He Hasn't Called & I Feel Like I'm Going CRAZY!

     Tyson & I headed to Sharky's on Washington to dance off some of our energy.  Before I knew it, it was 1:45 in the morning, and they were shutting the place down.  So we headed back to my apartment.

     It had been over six hours since we took the E.  I was still feeling waves of energy and emotions coming and going.  It felt kind of like riding a roller coaster.  For 20-30 mins, everything would feel normal, then the high would kick in again.  When that happened, I'd have the desire to touch Tyson, talk to him, and connect.  No wonder they call Ecstasy "The Love Drug".  I felt happy.  Euphoric.  Free.  No inhibitions.  Like a little kid.


    When we got back to my place, we hopped into the shower to cool off and calm us down a bit.  I definitely felt sexual and super touchy-feely. But I didn't necessarily have the desire to have sex.  When we toweled off, we climbed into bed next to each other naked and laid there waiting for our bodies and minds to settle down.  I could also feel Tyson's erection poking me in my side.

ME:  Will you be mad at me if we don't have sex?

TYSON:  No, I won't be mad at you.  I mean, I want to have sex, but whatever.

ME:  It's just, I want to just lay here and feel you.

Tyson was silent.

ME:  Plus, I heard that if you have sex while your on E it will never feel as good again.

He laughed.

TYSON:  That's an old wives tale.  I've had sex on it before, and afterwards everything was just fine.

I shrugged and cuddled in closer under his arm.  A few moments later, I could hear his breathing level off.  This was the first time he'd ever stayed with me through the whole night.


                                                          ***

     At about 9:30am, I heard someone moving around in my bedroom.  I rolled over and wiped a little bit of drool off of my chin.  The bed next to me was empty.  I looked over and saw Tyson peering at his own reflection in the mirror, and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

ME:  Good morning.

TYSON:  Morning.

He walked over and gave me a peck on the cheek.

TYSON:  I gotta take off.  My roommate needs a ride to pick up her car from the shop.

ME:  Ok.  I'll see you soon?

TYSON:  Sure.

He started out of the room, then turned back.

TYSON:  Drink some orange juice and go for a walk or something.  It'll help with the After-E blues.

ME:  Thanks.

     Well, the huge glass of orange juice I drank an hour later DIDN'T help.  Neither did sitting in the bottom of my shower crying for no apparent reason like I was in some 1980's movie starring Molly Ringwald.  I felt tired, depleted, and agitated.  So I fixed myself a huge salad, then cleaned my apartment from top to bottom.   By then, it was 4:30 in the afternoon.  I looked at my phone.  Nothing.  No call from Tyson to check up on me and see how I was feeling.  No call from my mom, or any of my girlfriends, not even a call from Marco.  No one loved me today.

    I tried to shake it off.  Maybe Tyson was right. Maybe a nice jog would make me feel better.  Instead of going on my normal route around my neighborhood, I opted for a run in Santa Monica near the stairs.  I changed into a Dodgers baseball cap, and old pair of cut off sweatpants with a Univ of Miami t-shirt.  I wasn't exactly winning any fashion awards today.

     It was your typical Southern California day. Bright, sunny with tons of people outside being active.  I remember thinking to myself, 'God it seems a bit TOO sunny out today. Can you scale it back a bit please?'  Then I realized my attitude was probably just the After-E blues talking as I put on my shades and did a few rounds on the stairs.  After stretching, I began a light jog towards the ocean.  Wow. This really DID work, I was starting to feel better.  Then I saw him.  But NO, that couldn't be him!  I stopped and dipped behind a palm tree as I looked at who I THOUGHT appeared to be Tyson sitting on a bench on Ocean Avenue with a tiny brunette.  I took off my sunglasses and rubbed my eyes.  He turned his face a little towards me and, yup that was him.

