move on, but it's what we take with us that is the most important. For the new year, I am going to remember all of the love lessons that I have had, in hopes that this will help me prepare for the next mister right now.

Lesson 1) The Hot High School Sweetheart: Forever is a long time.
Lesson 2) The Prom Date: The Euros are more passionate, but more likely to cheat.
Lesson 3) Brick - The Baseball Player: Love is never just about being hot.
Lesson 4) The J Crew Model: Bad kisser equals bad sex.
Lesson 5) The Actor: All actors are narcissist. Strictly off limits. No exceptions.
Lesson 6) The CE: Jewish boys love spanking.
Lesson 7) The Agent: Mountain biking can sometimes be more important than you think. And Strawberry Hill is a HARD ride full of mountain lions.
Lesson 8) The Writers Assistant: Being really honest, is the only way to go. Even when it feels like a mistake, it will make the eventual break up occur much sooner. Eliminating some of the pain.
Lesson 9) The Rocket Scientist: Fabulous abs go much further than you think.
Lesson 10) The Doctor: Sometimes the first date didn't go as well as you thought.
Lesson 11) The Politician: Samatha from Who's the Boss was every man's first love.
Lesson 12) The TV Writer: In order to become emotionally intimate with someone you must open up. Meaning, you have to talk about your deepest fears, etc.
Lesson 13) The Bike Rider: A man that rides a bike for a living, may phyiscally look like a grown up, but in reality he is absolutely not an adult.
Lesson 14) The NYE Kiss: Artists are highly emotional.
Lesson 15) The Feature Writer: Cubby boys, with tons of tattoos really aren't my thing.
Lesson 16) The Producer: There is a way for a man to get me naked on a second date, without even seeing my body.
Lesson 17) The Fiance: Boys can indeed be just as crazy as girls.
Lesson 18) The Boss: Calling back a man back is essential. Otherwise they move on without giving you any warning.
Lesson 19) Frenchie: Go with the flow.

The Loaded One Night Stand

2008-10-31T00:09:00.000-07:00

Everyone has one. The guy you thought for years was your one until finally you came to your senses about him. Realized that the only way to have anything with this person is through sex, and during a desperate attempt at trying to get rid of these feelings... I finally give in and booty call him!

I arrive promptly at 1:15 at his very posh Hollywood apartment. Sign in, escorted up the elevator by a security guard, then am passed over to him. My prince charming... well so I thought. He was waiting at the door for me. Cute, fit, and totally adorable.

We spent several minutes on idle chat, and a quick tour of the "loft" then we get to it. There is no real sex, just a lot of licking and sucking. Slight cuddling, perhaps a date proposal that I completely avoided, then the moment came when I for the first time ever knowing this person asked to sleep over... and well... he kicked me out.

Quickly, I grab my shoes, and the remains of my clothing... throwing them all on and rushing for the door when of course, he says, "you can't walk to your car alone."

Is he fucking kidding me!?!?! I walked from my car into this (less spectacular than expected) "Loft" or I would call it "Room." Why do care if I make it home or not? You will never care really... you just want to make sure that you were respectful enough to me so that I will never begrudge you enough to black list you from one of my movies or TV shows. Or perhaps, so whenever it is you decide that you do want to actually be with a woman on a real level you will know that someone will be here waiting for you... to give you whatever it is that you feel like you need. But whatever the reason is that you want to walk me to my car, I will let you. Because for the last time, I will let you make me feel needed, only this time I know that you will never really need me. This one night stand taught me everything that the psychic told me I would get from you...

So, for the first time ever I realized that it wasn't about you and me. It was about you OR me. I choose me. I choose MY needs today. I will keep calling you because there are several things that I need from you... but a relationship more than one where I show up at your house at 1am, is absolutely NOT one of them. I don't know your calls, or dinner dates. I need you to stop texting me when you're home with your family siting you can't stop thinking about me when you're in my home state. Don't text me on Sunday night to remind me of how nice it was to see me... I know I'm lovely to be around... I am certain that you enjoy your time with me... I give your little pee pee a little suck (clearly for the first time in a while), and you return the favor. That's all we ever really enjoyed about each other...

The chit chat was always rather painful!

So love, I did not find... but peace with the idea that you are in fact not the one... I did find. Sometimes, you have to cut the wound to make sure it's healing properly.

What We Thought We Got Into the Biz For

2008-10-16T13:17:00.000-07:00

The Premieres. Ahh, yes. It wasn't the fame and the fortune that drew me in, however, it was glamour of prancing down the red carpet hearing people scream my name for a photo at the premieres that made the biz a no brainer for me. Who knew that working in Hollywood for as long as I have that no one would yell to me for a picture time, upon my red carpet arrival. But I guess it's better that way...

I arrive. Parking about 7 blocks from the actual screening (in LA it may as well be a mile), hearing the sound of 3 inch siletoes endlessly on the pavement, and the sound or familiar strangers trying to make small talk with each other... I believe we call this smoozing. I take in the fresh but causal appeal surrounding me, making mental notes about cute outfit I will want to try at the next one.

Seeing faces I wish I never had to see again. They are the people who thought that I would disappear one day after treating me like total shit after I landed them their rising super star clients. Then starting a trend of not wanting to answer my calls, when I came to them asking for help with a job search. I guess I can be thankful that I landed on my feet, because the one trying to make conversation with me now... was just kicked at of the TV department at the agency. Demoted down to the media division. There is a brief silent "yay" from my inner childlike voice after I accidentally carried on and on about the status of one of those clients I helped him sign... and how fabulous his career is going. Oh then, I even said "thanks for making that such a great place for him to land. The agency really worked out for him."

With his tail between his legs, he replies, "yea, there wasn't any room for growth in scripted TV."

"Well, I'm sure that you'll love your time putting together those thou's, effectively's and all the other legal mumbo jumbo's in your new position outside of the spot light, while someone else looks out for that writer I practically signed for you. Yes, the one you kissed my ass for, promising me a bright new future for, oh and I will never forget the Laker's games you basically dragged me to in order for me to make cheerful banter with your client to be - because you never knew how.

But life is about lessons, and I am learning here. The one that came from that is that Hollywood is a battle ground. There are two types of people... your trenchmates, and well, the enemy. Most are enemies.

Of course, my girlfriends who hate playing the Hollywood game of who's cock is bigger, all insisted that I leave the boy alone. I mean one day I may be down and I would hate to see him kick me... even though he already had.

Oh right, my premiere. SEX DRIVE. Tracking is low. The movie may not hit 5 million, but of course we'll blame marketing. I mean they did insist that a man dressed in a donut costume was funny that an Amish rager featuring the music of none other than Fall Out Boy.

