and on the 6th day, he bathed

so on top of all the stuff i was bitching about yesterday (and pardon my ranting, really. it's a bit much i know, especially for the guys who had to read about my whole woman thing. i guess i forgot that guys might actually read this) elvis called around ten something last night. i hadn't seen him in a couple of weeks and hadn't communicated with him since he sent me a text message at 1:30 a.m. (on a school night!) asking if i wanted some company. i POLITELY replied at a decent hour the following morning and suggested that if he wanted to hang out with me, he should make plans in advance. none of this let me call you after work and swing by so we can make out business. though he responded with a "sounds good", i figured he wouldn't actually do that. and that was fine with me. so in the six days since, i hadn't given it much thought. anyway, he called, and i decided to answer because i do like him as a person even if he isn't exceptional dating material. small talk ensued. he told me about how busy he'd been, etc. told me he'd been spending nights in his ride to which i responded by asking "so how do you brush your teeth and wash your face and all that?" he said he does it at work and then showers at a friend's in between jobs. which brought him to the point of this here phone call. "i didn't get by my friend's today, so i was wondering if i could come by and use your shower." ain't this a bitch, i thought, and laughed out loud. unbelievable! however, it never really crossed my mind to say no. i mean, i believe that all people--men, women, black, white, jew and gentile--have the right to shower. how could i deprive him of that? i do want him to be clean. i DO. and no, it's not my fault that his living situation is such that he doesn't have a shower to call his own, and no i shouldn't feel the need to offer my bathroom to every shower-needy person in LA, but...i said yes. he did mention that he had his own towel to dry off with, so i guess that was incentive for me.

five minutes later, he was there. with a face towel in hand. yes, one of the itty bitty square ones. i asked him if he truly intended on drying off with that. he did. maybe he knew all along that i would see that and hand him a "big boy" towel. maybe not. in either case, i did just that, and off he went. while he enjoyed my hot water, i laid on my couch and thought, "is this really my life? is ANYBODY upstairs running this show, ensuring that this life makes sense and that there's a happy ending or is this shit just on autopilot?" he eventually emerged and sat his ass on MY couch in MY wet towel, leaving the cushion nice and damp when he stood up. apparently, he's not into sportscenter or the news, so i turned on the colbert report, which entertained him until he decided he'd rather make out. i was not really feeling that idea...initially, but i have to say, the boy makes one of the most persuasive arguments i've witnessed in a long time. and he smelled so fresh. and his hair was so...curly! (yes, i discovered that elvis has a lovely head of curls that he hides under all that whatchamacallit that he puts in it to straighten it out. i told him he should really consider going with the natural look). so he got to shower, AND he got to kiss me repeatedly. lucky bastard. a couple of hours later, he redressed himself, packed himself into his "mobile home" and headed off to who knows where. and that was my night.

i wonder if he left that little towel at my house on purpose. like is this going to a regular thing, LA?

$!*#@

by far, i am in one of the worst moods i've been in in a while. it's lasted for a few days, seemingly growing more intense as the week goes on. i feel...combustible. and my mouth just showers profanity every time it's open. last night i was yelling at the tv during halftime of the basketball game because some random joe (or random michael) was hosting the halftime show in the place of stuart scott. "who the fuck are you?" i yelled at the screen. "and where the fuck is stuart scott?!" this, of course, was after i'd spent the first two quarters of the game profanely transforming the last names of lakers players. gasol became g-asshole, farmar became farmwhore, vujacic became vujabitch and so one. granted, i'm not a lakers fan even on good day, but this was a new low for me.

as i was driving home last night from my weekly volunteering, i was trying to figure out why i was in such a foul state. could it be because after two years of being salaried, my position will soon become an hourly one? one where i will have to deal with time cards, set lunch breaks and rest breaks, and a general end to the freedom i've come to know (freedom which has kept me sane over the past 24 months)? possibly. i feel my doctor's appointments, dental appointments and manager meetings, all my saving graces, slipping through my fingers, and i don't like it.

or could it be because during my volunteer session, i had to read the hite report, a book about women's sexuality. the chapters i was assigned were on orgasms. orgasms in masturbation. orgasms in intercourse. are the legs together, apart, slightly apart then open, slightly open then apart, or scissoring rapidly when achieving orgasm? are fingers, hands, objects, cloth, pillows used in masturbation? and then there was the section on women who don't have orgasms at all.... could reading this have attributed to my hostility? well, it certainly didn't help. i felt my body temperature start to rise and my heart start to pound, and it had nothing to do with contracting vaginal muscles or varied clitoral pressure. i was just mad. but why? is it because i wouldn't know an orgasm right now if there was one vibrating on my welcome mat when i got home? perhaps. is it because tampax owns more stock in my vag than any penis ever has? maybe. but this is nothing new, so what's the big deal?