     My heart was pounding in my ears. I felt light-headed.  What was wrong with me? Why was my body reacting like this?  I'm sure it was just a friend, or maybe his roommate.  Then he leaned over and kissed her, and my heart dropped into my stomach.  The girl nuzzled up next to him and I could see that they were holding hands and their fingers were interlaced like lovers.  He'd never held MY hand like that. Then he pulled the girl onto his lap so that she was straddling him and I almost lost my salad.  I turned away from the scene and leaned my back against the palm tree trying to steady my breathing.  Who was this girl?!  Was it his girlfriend??  What was going on?

     By the time I turned back around, they had gotten up and were walking in the opposite direction.  I stopped myself from running up to them and saying hello.  Probably because my feet felt like they were being held down by cement.  I touched my face and felt wet tears on my cheek.

Ecstasy Days, Moonbeam Nights

I was ten minutes late getting to the coffee shop on Venice to meet Brandon.  Lucky for me, he's consistently fifteen minutes late every time we link up.

BRANDON:  Sorry, Gia.  I lost track of time at the gym and then traffic was crazy on the way here and-

ME:  Brandon, relax. It's ok.  I got you a Cafe Latte non-fat w/ Splenda.

BRANDON:  You know me well.

ME:  Yes I do.

BRANDON:  So how's the new job?

ME:  It's fantastic!  I'm flying to New York in 2 days to do a fitness segment on Good Morning America.

BRANDON:  G! That's fantastic.  Wow!  A few months ago, I thought I was going to have to commit you and now-you're a star.

ME:  I wasn't THAT bad.

BRANDON:  I'm really proud of you.

ME:  How are things with you?  

BRANDON:  Couldn't be better.  My contract with "Generations of Bold Children" got picked up for a year.  I'm officially a soap opera star.

ME:  Suddenly, the world all makes sense.

BRANDON:  Not exactly my dream acting gig, but it's a hell of a lot better than slinging drinks at Birds.

ME:   Plus you get to make out with hot actresses all day long.

BRANDON:  Bonus.

ME:  What's your girlfriend think about all this?

BRANDON:  My lady?  She's cool.  Now I can actually afford a ticket to New York to see her more than once a year.

ME:  I don't know how you two lovebirds do it.  Long distance for 2 years?!  

BRANDON:  It's definitely not easy.

ME:  Why don't you just marry her and BE together.

BRANDON:  She's got her job in New York with the consulting firm making SICK money. There's no way I could ask her to give that up.

ME:  And I don't really picture you singing and skipping across a Broadway stage.

BRANDON: Uh, no.

ME:  So do you notice anything different about me?

BRANDON:  Your hair?

ME:  No.

BRANDON:  Hmmm...there's a little sparkle in your eye.  You got laid!

ME:  Bingo!

BRANDON:  Who's the lucky guy?

ME:  Well, I don't want to say much because I don't want to jinx it.  But we've been seeing each other for about 6 weeks now and it's pretty intense.

BRANDON:  Holy shit.  Giovanna has broken her celibacy vow.

ME:  It wasn't a VOW per se.  I was just waiting for the right guy and the right moment.

BRANDON:  Well good luck.  So when are you going to see him again?

ME:  Tonight.

A few hours later, I was waiting anxiously at my apartment for Tyson to show up with the goods.  As I checked my cell phone for the tenth time, I heard a knock at the door.

TYSON:  You look HOT!

ME:  Thanks.  Come on in.

Tyson plopped down on the couch and picked up the remote.  I sat down next to him excitedly.

ME:  So???

TYSON: I got it.  Don't you trust me?

ME:  That is yet to be determined.  Let's see it!

He pulled a small baggie out of his pocket and dangled it in front of me.

TYSON:  My boy, Mike told me this is the best stuff. Pure MDMA.

ME:  So what's the plan?

TYSON:  I'm thinking we drop it here, wait about 30 minutes until the sun is about to set, then head down to the beach.

ME:  Great idea.  

About 45 minutes later, sitting with Tyson on the balcony, I started to recognize the familiar signs.  My hands began to sweat.  The color of the palm trees suddenly seemed to glow a brilliant green, and they waved in slow motion as if saying "Hello, Giovanna. Look how beautiful we are."