Chirp, Chirp. Sitting through the screening for the 17th time... I can't check my emails because my boss is sitting 3 seats over and HATES seeing the light go on and off. Reading is out of the question, it's dark. Sleeping, what if I snore or worse drool on the brand new dress I bought for this? The guy in the seat in front of me leans back, laying out almost in my lap. Now, I can't move either!

TWO HOURS LATER:

Through it all, we are all gathered here together, to release this film on 2453 screens. PARTY!

The child I have been raising is now going off to war... without a helmet.

Clark Duke, the raising star of the film... offers me a ciggie. I gladly except only because I have a thing for brilliant men... even if they aren't sexy (and perhaps even slightly fat), but I mean he is funny. Cough, Cough as I inhale a moment of what could actually close the deal. Looking away only briefly but apparently long enough for a skinny, model type to steal the show... suddenly, it's as if we barely even spoke. No love from the chubby dude I insisted was brilliant enough to play the suave Casanova role in the film.

Then, my once lover agent friend, who of course now covers my studio is staring intensely. "Who is he looking at?" I mean, I really think he forgot who I was after he cheated on me with Sam from WHO'S THE BOSS (but honestly who could blame him, isn't it every boys childhood dream). The fact of the matter is that we never actually dated anywhere other than inside my mind... but I always wanted to. Until moments later, when he makes his way to me and says... "B, can we grab drinks sometime really soon?" Another lesson, this is code for "you are actually pretty cute, let's grab a cocktail and if convo's not bad, then we'll have a meal together."

Two beers later, I am exhausted. Too much energy has spent defending my film, my reputation, and hell, my need for a little bit of attention...

Why did I get into this business again? Oh yea, for the art of story telling!

Second Date Perplexity

2008-10-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

I am sensing a pattern forming. First dates go fabulous. Second seem to go the same... but then... no call for a third. What is it that I am doing wrong? I mean realistically fellas, the third date is suppose to be the one that you are working so hard to impress me for... isn't it the rule that we're suppose to have a good solid roll in the hay after date two. You're suppose to "cook" dinner for me at your place and then we'll "watch" a movie. So what could I possibly be doing to turn you off so badly that you wouldn't even want to spend 3 more potentially pain free hours with me, so that I can rock your world.

I mean last time, I accidentally said the "M" word on the second date. No need to explain that it was completely out of context, but still I can understand that making a boy a bit too shaky to come back for a bedtime story.

To fix this problem, my therapist suggests closely examining all of my second dates, and report back... so we can learn my flaws. I will do it aloud here, so that everyone can learn from my mistakes.

Type Casting

2008-09-23T23:02:00.000-07:00

I have been working on countless research, searching for the answer to one question. Do men type cast as quickly and often as women do?

According to (what I am going to now call) the boys guide to dating survival, women are broken down into types:

1) Sex oozing out of every ounce of their body hot
2) Skanky/trailer park hot
3) Girlfriend/I would rather cuddle than fuck too soon hot
4) Did I do it with you last night - how many drinks did I have (aka Beer Goggles hot)
5) Never not once, not even if you paid me - but maybe if you got me a job

As for number 1, Sex Oozing type, you're golden unless you want a steady man. These woman are good for one thing and one thing only... but don't get me wrong ladies, the guys LOVE having you around. They see a woman who can never commit, will get bored fast, and will leave them. Dudes can't stand the idea that a woman might leave them, so they mentally prepare themselves to leave you first. If you are this type he will wine and dine you. Show you off to all of his friends, and colleagues from a far (i.e. take you to the restaurants he knows he'll see his friends - but will never actually have you spend time with these people - he doesn't want them to ever see you as more than an occasional girl that he likes to have a little hanky panky with). Don't worry, if you are this type, opening up to the possibility of forever is the only way to land the special guy who makes your heart beat faster - SO GO TO THERAPY!

Number 2. You strip for a living, wear hooker shoes to walk the dog, over process your hair and your perfume smells like you just walked out of a sex store. He dreams of doing it with you as long as no one will ever know. He usually doesn't do much but send you 2am text messages to let you know he's in the neighborhood.

Number 3. I'm too jaded to discuss. But I think you get the point from the title. Pretty much - you have it all... just fucking choose one! (I'M IN THERAPY)

Number 4. Wow, my head is pounding, I am naked, in a strangers bed, a strange dog with halitosis is licking my face.... roll over and find... YIKES. Where the hell did you come from? Yea, everyone knows that feeling. Stop acting like it's never happened to you! Typically, he bought you a drink or five the previous night. You two may have bump and grinded on the dance floor, and perhaps he was a perfect gentleman, right down the part where he told you that you were the most beautiful woman that he has ever met... But chances are that you will never hear from him again... I mean he did fall out of bed this morning when he looked at you.

Number 5. Ahh, this is my favorite. You know how sometimes when you're among friends you play who would you play house with out of these three people? Or, for a twenty would you bone, so and so. What about a fifty? Everyone has their price...

Do Gooder Debacle

2008-09-21T15:10:00.000-07:00

Last night during a drunken misjudgement, Writer Chick and I decided walking through the drive thru of MacDonald's would be a good idea. Of course, for any woman dwelling in the City of Angels, this is absolutely not the best idea for your image or your thighs, but despite that, we choose our drop off point there, and decided we'd just walk home to burn off the calories. You can't walk through the drive thru, it's highly frowned upon, so in what most would call another lack of judgement, we hoped in the car with a lone hottie. There's two of us, what would he possible do to us? Yea, whatever. He ordered 10 cheeseburgers, and paid for ours. (Gentleman). What would you need 10 cheeseburgers for, I slurred, you have a bunch of stoned dudes back at your place waiting for their munchie fix? This could be a lucky night for my sidekick and I!

Nope, he replies, (frowny face) I was on my way home and saw a bunch of homeless people under the bridge by my house, so I thought it would be nice if I bought them some cheeseburgers.

OMG.

We're in trouble, this do gooder is lying through his teeth in order to get us to trust him, and now he's not letting me out of the car. I'm going to miss out on our late night calorie burner, and he's going to kill us while he's at it too. Shit. I knew that car hopping was a bad idea, but I didn't think that it would happen to us.

At least I get to eat 3 crispy chicken tenders before he pulls out a concealed knife and stabs us in the chest.

I have to pee, I announced... this will get us out of the car for sure. It's a little late, we are near the homeless bridge, and the toilets are dark - steel (like when you go camping or hit the beach and have to hoover above or get your cheeks chilled). I hover, plotting a master escape. Ops, Writer Chick is in the car, I have to break her out too... how is this going to work.