maybe it has nothing to do with the book. it could be because after a fantastic, whirlwind of a manager meeting last week, i haven't heard from him yet, and the lines between my personal life and professional life are blurring. i sit by the phone, hoping he'll call, checking my missed calls, refreshing my email. nothing. the following internal dialogue ensues: "will he call? when? did he like my other material? of course, he didn't. why would he? he's not going to call. he would have called by now if he was going to. should i email him? absolutely not. if he wants you, he'll call you. what if he forgot? or just got busy? or lost my number? should i email his assistant? no! i should relax. it has only been a week (minus one business day for the holiday). he'll call. maybe. if you're writing isn't complete shit." i feel primed to star in a movie titled, "he's just not that into representing you" (written by some talented, represented writer, of course).

nevermind that, my anger could very well stem from the fact that i take the "periods only four times a year" birth control for the sole purpose of avoiding bloodshed every effin month, yet i still manage to only make it 7 weeks (and i do mean this is the ONLY reason i take it. proof? see paragraph 3). 8 weeks if the gods are on my side. motherfucker! so it could just be my hormones unleashing their fury after being cooped up in the juice for a few weeks longer than mother nature would like. i would like to have a few words with big mama naturale. but i suppose i'll wait until i cool off a bit, lest i start having hair growing in places it shouldn't.

could be all of these things. could be something else entirely. all i know is,

i am in a shitty mood this week, L.A.

pause for the addendum

i would just like to briefly expound upon my 04.29 entry. the last thing i want to do is sound like a self-hating oreo. i'm all about brown people. really. and i'm quite content with my color (literally and socially). i would have things no other way, and i'm the first one to tell an ignorant asshole exactly what i think. HOWEVER, as down with the brown as i am, i would urge people to use discretion when trying to hook me up with other brown people. for example, just this past weekend, i went to get a bridesmaid dress altered by a lady whom i'd never met before in my life. as she was shoving fake boobs into the halter of my dress, she was talking about some client of hers whom i'd be perfect for, being that we're both brown and all...and i guess, happen to need things altered. what is that? seriously. and what i want to say is that i'm not down on black men or anything. that would mean that i'd have to be equally down on my relatives, and the men in my family are pretty cool. furthermore, the only long-term (we're talking years) relationship i've had was with a black guy, and one of the guys who broke my heart back in '06 was black, so i have a history of equal opportunity employment. but i do think it's a little ridiculous for people to simply look at skin color as a determining factor as to whether or not two people should date.
that's all i'm going to say about that for now. i have to get back to work.

i just needed to clarify that, L.A.

in the lala land of make believe

hypothetically...let's say i'd hung out with a guy a couple of times, and he was nice and cool and all that, but let's say i discovered a few things that weren't necessarily causes for concern but maybe...they just gave me pause. for example, let's say, hypothetically, that this person didn't have a residence per se, no one place where he regularly laid his head, but multiple residences. three perhaps. some of his stuff here, some stuff there. but, in this scenario, i hadn't really yet figured out why this is the case. and sometimes, just to make things interesting, let's say he doesn't stay at any of those three places because they're so far out. hypothetically then, i would wonder, where do you shower and brush your teeth on the occasions when you don't go to any of these residences? and how often does that occur? then i would wonder, with him having two jobs, how is it possible that he doesn't have a place close enough to go home to every day? how do you have shit scattered all around the county and the rest of it in the six extra seats of your vehicle? i would be so confused by this, and i would start to wonder if the pomade was not pomade at all but just accumulated bodily oil? but then i would notice that his face is always shaved, so there would have to be some regular grooming going on, right? but then i would think, "haven't i seen you in those pants three times already?" and then i would feel bad for even thinking about this stuff because he would seem like a good guy and a good kisser.

if, hypothetically, he was at my house in my bathroom while all these thoughts were running through my head, then i would probably feel extra bad when he came out, looking all sweet-faced, and i would kiss him to distract myself from these thoughts, and i would wonder why, oddly enough, he seemed to taste like my toothpaste. you're hallucinating, i'd whisper internally. eventually, he would say he was going to leave and head to one of his...storage-homes, and i would feel relieved. but i wouldn't be sure if i was relieved because i could now go to sleep or because i knew there'd be a shower where he was going.

