Single's Ads and Internet Dating

One of my best friend's from High School, CountryGirl, called me this morning at 7:41am. Yes, she's on the east coast, but she's smart enough to know that 7:41am is quite early over here on the west side of the world. Not that she woke me up, because I'm a big ball of energy and I am always up this early, however, let's face it, there are just certain times of the day that aren't appropriate to ring someone.

Anyway, she calls. I pick up "house of beauty this is cutie," I sing this only because this is how we have been answering each others calls since way before caller ID came along.

"Bunny, OMG, I'm getting married! He finally asked me. Can you believe it?"

Mental note to self "you must pay more attention to what other people are saying to you. Listen, when others are speaking. It is NOT all about you Bunny!"

Shit! I didn't even know that she was dating someone and she's telling me "he finally asked me." Clearly this is someone that I should know about. Shit!

"Wow, CountryGirl, this is amazing. I'm so happy for you." Still wondering who the hell it is she's marrying and why I can't for the life of me remember who it is. So I pry, "CountryGirl, I know you've told me this but how long have the two of you been dating?" She replies, "Since August. We met on match.com. Don't you remember, you met him at my Christmas party?"

Wow, it's nice to know that she's marrying someone so memorable.

Back to the reality of the situation. My mind begins going crazy with questions that I know are inappropriate to ask "WHAT? Since August? match.com? I thought match.com is where you went when you were looking go load up your 'sexual partners' list. But people can find hubbies there? Do you think they have a 'rich guys seeking trophy wives' section?"

Ok, I so it happens, people search the personal ads, and meet online, I can realistically understand this concept. We do live in the 21th century... but come on. How do you explain to your kids, "Honey, Mommy and Daddy, met online and got engaged in less than six months? And I didn't think that daddy was actually a serial killer." But then I thought about where I come from. Most people back home are already married with a few kids and probably even one on the way. At least CountryGirl made it through her twenties before marriage. But I still don't get it. SIX MONTHS. Do you think perhaps my loyal friend has been searching and searching for an old man to have and to hold til death do they part and just couldn't find any takers? Fuck, what if I don't even find any takers? Shit. I'm in full panic mode. I can't let this happen. Everyone will start getting married. It's like the old saying "one bad apple spoils the bunch." Quick think of something.

"CountryGirl" I say "We're just not old enough to get married. And I don't want to talk about it anymore. Call me again when there's a date!"

"We're getting married in June! Having a nice small ceremony in town, we'd love for you to come. Can you give me your address so that I can send the invitation?"

Wow. I ponder to myself, "Are we old enough to get married?" Quite frankly, the idea of being with only one man for the rest of my life scares the shit out of me. I'm a city girl now, we simply just don't get married.

I guess, the only thing I can say about the situation is this: Thank goodness she didn't ask me to be in the wedding. I should surprise myself with a nice pair of Manolo's for the money I just saved!

Self Help - Commitaphobia Intervention

With my new found self diaganosis that I am in fact a commitaphobe and *I* am the problem in the majority of my relationships (and with everything else in my life, including but not limited to, work contracts, rental contracts, pretty much anything that requires some sort of commitment to), I have decided to seek help. Due to the fact that my current employer feels that I should be poor while I'm young (hence the lack of Manolos in my life), I can't afford to go see a certified psychologist. So I will have to put my BA in Psychology to work (finally that degree is doing something for me), and began weeding through all of the infomation I can get and provide myself with a bit of self help.

Through my search, I have found a wealth of knowledge about dating. First, let me start by saying, there is some WEIRD shit out there on the world wide web. Perhaps, one of the craziest things that I've found is a website dedicated to it's loyal readers of single, down on their luck (with women), men who can not seem to land a woman. Below are a handful of "lessons" that should either make you laugh at the thought of someone being so desparate that they need this site, or cringe because your mama never taught these things to you:

1) Learn to strike up a conversation.

Seriously, if there is a man out there that doesn't know that you have to strike up a conversation with a woman in order to begin a relationship with her, then I hope they won't practice on me.

2) Avoid asking single women out on a Friday or Saturday night.

Ok, if I don't know you, you get weeknights, Monday or Tuesday probably. If I know you and think you're ok, you could manage to swing a Wednesday or Thursday. My best friends, and men that I'm having sex with get Friday and Saturday nights. That's the rule. Everyone human out of college should know this rule.

3) You should only unsuccessfully ask a girl out three times.