I returned to the car. We went to the bridge, handed over the yummy snacks, and were on our way to our destiny.

Boom.

Here we are right in front of Writer Chick's apartment. Safe and sound.

"Can I get your digits?"

"Well considering you did not kill us and you're sort of cute (in a Brandy's type sort of way), I guess so." I passed over the 9 numbers that one can reach me at and winked at him.

How is it that we live in a world where the mere idea that someone doing something good, immediately elicits the response of "this person is up to no good."

Jaded I tell you. I am completely jaded. But perhaps I'll get a good date out of it!

Finding THE ONE is easy

2008-09-12T00:17:00.000-07:00

If that was the case, we'd all be married and I would have nothing to rant about everyday. So there, it's not easy. Or perhaps, we've made life so hard, that we can't do easy, because my problem isn't finding THE ONE, it's finding ANYONE.

I have been dating on and off for years now. I would like to think that I am quite the pro, though most of my friends are more open to the guys that they date. I am picky. Have too many expectations. Put up walls. Fall for the wrong dude, while totally ignoring the fabulous one.

Jimmy Choo was chubby, and he mountain biked all the time. But he thought I was HIS ONE. I always knew he was too big of an asshole (with a big ass). I mean seriously, I do have some standards, and agents are absolutely outside the parameters. Even if they do snowboard.

I dated one guy, Mr. Monday, the writer. He was more of a novelist turned TV producer. His plan was to find a wife in 12 months, and during the year of the dog, so he's more like the TRYING TOO HARD ONE. Of course, the year of the dog has come and gone, he tried and tried to bang me out, and you know... he's single and I couldn't bare to let him hit it. Slurring words at parties after too many Grey Goose Neats, begging, "Bunny, can be the good wing woman that you are? PULEASE?" Ugh. Fuck me. I mean seriously, the guy who wanted to find a woman, get married, and live happily ever after, is urging me to hook him up with the woman across the room with saddle bags and bad taste in shoes. Oh yea, Mr. Monday, I'll hang back and watch this train wreck while standing in the corner like the wall flower I never was and let YOU wonder aloud to me why I'm still single. You know the answer.

Then of course, there was the one that I thought was THE ONE. He was gentle, kind, and has softer hands than mine. Not very manly actually, but still made my heart pound. He wasn't ready, still isn't. But neither I am really. Although consumer moral is low on this one ever happening. Too many fish in the sea.

Now, here's one that will make your toes curl. I would like to call this one the ACCIDENTAL ONE. He's cute, but not totally my type. (Skinny, fit, in shapish). Still when I think of him I smile a little. He tried and tried for years, and I politely refused his advances. Then I made out with him. It was magical. He touched my face perfectly, grabbed my hair with authority, then invited me home with him. Of course under the circumstances I had to decline the offer. Then it became a downward spiral of accidental dates. Each inching closer and closer to the inevitable. Sex. For now we linger in temptation.

Clearly there are many ones, I'm guessing whenever I meet someone in the exact same place as myself, I'll settle down with the whatever one he may be. For now, I am the ONLY ONE, happily.

Are all Men Gay

2008-09-11T15:37:00.000-07:00

When a guy doesn't call, that means he's not that interested. That's what the book says right?

No call, no interest.

Well, why is it that a guy will call and call and call, then all of a sudden drop out of the clear blue sky. I mean, my breath doesn't stink, I shower regularly, and work out insanely, so my body is totally rocking. I'm stylish, smart, fun. All the things that you would think a man is looking for.

So, this brings me to the ultimate question, are all secretly men gay? Or am I really putting out that "fuck me and leave me vibe?"

A couple of weeks ago, I was having quite charming banter with a person of the opposite sex. After flirting, a few dates, and one steamy roll in the hay he told me, "Bunny, I could totally fall in love with you." Following that lovely remark while I was still in my post romp cozy emotional place, he said "But I would really like for you to return my phone calls a little more frequently."

Dreaming that I may have perhaps finally found a regular piece of ass (or someone to really become involved with on an emotional level), I wholeheartedly agreed to do everything in my power to "make it work people."

He jumps into his car and rides off into the sunset. It was a school day, so no breakfast was required. Whew. But then I thought, you know, I am not so sure that he calls me as much as he says he does. I really thought I was more on top of that sorta thing than he's making it out to be. My upbeat side spoke aloud, "Bunny, let's play it by ear. If he calls, call him back. Don't worry about how he's been in the past."

A day went by. He called.

Score! This is great news. I even picked up his call rather than forcing it to go to voicemail. We chatted. It was lovely.

Then, the next day, nothing. But I'm flexible, I do not need to hear from you every day. Ok. The next day comes and goes with nothing. Then, the next week. What happened? It couldn't have been my breath, I mean he professed his love to me AFTER the saliva swapping, session.

Finally, he disappeared into the darkness.

Did he really love me? And if he didn't, why did he say that the NEXT MORNING. I mean, heat of the passion "I love yous" are easily forgivable mistakes, but next day "I love yous" not so much.

I mean, he could either be madly in love with me and secretly hiding in his room from his feelings (unlikely), dating someone else, or gay.

I think he has officially stashed himself into the back of his closet. Remaining abstinent until he finds a joystick he wants so badly, that he can't help himself.

Chubby Chaser

2008-09-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

Ok, in a weak moment of panic during a Fredrick's raid, I texted an ex. Well, in truth, he's not my ex, he's someone I went on a few dates with, we had some good oral - but honestly, I can't remember ever actually having sex. But if memory serves me correctly, we never did the horizontal shuffle - I think we tried.... but well you know. Too much champagne. Perhaps.

Well now that loads of time has passed, you would think that I am over it. Sort of, I guess, in reality I am over it, but in my mind I often times reminisce about our times together. How softly he touches me, and insists on touching inch of my body with his tongue. It's nice to remember when you haven't had any hanky panky in while.

Then of course, the person in my life who brings truth and reason finally called me on my shit. "Bunny, why is it that continuously lust for the smart but fat dudes. And then get yourself so worked up over it. Get over yourself. Move on."

OH MY GOODNESS, I finally realize something about myself that I have never been able to see before:

I am a Chubby Chaser.

Despite my best efforts at keeping a lean, toned figure, I have kept myself cycle of definite disappointment. By narrowing my search down to guys who hover at about 15-30 pounds over their average weight, I have not only ensured myself frustration every single time my man takes off his shirt, but I have also, ruled out any man with pecks. Sigh. That is (in LA) the majority of the population - well that includes the ones that don't like girls but still.

