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!

Too Many Women

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

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.

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)

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"

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!