If I like you, I will say yes (or offer another date if they one you have choosen doesn't work). If I don't I will say no. Once will do.

4) Have every detail of the date planned, but make it seem spontaneous.

I don't like spontaneity on first dates, or 10th dates. When you're taking me out, make reservations, pick the restaurant, and have alternatives. The more you think about, the more it's apparent that you like me.

And for good measure I'm going to add one more rediculous dating tip that you guys are getting off the web.

5) Convince the girl that she is more interested in you, than you are in her.

Wait a minute, you're absolutely suppose to be smitten over me. I will except nothing less. Bunny, is a self lover, not a self loather and in the end isn't that what you're looking for?

So my point here, the reason it seems like no one can get it right, is because men are learning from men who by the way are quite clueless. My problem with commiting is this: My needs are clearly just not being met! So be a man. Talk to me, make the plans for our dates ahead of time, be decisive, and love me first.

Serial Dating

It's a game we like to play in this town. We like to date and date, in order to not become attached to anyone. This sport, keeps us from ever falling in love. Protecting our fragile little hearts from feeling any fraction of pain. Also, this keeps our egos in tact. We continue to be the people that we always thought and knew we were!

The question is, if we keep ourselves from falling, what happens when we meet our one? That is, if "the one" exists.

Well I have met mine. If there's truly a person for everyone then I know mine. He's fabulous. He makes my heart flutter, my palms sweat, I get so nervous I can barely put an entire sentence together. So what next? For me, RUN. Run as fast and as far as you can. Go quickly. Be mean, make him hate you. Oh yea, and date as many jerkoffs as you can (and make sure that he finds out about it) so that you can push him further and further away. Then, of course, send the occasional drunk text message or when you're really drunk and away with an incredible power couple, you even call a time or ten.

Ok, if you haven't already noticed, I am a bit OCD. Almost to a point where I should actually seek help. And after learning that men really are from Mars and women really are from Venus, and nothing we do will ever make sense to the opposite sex. I realized, perhaps, I am wacky when it comes to dating and nothing will ever be easy in that department for me. But let's look at the facts.

Everyone in LA does it, this serial dating thing. Well at least, that's what I think in my mind. And no one really wants to commit. I mean, why would you want to commit when there are so many options in a single city. So many hotties that turn their heads and stare when you walk by.

Ok, perhaps, it's time to sit down and realize the truth about serial dating. According to everyone else in the world, most notably Jason, mine and Bella's one time encounter in Big Bear, being single sucks. I mean seriously, does it really? Is it so bad being able to do whatever you want whenever you want and not have to call someone and tell them what you are doing.

Is it really so bad when you meet someone who makes you melt when you hear his soft sexy voice in the southern accent that you so adore (but only on this man). "Hi B," he says to me. My heart crumbles into my tummy. My palms get sweaty. I get a little teary eyed (OMG, don't tell ANYONE that I can actually get teary eyed). This man makes me a little crazy, in a good way. But why do I persistantly run. I've ran so far and for so long, I'm pretty sure, he may be gone forever.

If he's one in a million, there's bound to be many more right?

Loner Drunk

You know your life has started to spiral downward when you wake up with a terrible headache, water is the only word you can manage to mumble, and you can barely remember the details of last night. The one thing you do know, is you didn't accidentally sleep with some unassuming young stallion, because your night of debauchery began and ended at home with a single glass of wine with your dinner for one. Yes, drinking on the couch, alone. The glass turned into a bottle and had you not been so drunk you could barely walk to the bathroom once you "broke the seal," you would have stumbled to the liquor store for another bottle.

Last night, this depressing person was me. I was not depressed, or upset about anything. I just started and couldn't stop. The despairing part of this story is that nothing fun or interesting came of it. I suffered all morning for nothing actually. And being that it was a Tuesday night, there was nothing interesting on television either. I entertainmented** myself with an episode of WHAT ABOUT BRIAN and WITHOUT A TRACE. It's interesting how satisfying it is to watch someone else surrounded by people and enjoying what life is really about. Wild, unattached, sex.

**Defined by Pete's dictionary: entertained by (lowbrow, pop culture) entertainment.

Grown Up Mean Girls

Work. This is a place that we go to become miserable. No matter how much we loved what we did on our first day, by the 90th, it's fun no more.

My first day at the new company, began with me saying how fabulous the energy was in the office. The girls included me in everything, they set me up on dates, included me in their daily lunches discussions, and for the most part, we were putting on makeup and braiding each others hair.