I keep telling myself (and everyone I know) that I desire the moment just before I am about to get it on with a man where I slide my hand down his chest, over his rock solid abs and feel his very defined hips grinding against mine...

But due to my current mental state, that hand has been sliding down to his rolls. Jolly old rolls.

I keep lying to myself about what I am looking for... but today, I am telling the world (and asking the universe to find it for me), that I want a hot, sexy, lover this time.

Humm, I guess I will have to start paying attention at the gym. And stop caring if they're dumb.

For now, I am off the Tubby's!

Too Many Women

2008-08-28T09:34:00.001-07:00

Dating in big cities, why does it have to be so freaking hard? I mean we all watched years of SEX AND THE CITY, giggling over the girls struggle to date, find love, or even a regular sex partner. It is hard. Really hard.

I have thought about the what the problem is, explored therapy to learn about the overall mental issues effecting the city (we are a collective conscience), and obsessively discussed the conundrum with countless friends, colleagues, and well whoever will listen. Until today, I was having a very causal business breakfast with a totally off the market hottie, when it happened, I had an epiphany of what the problem is! There are too many women and not enough (good) men, who are willing to settle for one girl rather than a string of hit and quits. :(. Almost any man can find a (gorgeous) woman because we ladies are so outnumbered that we have completely lost the upper hand.

OMG, this is worse than calling the guy before he's had a chance to call you first. Or late night drunk (dirty) texting that total sweetie you had two dates with and haven't let him shoplift the booty yet.... This could be permanent. Meaning the pain of sexless months is only starting now.

The competition is high. At some point rather than bitch slapping each other over the last pair of Manolo's at the Bloomingdale's Semi Annual sale, we're going to be doing it over the last (emotionally) available guy.

What do we do about situation overload? Does China have laws about how many girls can be born to each family? I know - totally insensitive of me, I mean I am a liberal... but seriously... I need a good spanking from a big, strong, (gorgeous), man sometimes.

Polygamy. No. I'm not good at sharing my favorites pieces of clothing, much less the good fuck I like to enjoy at least twice daily.

Ugh, I just hope that I don't end up with some hobosexual man who doesn't know how to dress, barely ever brushes his hair, and can afford dry cleaning but chooses to not even iron. (Ops, already had that guy!).

Perhaps, I'll just have to save myself and be

Publish Post

a second wife. I guess missing out on being a starter wife will only lose me money... and that I think I can afford.

Rom Con

2008-08-13T22:39:00.001-07:00

The Rom Con - For years we have seen Romantic Comedies portraying love as if the warm and fuzzies exist everyday, on a happily ever after level. Like it's the moment that he finally proposed, that made everything all perfect. That's moment that made you forget that his feet stink, he farts at you, and he hates your dog. Yea, there is a tad bit of old fashioned girl meets boy, boy chooses girl to be with forever, and of course, no self respecting girl will say no. "Shut up and say yes the audience screams, he picked you."

Is Hollywood tricking us? Are they playing a vicious joke on us? It's a conspiracy crafted for Studio Execs, (the Jews), that has kept us believing in the dupe of decade.

It is the moment that he drops to his knee that we can finally look in the mirror and see what every day for the rest of our lives it going to be. Eventually, your dream mate will grow tiring, boring, and maybe even repulsive. And then when you thought he could not get worse, he'll get fat, and lose his hair.

Feed the kids. Drop them off at school. Go to their soccer game. Shut your mouth when I come home late. But don't forget to have dinner on the table. Ladies, I thought that we had evolved. But I keep seeing the same pattern. The only difference is now we get desperate to snag a man 37 rather than 20. OK. We have afforded ourselves 17 mores years.

That can't be all burning bras has done for us.

Oh wait, you know what else we have going for us now. We can now work 50 hours a week, and make more money than our fat ass, football watching hubby. And feed the kids, drop them off at school, attend the games, and keep our mouths shut. Oh great. That's exactly what I was hoping my fore ladies would rally, and protest for.

Now the only thing that I have is the freedom to leave my man when I feel like I'm doing all the work. And fuck, of course I am doing all the work. It is what we have "evolved" to. No honey, you stay home and watch basketball, I know how much you love Kobe. I will work my ass off so that you can be a lazy asshole. I'm totally OK with that. Smile.

Romance. Hum. The rapidly rising divorce rate, I'm sure will vouch for me here. There is just not much gained in the women's rights moment. Not yet at least. We need to wake up women, and smell the much needed morning coffee. We trained them to let us go out into the world, make our own way. We're even training them to accept us dating men half our age. There is a rising stat to prove that one as well. Clearly, they listen to our demands. Why can't we insist on more. Honey, can you get the baby, there's 15 more minutes left in Desperate Housewives, you know it's really important for me to know what going to happen before it hits the blogs.

Hell, I would start watching basketball and yelling at the TV if it meant the man would give birth, and raise the kid. I would even carry the kid for 9 months!

The least we can do, is let them split the raising the kids duties.

PS, I do believe love does exist, it's just in the small moments between annoyances!

Tick Tock. Tick Tock.

2008-08-07T09:37:00.000-07:00

Goes the clock.

For the majority of my life, the idea of the "biological clock" seemed like a facade put in place by society in order to keep the women married and bearing children.

But I must say, I am starting to believe in it. My midnight sexual cravings, while I was one hundred percent sober, was the first sign. Then it was the sudden interest in holding other people's children, despite my typical indifference towards the little ones.

Who knew that I would go from the shiny happy single girl, to the near nympho manic who lusted for someone to slide themselves inside of me and pummel the fuck out of me! Nope, I am not ready for the rug rats quiet yet, but my strong need for the act of baby making is alive and strong.

Problem is, the men in my life don't quiet know where they fit into my lewd dreams. I call in for a booty call and they get scared off. They schedule, they postpone, and they cut me out of their lives, siting they love or care about me too much for a fly by the seat of your pants one nighter. How could that be the case, considering these lovers only wanted sex from me pre-mania days. They wanted champagne, condoms, and an empty bed the next morning. As soon as I came to the point in my life where I was OK with it, they fled the scene, leaving me once again, undersexed, and cranky.

Do I now need to go in search of a full timer in order to get it on more than once a month (or sometimes less than)? How do I find the "relationship" types, now that I am so well versed in finding the scared, commitmaphobes? Where will I find them?

I am assuming not in bars. I will have to start paying attention to my winks online, and take classes. Sailing and scuba diving sounds fun.

On the boyfriend rampage I go.

