The most epic week in history.

Firstly, I apologize for the lack of posts the last week. I really am very sorry (and appreciate the concern and emails); I am in fact ok, and I have just been up to my neck in sexy boys... that's all. :)

And secondly, if you had any idea what has been going on, you would understand my need to gather my thoughts before I write about it.

So. Let's do this day by day.


Last Friday
My potential hat trick, which ended up being one date with an excrutiatingly attractive, yet very odd little guy for lunch, being stood up at Starbucks (but scoping out a few major hotties that work there) and then meeting a few duds at the bar with my roommates. Plus a substantial amount of turning down the weird OKC hottie (Kelly) from lunch, who despite having said he was going to be too busy to hang out 'til the coming Thursday, kept asking if I would meet up with him again. I said no, and we made plans to hang out Thursday. I asked if he was a "smitten kitten." He wrote back, "meow!" Classic.


Saturday
After working all day, I rushed home to change, extravagate (v: to make extravagant) my makeup, and throw some overnight shit in a bag, and headed off to West Hollywood to hang with my super sexy gay friends. It was absolutely pouring rain so the drive took a bit longer than expected. While I was driving I got a phone call from Ken, a plastic surgeon in LA that found me on OKCupid, and we chatted for a bit and made plans to have afternoon mojitos for Sunday Funday the next day. I finally arrived at my friends' apartment where we had shots out of beakers and cabbed it down to Fiesta Cantina (quickly becoming my very favorite place) where we partied all night with some of the hottest guys I've ever seen in person (admittedly pretty torturous... but great eye candy nonetheless). I made a new BFF, Peter, a really sexy tall brunette who I hung out with all night, hand in hand, and he got me sufficiently drunk by buying me two drinks at a time. I intoxicatedly set him up for a threesome with two other sexy guys. Ha! Such is life. I've heard I'm a great matchmaker... guess it follows in the gay world too. Eventually my friends and I made it back to their apartment where I was so drunk I couldn't lay down without spinning, and was basically just a walking disaster.
We woke up the next day around 10 (thank the holy heavens I didn't have to work), though I stayed in bed 'til 1, unable to move without wanting to die instead. I texted Ken to tell him there was no way I could touch a mojito, and he agreed and suggested food instead. He called me soon after to cancel because he had to go calm down a patient in a panic, thinking his stitches were coming apart. Ew!
When I got back in the evening I freshened up and headed over to my new favorite Starbucks for my signature drink of choice and a little flirting with the boys behind the counter. I've decided to become a regular. Unfortunately, Hottie McFirecrotch wasn't working.... but one of the other hotties was.
After getting home, I spend a long while online chatting with a few different people; namely the Ex, who I've done quite a bit of texting/iming/chatting with on the phone as of late. Upon telling him about his long-lost redhead twin, he tells me he's probably evil and I should stay as far away from him as I can. And admits to maybe being a little jealous. Interesting..


Sunday
I worked all day as usual, somehow still a bit hungover. You know you've had a great time when you're hungover for two days, I always say. And it really doesn't happen often. Texted briefly with Ken about hanging out with him sometime this week... I can't say he's exceptionally attractive, but he's nice looking, passionate about what he does, ambitious, smart, and seems like a very nice guy. When I got home, one of my best friends imed me about a reggae concert on February 8th, which seemed random, considering I'm not really a huge fan of reggae or anything... I mean its ok, but I don't go out of my way to see it live. Anyway, she explained that she and this guy she's been dating for a few months were going, but that her guy was bringing one of his best friends (again, named Peter.... guess its a good name for sexy boys), who she described as REALLY REALLY HOT, and that I just had to meet him.
Ok, I'll take the bait.
So she sent me his myspace profile, and she wasn't lying. Not only does he have classically sexy, masculine good looks (strong jaw line, nice body, green eyes, tan skin, sexy smile, etc... think a young Val Kilmer) but he's really into kite surfing, he's an engineer (smart is oh-so-sexy), and is Czech.... and has a slight accent. So I start drooling on my keyboard and enthusiastically agree to go.
Ended the night as I have been for the past few weeks, texting flirty messages back and forth with the Ex. Hard to turn that back burner off, as it turns out.