Then of course, as time goes by, it slowly goes from this blissful place of employment to living hell. I just don't know what it is that happens to people when you get to know them. The truth of the matter is that in the real world, it seems, as if people just don't like other people. It's not me or something I said or did, or even the fact that sometimes I don't wear deodorant.

This persistent problem in modern society is caused by Narcissism. No one in this town can actually begin to think about what the cause/effect of their actions will do to the rest of the world because they don't possess the ability to even think about anyone other than themselves. As a matter of fact, considering, that we are in the business of providing fun, fearless, entertainment as a method of escapism, bringing people together for to enjoy a night in watching our favs such as Grey's Anatomy, Heroes, 24, etc and for a fun date night to the theater. Our jobs are to supply everyone else in the world fun. This may not seem like it's saving lives, but in reality, when you're in the middle of that dreaded notes session or screening, and you realize someone forgot to tell the director that we were having this meeting. It hits you like a ton of bricks. THIS IS LIFE THREATENING. IT MAY ACTUALLY KILL SOMEONE TO MISS A MEETING. Ok, in reality, no one dies from missing work. But for some reason people around here just don't get it. It's egotistical. And for the most part since the majority of the people working in this business were actually the last person picked for every kick ball team they played on, missing a meeting means this to them: WE DON'T LIKE YOU ENOUGH TO INCLUDE YOU. Or one of my favorites: YOU'RE WORK ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU TO BE INVITED.

The bottom line here is. It truly is only about me. That is how people around here feel. And if you are a threat to them, or don't like the guy they try to set you up with (and by the way are up front enough to let the guy know that you aren't that interested) or if you don't like their script, suddenly you're blackballed.

What exactly does it mean when "you're blackballed?" According to my favorite resource, www.dictionary.com, it means: A negative vote, especially one that blocks the admission of an applicant to an organization.

More importantly, the problem is worsened when you it is women working together, they are nice one day, then you realize that you have a knife sticking out of your back. They talk shit behind your back, belittling you. Accusing you of not being good enough. When in actuality the real problem is that these grown up mean girls are actually more concern with their very own lack inability to get the job done, that they must push you out. Put the other women down.

Ladies, this is why we haven't had a President of the United States yet. This is why we keep complaining that we haven't risen far beyond our boundaries. We must come together rather than alienating ourselves. Think twice before you put someone else down or even just act like they aren't quite as good as you are. Because the reality of it is this: usually when you treat someone as if they aren't quite as good as you, it's typically the other way around!

Mixed Signals (Part 2) - Forgotten Phone Numbers

Ok, remember the old man who was sending the mixed signals. Yea, Jimmy Cho, I call him.

So I bump into Jimmy at the bookstore yesterday and the oddest thing comes out of his mouth "I have been wanting to call you, but I lost your number." Ok seriously, the days of losing numbers ended around the time that we all started carrying cellular telephones and has become especially difficult since the blackberry craze began. So not only is this man a liar, but he's not even a good liar.

Well, now, because of the severe case of mental vancer that I have I will begin analyzing here:

Jimmy, takes her on a fun hiking trip. Decides not to like her anymore, but due to her fabulous since of humor and great personality (not to mention how lovely I am to look at), he knew that the possiblity of him actually not calling her again was almost impossible. Jimmy deletes this delicious young woman's phone number out of his phone to prevent any accidential dials. Then proceeds as if he had never met her. (Insert pouty face here).

When he took the call while out of town, he didn't know who it was calling. Makes complete since right. So, the question still remains: why would he tell her that he misses her AND wants to see her again? Truth be known, this was probably accurate, however, for reasons beyond my understanding, he didn't want to see her. THEN, upon bumping into her, tell her that he "lost her phone number." Why not just say hi and finish his shopping. Why is it, that when it comes to men, that NOTHING makes since.

And for Jimmy all I have to say to him is "SCAREDY CAT." Meow.

Jaded Hearts and Wacky Eating Disorders

Lola, our broken hearted temptress, has been officially diagnosed with an urban eating disorder. An urban eating disorder is onset by one's geological location, particularly one who resides in a area densely populated by models and actress' (aka career Bulimics).

Symptoms:

Last night for dinner she ate popcorn, a spoonful of peanut butter, then at 10:30 she finished off what was left of a Tony's frozen pizza. That's not so bad right. Our patient is eating. However, after becoming so guilt-ridden Lola scrambled to the medicine cabinet to devour 3 laxatives.