Wish me luck.

Baggage (Black Hat Guy)

2008-08-05T11:50:00.000-07:00

I always knew I had baggage. Mine consists of an over active imagination, a strong desire to over analyze, occasionally I can be obsessive/compulsive and perhaps I am a little needy. But I am not high maintenance, or crazy, and I like sex (a lot). So it balances itself out.

I had a great understanding of my own unwanted personal belongings.

I didn't, however, understand other peoples baggage, until I met Black Hat Guy. This man has luggage, trunks full of excess shit in his life. Who knew that I would ever care if the man I was dating was divorced.... until of course Writer Chick brought something to my attention. She tells me after I brief her on the situation "I guess we're getting to the age now where we will have to start dating men who are divorced, but at least he doesn't have kids." Fuck, does he? I didn't know, and it never dawned on me to ask.

And when I did, disaster struck. Not only did he have a workaholic, emotionally whiped personally, he was even a little needy. "Kiss me. Hold me." That sort of emotional neediness. It certainly shows me how much of a turn off that shit it. Perhaps I have learned something from Black Hat Guy.

But the thing that causes me to lose the most sleep is Irish Boy, his five year old kid who lives with mama. That's all of the information that I could muster up the courage to get. That and I don't know enough about children to know what else I should ask. "Does he eat?" "What do you do with a him?" Ugh, these questions only remind me of why I will never be a stay at home house wife.

I don't want to bear your offspring and then chase the little mutants around the house all day for exercise. I definitely prefer pilates. At least it is a controled environment.

Believe me babycakes, if I wanted one, it most certainly wouldn't be someone elses. My participating in peek-a-boo will be a direct result of my own bad decision! Not yours. So I think it's safe to say this one is over. Sadly. I really thought you had great eyes. (And abs).

But the moral of this story is this:

There are all sorts of accessaries in our lives, more than ex-wives, babies, and mental issues, so I know this is the first of many I will encounter... other than of course, my own.

"Trying"

2008-08-04T17:35:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me - or reads this blog is well aware of my rather crass mouth. Often times, I am scolded about the way I speak.

It sucks to be monitored. But I will kindly remind everyone of the first amendment and offer a particular situation where sex talk is not only "OK" but it is actually encouraged.

"We're trying!"

Yep, that it folks. Those two words say, we are either fornicating like wild animals, or we have scheduled "appointments" for sex. I know the latter is the most boring but if you say to me that you are baby making, I assume you jump on the washing machine every time it hits the spin cycle and pump your old lady with your man juice! But if it's the second choice (the boring sit on my penis until it erupts kind of sex), it is rather appalling.

If you are trying anything, you should try to be as vulgar and sexy as possible because once the deed is done, we all know you won't be doing it at all anymore. So you may as well enjoy it while you can!

The Back Up Lover

2008-07-25T10:06:00.000-07:00

Upon reading an article in PSYCHOLOGY TODAY, I learned about this phenomenon called The Back Up Lover. Apparently, even those in "happily ever after" relationships have a Plan B. So the idea of mongony just went out the window, now the issues that make me commitmaphobic and insanely afraid of letting a man into my life, now have scientific backing. I now know for certain that the idea of true partnership could be a lie, because we as human beings have a stronger desire to be with someone rather than the one.

Therefore my question, is the idea of having a blissful, unadultrious marriage becoming obsolete?

Perhaps.

But there could be a bigger problem.

After long deliberation on this issue, I began to have a small panic attack. The trouble with this stunning figure is not that my issues could become worst (even with therapy), but the fact that I don't have a Plan A, B or C.

Sigh.

Does this suggest that I can not even find someone to choose me for third place? I mean LA isn't known for it's fabulous dating scene, and quite frankly I don't think I know many around here that are in even mildly enjoyable relationships.

As a matter of fact, most of my post 30 girlfriends are learning that prefering the friends with benefits is actually more of a curse than a blessing, and what's the point of being bond by a man who wants to only be with you. You get more headaches and less sex. And when it comes down to it, when we go after a man for a sex only alliance makes the male species run. Or worst, they fall in love.

And once they are in love, what next? A fruitful life of him dipping his pen in the company ink, or choosing the girls next door over pleasing the woman you say you love. I mean seriously, are we beginning to pick our careers over our hubbies because we’re sick and tired of them constantly asking us to turn the other cheek. I mean, I do wholeheartedly believe that if my guy gets his stinger wet from the wrong pool… I may as well, hit it with the gardener. Or honestly, any dude with better abs will do.

The point here being, cheating is a part of life. Some people do it physically, some emotionally, and others it will only be a series of dirty thoughts of the sexy secretary or the hottie at the gym with the nice guns! But everyone will deal it at some point, whether or not you find out it, will determine how bad the pain feels. It's dreadfully sad, and equally, disappointing, but there is no Hollywood ending here.

THE BIG DILEMMA

2008-07-16T13:15:00.000-07:00

When dating, there are somethings that you can learn to love about a person and others, well, you just can't accept.

Imagine now, the perfect man. One who is completely giving, in every way... he gives you presents, little kisses in public, and stares at you when you're across the room. When you've had a really bad day at work, he holds you all night and doesn't complain once. Compliments are plentiful, he opens doors, walks on the traffic side of the street, goes for long walks on the beach, and gazes into your big needy eyes. All the things that would make any single girl throw up in her mouth a little.

Now, finally, you and your future husband are about to close the deal for the first time ever. You arrive at his house. There is champagne, rose petals, candles and dim music.

He romances you, pays very close attention to your every inch of your body. Making you comfortable in his arms. Things start to heat up, it is passionate, hot, sexy, riping each others clothes off!

Then, it happens.

The last piece of clothing comes off of him, his boxers. For the first time you feel it. His long, hard, love muscle, then suddenly, the little wet spot in your panties dries up, and it's over.

OH MY GOSH, IT'S TOO BIG. I can't put that inside of me. Panic. It won't even fit in your mouth, let alone any other parts of you body. It may even make my tiny little spleen burst into millions of pieces when it bangs into me repeatedly.

This is a problem.

Now, what do you when the perfect man's joy stick is too big.

Unfortunately, there is not much you can do. They say a woman can't change a man, and that is definitely one thing that I am 100% certain that no woman in the world has the power to change.

Most men want to have the biggest penis in the gym showers, but it's sad when he's perfect EXCEPT his oversized knob.

But the biggest question posed here is this, are there any perfect men in the world, or is the Universe playing some sort of horrible joke on us. I mean, as if making us the more normal of the sexes wasn't bad enough, but to give me a perfect man with an over sized cock, is just plain cruel!