Monday
After working all day, me and my friend C from work met up at my new fave Starbucks for some coffee and oogling... though yet again, my sexy redhead was nowhere to be found. The other hottie, the tall blue-eyed boy with shaggy brown hair and a disarming smile, was though, and I wasn't complaining. He made my drink and winked at me when I picked it up. C and I sat and talked awhile, and ended up going to Maki Monday since we were both starving. I managed to down a beer (after having professed that I was "never drinking again" the day before) and a few rolls. After telling her all about my most recent trip to Weho, we made plans to go next time our schedules both allow it.

Tuesday
Worked all day again (I basically live there), and found out I finally got some time off to see my family up north; coincidentally where the Ex lives as well. He seemed excited about the news and we made enthusiastic plans to spend my first day together. At lunch I texted with Weird OKC Hottie (Kelly), who insisted that we have dinner, despite having been "booked" last time he checked. I gave in and told him I hate making decisions, so he picked a Japanese place by his house, and I headed over there after work.
It was the type of place where you order a bunch of little plates of stuff, which is really awesome except when you are, again, someone who hates making decisions. I told him just to order since he knows what I like, and he did, gladly. And for whatever reason that was a huge turn on. He wrote up a list of a ton of stuff on the back of the sushi sheet and handed it to our waitress. We had an alright conversation, a little strained, but the 4 glasses of plum wine helped a lot. By the end we were flirty, we walked out holding hands, and he kissed me. We ended up back at his apartment down the street (VERY clean... almost creepy clean) and watched Planet Terror (turns out Zombies oozing pus out of large facial boils is not the most romantic thing ever, but oh well) and cuddled, and made out a lot... which was good except for once every few minutes he'd shove his tongue down my throat out of the blue and I kept saying, "dude, chill out." But it didn't work. We laid there talking for awhile (and to be perfectly honest with you, a few of his comments and big sudden changes in mood were causing my crazy radar to go off, but.... eh), and it somehow came up that he has a "type," which has turned out to be, in blunt terms, fat chicks.
He told me that, in all honesty, I was just not his type physically because I'm too skinny (his word, not mine), but he just thinks that I'm so gosh darn beautiful that it doesn't bother him. Now, in my right mind, that would be an amazing thing to hear (what girl doesn't want to be told she's almost too skinny?) but, what? You're into fat chicks? What? He told me his ideal range is 160-250. Instantly this is a huge turn off (also, keep in mind that he's about 5'6", 145 lbs), but I'm kinda buzzed still and change the subject back to making out. Eventually he walks me out and insists that he sees me again; I agree to it for whatever reason.


Wednesday
Another long, tediously slow day at work, filled with gossiping about boys and eyeing the hotties I work with (one nice perk of my job) that I have crushes on... a girl can never have too many, if you ask me. Spend an hour on the phone with the Ex after work; I still get butterflies when I see him name on the caller id. Sue me. We hung up when he got a call on the other line, and I never heard from him again.