Rumble, Rumble.

And today, she wants to have MacDonald's for lunch.

Lousy Lay

Think about it. You wait for a man. You let him court you. During this time of course you want to bang him out just as much as he wants to. Then, the day comes. You hit it. And it's the most miserable 5 (maybe less, you know when something is painfully bad, it seems like it lasts much longer than it was in reality) minutes of your time together. He sucks in bed. His penis is a bit on the "small" side. What do you do?

First and foremost, DON'T EVER play on the home field. This is one rule that you should ABSOLUTELY, without a shadow of doubt never ever ever break. When you're playing on the home field you can't get up, go to the bathroom, compose yourself, walk back into your room and say "baby, I need you to go home now." But think about it, if you're at his house you can just slip out. You don't even have to say anything. Just leave. And hope like hell that he doesn't call you a million times to find out what happened to you. Hopefully, he'll know what has happened. I'm sure that his sorry ass has probably done it to some unassuming woman a time or two.

It finally happens. I do it with Happy, and Happy wasn't so happy in bed. Or maybe, Happy was too happy.

I thought men got better with age.

This is no small sexual upset, I'm telling you it was miserable. He's not a passionate lover, he's selfish, and what makes it even worse was that the poor man was terribly uncoordinated. You know even men who don't love you can still be passionate. They can touch you, lick you in ways that make you think of them for hours, days, and sometimes even months afterwards. Sometimes, it's the one night stand that you compare all of your future lovers to, the man that was with you for only a few hours, that does it to you in a way that will make you never forget.

Happy, perhaps you should spend less time trying to conquer every woman in the city of Los Angeles, and more time sleeping with one woman who can actually teach you something. You lack most of the skills needed to make you a lover anyone that I know would want to come back to.

Thank goodness he didn't call me the next day.

Counterfeit Dating

"Her name was LOLA, she was a showgirl, with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there" it seemed like she was dating Big P, but in reality, he said she he truly valued her as a friend if they dated it may end. And he'd been sad without her.

Lola, a stunning woman, as all of the fluffs are smoking hot. She met a man. This is no typical man, as he make her body tingle, her veeje ache and sometimes when she is alone thinking of this man, she could even see herself having his babies. Ew. Babies.

When a woman begins thinking about having a baby with a man you know that she's completely smitten. Babies are the thing of the past. There was a time, when making love, having babies, and getting married was the hip thing to do. We're going back to our biological roots.

Back to Lola and Big P, they are friends. Close friends, but not friends with benefits, except for that one time after day drinking during the World Cup. Viva Italiana.

Shortly following their sexual encourter, fo boyfriend, Big P explains to his BFF that the reason this lovely experience can never happen again is because she is much too important to him.

Wait, I want to say that again. A man turned down sex because a woman is "much too important to him."

He's afraid that he will fuck everything up, if they enter into type of committed relationship (or even share a fuck every once in a while).

Still, P man cooks dinner for her, he offers to take her on great snowboarding trips, they fake couple grocery shop together. They watch TV together. He takes her mattress shopping (yes, you heard me right) and like every good man, our loverboy even asks for her permission to help an old lady move, watch football alone, and play poker with his buddies.

Lola, also, is his date everywhere, dinner parties, picnics, work events, they are together everywhere, except when he travels to Atlanta where there is another women (who he openly admits to), this is the woman I suppose he's not afraid to mess it up with.

Like every good man, our loverboy even asks for her permission to do anything.

Lola is "his one." The one that he would marry if he wasn't like every other man in the world and so incredibly non-commital.

Is this the new TRUE HOLLYWOOD LOVE STORY? My fear, is the best man in our dear lives will actually be this counterfeit boyfriend. That the men in our city are so fucked up, that the only way they can commit is by not sleeping with us at all.

Jimmy Choo in the Bookstore

Women have hormones and instints, we get emotional after sex, know when our man is cheating on us, etc. Well, men have something similar. We'll call it the "mantuition."

Defined by Bunny's dictionary: MANTUITION: when a penis bearing human can sense that their last female has engaged in sexual activities with another man.

Classic example:

Last night, I slept with a new man. A fabulous man. Not one I see forever for, but one I hope will be around another month or so.

THEN, OF COURSE, fate be with thou:

Today, at lunch, I run into the shoe man. No, not in the Neiman Marcus women's shoe department. He was walking into THE SHOP AROUND THE CORNER, as I was turning the corner.