I took a deep, slow breath and felt my heart pumping rapidly inside my chest.  Then a wave of emotion passed over me.  Suddenly, their was a moist feeling between my legs.  I looked at Tyson.

TYSON:  You feeling it?

ME:  Yup.

TYSON:  You ok?

ME:  I feel amazing.

TYSON:  Good.  Let's head to the beach.

As we drove along Venice Blvd, I leaned my head against the car window and let my hand dance in the wind rushing by.  I could hear everything so clearly-little children laughing, birds chirping, and I swear I could even hear the flowers blooming.  They all combined to create an orchestra of sounds that tickled my ears.  

We parked the car in the lot and I immediately dashed towards the water.  Putting my feet into the sand felt like a mini-orgasm.  I bent down to touch it and let it run through my finger tips.

ME:  Do you FEEL that? 

Tyson walked up behind me smiling and tousled my hair.

TYSON:  Feels good, huh?

He took my hand and we walked down to the water's edge.  At some point, we must have kicked off our shoes because when I looked down, both of our feet were bare and the cold, salty water was creating a pooling around our toes.  Tyson suddenly scooped me up and chased the tide as it headed back out towards the skyline.  I screamed with delight and begged him not to throw me into the water.   

A few moments later, we were laying on our backs in the dry sand staring up at the sky.  It was streaked with lines of blue, purple, orange, and red.

ME:  Do you think God considers himself a painter?

TYSON:  I don't know if there is a God.

I rolled over onto my side and leaned on his chest.

ME:  You don't know if there's a God?!  How can you look at that and not feel the presence of God?

TYSON:  How do you know God's a guy?  If there is a God, I think she's a woman.  That's the only way to explain natural disasters.  God's on her period and feeling moody for no apparent reason.

ME:  Oh PLEASE!

TYSON:  It's the only explanation for why everything is lunar and cyclical. 

ME:  Do you want to have kids?

TYSON:  How'd we end up here?

ME:  I don't know. It just popped into my head.

TYSON:  I don't know if I'd make a good dad.  I'm really selfish.

ME:  Isn't it natural to want to leave a piece of yourself here?  So when you're gone, there's a part of you that will live on.

TYSON:  This world is really messed up.  I'm not sure I'd want to bring a kid into all of this.

ME:  Well I do.  I think I'd make a great mom.

TYSON:  I was talking to my roommate, Terri about kids and she said if everyone who wanted to have a child adopted one first, there would be no more orphanages or foster kids.

ME:  That's very noble of her.

TYSON:  Most animals just come together to mate, then they move on.

ME:  Are you comparing humans to all the other beasts of nature?

TYSON:  I mean, if you think about it, it makes sense.  Man and woman stay together long enough to create their progeny, then once the child has survived the first few years of life, they go their own separate ways.

ME:  What about love?

TYSON:  What about it?

ME:  Don't you believe that two human beings can connect so deeply that they want to be together forever?

TYSON:  Combined, my parents have been married a total of six times.  My dad has 7 kids by 5 different women.

ME:  He was a rolling stone.

TYSON:  Speaking of rolling, this E has me wanting to move.

I looked back towards the line of bars and clubs on Washington.

ME:  I hear some music coming from that way...

TYSON:  Let's go! 

TEXT THIS!

Single men, take note. I'm about to spit some knowledge that will increase your chances of getting a woman to go out on a date with you, which, in turn, will raise your chances of getting laid. Are you ready? STOP TEXTING!!! Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. But sometimes a woman's got to get loud for a man to really get it.

A few weeks ago, I attended a Christmas party for my friend's production company. An open bar and some top quality sushi led to a few conversations with some eligible bachelors. One particular blue eyed, muscular gentleman seemed to take quite an interest in this unemployed writer. We chatted throughout the night, danced to some reggae and snapped a few photos with my new iPhone. After messaging the pics to my Christmas party paramour, he sprang to his car when his boys gave a whistle. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But he did text me a few hours later inviting me to join him for a late night meal with his friends at a local diner. I promptly declined. My girlfriend had driven us and was anxious to get home to her man. But Mr. Muscles was sweet enough to text me again later in the evening to make sure I got home ok. AND he invited me out for a dancing date later that week. I accepted and we continued the casual texting throughout the week.