how dare hypothetical me assume these things about hypothetical him when i have no hypothetical proof! i would deserve to be single with all that ludicrousness swirling around in my head. of course he's clean, you moron, i would say. but then, bitchy hypothetical me would demand, "is it asking too much that i want to be sure the person i'm making out with showers?" last i checked he was no robert pattinson, and if he was, i would expect to be wined and dined appropriately to compensate for hygiene.

which brings me to the final point of this scenario. i would not be cool if i felt that, with this guy, it was going to be one of those "let me swing by and hook up with you" type of deals. seen that movie. uninterested in the re-release. i want to see the one where someone asks me out on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. the ones where plans are made well in advance and do not involve my house (at least not right off the bat). the ones where i feel like a laaaaady. but i couldn't fault him for not taking me out, i mean, struggling actors can't really afford to take you anywhere, and ones with two jobs don't really have time to, right? right? so i would say to myself, self, if you want more, then this is not the bus for you. off at the next stop.

that's what i would probably say in that situation. if any of this were true.
of course, this is again, all hypothetical, because if it were real i would feel like a real asshole saying all this stuff and conclude that i wouldn't even date me if i knew what i was putting out in the world wide web.

i am unequipped to deal with such matters, L.A.

tuesday special

elvis. elvis. elvis. first of all, who new that elvis would drive a white astro van...well, astro van sport. fortunately, i'm not the kind of girl who only dates guys who drive cool foreign vehicles with less than three rows of seating. also, i didn't actually have to get in the astro van, but i would have...

from the beginning: he called after he got off work about a quarter after nine, and, as promised, i suggested pinkberry or the coffee shop. he wasn't too keen on those ideas. instead, he said, "i like ice cream, and i like movies." okay, cool. so he wants to get ice cream or he wants to go see a movie. it's late, and i have to be at work super early tomorrow (and truth be told, i was asleep in my robe right before he called), but whatever, i need to live a little. before i could ask him what movie he wanted to see or where he wanted to go get ice cream, he asked, "so do you have any good movies?" i knew it! i knew that he would try to get in my house. didn't i tell you? "nooooo," i said, defiantly crossing my bristly legs. "well, do you have any ice cream?" "no." i wasn't going to compromise on this, and i u-turned the conversation back to our original options: pinkberry and coffee. he picked coffee.

he arrived shortly thereafter, parked and waited for me to come out. i strolled up to the astro, and after waiting for him to finish some work-related phone conversation while he sat in the van (minus 1 point), he told me that i looked wonderful (plus 1 point) and that he really liked my boots (plus 2 points). as we began our walk to the coffee shop, he grabbed my hand, an unexpected, nice gesture. we talked about the usual--family, career, maxim parties. we got to the shop; he got coffee, and i got tea. i like honey in my tea, and this particular place had those honey sticks. i don't know how you're supposed to open the stick, so i just kind of dug my nail into it until the tip broke and the honey came out. after doing that twice, i had a fair amount of honey on my finger, which i casually mentioned as conversation filler. well, darling elvis took my little honey-wounded fingertip and stuck it in his mouth. ha. i laugh now, just as i did then because really, what else are you supposed to do standing next to the creamer and napkins with your finger in someone's mouth? he did get most of the honey off however, and i think he said something about the taste of the honey, and i think i responded with something about swine flu.

we didn't stay long because he had some secret business to tend to, and on our walk back i discovered that he thought i was "privileged" and didn't have to work unlike him who has two jobs. i looked at him like he was crazy. i have no idea where he got that impression. i have nice clothes and live in a nice place, but i pay for all of that myself. whatever. we got back to the astro. he asked me if i would hang out with him again; i said yes. then we kissed a few times, and i told him he tasted like coffee, which i guess must have bothered him a little because he sent a text after he left saying, "thank for the kiss. sorry i taste like the coffee." sad face. and i, in an effort to elevate my dating skills to the eighth grade level, responded with, "don't worry. on you, it tastes nice." cha-ching! where's my diploma, bitches?!?!

so that's it. that was my evening. got home and into my pajamas in time for the daily show. perfect. as for the future...that remains to be seen.

i honestly don't know what i want to happen, L.A.

is elvis dead?