Freud had it all wrong, it's actually "vagina envy."

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Women are not well equiped with the brain function that allows us to let relationships just be what they are. We suffer from accute neurosis. It's true, all of us do. The housewives, business women, feminist... every woman.

For the majority of my life I have lived believing that I am truly suffering from a terrible psychological disorder. OCD, is what I thought it was for a long time, until recently, when I discovered that I am not OCD. I actually suffer from an epidemic called mental vancer, onset by the bodily hormone called estrogen.

I embrace being of the species that carries this hormore, because this makes me and all of the other vancer patients smarter than the non-estro breed. However, you'd think by now, science would have found a way to make this genotype less concerned about analyzing male behavior patterns and more distressed about female job advancement.

The point, we as the people from Venus, have the problem of always debating whether or not the men in our lives are really that into us. For instance, sometimes we are hanging out with a man who likes playing kissy face with us, but rarely puts in a mid-week phone call. Does this mean that for this person, we're just a piece of ass? What about when he calls 4 or 5 times a day, does this mean that he's madly in love with me, or just desparate for a piece, any piece?

None of it makes since. Why can't it just be as easy as, I like you, do you like me back? Please check yes or no. I mean, I think that we had it right third grade when we passed stupid notes around. At least then we knew what we were up against. Now, dating is clouded with sex, emotions, and a clear failure to communicate.

Now that we're realized that it's not so easy, us women are STILL, years later, pulling the petals from our daisies wondering, "love me, love me not?"

Please, help save the daisies. Send a nice electronic note (as we're trying to save trees too).

Dinner and A Movie - A Dating Survival Tip

NEW FLASH BOYS:

We don't like to pick the place and we don't want to make reservations. So if you really want to go out with us. Just pick something.

It's quite lovely when all we have to do is look pretty.

(NOTE: this will obviously change once the status goes from "dating" to "relationship" then of course we'll make all of the discissions.)

Friday Nights With the Fluffs

In a big city, that is known for it's dating misfortunes, women have learned a way around lonely Friday nights, with the CBS Friday night line up, GHOST WHISPERER, CLOSER TO HOME and NUMB3RS being their only means of contact with the outside world from Friday night to Monday morning.

We have invented the night that we truly long for once a week. The night that surpasses any night of the week, filled with fun, flirty, females, looking for an enjoyable evening. Therefore, no boys allowed! Most of you call it girls night... but the broads I see on Friday nights have become much more than that to me. JuJu Fluff, has been in my life for a good four years now. She introduced me to RollerGirl Fluff, and Roller Girl introduced me to me to GiGi Fluff.

Now, we've become the Fluff sisters.

We share weekly bonding sessions, over good food, good wine, and bestow upon each other each weeks little secrets. (And sometimes, we share our chatter with the boys, bartender, hostess', and waitress' around us. This happens only after a few too many glasses of vino (or Vodka Cranberry, splash of Pineapple Juice for Roller Girl)).

These beautiful, successful, blissful women, have made being a single dame in the LA possible for me. Even though two of them have hot sexy hunks in their lives, and the other has a "special friend," that I don't approve of, but that's a story for another day.

My point of this story is in reference to my earlier rant about Jason from Redlands saying that my single, professional life is "sad." My life is not sad. I have these amazing people in my life. This LA family that I have formed is what makes me happy. With this group of ladies, I don't have the everyday relationship concerns that having men in my life provides. I don't have to worry about what I'm going to wear, when is the appropriate time to engage in sexual activities with them, or if they'll ever call me again. This makes my life so incredibly easy now. I get all of the emotional, and professional support that is necessary, and none of the daily bullshit.

As for my sexual needs, I have all of the appropriate mechanical devices that support this particular desire.

And concerning the rest of my life (work, play, outdoor activities, etc), there are no distractions. Only simply pleasures.

WEEKLY LESSON - Nothing is ever finished

This weeks lesson is "Nothing Is Ever Finished."

All men come back. This is something that I have always known and always believed. I bring up this law of universal energy because "nothing in our lives is final, or ever finished." This lesson is also applied to cleaning my room, my reading pile, and of course, my never ending schedule of events.

The reality of this lesson:

As all men come back, my reading pile will always be out of control, and my room will never permenantly be clean, nothing is ever final. When I clean my room, I know I will one day very soon have to clean it again. When I read a script, I know that more scripts will be added to this pile. No dent will ever be made. And I am certain that every relationship gets one more chance.