IS HONESTY REALLY THE BEST POLICY?

2008-07-14T10:04:00.000-07:00

There are times when I will admit, I want to be lied to.

1) All the girls are out, heading into Geisha House for some sushi. Following our raw fish treats, we plan to hit up Le Deux. I'm wearing new Joe's that I picked up at Bloomie's just for tonight, and I ask "do you like my new jeans?" The answer is ALWAYS yes, they're rad. Especially, when there's nothing that one can do about it!

2) I am obsessively texting my ex-boyfriend while completely drunk. No, I am not crazy, is the answer. I am a smart girl, I know you are merely being a good friend by not calling me an insane bitch.

3) I'm going through a tough break-up, therefore, on the Hagen Doz diet, I am PMSing, and about to head to Cabo for a wedding. Do not tell me I look fat. When I ask, I am looking for someone to lie to me... so do it!

Ok, now that I'm sure you get the very clear picture about when lying is actually not a bad idea. I would like to give everyone a chance to get a good feel for one more lie that is actually not a bad to tell.

Saturday night, I'm heading down south to Playa for a drunken night with my sidekick, Writer Chick (actually I am more of the side kick but it is my story). I want tequila shots, and hot boys drooling over my new jeans (they really are hot btw, not the someone has to lie to you hot). I have been working my ass out, and therefore, this skinny bitch is wearing a shirt that the roomie, Bossman, says is "hot," by the way I don't think he's EVER said those words to me before, so I know tonight is special. We look hot, and are both desperate for a piece of ass.

When we finally arrive, there is a room full of two types of men, first, sexy 30 somethings that are looking for a little action (silent YAY), and second, the others are still nursing. So of course, me and Writer Chick mark our territory at the bar, when a nice guy approaches. There's small talk and laughter, until I turn around to find that Writer Chick is MIA, having disappeared into the sea of little boys, I was encouraging her to stay away from. Then I turn around to find her talking to, perhaps, the sexiest two hunks in the bar.

Score. It's been a while since my undersexed body has felt a man touch the inside of my panties, so I'm pretty stoked about her find in the corner of the bar.

We chat with boys, flirt, drink more beverages. Then, I learn that my new friend, The Hockey Player, and I actually share mutual friends. Loads of them actually, to the point where I couldn't believe I had never met this guy before. But who knows I was drunk, from tequila, so there's a chance I did know him but just didn't remember.

Then, the night was about to end. And hind sight is 20/20, so I know I made a mistake when I offered up my digits to the man who clearly wasn't looking for them.

Are you ready for this?

He said to me "No, I don't want your number, I won't ever call."

Ugh. That sucks, but at least the man's honest.

But here is where it gets ugly. He later decided that since his friend wanted to get busy with mine, that he may as well take me home too.

There will be no boots knocking this night, due to his colossal mistake. Even his friend will wake up with a hang over and blue balls, but I'm quite happy that they will both pay honestly. It's the idea of the team. When one team member breaks the 24 hour rule and drinks the day before a game, the whole team will run!

So what, I may have called him a few ugly names before it was over. Loser, Fuck Off, I hate you (maybe), the others who knows.

But what can I say, his begging annoyed me, and honestly was a bit pathetic after he put all the cards on the table. Hey, I'm a poker player, I know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. Apparently he didn't.

But for me the Patron made me do it! I am sorry for the name calling, Hockey Player, but next time, just take the number. No harm, no foul.

FRIENDLY ONE NIGHT STAND

2008-06-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

Today I had to go to the valley, ugh, but I held my head up high, and jumped into my beat up Landcruiser, climbed the hill crossing over into the valley on the 405. As reluctant as I am to force myself to over to the smog filled hot box, most of Los Angeles tries to avoid, I knew that should I decided to fulfill the craving of a good romp in the hay with some new, gorgeous, perfectly fit, lover boy could be in the cards. New territory, new meat!

First I meet up with my friends, Dancer Girl and Emotional Disturbance (this is a man by the way). After collecting at Dancer Girls wedded, (probably over sexed) home, we headed towards Aguora. I am heading deeper into the valley, for margaritas.

Upon arrival, there are 25 super sexy firemen having some sort of "hot dude" convention. BINGO. Who's idea was this place, and why am I just finding out about it????? Didn't the memo go around about my lack of sex, with someone other than myself, and/or The Rabbit? This, to me, is like hitting the Triple Diamond on the slot machine.

The MasterCard commercial would be, 1) Price for a margarita at BAJA CANTINA in Agoura Hills, CA, $6.50 + tip, 2) Price of gas to drive from Beverly Hills, CA to Agoura Hills, CA $9.28, 3) Undersexed woman, desperately seeking a good night of unattached, hair pulling sex, then walking into a room full of testosterone, PRICELESS.

That was until, the minute of absolute defeat happened. Emotional Disturbance, walked in from parking the car, and immediately put his (very cute, but not nearly as available as the 25 men sitting, staring at me) arm around me. He walked in and pissed all over me, as if I was his territory.

Fuck. He's going to pay now. I'm going to make him shop with me, drown out his unavailable emotions until finally by tonight I can sit on him and do very dirty things to this man.

Yes, we shopped, this shopping included more day drinking. We hit up one shop, then one bar, one shop, one bar. We slowly but surely became a hot mess.

We stumbled back to Dancer Girl's house, where her old man, Camera Boy was waiting, dressed. "Damn it guys, we have Emotional Disturbance's birthday dinner tonight, and now I'm stuck with your drunk asses!"

We dined on sushi, drink more cocktails. I gently rubbed against him while enjoying the delicious meal.

Dinner's over. I'm ready to go home. Well, not my home.

Cut to.

The next morning. Hung over. Naked. But the good news is, I know where I am. Emotional Disturbance, up and happy, holding a cup of tea, Advil, and ready to hop in the hot tub. I didn't realize there would be morning tea, but I am OK with it. But I do have one question.

Where are my clothes?

As he pulls my shirt out of a pile of sheets on the floor, "Well, here's your shirt, I think you jeans are downstairs on the kitchen table, panties on coffee table, there's one of your shoes...."

Well, I guess all I could say to my hopeful more constant Fuck Buddy, was HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY!

Existential Crisis of A Booty Call

2008-05-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

The Fuckbuddy crisis has been explored over and over again, with many citing emotional differences between men and women as the main reason why this particular situation simply does not work. Well, let's take a closer look, deep inside my EXISTENTIAL CRISIS OF A BOOTY CALL.