As Thursday (a.k.a. First Date Night) approached, I became a little anxious that he had not actually called me on the phone to check in, chat, and plan our evening. And as it turned out, I had a writing workshop Thursday evening that I knew would probably run pretty late into the night. So when he texted me Wednesday evening, I informed him of my scheduling snafu. His immediate text response?
"That's okay. I was thinking of inviting the crew out anyway."

The CREW?! Who was The Crew? I didn't know any fucking crew! Did he mean his friends?? Who invites their friends out on a first date without running it by someone? Red flag #1.

I immediately texted back my displeasure....
"Really? I thought it was just going to be me and you on our date?"

He responded...
"Yeah we can def do one on one. I just gotta figure out what to do with myself until 10 when your class ends."

And there was red flag #2 waving in my face. As far as I'm concerned, a 41 year-old man should not have a problem occupying himself until 10pm. And if he can't, it isn't my concern. Bitchy? Maybe. But I'm from Miami and we keeps it real!

I could feel myself becoming very annoyed over this text conversation, so I decided to end it with my final text.....

"Ok. Well I'll let you think about it. Call me in the morning so we can talk."

But the next morning brought no phone call from Mr. Blue Eyes. Red flag #3. In fact, it wasn't until 4pm on First Date Night that he finally texted (NOT called me).....

"Sup mama?"

Really? Did he really think we were on the 'Sup mama' level already?
I quickly let him know that I had expected a phone call in the morning. In fact, I prefer to speak to a person a few times on the phone before going out with a relative stranger. So a date tonight was not going to happen. He apologized for not calling and gave me some excuses about being busy in the morning and going to the gym. Typical muscle Head excuse. But in my mind, he'd already been dismissed. Honestly, if he didn't have the time or inclination to pick up the phone to chat with me, then I certainly didn't have the time to drive 25 minutes to meet him for a date.

So the red flags can stop waving. I see ya.

Roses are Red. Violets are Blue. My ex is Getting Married. What's a Girl to Do?

As if this week couldn't get anymore depressing. I was doing my usual Facebook surfing this morning when I got an IM from an old friend, Nora. Haven't actually seen her in about 2 years. But thanks to the wonders of Facebook, we've kept in touch. So, my dear friend Nora messaged me...

NORA: How r u?

ME: Great! How are you? How are Cody and the kids?

NORA: Everyone's great. Have you heard about your ex?

ME: Kyle? No. Why?

Nora: Kyle's engaged.

Just to put this all in perspective, Kyle was the love of my life. I called him The Italian. He's built like a Greek God. Tanned skin. Athletic build. And a big mouth. Less Jersey Shore and more Miami Beach mobster. A gold chain, pinky ring, unbuttoned shirt and chest hair always completed his look.

We met my first day at the University of Miami. I was an innocent little Freshman. He was a mature junior and also my R.A. He invited me to his fraternity formal two weeks into the school year. I lost my virginity to him one month later. We dated for 6 years after that. He was my first REAL boyfriend, and I thought we'd eventually get married. He moved to San Diego after he graduated to attend medical school. I'd visit him on every break. And when I graduated, I left Miami to join him in sunny SoCal. After 1 year of living together in San Diego, the relationship came to an end. I was completely devastated. I felt like my world was turned upside down. I still remember the day we walked into our apartment after a trip to the grocery store. The Italian put down his bag of Tide and toilet paper and said to me, "I don't want to do this anymore. I love you but I'm not in love with you. I want to see what else is out there." My heart dropped to the floor.

