2013: The Year of the Black Man

The world is coming to an end and I have never dated or been with a black man. This is for no particular reason. I am not racist, being a minority myself. I just never have.

If you have ever seen my stand-up or have been in the same as room as me with a black man or are a black man yourself, you know that there are 3 certainties in this life: Death, taxes, and the fact that if there is a black man within 100 feet of me, he will hit on me.

Fact: Black men have QUITE a way with words. These things have been said to me by said individuals:

-"Damn girl, look at them legs. Imma call you squat rack."
-"MMM... you are a BRICK... HOUSE."
-"You keepin' that body BAM BAM."
-"Damn girl, you got booty! I see you with them shorts on." (That was actually a black woman.)

Charming.

And last week one followed me through a CVS drug store, right into the tampon aisle, and hit on me while I was holding a box of Tampax. (Regular, in case anyone was wondering. Aunt Flo is fairly good to me.) When he finally stopped talking to me, I just looked at him and he then realized what was in my hands. Embarrassed, he said," Ohhh, I didn't realize what aisle we was in..." to which I responded, "That's what you get for following someone around an entire store." And walked away.

After that courteous exchange, I lovingly threatened God. I mean, I've been single for 6 years. Maybe I could be in Happily Ever Afterville by now if I took one of the many 762,913 advances that came my way. Maybe.

I told (threatened) God that if I'm still single by the time I'm 30 in 2 years, I will cross over to the 'dark side.' For all I know, God is like "You stupid bitch, I've been trying to tell you that since your ass grew in. Take a hint!"I guess only time will tell...

Will You Marry Me... Anyone?

With all this "Royal Wedding" stuff, (which, frankly, I don't care about) I started thinking about weddings in general. Well, let's be honest, I'm a woman and I have thought about this since I walked Barbie and Ken down the aisle before I took off all their clothes and forced them to have plastic doll sex. That is what little girls do.

According to the life-plan schedule I made when I was approximately 8 years old, I was supposed to be married by now. With at least one kid on the way. (And by "at least," I mean that I was/am supposed to have twins... Boy/girl twins.) Just like J-Lo. We have so much in common.

20 years later, I live in LA. I rest my case. I'm not saying I would want to be married right now, where I am today. Frankly, when I think about being in a committed relationship, sometimes I think I would rather join the Witness Protection Program. Sometimes. I'm working on it. HOWEVER, it would be nice to have been asked by now. I remember being a little girl and thinking, "What if I grow up and no one ever wants to marry me or asks me to marry them?!" And then I thought, "That would never happen. My mom was married at 19... And 27... And 38." Basically, my biggest little girl fear is on it's way to being realized.

I never thought I would be 28 and living with my gay soulmate and scaring the shit out of him and vice/versa 24 hours a day, but that's pretty cool, too. Plus, as my mom said, I can't leave Kenny alone. He will have to come with me when I get married, so we better step our game up.

Bottle Rat Status: RETIRED

There are a lot of things that I don't want to do that I will do for my friends. Drive them to the airport at 4am, delete their ex from facebook. I would even help a friend who suspects she has lost a feminine product inside of her, because I know they would do (and HAVE done) all of those things for me. What I DON'T want to do is go to a Hollywood club.

I would have never in 2 million years thought I would ever utter those words. It seems I've come a long way from the young bottle rat* who landed in LA 8 years ago with big dreams and cubic zirconias dangling from her pierced belly button, which she exposed EVERYWHERE she went. (Yes, even at work. No, I was not a stripper... But I'm sure I could've fooled a few people.) I remember the days when my roommates and I would spend all of our money buying new outfits on Melrose so we could go to all the hot spots with our fake ID's that we bought from Alvarado Street, just to see Britney and Justin under the same roof post-breakup. (We were there the night of the infamous "dance-off," not a big deal.) So broke, we would order 1 Long Island Iced Tea and share it between the 3 of us until we found some suckers to buy us drinks. After parties in pools with married A-Listers (unknown to us.) Oh, Hollywood...

Maybe I grew out of clubbing 3 nights a week, maybe I've grown up, or maybe working at Hyde for 8 months and seeing how awful people who go out 3 or 4 nights a week are when you're on the other side of it really got to me. There seems to be a direct correlation between working there and when I became fed up. I think once you are handed a carafe full of vomit from a drunk slut without warning, the "fun" aspect of nightlife goes out the window. (Yes, that happened to me, because those things ONLY happen to me.)

Things I rather do these days: Happy Hour and pass out in my bed to questionable CW programming, terrorize kids with my affection, spend an evening at the Grove watching a movie and eating at the Cheesecake Factory. I'm happy to have retired my half-shirts to a new generation of bottle rats, and happy to be left with only stories that I can tell my grandchildren... Or sell to the tabloids.

*Bottle Rat- the girl(s) at the club waiting for guys to buy them drinks/bottles. (See picture above.)

I'd Like to Know Victoria's Secret.

I've always thought lingerie seems like a fun concept. It's been a really long time since I've come in contact with any which is one of the perks AND downfalls of being single for a VERY long time. (Perk: Saving a lot of money. Downfall: Slowly dying alone.)

I like lingerie, even though I don't really understand it. It makes sense in movies but I just don't understand how it works unless you are jumping out of a cake or wearing it before the recipient arrives at your destination. But if you and the person you are wearing it for are in the same place do you go to the bathroom to change? I guess it would be stupid to put it on in front of them. And are you supposed to wear high heels? So you come out of the bathroom all of a sudden in lingerie and heels and then you wear it for like 10 minutes or so? All of the logistics confuse me. I remember giving a friend of mine advice on this subject a few years ago when I knew things, but now I'm rusty and confused.

