Call Me Definitely

Ladies, it appears we all have Carly Rae Jepsen to thank for making it beyond socially acceptable for us to ask a guy out without feeling desperate. I know, I know. It's 2012 and guys think it's hot when girls ask them out. (I've done a little research with the opposite sex.) Guys also think it's hot or cool when a girl offers to pick up the tab. There are a lot of things I am comfortable with. Standing on a stage in front of a room full of strangers talking in depth about my vagina, giving people my unsolicited, honest opinion, and even picking up the tab. I'm not, however, very comfortable asking guys out. I once approached a guy with the help of a few glasses of liquid courage and a very good friend. IT WORKED OUT! Until it didn't. (See previous blog.)

I wouldn't say I'm "old fashioned" in many or any ways, but I do want a man who takes charge and doesn't beat around the bush... Mine or anyone else's. After doing some research on the ladies' side, I discovered we all do. There seems to be an epidemic, at least in LA, of men who aren't acting like men. It's one thing if they are "just not  that into us," great, then move it along. But there's also a lot of, "we should, like... maybe hang out sometime," and similar conversation that is unacceptable to us. The guy who says, "When can I take you out to dinner?" "Do you wanna grab a drink?" "I want to penetrate you" is going to get a lot further. Well, maybe not the last one. You can probably find a more tactful way to convey that to avoid date rape charges, but it's true. 64% of the guys I've gone out with only got my number because they were confident and persistent... And because my standards are pretty low, but that's a whole different blog.

Guys, I don't care if you're 21 or 43 (which coincidentally enough is my dating age-range) make shit happen.

Ladies, if you fear you will never again see the guy in your life, take Carly Rae's advice. It works.

Juicin' Ain't Easy: Part 1

My mom once told me a story about a time when I was about two years old in New York City. Allegedly we were at a really nice restaurant, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, there was a big plate of spaghetti that I immediately attacked yelling, " SPAGHETTIIIIIIII!!!!!" The whole restaurant looked at me and my mom was mortified because it appeared as if she had never fed me in my two years of life. My reaction to that plate of spaghetti pretty much set the tone for how I would approach every meal for the rest of my life...

I come from a long line of eaters on both sides of my family. I am not the girl who orders a salad on a date... Or ever. I have, on many occasions, been told that I should weigh at least 300 lbs. with the way I eat. Somebody who doesn't enjoy food is a HUGE dealbreaker. Needless to say, I... LOVE... FOOD.

Although my only attempt at 'The Master Cleanse' ended in 9 hours when I had a fit of fury while working my waitressing job, I've been wanting to try a juice cleanse for a while. I've heard great things about the benefits, and also I've been known to formulate ridiculous ideas in my head, forcing me to challenge myself. While I have ZERO willpower when it comes to food, I posses certain superhuman powers in certain situations. Two years ago, I bought a Groupon for the Malibu Half-Marathon three weeks before it was taking place. I had always wanted to run one and I can't resist a Groupon. I never properly "trained" for it, and never ran outdoors once before it. I also had a few drinks and stuffed my face with tacos from a taco truck the night before. I finished the half-marathon in under two hours, went home to nap, then worked a five hour shift waiting tables. The next day I went to the gym like any ordinary day. Contrary to what most would think, all of that was easier than this juice cleanse.

Me, during happier times.

I'm on day 2 of cleanse #2 from Pressed Juicery, and while it's not as difficult as I imagined, it's no hungover/Mexican food baby half-marathon. So far, I'm very pleased with this cleanse. I don't feel hungry or deprived, but every once in a while, I think about a big, fat, juicy cheeseburger. (That happens about once every hour.) I just have to keep looking at the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue while I drink my aloe vera water.

Next blog coming soon... If I live to tell about it.

XOXO- Dream Creep

A psychic once told me to pay attention to my dreams because "they are messages." She also eluded to the fact that I was going to be a single mother, which made me a little depressed since I grew up without a father figure.

I have always wondered if other people have dreams as weird and vivid as I do. Those particular dreams are precisely the reason why I developed a crazy/obsessive/stalkerish crush on Drake. Yes, I liked his music to begin with. Yes, I thought he was cute. Yes, I liked the fact that he is Jewish. But it wasn't until I started having ridiculously realistic recurring dreams that we were in a serious relationship that I began my mission to bear his Blewish babies. I would literally wake up with an aching in my heart when I realized it was just a dream.  Therefore, I blame the intensity of my dreams for getting me into this mess. (In retrospect, both of the things the psychic told me seem to go hand-in-hand... Single mother, rapper.)