Last night as soon as my work dinner was wrapping up over 2 or 3 martini's and Century City's X BAR, I looked over at this new familiar face sitting across from me and said "I desparately need to get laid." Her response, not knowing me too well, was this... "Well how long has it been?" Of course, I won't waste your time with the details of exactly how long it has been, mostly because it's oddly embarressing when the last time was. But to give you an idea of exactly it's been since I have a man between my legs, I will happily tell you her reply to my answer, "OH MY GOD, you REALLY need to get laid!" So this is how last night's booty call crisis came about.

I texted to the man of the hour, "It seems as though you may be scared." The poor jerk off replies "I'm still at work :(." Me being the spicy one in this seemingly, dull relationship, says "Why don't you come over tonight so that I can be a bad influence?" His reply "Where do you live?" By the way boys, this reponse implies, "I am on my way."

I get excited, sprint home, quickly popping into my favorite wine store for a little bit of liquid ice breaker. Jump quickly in the shower, freshing up. Then. Nothing. An hour goes by. Then two. Finally, he responds, "So were you thinking tomorrow or Thursday night?"

How the fuck do you respond to the pansy, who wants to schedule a one night stand?

I am truly at a loss of words here. I don't know how to respond, or how to feel about this. Did I do something? I mean I thought causal sex was what he meant when he told one of my closest peeps, that he works to much for dating. Am I wrong? I mean, this is either him planning our sexual escapade's for two nights from now, or is he planning a date. Because the bottom line here, is YOU'RE NOT EMOTIONALLY AVAILABLE. Therefore, I'm not going to become emotionally available to you... but I will acknowlegde that insanely intense chemistry we have, and I would love for you to do very naughty things to me. So I'm not about to start planning a time that I have to sit down with you and learn how you like your coffee, or hear about your brother's wedding, because honestly, I don't care. I don't want you to know my favorite color, or movie, or what flowers you should send when you've been such an ass that you know you owe me something colorful that will make my office smell lovely.

I want to get excited when my phone vibrates in my pocket, dreaming about your fabulous cock slidding into me. I only want to hear from you in the middle of the night, when my BAC is over the legal limit. When my inhibitions are not standing in the way of jumping on top of you, or caring that my room is dirty.

So, I don't want flowers from you. I don't want anything from you, except of course the occassional fuck. Isn't that what you said you wanted too?

eFriction

2008-01-18T17:11:00.000-08:00

Internet dating, technology has made everything so easy. We can shop for that adorable little dress that we need for the upcoming wedding, in which the man that I used to think I was going to marry will attend with his wife and two children. Joy. We know that I'll be the life of the party and you'll be the one with the little tikes that everyone will gaga and googles over. And of course, I will wonder which is better, to be the cutest couple or the loudest drunk. Humm. For now, I guess the single, and undersexed existence only can be related to being the loudest drunk, so that's the best for now. The grass is always greener.

I asked my newly married BFF, "how did you meet your little hottie?" The internet. Humm. I'll give it a go!

So I have been purusing the net to locate a manly men to come over and rock my world for about 5 months now. You know when I started I was told that I was taking on a second job. Who knew that that would actually be the case. Now I wake up each morning to find a lovely array of undersexed desparate men in my inbox. Oh look, male me's. All nudging me to return their emails, or answer their questions... I haven't figured out why any well educated doctor thought that asking questions like "What is your idea of adventure?" was a good plan when getting to know your future lifelong bedmate. That bedmate that we will one day have to make ourselves go home to and fuck, even when the idea completely repulses us, share money with through the good times and the bad, and yes, wake up smelling their stinky ass breath every morning for the rest of our lives.

Beligerant drunk. Maybe that is the way to go. At least that way, there's a frequent new man in it for me!

Harem of Husbands

2007-12-10T13:01:00.000-08:00

Traveling. Ah. Yes. How lovely to spend three weeks abroad, living amongst a fabulous new culture for as many weeks as our slave drivers can possibly spare. Well this year, as odd as it seemed, I choose EGYPT for my lovely holiday. Figuring that I'd be so far away and so out of touch that no one could reach me for their typical vacation taunting questions.

24 hours prior to travel, anxiety. Lot's and lot's of anxiety. Is this trip going to be fun? OMG, what if I hate it and I have to spend the only three week of my year in a HORRIBLE place?

Cut to. Landing Cairo International Airport. Stinky, exhaust fumes, smog... Pollution everywhere. The worst nightmare, is already upon us, and the worst part about it, is that I'm already here. So I can't skip out on the flight now.

Chaos.

"I have to pee." "I have to pee before we clear customs."

I enter the smoke filled bathroom, there are two stalls for this "International" Airport. And people are smoking in them. In walks an Egyptian woman, followed by a team of mini Egyptians, children. Momma Egyptian, immediately turns to the bathroom attendant and hands her the baby in her arms. While the bathroom attendant is smoking up the bathroom, that only has two stalls!

Yikes, this is looking pretty bad. What have we done to ourselves????

Cut to 45 minutes later, 3 marriage proposals, and after we had enlisted the help of two of the hottest tour guides in town.

I guess you could say, as luck would have it, it all took a gigantic turn of events the moment that me and my new traveling companion, SPICE GIRL stepped out on the streets of Cairo. Wow. It's quite lovely here. It's like we're movie stars on the streets of Manhattan, minus of course the skyscrapers and posh clothing.

Here is how it begins. One lovely husband after another falls right into place, though most of them were named Mohammad, they were all rather adorable and charming.

First, Mido (real name Mohammad by the way). Perhaps the hottest man alive on planet Earth. He begged me to talk to him. How often in La La Land has any dame been begged to merely speak to the most beautiful man on the street? Never I say! Well, that would be a never for me, of course. Even pleading with me to be his wife. And still to this day, a few months after departing my beloved land, still begs for my hand in marriage.

Second, Meyer, this story will follow this blog with a much longer blog, it will be titled, "Cheating Allowed, Only In Egypt, The Undersexed Girls Guide to Not Getting Laid."

Third, the most important of all, every street vendor, taxi driver, fruit stand guy,
concierge, etc. These were the best. Everywhere Spice Girl and I went, they whistled, they charmed, they flirted, they proposed, they cut their prices, they were for all purposes, puddy in our hands. These Mohammad's were truly amazing.

So here it is, the book of Mohammad's:

1) Mohammad, tour guide to the South Africans. He likes hash, coffee, loud women (oooh, I fit that description), and most importantly, he's not accepting a nice free piece of ass without having to chase it!

2) Mohammad, the jewerly salesman, he only spoke French, but managed to figure out how to say "I love you," in English. And by the time I left the store, could even propose.