Thursday
Finally a day off for yours truly, thank GOD. Needless to say, I did hardly anything with it, as usual (other than the same boring errands as every other day off, and a trip, of course, to my fave Starbucks for a little sight-seeing.... Firecrotch STILL not there, what the heck??), until the late afternoon when I drove a friend to the airport. I'd texted Ken (the plastic surgeon) earlier in the day to ask what his plans are, and he said we should get dinner in the Marina. After I left the airport I was on my way up to LA, but made him promise we could go somewhere super casual, as I was in a pony tail and converse (which I can assure you with the utmost honesty is not how I would EVER consider presenting myself for a first date... But I didn't have time to go all the way back to my house and change, and just thought what the hell). I got there 90 minutes later (forgot about rush hour) and met up with him at the El Torito on the water.
Having thought he was a super sweet guy, I was unpleasantly surprised that he remained on his cell phone for the first 10 minutes of the date, yelling into the phone at his assistant about why he needs the window seat in the emergency exit aisle of the plane, or he's not flying. Hot. A totally self-obsessed, mannerless control freak? Sounds good to me! When he finally hung up we started talking, only to find that he was about 1,000% more egotistical and obnoxious than I had gathered on the phone. Eventually the conversation turned to a question I'm sure anyone would naturally have on their mind: "When you meet people, are you thinking about what you could do to them to make them look better?" He answered, "only on dates," which I laughed at, assuming he was being sarcastic.
What followed was a 5 minute, hands-on examination of my forehead in El Torito (him leaning completely over the table, pulling hard at my skin and angling my head in different ways); the result of which was a suggestion for a mere 40 ccs (or oz or grams or pounds or however you measure it) of botox every five months. He attempted to lift my chin off the table (which of course had fallen open in utter shock and horror) by telling me, "don't worry! No biggie! I'll do it at cost since I know you." Well, this was off to a beautiful start.
Eventually after he realized that was maybe not the perfect first date conversation, he went on to tell me why, other than a few "minor wrinkles" forming on my head, I have the ideal face, and described in detail how each of my features are ideal (other than the disaster that's going on above my eyes, apparently): How my nose is the perfect angle and size, my eyes are the ideal distance apart and a perfect shape, etc. I told him he was full of shit and he told me he majored in Classical Art before med school, and does medical illustration on the side. Fair enough.
Somehow, after picking at my salmon fajitas, he convinced me to go to this local hot spot in Venice, called The Brig (which is pronounced with a hard G, though it looks surprisingly like my nickname) and meet up with friend he went to med school with. This was all starting to sound like some gangrape set-up, so I insisted on taking my own car. I followed him (in his obnoxious black Corvette convertible... of course) and found that the place has a huge mural on the outside of a Cougar with a painful-looking cameltoe and a much older sugardaddy. And then my name painted in huge letters above it. I SO regret not taking a picture with my camera phone (sorry, this is the best I could find). I hope this is not a glimpse into my future.
We went in and got drinks, which he said he would pay for (duh) but that I should know right now that he's not the kind of guy who is going to "take care" of anyone, and that I shouldn't expect him to pay my rent. Are you serious? We got a table and by this point he was hardly speaking (other than him telling me about growing up in Canada.... what is it with me and Canadians lately??), but was pretty much just staring at me wistfully, and for whatever reason seemed to be getting increasingly nervous. I finally asked what was up. "Honestly... the more time I spend with you, the more I realize you're really fucking cool and the more I'm worrying about impressing you." Blah blah... told me he was totally smitten, etc. I'm not sure what it is I'm doing to guys this week, but I'm casting some sort of weird spell.
So his friend arrives, and is the complete opposite of Ken; he's a total hippie pot doctor with longish hair and a very calming demeanor. I spend most of the night talking to him because he's A. really cool B. married and totally not a skeeze and C. is clearly aware that his friend Ken is a total tool shed (ie apologizing for his forehead exam, etc). After a little while he disappears to play pool and somehow Ken ends up grabbing me and kissing me. Have you ever had someone kiss you, that you were totally not into kissing, so you forget to close your eyes, and here you are, looking right at this very unsexy person trying to make out with you with their eyes closed? It's not a pretty sight. I think I kissed back for a second but he has a goatee and I got grossed out by the whole situation and told him I had to go home (to which he kept replying, "just call in sick! I'll give you a doctor's note!"). He made me promise he could see me again. (Barf.) Texted with the Ex on the drive home, and told him all about the awful date of the evening and did some flirting as per the usual, though he seemed very distracted.


Friday
Back to the ol' grindstone for me. After I got off work I was just so freaking tired I couldn't even think about anything but putting on yoga pants and writing this. Sitting on my laptop around 9:45pm, I get an IM from the friend who invited me to the reggae concert for this coming Friday. She asks what I'm doing. I say nothing. She tells me she's sitting outside the random bar down the street, about to meet up with her boy and The Sexy Czechy and that she refuses to go inside until I get there. So I'm running around like a chicken with it's head cut off, trying to throw on something cute and put back on the makeup I'd rubbed off and make myself presentable enough to meet a MAJOR hottie.
I rush over and we meet up, I introduce myself, and spend the remainder of the night doing one of the following things: A. briefly flirting with him B. forgetting about/ignoring him (extremely effective when attempting to smittify [v: to woo someone into smitten-ness] those who are exceptionally attractive; it catches them off guard) C. making fun of all the ridiculous dancers at this really strange, trashy club in the middle of suburbanville, or D. drinking. By the end of the night, The Sexy Czechy was pretty much following me around like a puppy and his body language was a big "I have a big crush on you" billboard. After he bought me another drink I told him we had to go, and as the four of us departed, he grabbed my hand and held it all the way out to the car, where he insisted I give him my number (though I very coolly suggested he get my "contact info" from his friend when he said he had to see me again) hugged me for an extra long time, and then kissed me. And then again as I was getting in the car. Mission accomplished.
Texted with the Ex when I got home; didn't mention tonight's new boy. Got online and found this guy (we'll call him Fick) that found me on OKCupid (we've been iming/texting/talking on the phone, you know the drill) was online. He imed me and invites me to Taco Tuesday this week at his usual place, where I have never been, and tells me he's burning me a mixtape. Hot!