A couple of days ago I had a lesbian dream about one of my girl crushes, Blake Lively. I honestly don't remember the full details, but I kind of wish I did. I could do a lot worse if I were a lesbian. Both in dream world and in the real world. I woke up wondering for a split second if I was bisexual. Then I visualized a vagina in front of my face and realized my own vagina is about all I can handle. Don't get me wrong, I could totally get on board with being a lesbian from the waist up, but it's taken me 29 years to master taking care of one vagina. Two is one too many, sorry Blake. (Although I'm willing to reconsider if Ryan Reynolds is part of the equation.)

In the meantime, I hope my dreams don't end up getting me a restraining order. 

Act Like a Gentleman, Think Like a Gentleman

There are some things I’m not great at. Not many, but some. One thing I have mastered in my 29 years of life, is the ability to walk into a place and get something or everything for free. I believe this trait is hereditary, as I saw my mother be successful at this all of her life. I have walked into a place and had mine and my friend’s $100+ dinners paid for by a stranger. I’ve walked into the MAC Store and been given free lip gloss from the gay salesman for no reason. I have witnesses.

Before I go on, you should know I am one of THE MOST independent women you will EVER meet in your life. I have witnesses.

Now that I’ve made that clear, I’d like to express the fact that I am always so flabbergasted when a guy comes up to talk to my friends and I at a bar and doesn’t offer to buy us a drink. Or worse, walks his trifling ass to the bar, gets himself a drink without offering us one, and then returns to talk to us with no shame in his game. This happens A LOT, as well. I just returned from Vegas, where this was the case more often than not.

I’m not saying I expect anything, but if you are expecting ANY access to my vagina, you have already started off on the wrong foot… And leg. As Steve Harvey has stated, everyone knows vagina makes the world go ‘round. It is ultimately the reason why men are driven to get the job and the success and the clothes and the cars. We are all looking for a gentleman who makes us feel safe. You taking charge and being chivalrous and offering us a drink can make us feel safe. And you know what else? If you came over to talk to us at a bar, you’re obviously hoping for a little more than conversation. So, guess what? The more alcohol you give us, the more appealing you are and the better your odds of getting vagina get.

Furthermore, being a girl is expensive. Do you know how much we spend in life to smell nice and be pretty and soft for guys?  Waxing, makeup, hair products… It’s a lot. So if you don’t think I am worth at least one Stoli and grapefruit (Notice I didn’t say Grey Goose. I’m not high-maintenance. You’re welcome.) then don’t talk to me.

And cheers to the guys with the manners. That is what separates the MEN from the BOYS. I would like to buy YOU a drink.

TICK MOTHER#%@*ING TOCK

Last week on the news, I saw a story about a Mexican woman who found an abandoned baby at a gas station. My first thought was, "That is the luckiest Mexican woman ever." My second thought was, "I wish I found a baby at a gas station. I'm sure Kenny (my roommate) wouldn't let me keep it, but I think I could make a convincing power-point presentation."

Yes, I know. I'm thinking the same thing you are. I'm not proud. I don't understand how I got here, either. The biological clock is not a joke. It strikes when you least expect it, and once it does, there's no going back.

If you are a man and you're reading this and you are about to throw your computer and run as fast as you can in the opposite direction because you think I spend my free time poking holes in condoms, just hold on a second. I'd like to defend my ovaries. First of all, I am in no way ready to be a mother. There are so many things I need to do before that happens. At the top of the list is "Take Over the World," followed by, "Try to Have a Serious, Committed Relationship with a Man That Lasts Longer Than 3 Months and Isn't Long-Distance." I don't have a savings account, I don't have health insurance, and I live in a household with no band-aids. (I learned that the hard way when I sliced my finger cooking the other day and I had to tape a paper towel around my finger.) That is enough to have someone call Child Protective Services on me. Second, I didn't ask for this and I certainly didn't welcome it. I resisted giving in to liking children with willpower I don't even possess towards cupcakes. But once you catch one of these tiny adorable creatures flashing you a smile in the grocery store, it's hard not to follow them throughout the store. Sometimes they can smell the creep on you and run away. I can't say that I blame them for that.

