Ex Factor

Love either exists on a deeply profound level in which I have not yet grasped, or not at all.

My general rule for one nights stands, causal sex encounters, and even relationships, is this: ALL MEN come back. It may not happen in a week, or a month, or even a year, but eventually, they come back. What causes this phenomenon, I am not yet certain of, however, be assured that it does happen. It could be they date and date, then realize that no one is quite as good as you were, or perhaps, they never stopped thinking us and finally get the balls to call, or something strikes a memory from the "good old days."

Well, imagine my surprise when 5 months ago, an old flame returned to my life. He shows up, takes me to, what I thought was just a friendly meal. Cut to: The "walk me to the door" moment, the realization hit me, I am indeed being pushed back into the enemy territory. He likes me. Shit. Fuck. What the hell am I going to do?

I have this fabulous (who turned out to be not so fabulous), man that I've just started seeing and now this man (the EX man) shows up at my door, ready to wisk me off of my feet. UGH. Of course, this is how it typically happens.

Fast forward: 3 months.

After deciding to try and make this second chance work, even post him not calling for two weeks over Christmas, nothing at New Years and no plans to see each other for 3 months. Here we are, meeting up in Sin City for a weekend. He's made plans for dinners and shows... and he seems to be excited to see me.

It was a disaster.

I ended it.

But remember "the golden rule," THEY ALWAYS COME BACK.

It's been one week and one day since I broke it off. Heard him say, "this could never work, we're too far away from each other." And now he's calling again. To be my friend.

I don't want to be friends right now. I want to be left alone. In silence. For me to sleep with random men, just because I'm angry and hurt. I'm hurt because I let you do it to me again. I'm mad at me.

Ok, ranting done!

The French Girl

Today, I woke up in a panic. A small little rat is racing around my room. I thought for sure, that if I found a rat running around the room, I would never be THAT WOMAN. The woman who thrusts herself onto something with the goal of getting as far away from the little mouse as possible. But, it was me. I became in an instant the exact cliche that I feared I would eventually become.

The irony of this story is, once I actually woke up, and realized that there was actually no rodent racing around my room. It was in fact, an incoming text message. A text message from an old flame of mine. He's cute, successful, and tons of fun. It was a small heart break to give him up, but remember, the only four letter word in this town is "NEXT." Anyhow, this fantastic man (barring a few minor details that could be better), is now texting me again. HOW EXCITING.

Here I am at 5:30am basking myself, full of joy and happiness, that is until I actually read the text.

"I just met a beautiful French woman who looks just like you. I hope you are well...."

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

I don't care who you have met or are meeting. Or much less do I want to have the visual of you boning another me. There is no "other me." I'm the only one in this story. Tis' me who is the main character. No French hoochie mama, actress wanna be. Ok, perhaps, I'm overwelmed with one of the deadly sins... JEALOUSY. But hey let's face, who else could be as fabulous as me?

I would have prefered the rodent playing basking in my dirty laundry.

The 90 day rule

Ok, we have all heard of THE RULES and the more popular book HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU. These books offer nothing but the absolute WORST dating advice ever. I, the incredibly talented, strong, confident woman that I am, will admit to reading them, and in some cases even following these "rules," and totally ruined some of the best relationships that I could have potentially been involved in. You know girls, sometimes, it just happens, you sleep with a man, and he doesn't call. But us broads are actually, sometimes, just as guilty of being the relationship terminator. And believe it or not, I think, gentlemen, may actually have feelings too. Sometimes, I, in fact, don't know who stopped calling who after a passionate love fest.

SIDE BAR: I don't actually call men, EVER, not because this is one of "THE RULES" that I actually always abid by, but because, I hate talking on the phone.

The point here is, perhaps, in some cases, I was actually responsible for being the post sex quiter. Women are allowed to be the "one night stand" shot caller. Sometimes, we don't have to wait to have sex with a man. If he is indeed worth our time, he will want to call after sex. If not, oh well, another one bites the dust. My question here is this, why is that we women think that it's not ok to "sleep around?"