Saturday (yesterday)
The last day of our fiscal year at work, and completely out of control, but very financially successful. C and I met up afterwards at le Starbucks for some hottie-watching... yet again, the redhead wasn't there! What the f-! But as always, the cute shaggy-haired guy was working. As he was making my drink, he started making some awkward conversation with me.

"How's your night going?"
"...eh...Good.... how's yours?"
"Good now, I'm about to get off."
"Cool.... how long have you worked here?"
"Since July. Where do you work?" I told him, he asked me which location, I told him, he asked me what part. Hmm.
He finished making my drink and went to hand it to me, but took it back and looked at my name on the side, "B*******, huh?"
"Yep."
"Well mine's Randall. It's nice to finally meet you," ....uh.... "You were in here the other day right? You were sitting over in that corner for awhile, on your phone?"
".... yeah."
"Cool... (about 10 seconds of really intense eye contact) Well it was nice to meet you, B*******." And winked.

So I go sit with C, and after a few minutes he comes over with a tray of samples, which he offers to me, using my name. Oh jeez.
My roommate calls me and talks me into going with her to a party that's being thrown by a guy she was friends with in college, but hasn't talked to in over a year, and won't know anyone. Me and C rush back to my house, throw on heels and more appropriate party attire (uggs and a polo just weren't gonna do it for me) and head over to a house party that turns out to be straight out of a movie. They have a huge, very nice house in the pocket of a culdesac, that is the quintessential bachelor pad: four 25 year old guys living in a house complete with a pool table, a "love den" (seriously... a sunken room with shag carpets bean bag chairs and a fireplace), two gigantic tvs, Wii, a full built-in bar, a beer pong room, and (cherry on the sundae) a stripper pole. Needless to say, all of those elements were utilized by all three of us at some point during the night, though not necessarily in that order.
As it turns out, her friend from college throwing the party is VERY cute, VERY funny, VERY nice, and VERY flirty. Throughout the night we hung out and flirted and took shots and such every once in awhile, and I was crushing on him in a big way (though I think he's just a flirty guy). At some point I start telling him and his roommates about this guy I went out with the other day that likes fat chicks (Kelly, the weird OKC hottie), and since there were a few at the party, we decide its a good idea to call him and tell him to come over and meet them, which I do. In my drunken state this seemed like a fabulous plan, but as it turned out, he was incredibly clingy to start off with (for example, kept KISSING me in front of the guy throwing the party, and all the other cute guys I'd been flirting with all night.... what a cockblock) and then hurt that I was "trying to pawn him off," and then was totally dramatic when I was trying to explain that him liking fat chicks is just kind of a huge turn off and it was just not going to work out between us, even though I am painfully attracted to him and he really hasn't done anything wrong.... literally to a point where my friends had to come over and talk him out of bursting into tears. He finally says he has to go, and wouldn't even hug me goodbye. It was horrendous, and in hindsight I realize I was probably being a very awful (and drunk) person but at the time I thought I was doing the right thing. Eh.
My friends and I leave around 3:30am because 2/3 of us had to work today (me and C unfortunately) though the party was still definitely going strong. Her sexy friend walks out with us, with his arm around my waist and asks if he'll see me again, I tell him to call me (and then recall the drunken note I scribbled on the back of a receipt I found on his desk that says "Dear J***, you're cute, I wanted you to know I think so, call me love, B*******" except with no phone number, that I left on his laptop)
Finally, around 4 in the morning I crawl into my bed, drunk as a skunk and dreading work today.


Today
Got ready for work slowly and carefully, as to not wake the hangover monster lurking inside of me. Turns out only C and I were working, so it turned out to be a pretty fun day.
Headed over to le Starbucks after work to grab a coffee, but neither hottie was there. Came home and started this entry (literally HOURS ago), and got an im from the Ex, saying that he doesn't know why he "always lies" to me. GREAT. He fills me in on everything he's really been doing this week, though he's been telling me completely other things all along: meeting some girl visiting from Kentucky, spending almost every night with her at his friend's house, hooking up with her, taking her to the airport, and now missing her and talking to her all the time. Once again, the Ex has the uncanny ability to make me go from happy-go-lucky to sick-to-my-stomach anxious in less than 10 seconds. Eventually I told him I couldn't talk about it anymore, and after apologizing to me extensively, he was off to bed with the resolution to be a better person to me from now on.
I'll believe it when I see it.