Anyway... I'm currently in the market for some lingerie (for reasons I'm not at liberty to discuss,) so I decided to make a trip to Victoria's Secret today. It was highly unsuccessful. I felt like I was 12 years old, shopping for my first bra.

First of all, they don't have as big of a selection as one would think unless you are a bride-to-be. I learned that the hard way. I saw the big section of white, lacy, pretty, girly white lingerie and thought "Spring!" "This seems like a good color for my skin tone." It would be... If the tags didn't say "I Do" on them. Good thing the sales girl in the dressing room asked me when the big day was. That was a lot of fun.

Also, the lighting in the dressing rooms is enough to give somebody an eating disorder.

In the future I will probably order from the catalogue so I can try it on in the privacy of my own home and skip the part where I try to hang myself with a garter.

Roses are red, Valentine's Day is stupid.

I've never been a fan of Valentine's Day. Not just because I'm bitter and I've been single for 6 years, I just don't like the pressure. If a girl comes home empty-handed to a a guy on Valentine's Day, it's all good in the hood. If a guy comes home empty-handed on Valentine's Day, HOLD ON TO YOU FUCKING HATS. That's not fair.

BTW... As I'm writing this, a uterine contraceptive commercial is playing.

Now a match.com commercial is playing. (True story. I swear on my birth control pill.)

Thanks, universe, I get it.

The moral of my story is that I'm happy as a clam. Is that a saying? I feel like I've heard it, but I'm not sure. It doesn't make sense, but I swear I've heard it.

I am really happy, though. I know people say that, and (truth be told,) I usually want to punch those people right in the larynx, but I really am. I look back on so many douchebags that I've dated. Guys that picked the rice off of their sushi (true story,) guys that wore really deep v-necks, and guys that weren't interested in sleeping with me (if you know what I mean.) Gross.

I get to have a wonderful life with people I love who make me smile and laugh and have adventures with. I'm really lucky. So Valentine's Day can take it's pre fix menus and shove them.

I'm gonna watch my questionable CW programming now. Goodnight.

AMBER ALERT!!!

I've never had a problem with getting older. I've always had older friends, dated older men (daddy issues.)
When I turned 25 and found my first gray hair, I plucked it out. When one hair became lots, I just kept (keep) plucking them out. No problem. I've always enjoyed getting older. Every year has always seemed to be better than the last. I appreciate myself more each year. I learn and grow more. I'm happy and healthy and grateful.

Well, now it seems my body is starting to turn on me. I take back everything I've ever said about embracing age.

This week my lower back decided to start acting like a bitch. I've been a runner for years and have never had any issues with my body. I used to dance and do gymnastics and have always been very very active. Now all of a sudden it feels like someone is constantly rubbing Icy Hot on my lower back for no reason. I got a massage and thought the problem was solved until Queen Latifah's girlfriend kicked my ass in the gym today.

Another awesome thing that happened was I thought my boobs were getting bigger which was really exciting... until I realized so was everything from the waist down. We're not in Kansas anymore. I can't eat cake 3 days in a row without consequences. (But I did it anyway this week.)

Even so, I can deal with all of that. I'm an adult, shit happens, I get it. But what really has me concerned is my potentially threatening case of BABY FEVER!!!!!!!

WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?????!!!!!!!!!!!!

I've been single for 6 years and up until last year, I was never really sure if I wanted kids. Let's just say  if I don't have kids in 5 years, I fear for the safety of other people's children. More that I already do. I feel so betrayed by my biological clock. How did this happen to me??? I'M SINGLE! I'm in no position to have a kid, so why the fuck is my body getting ridiculous ideas???! I used to think babies were so annoying. I used to cross my fingers every time I saw a baby come onto an airplane I was on, hoping and praying that it would be nowhere near me. It ALWAYS would be. Crying and screaming as I gave the parents dirty looks and set my alarm to take my birth control pill.

Now I can't stop creepily staring at EVERY BABY I SEE. Like "Hand That Rocks the Cradle" style. You know you're getting older when, at a party, you gravitate towards the babies instead of the cute guys. A baby threw up in my perfectly coifed curls recently and I could have cared less. I would let a baby throw shit like a monkey at me if it would make him/her love me. (Okay, maybe I took it a little too far with that last statement, but I probably would allow it.)

So basically this is a cry for help. In the words of Antoine Dodson, "hide yo kids."

I Will Never Be On 'Mad Men...' (and other short stories)

I know all of you 9 followers have been on the edge of your seats, waiting for my next blog entry. I'm sorry. I've been really busy doing things. I made my first New Year's resolution (which I'm failing miserably at.) I am resolving to keep a journal of my life, since apparently I don't remember things no matter how important (or not) they are, such as guys I've gone out with, which can really get awkward. Guess how many journal entries I've written in 25 days: 1. Awesome.  

Also, I turned 28 last week, which is really exciting because I enjoy getting older. No, really...I do. Mostly I just love having a birthday party. Fun fact: A certain young gentleman I know who wasn't able to make my party offered me an hour of oral sex to make up for it. Not sure what to do with that, but if anyone is interested I can ask him if it's transferrable.

I watched 'The King's Speech' the other night. Great movie. I really wish I could do a British accent, except I realized that probably won't be coming in handy for me... ever. I will never be cast as a British person which got me thinking something I have already thought about before. I will NEVER be on one of my favorite shows, Mad Men. Apparently they didn't have hispanic people back then. Even the housekeepers were not hispanic. Such an injustice.

Let me clean your house!!!!!!!!!