It's a weird feeling when you start to realize that this clock is ticking and you see things differently. I've never really had a "type" when it comes to men, but I've noticed I've developed something I like to call a "Baby-Daddy Type." These are the unusually attractive guys that I've never usually been attracted to. (I'm more of a personality girl.)  But now when I see a tall, dark, and handsome man with light eyes, I think, "that man is going to produce some ridiculously good-looking offspring and I need to find a way to acquire his sperm for reproductive purposes." Ideally, I would like to produce an interracial baby or two, and then adopt the remaining participating races needed for a United Colors of Benetton ad. That's best-case scenario.

I've got my future all figured out. Until then, you can find me terrorizing my friends' children with affection.

Let's Hear It For the Boys

Sometimes when you break up with someone, you only remember the good things/times and not the reasons why you broke up. Sometimes you are single for so long that you don't remember the good guys.

I belong in the second category.

Although I have run out of fingers and toes on which to count how many times I've been burned by the opposite sex, I also often forget about the ones who made a positive impact. I've had a lot of amazing dates with really great guys and also with some not really great guys. Doors opened, dinners made, flowers given, romantic dinners and walks though Central Park (Yes, I date bicoastally), flights changed to spend extra time with me, and sugar-free vanilla soy lattes on my nightstand when I woke up (most impressive gesture to date.) All of the little things that put a smile of my face.

But the guys who I will NEVER forget, even if they hurt me, are the ones who were honest with me. I don't know what it is about guys that makes them so scared to tell us the truth and be upfront with us. Here's a little secret for the guys: WE CAN HANDLE IT! We're the ones who were engineered to push the babies out, remember?

The most respectful thing you can do is be honest with us. It even if you're telling us you are dating someone else or you don't want a relationship with us or you don't feel the same way about us. Does that suck? You bet. I've been though all of those scenarios and more. Guess which guys I  didn't buy and name Voodoo Dolls after? The ones who had enough respect for me to talk to me instead of stop calling me or make excuses.

In the words of the great Britney Spears, "Don't Let Me Be the Last to Know."

Adventures in Babysitting

My name is Luchana Gatica, and I suffer from severe 'daddy issues.'

 It is for this reason, in my self-diagnosed, expert opinion, that I have always dated gentlemen older (sometimes much older) than myself. When I was a freshman in high school, I was dating juniors and seniors. When I was a senior in high school, I was dating college guys. When I moved to LA at 19 years old, I was dating 24+ years old. The oldest guy I ever dated was old enough to be my father. My mother always married men 20+ years older than her. (She was married 3 times, so you can see that the pattern of disfunction in my own dating life is for good reason.) This blog is going somewhere less depressing, I promise. Keep reading.

In all of the dating in all of the cities I have done in all of my years (it's a lot,) I have never dated someone my age. MUCH LESS... A younger guy. I'm not sure if there is a direct correlation between the time the number of gray hairs on my head started increasing and when younger guys started trying to get their Ashton on with me, but it's become quite startling. And I guess a little flattering, if I can be frank.

Don't get me wrong, I like 29 year old me TWENTYTHOUSANDMILLION times better that the 19-year old Luchana with stars in her eyes and a fake ID from Alvarado street, who those poor 25 and over guys had the pleasure of courting. But entering 'Cougar Town' (Or in my case 'Puma Town') is a pretty ballsy move on a 22 year old's part. We have seen so much more. We've dumped and been dumped... Over and over and OVER again. We've acted like psychopaths (especially us ethnic ones) and dealt with psychopaths. There is little hope left in our hearts. And what little there is, we're saving for the children we'd like to have someday... Along with the eggs we're in the process of freezing. In short, we're ready to be done.


Are you ready to open that can of crazy, Oh young early-twenties hottie? Your naivet`e and the sweet and untarnished look in your eyes tells me, "no." But it was really cute when you held my hand when you first met me... I know that's what you're used to doing in the hallways of your high school. The old guys could stand to learn a couple of things from you. Do me a favor: go get your heart broken, sleep with about 28 more women, and call me after I have my second child.