Other than that crap, which I'm really over (though I've been saying that for three years and my feelings still haven't changed, which I wish I could explain), there are a lot of promising things happening this week; mainly Taco Tuesday with Fick, and the reggae concert on Friday. I haven't heard from Czech Peter since we met on Friday, but I figure maybe he's following the three-day rule.

Should be another good week. I'll try to fill you in on a more consistent basis, if schedule allows. :)


(P.S. Talk about recovering from a dry spell!)

Potential Boyfriend Questionnaire

Stolen (borrowed!) from one of my fabulously sexy gay Weho friends. Feel free to fill it out in a comment if you feel like it.... or better yet, if you are seriously applying, you can always email it to me. Include pictures please. :) haha...


1. What is your favorite non basic color....?
(ie not in your basic rainbow.... his favorite happened to be cum stain white... interesting)

2. Would you rather live in an ice mansion located in the Arctic circle, a wooden shack in the Carribean, an elven tree house in the Canadian forest, or Milwaukee? Why?

3. Name three colors in your eyes.

4. In your opinion, what is the best date movie, and why?

5. Pen, pencil, or quill?

6. What is the capital of Assyria?

7. Where do you prefer to get clothes? American Eagle/A&F, H&M, Heritage, Nordstrom Rail, Thrift Store or Garbage? Or other? Please specify.

8. When you are at the ceremony of your wedding, what music is playing?

9. What is the first thing you think about in the morning... if you think at all?

10. Which liquor is most like you, and why?

11. What do you dream about most often?

12. How do your parents feel about your life?

13. A relationship is (please select the closest answer):

• They are like a great wine to me... they compliment me when I am out with friends, and they are a good friend to me as well.
• A rush of emotion... someone I attach myself to and can't imagine living without.
  
• They are nothing like me at all; different tastes, different hobbies, etc... but for some reason, we mesh.
• My partner in crime. If I'm hungry for strawberries, they more than likely will be stealing some for me.
• They are HOT. Who cares what they're like? I don't take the time to get to know them well.

14. Please list any and all special attributes, related experience, or special skills that may set you apart from other applicants.

Happy Birthday, Kristin Cavalleri

Turns out Miss Cavalleri celebrated her 21st birthday at Stone Rose Lounge with Paris Hilton and Cisco Adler, which is the same spot I went to on a date with Zoolander (as mentioned in Rich Guys Pt II). Small world.

Rich Guys, Pt II

Thinking you've found "the one" before you've met said "one" really only sets you up for a healthy dose of disappointment, I've found.

As I've mentioned before in my post Rich Guys and Kelly Clarkson, I playfully signed up for a website called Millionaire Match, which has all kinds of people, but more importantly rich, handsome, entrepreneurial ones (what could be better, I ask). The interesting thing about the site is that when you sign up for it, it asks if you make over $150 grand a year. If you say no, you are grouped in the non-millionaire club and there is nothing on your profile related to income. If you say that you make $150+, you are asked to specify (the max category they offer is $1Billion a year, but I have yet to see one of those profiles). For those wealthy members that want to obliterate any shred of doubt, there is a Certified Millionaire option, where they can fax in their W4s from the previous year to verify that they do, in fact, make as much money as they claim they do. These members receive a sparkling ruby emblem on their profile next to their yearly income.


And after exchanging a few lighthearted emails with the hot Persian fashion mogul I mentioned in Rich Guys, we decided we were going to hang out. We spent a few weeks texting for days and spending hours on the phone chatting and laughing, and it seemed clear that we had chemistry. I found him on the pompous side (his entire profile is quoted directly from Zoolander.... as in "I'm sure there's more to life than being really really ridiculously good looking"... you know what I mean) and he makes a lot of comments like "try not to daydream about me too much," but I took them with a grain of salt and figured he had a healthy sense of humor. Plus, in his pictures he looks like he actually is ridiculously good-looking. And to make matters better, he's under 30, is totally intelligent, makes me laugh like crazy, and is certified as making $1Million+ a year. Not bad.