no, he's alive, but barely. i've already caught a whiff of his eau d'immaturity cologne and cool self-absorption aftershave. BUT for some reason, i did agree to meet up with him this evening. this will be the first time i've seen him since i stumbled my way through our initial encounter. he doesn't get off work until 9:30 though, and i hope he doesn't think i'm going to go for the "well, it's late, and i don't know where to go so why don't we just hang at your place" thing. i know where those encounters lead, and i'm nary a bit in the mood for that (as a precaution i will not straighten up my living room or shave my legs). i will politely suggest the nearby coffee shop or pinkberry, both of which will still be open. i wonder if he will smell like tortillas and cilantro. and will he have as much pomade in his hair as my memory suggests he did before? because that was A LOT of pomade.

point is, and i'm just putting this out here now for all of your who were like "call him! call him!", i don't have high hopes for this. i know, i know, negativity is the root of failure and the wet nurse of future negativity...blah blah. but i'm just saying...i have a feeling...

but let me make it through tonight, see what he talks about (himself?), what he asks me about (my thoughts on him?), what we have in common (our attraction to him?). let me give elvis a chance. i mean, he does have a really great phone voice...

i do not understand how cougars can do this, L.A.

i'll tell you what it takes to get a cute guy

it takes finesse. and by that i mean that on top of looking good and all that you have to say things that show the guy you're interested and at the same time make him interested in you.
here's where my problem lies.
i can work with the whole "look cute" thing, but apparently when i open my mouth, it is a di.sas.ter. exhibit a: cinco de mayo.

my dear friend, whom i've previously referred to as beaker and will continue to do so here, and i went to a lively little mexican restaurant to celebrate cinco de mayo and also as a belated birthday dinner. it took forever to get a seat, and when we finally did we got a tiny table in the corner, with tortilla chip crumbs still fresh in the booth. anyone who knows me, knows that remnants of other people's food/body fluids totally grosses me out. but beaker brushed them out of the seat for me, and i was fine, prepared to peruse the menu since taco Tuesday had unfortunately been canceled.

then the waiter came.

what first struck us about him, if i may speak for both of us, was not that he was cute, though he was, but rather the fact that he looked like he was STRAIGHT out of Happy Days. he had on a tight t-shirt, jeans and hair like the Fonz...you know, business in the back, swirl in the front, with tons of pomade. at the time though, beaker said, "(something something) elvis" so that's the comparison that stuck in my head. mind you, this is pre-weight gain, pre-rhinestone one-piece elvis. we're talking early, network censored elvis. anyway, about halfway into my mango margarita, i started feeling ballsy, so i beckoned the waiter over with my best two-finger come hither. "anybody ever tell you you look like elvis?" i asked. omg! now that i read that, that is the worst pickup line ever! "no...," he replied, awestruck, like i'd just given him the keys to a thunderbird. "who do people tell you you look like?" asked beaker. "tom cruise and ______" (i can't remember who the second person was. i keep wanting to say john malkovich, but that makes absolutely no sense). beaker and i nodded. we could definitely see tom cruise. "are you young?" was the next thing out of my mouth. "i'm 24," he boasted. "yeah, that's young." "why is that young?" he wanted to know. "well, we're a little bit older than that," said beaker. "and most 24 year olds aren't that mature. though i'm sure that doesn't apply to you," i added. "no, it does," he admitted. he went to check on more tables, but not before we learned that he was from oregon and yes, an actor. i should have ended the conversation then, but the margarita was good, and he and his terry cloth arm band were getting cuter by the second, and the wheels were already off my mouth train so there was no stopping. plus, he kept coming back to the table.

"so why's 24 young?" he asked again. "well, it's not young for her," beaker said. "she dates young guys. i'm into 40 year olds." "why are you so tan?" i asked. "i fell asleep at the beach in malibu and woke up three hours later all red." "yeah, that'll do it," said beaker. "are you peeling?" i wanted to know. see, i thought this was a valid question b/c in my head, i'm already thinking that if you take your shirt off around me, i don't want your skin to be flaking off. i learned later from beaker that that was not a question that screamed "hey, i like you and want to go out." he said he wasn't peeling. he left again, but told us to stay as long as we liked (obviously he was too turned off yet). after beaker scolded me for my poor performance, she escaped to the bathroom and insisted that i do better the next time he came around. "okay," i promised, dipping into the bottom of the margarita. and come back he did.