Two months later, I moved out of our apartment. The Italian and I stayed in touch after our split. We even hooked up a few times over the years, as longtime exes often do. We attempted a brief reconciliation a year after our break up. I was hesitant. Scared I'd get hurt again. But my love for him outweighed my fears. He invited me to his office Christmas party. Did I mention The Italian was a surgeon by now? Yup. A doctor of orthopedic surgery. Anyway, we both got dressed up. I wore a body hugging little black Dolce and Gabbana dress with a sexy red cape shawl thrown over my shoulders. He had on a black suit that made him look like The Italian James Bond. Okay. Maybe less James Bond and more Tony Montana. We spent that romantic night on a rented yacht off the coast of Catalina dancing beside his colleagues and their wives. He took me out on a few more dates. Then it all came to a screeching halt.

At the time, I was teaching a creative writing summer camp. Making great money to school some rich kids on how to write a screenplay. The Italian called me on my cell phone in the middle of my class. I stepped outside and was shocked by what he told me. He said that he'd been seeing another woman. A school teacher who lived in Orange County. One of the school teacher's friends had seen The Italian and I out on a date a few nights before, and now his "other woman" wanted to talk to me. "She's freaking out on me and I was wondering if you could just tell her you called me and wanted to have dinner to get some closure?" The Italian said. "You want me to LIE?!?" I hung up the phone and stopped talking to him that day.

About three years after that, The Italian called me out of the blue and asked if I wanted to accompany him on a trip to Florence-a place we had always talked about going together. He said he missed me and compared every woman he dated to me, and none of them stacked up. Duh! He also said he was ready to be a husband and father. I told him that I wasn't ready for any of that. And besides, I was in a relationship with someone else. Mark. We had just moved in together, and although our relationship was already going south, I was committed to making things work with Mark. So, as tempting as a free trip to Italy was, I declined.

A few month's later, me and Mark's relationship was finally over. Three years together and it was kaput. We were still shacked up because my new apartment wouldn't be ready until the following weekend. So I decided to take a drive down to San Diego to escape and do some writing. I contacted The Italian, cause, Hey-why not. He was so excited to hear from me and immediately invited me out to dinner. I accepted, but told him that I'd be staying at a friends place that evening, so I couldn't be out too late. It was a lie to save myself and him from the temptation of a torrid night between the sheets. Cause we both knew if there was one thing that was always good between us, it was the sex. We never had a problem in that area.

So I dropped the top on my red VW Cabriolet and headed down the coast to San Diego. On the way, I decided to call my best girlfriend who lived about an hour outside of SD. Raquel lived in Dana Point with her fiance, Tim who also happend to be best friends with The Italian. She answered the phone on the first ring.

Raquel: So what are YOU up to this weekend?

ME: Obviously you've heard.

Raquel: Of COURSE I heard. Kyle called Tim all excited about your dinner tonight. What are you thinking?

ME: I'm thinking that I'm lonely. And I miss him. And I just want to see him and find out if there's anything still there.

Raquel: Well Kyle clearly thinks there's something there. He already booked a hotel room for the two of you. At the Hotel Solamar.

ME: What?! You're kidding me.

Raquel: Nope. That's what he told Tim. He wants to seduce you tonight. Be careful.

Well there was no seduction that night. Just a great meal and a lot of wine. Then I disentangled myself from The Italian and went back to my own hotel room. At the Marriott. Definitely no Hotel Solamar. Although I was broken up with Mark, I was still technically living with him. It just didn't seem right to get physically involved with someone else, even The Italian. And besides, I was still a little burnt from him asking me to lie to his school teacher girlfriend.

We talked on the phone a few times after that. Debated meeting up or a coffee, just to catch up. But we never followed through. And now, he's getting married. And it's not to me.

Somehow, I find some solace in the thought that he surely bought her engagement ring from Zale's. I hope to God he also bought himself a new gold chain.

At Least I Showered Today....

Even a confidant, beautiful, avant garde goddess has a bad day from time to time. A day where you deserve a standing ovation for just making it out of bed and into the shower. Today was one of those days.

