Type Casting

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

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

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

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

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!