The day finally came to hang out with the hot Persian fashion mogul (or Zoolander, as he will now be referred to) and I was beyond nervous. I spent the day shopping for new clothes (they had to at least look expensive... he's not only rich beyond reason but also owns a clothing company for God's sakes), getting my nails done, tanning, exfoliating, deep conditioning, moisturizing, and so on. Forget any flaws he might have; I wanted to seem as flawless as possible, since on paper this guy was just that.

I told him that I was going to meet up with an old friend for a little while before we hung out, which he said was totally fine as he'd be getting home from the gym and showering at that point. As it turned out, my old friend likes to talk a lot (I guess I had forgotten that part) and our one drink turned into a long-ass dinner. Except that I didn't eat anything but a bloody mary because me and Zoo were supposed to eat at some chic new restaurant in Weho, so I sat there wishing he would eat faster and staring at his delicious-looking mashed potatoes. I texted Zoolander a few times, apologizing profusely for my tardiness, but he assured me it was no problem at all. I finally got out of there and rushed over to his hot Hollywood home, now 45 minutes late.

The directions he gave me were clear, and he described his house as the one with a lot of lights and a yellow Corvette in the driveway. He was right; of the whole street, his house was by far the most well-lit, which showcased an amazing modern style concrete porch area sitting proudly in front of a three story house and beautiful landscape. And the yellow Corvette was not the only flashy car in his long driveway.... only the brightest. I knocked on the door, shaking a bit and trying to breathe deeply.

When he opened it, I was actually relieved to see he wasn't as perfect as I imagined. He stood at about 5'8" and had a big nose and a white blazer over a blue shirt. He was extremely welcoming though, and after asking for it gave me a little tour of his house. It was very lightly furnished; he told me he hadn't lived there long and was remodeling it. He showed me his kitchen (my favorite part of any house) and it was surprisingly small. I found a small Menorah in a glass cabinet. "Are you Jewish?" "Only on holidays," he told me. He took me upstairs and showed me his rec room, music room, art room, lofts, and finally his master bedroom - complete with the most gigantic, mahogany 4-poster bed, which he said he got in an auction of late 16th century royal furniture. I tried not to act too impressed. We went back downstairs.

The one thing I couldn't take my eyes off of, though, was a wall-sized painting of the famous moment when Britney Spears and Madonna kissed on stage at the MTV VMA's. I asked about it, and he told me he painted it, along with a few ocean scenes hanging in the kitchen that also closely resembled photographs. Impressive! He said he was working on a collection of important moments in Pop Culture.... sexy.

I sat down in his living room in front of his 50" Flat Panel Plasma TV hanging on the wall to watch some music videos while he made us drinks and called a cab. We chatted and drank until it arrived. He said it seemed a bit late for dinner but we should go out for some drinks and maybe an appetizer. As much as I had been totally starving, I had already started to get my buzz on and had pretty much lost my appetite anyway.

We got in the cab and sped off to the Sofitel's Stone Rose Lounge, a totally swanking hotel bar that was packed with good-looking LA socialites. He asked if they were still serving appetizers - the cocktail waitress said they had closed the kitchen an hour ago. He handed her something, and asked, "are you sure?" She scurried off and came back with good news. We ordered some crab thing (I was too drunk at this point to really care about reading the menu) and got a table. We sat intimately close, which somehow seemed comfortable already. There was just something about him I connected to. It didn't have anything to do with what he does or what he has, but there's just something about him that puts me at ease.

We laughed about how we had come about the Millionaire site; my story paled in comparison to his: Running on the treadmill at the gym next to Tommy Lee (yes, THE Tommy Lee) working on his laptop simultaneously, he told him he thought that was a great idea to bring a laptop to the gym. "I'm on this website, its amazing. You gotta join it," Tommy told him. Millionaire Match, no less. He was sold. (And so am I!)

Our crab thing came and it turned out to be A-MAZING... some totally rich crab/mayo mix on top of sticky rice and stuff, but he wouldn't eat any of it. "Oh my god," I said, "You don't eat shellfish. Why didn't you say something??" Duh. He's Jewish. I'm an idiot. He took a few bites and mmm-ed a little bit to make me feel better. I ate a few more bites and left the rest.

After a few more impressive speciality martinis we headed outside to a glass firepit and continued our conversation. The thing I found most surprising about him was that his cockiness (in jest or not) totally disappeared in person. He seemed completely humbled, and come to think of it, sort of in awe of me. Not that I think I deserve that kind of reaction, but it was certainly nice coming from someone that I was totally intimidated by prior to our meeting.