3) Mohammad, the art dealer. Ah, lovely. The art dealer, perhaps my favorite. He managed to allow me to talk him down from $340 American Dollars to $100 American Dollars and he even through in a couple of bonus pieces. This Mohammad was the first to actually offer me camels, but of course those camels were offered to my tour leader. Apparently, since it's a trade of possessions, I could never actually own the camels.

4) Mohammad, the street vendor. "How many camels?"

Did I open the door of the camels with the art dealer?

5) Mohammad, the head maid guy/towel creature creator. Everyday when Spice Girl and I arrived back to our room, there was a Mohammad waiting by our door, awaiting our reaction to whatever new animal had taken over our room during our absence. The person sitting on the bed dressed in Spicy's clothing was the scariest.

6) Mohammad, the bartender. He got me drunk, I still can't figure out how he didn't get me to marry him in my drunkened vacation haze. It must be due to lack of experience with the wand of pleasure!

I won't bore you with the rest of them, however, they certainly were the highligh of the trip. And here's the absolute best thing about having all of the Mohammad's, I could pack them in my huge suitcase, bring them home with me, and if I choose to hide them from each other, to avoid any outrageously jealous outbursts, I would never have to worry about getting their names mixed up!

But seriously, right now I'm not ready for one boyfriend (or boytoy even apparently), so for now I have to pass. But be assured that when I'm thirty five and the clock is ticking... I'm moving to Egypt. Someone there will certainly give me the little bundle of responsibility that every woman dreams of!

Giving up...

2007-11-04T22:26:00.000-08:00

Giving up, it's one of the hardest things to do. And people give up on lots of things dreams, lovers, or even friends.

They say the more you love someone, the more you can hate that person. Well...

You know, the feeling you get when you meet the man you think you're going to marry. That feeling that makes your toes curl, your heart flutter, and your eyes water. Yes, that feeling, the one that makes your words come out all wrong, your hands sweat, and your brain to think things that make absolutely no sense what-so-ever. It's not about sex, or anything dirty, it's simply about the person's body chemistry that makes your blood pressure rise.

Now imagine the opposite of that. This is where the "hating" part of the equation comes in. There is a flurry of wailing tears, of rage, anger, frustration, and pure disappointment. Disappointment because we all struggle to allow ourselves to be vulnerable to each other, and then after we piss ourselves in front of God and everyone else, we get pissed on.

So finally, after years of loving, hating, and feeling completely devoid of feel over one man. I decided that enough is enough.

Giving up. One must give up at some point. Move on.

And even allow ourselves to be vulnerable again.

So I give up, by being the adult, I say to The Writer "I can't do this anymore, we must move on."

He replies, "You are absolutely right, I need to get my shit together. I drank too much, I party too much, I have too many other girls in my life..."

SHRREEECHH. Halt.

"Other women??? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, cheating on me?"

Wait, we're breaking up. I don't want to know about your life, or ANYTHING ELSE, that includes the other hoochie mama's you have coming around."

Ended.

So I thought. Until I started getting 11pm-2am texts and calls. "Hey B-Rabbit" blah blah... always oddly uncreative coming from one of the most talented writers alive.

I ignore.

The text/calls become more and more, until I decide perhaps maybe this is physical, we can just fuck. Every once in a while, at 11pm-2am we will decide to use each others bodies as lusty playgrounds, full of the excitement and joy we have giving each other for a very long time. Hum. I like this idea. It's free unattached sex, from someone I know can do it to me right!

We text sex for WEEKS (but it feels more like MONTHS).

"I can't wait to feel you big hard cock slide inside of me again."

"I want you to sit on my face."

Stuff like that... but obviously it gets dirtier.

Finally, after hours of debating a date, we choose Friday night. (In my mind, a Friday night, that's a date night, what if I get a date for that night and decide to go home with him). Instead, my date was my typical Friday night date with all my girlfriends and a bunch of booze. I got drunk. I forgot. Was at another man's house, finishing off a bottle of wine, hitting a pipe.

The writer, he got upset. This time he broke up with me. Some long email about how much he loves me and didn't think "hitting and quitting with me was such a lovely idea."

Whew, OK, maybe I didn't get laid this weekend, but at least I got rid of the man I have been trying to get rid of for years now.

Fourth of July, away for the weekend with another man. What happens, the asshole texts, and calls. Good thing I didn't get service.

It's as if he knows when I'm with another man, and comes back into my life at that moment.

I WANT TO GIVE UP. I WANT TO MOVE ON. I really want to be able to let go. But when I hear his voice, or feel his touch. I melt. My body hurts, my eyes water, my hands sweat. I am in love with a man who can't love me the way I need to be loved. And times isn't healing. It isn't helping, if anything it makes it harder.

So, today, I give up on the idea of being truly in love with only one man. I give up on this idea, because I have realized that I will always love more than one man. The one that I can not have, The Writer, and whomever I choose to exchange vows with.

In Da Club

2007-10-15T15:45:00.000-07:00

So, Saturday night, against my most sacred beliefs, I went to a Hollywood club with a handful of hot, sexy babes. We dressed in our hottest, BCBG dresses, and red bottomed shoes, then hopped in the nearest cab. In hopes of finding the love of our lives, heading towards the Hollywood sign, we were free to roam the streets with the most beautiful men and women in the world. Until of course, everything came to a screeking halt.

That was the moment I realized my whole love life was quickly falling apart. The warning that some women are still single because they are too picky, or too flaky, or play by the wrong "rules", or some women put off the "get the hell away from me vibe." UGH. Am I one of those women OR is that I find myself too good to be swaying from side to side in the sweat pool, on the dance floor, and with a shit load of horny, drunk men who have no manners rubbing against my lady lumps. No, I don't want to give you my number. I don't even want you to take me to the nicest restuarant in LA, and have me sip the most fabulous martini's in town. What I do want, is for YOU to leave me alone.

Cut to. The next morning. Waking up in a pool of drool, and reaching for the dreadful person I managed to drag home with me. I keep reaching. and reaching... nothing. No one.

OH NO.

This is happening to me. Finally, after all the years of finding myself laying next to one big mistake, whose name I have either failed to get, or neglected to remember, I have gotten what I always thought I wanted. This morning, I have graduated to waking up, realizing that ending up alone, watching the cartoon network, is boring when there is no random guy to laugh about it with.

Am I getting to old to bring someone home for a romp in the sheets? Or did I get too drunk?

Or perhaps, I have found myself to be entirely too good for any man alive.

I think for now, I'll settle with believing that I got to drunk.

We'll face reality another morning.