I am an unemployed writer. There. I said it. And yes-it hurt. I finished my last project a month ago. I did re-writes on a trashy romance novel that's being adapted into a screenplay. Oddly enough-I have no romance in my life right now. Although my existence has been playing out like a bad romcom...Just this week, one of my girlfriends, Leslie, really pissed me off. She is an out of work executive assistant who's been living off of her boyfriend, Rick for the past year and a half. She's funny. Smart. Slightly overweight, which one wouldn't realize, except she points it out to people. Leslie is 98% bubbly spirit and about 2% ambition. She has almost no drive when it comes to her career. In fact, Leslie's shown no real initiative or desire to return to the work force. Leslie is not a writer. She's never expressed any interest, talent or dreams of writing. And three days ago, she called to tell me she got a new job. As a writer. Even worse. She's a travel writer. Yup. She stole MY dream job. She'll be writing stories for "The Voyager's Journal", an online magazine that I've submitted my work to multiple times. And the title of her first article?
"Up, up, and Away...Traveling First Class for the First Time"

I wanted to throw my phone at the wall when she told me that. First-for the corny title and second because she STOLE MY JOB. But I kept my cool and set down my cell. Lord knows I don't have the cash for a replacement iPhone. And instead of expressing my jealous outrage and indignation at how God could allow such a travesty to happen - I congratulated her and told her my kitchen was on fire and I'd have to call her later. Obviously, Leslie didn't take the hint, because she called me again last night to tell me Rick had proposed. FANTASTIC! Throw another nail in the coffin of my youth.

Don't get me wrong. I am happy for Leslie. It's just kind of hard to jump up and down with her as she celebrates her amazing new career and engagement. While I sit at home alone, 31 years old, out of work, single, and with no discernible dating prospects on the horizon. Leslie pretty much has the life I'd imagined for myself at 31.

So I allowed myself to mope for 2 hours today. I layed there in bed and let the envy and jealousy to wash over me. I imagined the beautiful house that I'd buy if I was bringing home Leslie's paycheck. The wedding dress that I'd wear if I were getting married "next September 8th at the Ritz Carlton in Marina del Rey". I thought about how I'd graciously thank all of my guests and look surprised when my muscular new husband scooped me up and carried me out to the white Rolls Royce waiting to take us to the Santa Monica airport to catch a private jet to our honeymoon in Bali. I'd toss my bouquet over my shoulder as an after thought while we sped off. And upon our return to the States, I'd write an article about the wonders of traveling through Southeast Asia with your best friend, husband and partner. And of course, I'd get nominated for a Lowell Thomas Award and I'd receive a Solas Award nomination.

And then, at 11:45am, I called THAT'S A WRAP! on my moping session. I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I stared into the mirror and faced my true reality. As I turned on the water and the mirror began to steam, I thought to myself-Hey, at least I showered today.

Desperate and Dating Don't Mix

A desperate dater. I've seen her. I've been her. And it wasn't pretty.

Your typical desperate female dater fits the following profile:

1.) She's fresh out of a co-dependant relationship that ended long before she stopped calling him.

2.) She's over the age of 30.

3.) If you could see her biological clock, it would look like a ratty, blood red Swatch watch with a chewed up band.

4.) Whenever one of her friends gets engaged, she accuses them of changing herself for him.

5.) She hates spending more than 30 minutes alone without phoning a friend or logging on to Facebook.

It's SO easy to get caught up in the pursuit of love while single in the city. But what separates the healthy daters from the desperate ones? A healthy dater is open to finding love, but she's also happy and content with her life whether a man is in it or not.

I've had one too many conversations with girlfriends who are in search of love when they should really be learning how to love themselves. You know the type. The single girls who have scoured every dating website, singles bar, and their friends' list of contacts. They want a man and they want him YESTERDAY. But they haven't acknowledged the work they need to do on themselves. Not just the outside work (though a good hair cut and mani/pedi never hurt a girl's chances). But also the internal work. Cleaning out the emotional residue from the last guy. Wiping away the soiled spots on her heart. Dusting off the cobwebs of insecurity. A desperate dater figures finding a man will fix all of those issues. He'll swoop in on his white horse, take her off to his castle and she'll never be lonely again.