I know, you fellas out there are thinking, HELL YEA, preach it girl. But this is not about you. That's what the lovely ladies' problem is: we can't do something completely satisfying for ourselves. If we do, we are not only judged by YOU fellas, but we are also judged by our peers, the women that are suppose to stand beside us, walk with us, understand us, and most importantly the people in our lives that can only make us stronger.

So, my point... A very close girlfriend of mine pointed out that she doesn't sleep with a man until 90 days has passed. My thoughts, at first, WOW, this girl has got it right. But after having the chance to process this thought, I realized, that this is the exact attitude that continuously makes us secrataries rather than, presidents. We can not continue to look at ourselves as someone who has to "play the game" in order to get them to like us. Wake up gals, it's not about THEM, it is indeed, ABOUT US.

True Religion

The truth about religion is a tough one to wrap your brain around, unless you look at it literally.

According to my new found favorite website www.dictionary.com, religion is: a set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe, esp. when considered as the creation of a superhuman agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs.

Ok, now that we are all in understanding as to the "actual" definition of the word is, let me explain to you what the "literal or Los Angeles" sense of the word means.

Some of you are thinking that the Religious divide is between the Christian or Western world, if you will, and the Muslim or Middle Eastern world. However, this is infact, not the case. Here in the biggest melting pot in the world, Los Angeles, we know the truth about spirituality. We know that true creed, is all about what we wear (and in some cases what we drive). And for us big city folks, our diety is denim!

This ritual, is now being taken over by the people from Mars. That means that MEN are moving into our jeans. And by saying that I don't mean "getting lucky" or "hitting it" or "taking off our jeans," I mean dudes all over the world are enjoying our pants ladies. The lovely, soft, already well worn dungarees are overworked by the "hunters and gathers." First, it's our jeans and before long, these people will be wearing our shoes.

Poker Face

I'm a good southern girl, with good southern morals. So when I up and moved to Los Angeles, as only you can imagine, the dating learning curve has been quite steep for a "good" girl such as myself. No one explained to me the horrific truths about courting in this sesspool of beautiful, undernurished, walking imbeciles. But of course, I, being the trail blazer that I am, have put on my poker face, headed into the big city, and managed figure out a way to make it a bit easier for you men out there...

Here are some good old fashioned lessons that I believe all of the devils living in the city of Angels should know:

1) Fellows, being intimidated by us is absolutely NOT an excuse not after 30. If you don't know, it's ok to ask.
2) Rumor has it, that you guys don't like being chased. Well, news flash, women, don't like chasing men. So don't make us. If you like us, call us. If you don't call us, make it clear that you just want to be friends.
3) Even if we are smoking hot, and perhaps in reality the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, we still want to hear you say it.
4) Love is something that a lot of women don't believe in anymore. It is most definitely because of you guys. Restore our faith.
5) We like flowers, but we love waking up in your arms.
6) And if you're going to call us the next day, make sure it's because you want to, not because you feel like you have to!

Crossdressing for dummies

Crossdressing. It makes you powerful, playboys, feel like men huh? Well, remember that next time you decide to let us in on your little "fantasies" that when you fuck us over, we will tell ALL of our friends. So, if you don't want us to send out the "all company" email, either don't share your dirty little secrets, hide the extra large women's clothes that you harbor in your closet, OR just call the next day. You guys, say that we're the emotional ones, but as soon as your buddy you share a cubicle with starts ignoring you in the office, because he's afraid that you're really gay, and you start crying about how shitty we are... remember how logical it all really is.

To make it perfectly clear I have made an outline:

1) Don't tell me that you can ONLY get off when wearing women's clothes.
2) Hide the extra large clothes that are in your closet. (we know if you are in bed with a size 4 tonight, that you are ABSOLUTELY NOT in bed with a size 14 tomorrow night).

OR

3) Just call us the next day.

So, for all of you women wanna bes, it's simple. Don't fuck us, and we won't fuck you. Literally!