We got up to leave (I a little unbalanced no less) and he took my hand. Almost outside he stopped and turned to me, and leaned in close. "There's just... something about you... something I'm drawn to, I feel like I can't get enough of you." My heart raced. I smiled and played it cool. He kissed me. My heart raced faster. I kissed back. We pulled away and smiled at each other close.

We practically skipped out to the front, giddy in our newly discovered intimacy. He asked a doorman for a cab, and tipped him when it pulled up. He told the cabbie his address and made out in the backseat like teenagers for a few blocks. He pulled away suddenly, and sat straight up. "Why are you taking Santa Monica," he asked sternly. The cabbie explained he couldn't turn around on the street we'd been on. He pushed. "We could have taken Robertson, why didn't we take Robertson?" They argued back and forth 'til we pulled up to his house. He paid and we walked inside.

"Was that guy trying to stiff me??"

I wasn't sure how to respond. Was he really that concerned with a few extra dollars? Even I wouldn't have given it a second thought, and with my monthly salary being less than what he makes in a single day, I couldn't understand his frustration.

"No... I don't think so. It sounded like he had a reason to go that way."

He insisted he was trying to pull a fast one on him. I suggested that maybe he had a family at home he was struggling to take care of. He told me that wasn't his problem. After a few minutes of this, I tried to reason with him.

"Do you realize how many seconds it takes you to make $3?"

That seemed to calm him down. He made us some more drinks and we cozied up on the couch and made out playfully 'til the wee hours of the morning. I told him I had to leave, he asked me if I wanted to stay. He was worried about my driving after having had quite a few drinks and being tired.

I was so concerned with not staying at his house that I convinced not only him, but myself, that I would be just fine to make the trip home. We made out for the next 20 minutes, slowly inching our way to the door, where we said a sad goodbye and I got in my car and took off, only to realize that I was definitely too drunk to be driving.

(Sidenote: I do NOT under any circumstances condone drunk driving. In fact, I am extremely against it and am always 100% willing to pick up my friends anywhere in the middle of the night, no matter how late. This was a mistake all the way, and one that I won't make again!)

I tried to turn around and go back to his house so I could stay the night, but was lost in a matter of minutes. I drove around for two hours before I was able to find my way to the freeway to get out of LA, and another hour on the freeway back to my house.

Upon arriving home, I burst into tears, never so relieved to be alive.


On a happier note, other than the totally obvious display of awful stereotypical behavior (and I HATE stereotyping) during the second cab ride, I think it was a pretty successful date. He's out of town for a month, but I guess we'll see what happens when he gets back!

Ode to the Gay Boy

Spending time in West Hollywood is a reminder that I would be so happy as a gay male.

My recent trips to the area have involved lots of the following:

Big False Lashes

Lots of Dramatic Makeup

Absolut Mandarin and Tonics

....and....
....drum roll please....


10 Million+ Excrutiatingly Attractive Gay Men


What torture.

Don't get me wrong, boys and girls. I'm not really complaining.

I love love LOVE going out. I'm extremely social. I love getting dressed up. I love introducing myself to strangers, and making new friends. I love drinking. I love being with my friends.

But part of going out for me a lot of the time is meeting new dating prospects. And obviously, that's not an option in a sea of knock-out gay hotties. I end up getting tipsy, and after scoping out the scene, brutally crushing on 90% of the surrounding eye candy... but not a single one is into my species. It's so sad!

I've come to terms with it. I totally love gay guys. As it is, I've always gotten along the best with guys, and have about 4 guy friends to every 1 girl friend. I have always had a large number of gay guys in my friend arsenal. Why? They're the best. Here, an ode to the gay boys.

Here's to you, gay boys!
For your stylish fashion sense
and your snarky wit,
that I am never on the losing end of.
For more great and honest advice
than even my girlfriends can give.
You are always there-
as a shoulder to whine on,
to trash the bitches with,
to be the hottest eye candy I'll see all night,
to borrow lip gloss from,
and to give the most heartfelt compliments when I'm looking fly,
and also when I most need them.
(No one can be a 10 EVERY night,
but you know best when to pretend.)

We both know we'll never be romantic,
but you're the Will to my Grace,
the Ken Paves to my Jessica,
the Chris McMillan to my Jennifer,
my own personal queer eyes
when I'm in need of advice,
and for that I am forever greatful.

Thank you, gay boys-
For being beautiful, entertaining,
sexy, fierce,
and altogether
absolutely fabulous.