pimps have it easy

you know the song, "it's hard out here for a pimp"? well that's a lie. pimps have it easy. they have multiple women (i will refrain from using derogatory terms) or men (as i'm sure there is at least one female pimp out there...actually i think i'm friends with one), the pimps can "love them up" when they feel like it, and then send them out to make the pimps some money. that, my dear mr. howard, is not a hard life. the lyrics should instead be, "it's hard out here for a heterosexual female." the hook would of course be "with morals and self respect. m-m-morals and self-respeeeect." because i loathe generalizations and some heterosexual females are easy...i mean, have it easy.

so what of the rest of us who can't move to the midwest or the bluegrass state and guarantee ourselves a fine young gent? or those of us who didn't listen to our mothers who encouraged us to date that nice young boy in middle/high school who really liked us, but we gaged at the thought of him, and now he's a dentist and with someone who sort of looks like us but is not quite as cute? what of us? i can't speak for other young women in other places, but i know that in L.A., it's hard out here for a heterosexual female with morals and self-respect.

i've been to many a bar, a club, a grocery store, a gas station, a farmer's market, a bookstore, a concert, a wine tasting, a cheese class, a cooking class, a museum, a sports bar, a jiffy lube, a restaurant, a website, a basketball game, a football game, a walgreens, a canyon trail, a golf course...many, many a thing. i've dated black and white, young and old, tall and short, employed and not, car driver and bus rider. alas, the well is dry, my friends. the drought is alive and well out here. perhaps it's the type of people that L.A. attracts. many of them want fame and fortune or just the opportunity to live "the life." you don't come out to L.A. for monogamy; you come out to pop models and bottles. most of the couples i know intimately were imported, having been made across state lines then smuggled in. word of advice to those seeking to settle into a california zip code: bring your sh*t with you. don't ditch your jersey boy who's loved you since 1986 simply because you think you're going to come out here and meet a cute lil' shia lebeouf look-a-like. bring jersey boy with you. trust me.

my ovaries got a little excited recently because the guy whose apartment i'm taking sounded delicious on the phone, and when i saw him in person, he was nice looking (as a side note, my ovaries were not excited because they want to procreate, they were excited because they sensed testosterone, which is a rare energy in their neighborhood, and it causes them to vibrate with glee). of course, i'd already imagined us falling in love when he came back to pick up something he forgot and having dinner on top of an unpacked home depot box. just to know what i was working with, i looked him up on facebook this morning, as any normal gal would do, and i'm prrrrrrrrreeeeeetttttyyyy sure he's not into women. like 99% sure. profile doesn't say it, but mama didn't pay for 20 some odd years of schooling for nothing. "simmer down little ovaries. this one plays for the other team," i told them. i can still hear them crying.
oh well. i can take joy in the fact that my apartment was meticulously cared for, beautifully painted, and it will be a nice place to live in.

i am thirsty, L.A.