Lovers and other strangers

Today while I was walking back to the office after lunch, there was a man. An awkwardly handsom man. He barely looked at me, although, he wanted to look up and stare. He wanted to walk over, say hello, ask my name and see if he could meet me for coffee or cocktails, or whatever it is that most normal people do for first dates. I, however, don't know how first dates go because I rarely go on first dates that didn't start out as "business drinks" or sometimes I'm lucky enough to have the dreaded "second" first date. That's when you give someone you already know isn't right for you another chance to wine and dine you (or probably just pay for one martini then try to "hit it"). However, these typically don't go much further, because it's easy to see why it didn't work out to begin with and no, "hitting it" is out of the question because dates that struggle to get past one martini usually end quickly with a horrifing peck on the cheek that you absolutely could have lived without.

So, back to my guy on the streets of Santa Monica, no he's not homeless, well at least I don't think he was. In my mind he would have invited me for coffee, probably at the Coffee Bean on Wilshire at 9th Street. But quite frankly I'm more of an Urth Cafe kind of girl. But I'll settle for the Coffee Bean on Wilshire. It's nice, quite, and they have that fabulous fire pit outside. He's having a Latte and me, I'm having Chi Tea. We start chatting, realizing how much we have in common. He's some sort of creative type, a painter, or novelist, enjoys being outside, loves dogs, and is obsessed with his new found sport, snowboarding. We chat about things that don't matter like traveling, he just returned from South America, and can't wait to go again. He wants to hear my stories and looks at me like I am the most beautiful woman alive. He is attentive. Interested. For this hour, I feel that I am truly living outside of myself. I am not sitting next to a man I may work with one day, it's a man that I could be partners with and share my life with. This is a man I can learn from, he could make me a better, stronger person. He believes in changing the world rather than degrading it. He would rather save starving dogs than power lunch at Barney's Greengrass. Why is he in LA? Is this man here to change my life, or I am here to change his. We could be the best of friends or perhaps even lovers. He sheds a bright shiny new existance on my life. He broadens my knowledge or art and creativity. All of this just over coffee.

The sad thing is this man, never even spoke to me and we already had a life together! (In my mind at least).

Jimmy Choos and other foot fancies...

So, this morning I came to the shocking realization that men truly do care about our Jimmy Choos. Yes, they love to see us wearing hot, sexy inch adders (and nothing else), but I think sometimes, ladies, they too enjoy feeling the power of being lifted up 3 to 5 inches by nothing more than leather and sturdy soles.

You see about 4 months ago, before my long awaited trip to Cuba, I was in Target buying soap for all of the homeless souls on the streets of Havana. To shocking my discovery, I looked up to see that I am shopping in the women's shoe department with two men. Straight men. Two straight men, were in the women's shoe department, actually trying on shoes. And I am almost certain, buying them too.This discovery was sort of fading in the distance after sharing a few good laughs with my girlfriends. UNTIL, today.

Today, I unmasked the true identity of men everywhere. The sexy ones that you see or listen to on the phone all day making decisions about billions of dollars, greenlighting movies, or turning pennies into dollars on wall street, these men, some of them, actually would rather have you bully them around in the bed room. They desire for us, ladies, to beat them up, the way they spend their day beating up their assistants and colleagues. These walking penises want to wear OUR cashmere, our designer jeans (not that they haven't already moved in on those, publicly), and most importantly women, these people from Mars, appreciate wearing the ONE thing that we have, that is ONLY ours, the one item we shop for and spend hundreds of dollars on, they want to wear our little strappy pleasures.

Next, we will be waiting in line at the nail spa behind them, as they put their bare crusty toes in the holy water we dip our feet in weekly, to release all of the grief these people have given us all week.

Men, we like you wearing your levi's 501s, your crusty t-shirts, and your ratty sneakers. So stay away from ladies department at your local Bloomingdale's.

Please let us (and ONLY us) have our femininity.

If you don't give it to us, perhaps, we'll have to start peeing with the door open.