I'm sure Kim Kardashian would be the first to tell women to put down the bedtime story and forget the fairy tale. My married girlfriends are quick to remind me that their hard working husbands are just that-ALWAYS working...to pay the mortgage and the car notes and keep the family insured. They may be married, but these women still deal with their own bouts of loneliness, they just have extra housework to do while thinking about it.

And as cute as Kris Humphries may be, I'm sure Kim had the same complaints my other married friends do...he's messy, forgetful, he smells, and the romance went out the door after the honeymoon. The only difference is, my friends stuck it out past the 72 day mark, accepting the bad that comes along with the good of marriage.

So where does that leave us single ladies here in L.A.? I'm still figuring it out. Three years ago, I was that desperate girl. Fresh out of a relationship. Alone. Lonely. Craving a new relationship. A man to fill the empty void left by the last guy. What started out as a craving, quickly morphed into a longing, then a desperation, and eventaully an obsession. It takes an extraordinary amount of work to escape from the cave of companionlessness. But when you do, the other side is oh so yummy!

Single in the City

Los Angeles. It could be the toughest city to find love. Not make-believe, I'm hooking up with my co-star, love. But that real deep, we are so devoted to each other we couldn't deny it even if we tried, kind of love.

Maybe it's because there are more beautiful people per square mile in L.A. than anywhere else in the world.  You take a few steps away from your significant other, and you're SLAPPED in the face by temptation.  And even if you overcome the temptation, your partner may be out looking for a prettier/richer/more successful or famous/next best thing.

Well, I'm looking for the real deal.  Sure, I've been living in L.A. for 10 years and haven't found it yet. But I won't give up until I'm dead. Or out of money and have to move back home. Which ever comes first.

I had a conversation with my ex-boyfriend yesterday. Yes. It is possible to stay friends with your ex without the hovering cloud of "will we or won't we."  In our case, we won't.  But we're still friends and care for one another.  And we have open, sometimes hilarious conversations about dating in Los Angeles.

__________________________________
Mark:  You need to find a rich guy to marry. Someone who can support you.  Maybe you should go on that show - Millionaire Matchmaker.

Me:  I love that show.  Patti Stanger is a mensch.  But I'd never go on that show. And besides. I'm not a gold digger. I'm not only after a man for his money.

Mark:  But you want someone who can support you, right?

Me:  A man can support me without being a millionaire, you know.

Mark:  Why do girls always want someone who can support them?

Me: I don't know. Maybe because it's not physically possible to pop a squat, shoot out a baby, wipe yourself up, and catch the next train back to the office.  A woman needs to be supported to have a family.

Mark:  There's single moms out there who do it.

Me:  And they'd be the first to say yes to a date with a handsome, kind, millionaire.

Mark: Whatever.

Me:  So if an attractive woman who happened to have millions in the bank asked you out on a date, what would you say?

Mark: Where are you taking me for dinner?

Me: See. Men have gold digging tendencies too.

Mark: Touche.
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The fact is-I'm not a gold digger. If I was, I never would have dated Mark.  I'm what you would call an equal opportunity dater.  Although I have a strong affection for tall, dark, and Latin (or Greek or Italian), I've also found myself drawn to white men, asian men, and beautiful black men built like a brick shithouse- like Mark.  But if I'm really honest with myself, most of the men I've dated have been pretty hot. Not because I'm looking for someone who could moonlight as an Abercrombie Model.  I like a man who is active, athletic and likes to chase me around the house wearing nothing but sweat and a smile. 

There is steep competition for women in this town.  There's HUNDREDS of thousands of women looking for a decent man to settle down with.  Sadly, there are about 3 men in Los Angeles willing to do some settling.  This leads to an alarmingly large number of women desparately seeking love....