In Da Club

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.