Therefore, we should never mourn the end of anything. Rather, let's rejoice!

Last Week's WEEKLY LESSON - The Power of Positive Thinking

Last week's lesson was "The Power Of Positive Thinking."

I came to the profound realization, that nothing we do in our present lives will EVER change our past. Therefore, in order to make the best life for myself, moving forward, I absolutely MUST think positive.

The reality of this lesson:

The day after adopting this new profound look on life, I was wondering around the office all day thinking about nothing but chocolate, chocolate chip cookies. Upon my discovery, only hours later, there was an entire tray of chocolate, chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen waiting to be devored by my growling tummy!

I not only thought cookies right into the kitchen, but I thought the exact cookie that I wanted into the kitchen.

Now imagine what I could do about my job situation, with simply installing this new thought process into my daily life.

Fo Best Friend

You know the story, we're young, professional, single, no family and willing to cut your friends throat to get somewhere in this world. Well, some of us are, unfortunately (but fortunately), I was born without the cut throat mentality. But some of my more careless girlfriends are capable of truly whipping out the sword and slitting the innocent throats of those they pretend to care about. With women, especially, this happens in both work situation and situations involving the opposite sex.

Keep your friends close, but keep your frenemies, closer.

Here she is, my best friend. The one that I truly believe is the only living person on the planet who absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, has my back. Well, now, I'm positive that this is no longer the case. I have a real life "Fo Best Friend" and she comes in the form of someone who I've been friends with for many many years. We have shared ups and downs in our business and personal lives. We have played together, shared together and fought together. We have lived with fumming hearts and lived as a team. But yet, I have learned that this woman is artificially part of my life. She only wants something from me. Somthing of which I have not yet put my finger on, but this woman has taken things from me that I cherish.

I was crazy about a man. He was perfect for me and for the first time I had found someone who truly shares the same interests as me. He loves to lie in the sun and shoe shop, ok for the sake of the accused, I'm keeping the interests annomous, but we love this man and myself truly love doing many of the same things.

Fo Friend adviced, as to how to proceed with this relationship, however, I have my own way of doing things. So I followed my heart. I did what I thought was right.

And for a few minutes, he was crazy about me. We were "dating" and going to do more together and see more of each other. But all of a sudden, he dropped off the face of the earth. Oh well! Remember my moto "the only four letter word in Hollywood is NEXT."

In the end, I didn't mess up. In business, we learn that nothing that happens to us, is truly about us. It generally is about an insecurity within someone else. This was the case in this relationship. Some insecurity was brought out. Be it that I didn't have the same taste in shoes as him, or he was simply afraid to make a commitment beyond the one that we had. (Although I'm commaphobic enough to not push any titles on anyone). Something happened, and interest (on both parties) was lost.

I was actually quite ok with that, UNTIL, I found out that this friend, who vowed not to become involved, was NOW actually involved. The problem with her involvement is that she was not involved on my team.

She was right, no involvement would have been better than stabbing me in the back and taking his side, when, to let the truth be known, she only knows one side of the story.

So what does she want from me. Why stab me in the back?

The lesson: People sometimes unbeknowst of themselves, take sides, and talk shit about people for no good reason. Just because they want to. But in reality, the unconscious choices that we make, hurt all parties involved. Including the man that has lost out on an amazing woman such as myself.

Single in the City

Single, professional, hot, women. That's the hip thing to be in the LA, until of course the word "older" gets thrown into that sentence.

The other day, Bella and I were snowboarding, and we met a man. Jason, he's 28, from Redlands (I have no idea where that actually is, all I know is that it's NOT in Los Angeles county), a snowboarding instructor, and he's super nice. Ironically, this is the first person we have ever met on the mountain. We're riding the lift up with our new found friend and he says, "you girls must be the "typical" LA girls, single, professional, "OLDER" women." First and foremost, let's start by saying WE'RE NOT OLDER. We're young, single, professional women.

But on to the point: Jason, ends by saying "it's really sad, that you guys are living the "professional" life.

What makes my life sad?

Is my life sad, just because I don't have a boyfriend and/or family?

I don't think so. These are my freedom years.

My fluff's* are my LA family. As a matter of fact, I don't trust any man other than my father. So why should I set myself up for disappointment, because someone from Redlands said my life is sad. But, now I'm extremely obsessed with the thought of having a "sad" life. I thought that I have a fabulous life here in the city, where anything that I want or need will always be at my finger tips. And there is all sorts of outdoorsy stuff to do, snowboarding, mountain biking, soccer games, and a daily spanish lesson.