"so what are you going to do for the rest of your cinco de mayo? you going to celebrate?" "no," i said. "i'm going to go home...and get ready for sixo de mayo." hahahaha. ridiculous. first of all, i couldn't think of what six was in spanish without counting it out, but even still that's just dumb. "i have to get ready for work tomorrow," i continued. "oh, well, you should come in again. i'll be here all week. i work tomorrow and Friday and Saturday." "you want me to come in here and get fat on mexican food just so i can be entertained by you?" okay, what i THOUGHT i was conveying was that he shouldn't make me come back to the restaurant to play cat and mouse that we should just exchange numbers now and hang out OUTSIDE the restaurant. when beaker returned, she said there was no way he would have ascertained that based on what i said. i did try to be more obvious by asking him what he does when he's not working, you know, besides auditioning. he said, he has another job at starbucks.

anyway, though i said some dumb things, and though he's soooo young, admittedly immature, an actor and overworked, there is a happy (?) ending to this story. after much hesitation, where he would walk toward our table then turn away, he finally came over and slipped me a piece of paper with his number on it, saying "you can give me a call and find out what i do when i'm not at work and all that." teehee.

so i have his number. and i have a new found understanding of my awkwardness when it comes to conversations with cute boys. i feel like i can say whatever i'm thinking. i blame that on my all girls' private school upbringing...which may ALSO explain why i don't quite know how to function around boys. because from grades 5th-12th, I was hardly ever around them! in all my independent, strong-willed woman, "you can do anything" upbringing, i was tragically and ironically stunted in the department of simple male-female interactions. i have the dating skills of a 7th grader! twist!

i will probably give elvis a call, y'all. though i had a dream last night, and in it, we were in the bedroom i had growing up (ah! because, again, i'm in 7th grade) and when i wouldn't give him any nookie, i discovered that he was a serial sexual assaulter, and i had to run for my life through my neighborhood. i hope that's just because i watch too much forensic files.

i have just blown my own mind with this epiphany, L.A.

milk does me no good

my boss took my co-worker and i to lunch today (god bless her) at this place called milk. i had 3 shrimp tacos, and i can't tell if i'm still hungry or nauseous (nauseated?). anyway, there were some rather cute gentleman there today. and they were tall too! my co-worker said one of them was looking at me, but i didn't really know what to do with that information. what ARE you supposed to do when someone is supposedly checking you out? i figured eye contact would be appropriate, but that made me nervous, plus we were on our way out, and i'm not known for being quick on my feet.

we went into a boutique next door, and seeing as how the belt i liked was $399, i figured i had no business being in there, and my time would be better spent trying to get a date before the pigs kill us all. so i traipsed back over to milk to purchase something sweet. by that time, however, cute guy was talking shop with some other guy, and would not easily be distracted. rats. i stood in line, determined to leave that place with something. that's when i noticed that the guy in front of me was even hotter than the first guy. unfortunately, nothing got this guy's attention. not even when i tripped over a chair, trying to position myself at the proper viewing angle. after he ordered, i tried to look at him, like right in his retinas, and still nothing. it was like i didn't exist. on top of that, i ordered my puff pastry, walked back outside and was equally ignored by the first guy. ugh. i stood on the sidewalk, waiting for my boss and co-worker, holding my dessert, trying to look as sexy and confident as the women in magazine ads standing next to bus stops do. but truth be told, i felt quite un-sexy. in all honesty, i just wanted to sit on the bench at the bus stop and stuff my $5 treat into my mouth. and if bus stop benches weren't one of the grossest things ever, i might have done that.

my boss and co-worker emerged, and i pointed out hot guy #2 as he was leaving. we watched him walk allll the way down the sidewalk and into an architecture firm. my boss suggested i go in there, but considering i couldn't even pull off "sexy bus-rider" i doubted i could successfully present myself as a developer interested in commissioning a new building. plus, i really don't want to be the aggressor. i'm over that. that's so...bush administration.

so what does it take to get a cute guy in this town? and i say "cute" because looks do matter. i've done the whole "let me go out with him because he's funny/smart/literate" whatever and that shit is for the birds. i'd like to be attracted to the person. i need to be. plus, do you really want to be with someone who doesn't think you're cute? or thinks you're just aiight?

so what does it take to get a cute guy in this town? other than being a man (in many cases) or being rich and famous (in most other cases). i'd really like to know.
in the meantime, i'm going to spend sunday lusting over tim riggins in wolverine. yuuuuum. oh, and i must have been hungry, not nauseous, because i ate that whole puff pastry while i was writing this.

i would like some feedback, L.A.