And for the record, I'M NOT OLD!



*This title is credited to someone else, but due to the fact that this blog is completely annonomous, and completely fictional. No real names are ever supplied.

Mixed signals - Anatomy of a Hookup

The boy calls and calls 5 or 6 times a day (this is not including text messages). The girl gets annoyed but actually begins to enjoy the extra attention.

Time goes on. The boy conquers. Beds up with beautiful young woman.

He obliges her, by calling for and taking her on one more date. The calls stop.

However, she thinks to herself... Did I do something? Did I send mixed signals?

She calls. Reaches out. He says "I've missed you, can I see you when I return?" "Of course" she says relunctantly "I would like that."

The gorgeous, much younger than he, woman, truly believes that she was in the wrong, decides to text message, once more, in order to reassure her lover that she is indeed very interested in him. "Welcome home, I hope you have a great day."

"Thx" he responds.

Bunny's Rant begins here:

Now that you know this tragic (for him) hollywood hook up story, my question for you is: Why the hell would you even pick up your phone if you truly were not interested in seeing this woman again?

I understand perfectly that you boys truly ONLY love us because of the tight wet pleasure that we can offer you, however, why would you guys insist on continuously leading us on. You do know that we are working in cooporate America now, some of us are your boss' and most of us are smarter than you. We can take it if you just want one roll in the hay with us. If we call, it's because of our own insecurities, and basically has almost nothing to do with you. So get over yourselves fellas, and don't buy into the fact that we really care about you just because we give it up one night. We like sex too.

And guess what, we like the attention you boys give us, however, there's something that you really should know: We're going to get the attention whether it's from you or someone else.

Bella's Road to Recovery - A woman's guide to love, sex, and marriage (with a gay man)

Bella, my BFF, as we like to call it out here in the big city of Los Angeles, is going through some turbulant times.

Often, she falls for a man who very generously shares his life with her by laughing at her jokes, spending precious time with her (long walks on the beach, etc), and regularly tells her how fabulous her shoes are. Ok, why is this terrible, why would Bella need to recover from constantly falling for men who sound so perfect?

Well, honestly when you think about it closely, you can see where the problem lies. It's in her shoes. When a man tells you that you have great shoes, it typically means that "he's not that into you" or actually the better way to describe it would be "he's not really that into your vagina." He is more than happy to accommodate your every emotional need, but unfortunatly, not your physical ones.

By the way, the gay man, is truly the only example of the perfect human being. They come equiped with sensitive feelings and emotions, while lacking the "cut the other woman's head off" intuition. They don't size us up, they only tell us the truth. They tell us when something (fashionable) doesn't work, when our shoes are out of style, and offer us the best relationship advice. In fact, these boys understand the way love and relationships really work (Except of course, their own, because we all know that no one understands their own relationships. Not even the experts.)

Two types of men fall for her: the valet at every bar, club or resturant that she visits, or men who first meet her when she's in her scrubs (not the doctor scrubs, this is a term meant to discribe her workout or moving clothing).

Then of course, there's the relationships that she so lavishly adores:

The relationships that habitually begin with a man complamenting her wardrobe or her quick wit and sharp tongue. These are things commonly imply that the man with the flirty remarks, is not in fact, hitting on you. He is just telling you his thoughts. (side bar: this is a trait that straight men lack, saying the truth about his feelings aloud in mixed company. Straight men typically flirt by saying "you're hot" or "sexy girl" or something that sounds like it should come out of the mouth of a 16 year old.)

There is light at the end of the tunnel.

Recovery begins with "realization of the problem." This is the first step for all addicts.

Then, she seeks therapy and as prescribed:

Bella sets out to date a straight man. Simple enough.

She finds one rather quickly, and we'll call him "The Salsa Dancer." Don't fret because he has the word "dancer" in his name, this latin lover is quite the straight man. He's handsome, flirtatous, and a rock solid salsa dancer (which is important to Bella, but not manditory).

They flirt and tease each other on the dance floor. But then, (like most men) he doesn't call. His emails seem completely uninterested.

What is poor Bella to do? Now that she's actually dating straight men, she's learning how terribly flakey these playboys are and most importantly how jaded and fucked up they all are.

Now's she's going to need therapy for her therapy!