Dont Mince Words

Los Angeles isn’t normal. My dates are usually abnormal. So when I finally found a normal guy, it’s only natural that the date take an unusual turn.

We clicked in email and on the phone, so phase three – the meeting – was booked. The chemistry was almost immediate as we sipped our green teas outside of Borders. Everything was great until management decided the homeless guy resting a few tables from us was a nuisance.

The cop walked up to the homeless guy and asked him to move on. He didn’t want to. The cop asked a few more times and voices got louder.

He asked me, “Do you want to move?”

“And miss the free show? Are you kidding? This is better than COPS!” I replied watching the cop tap the homeless guy with his baton.

We continued chatting and I gazed over at the officer trying to do his removal job. Back up was called and when the homeless guy reached into his pocket, it was all over. Mace was in the air and the homeless guy was horizontal. He left with the backup to enjoy his new seat in the rear of the police cruiser.

All was returning to normal when the corporal on duty walked up to us.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but did you witness this?” We nodded. “I’m going to have to get your contact information,” he asked.

“Oh man, this is our first date,” I said laughing.

The corporal returned a few minutes later and said he needed to interview us separately to document there was no police brutality. I walked over with the corporal and left my date to finish his tea and check his Blackberry.

“Is everything going OK on the date? If not, I can take you to the station and you can get away easy,” the corporal asked.

“No, no. It’s great. We’re having a nice time. I like him,” I said.

“Well, he should like you. You look and smell great,” the corporal added.

I laughed and continued to detail the transaction with the homeless guy. When we finished, we went back to the table, the corporal interviewed my date and finished by thanking us for helping out.

Despite all the action, this was the most normal first date I’ve had since arriving in LA. When he stared into my eyes and asked me for a second date, it felt even more normal. He didn’t have to consult his life coach. He didn’t have to wait for Mercury to get out of retrograde. He didn’t have to dust off a Ouija board.

He knew what he wanted and so did I – an opportunity to have more fun with someone of higher intelligence and extraordinary wit. He walked me to my car and kissed me goodbye. I drove away with a smile on my face.

That’s unusual.

More than four years ago, I planned a well-deserved vacation to Mexico with two girlfriends. We had all been working hard and were ready to play hard.

As part of our “fun” incentive package, I went to Target and got an economy box of condoms for us. Our goal was finish the box by the end of the week. I knew it was statistically improbable that each of us would have sex 2.7 times a day.

But a girl(s) can dream.

By day three, it was pretty apparent that we were not going to achieve our goal, so we started giving out the condoms as gag tips. I brought the rest home.

While I was packing for my recent vacation, I decided to pack a few condoms, just in case. My Mexican condoms were in the mix and had expired… in April. Four years later and I STILL couldn’t finish the box off.

But the condoms will not go to waste. I’m going to get some classy Cranes stationery and tape the expired Trojan inside with a note to Anne and Monica to remember to get laid more often.

I had a great vacation. The condoms I packed don’t expire until ’08. Hopefully I can meet that goal because you know an unused Trojan is a terrible thing to waste.

I realized the other day that my “monthly” bleeding has had approximately a 360 month run. That’s a 30-year term. Will I ever hold the deed to my pussy? Will Proctor & Gamble release the consumer stronghold it has on my bleed box?

I did some basic math and determined I’ve spent $2,156.50 on feminine products in my lifetime. That excludes the bushels of underwear I’ve ruined not to mention the sheets downgraded to never-for-guests. That figure excludes the iron pills I’ve had to take to keep from being anemic or the Ortho Novum 135s I’d take for period control. I’ve also excluded doctor office copays where I’d check in to see if there were any new medical developments to make the bleeding subside.

Thirty years later and not much has changed. I feel like a walking waterbed two days before. I want to kill humans and eat chocolate on day one. I want to sleep day two. I speculate on day three if my 40 box will last me.

Today I know that my feminine consumerism could of bought 15 kegs of good import beer, 70 tanks of gas, about four pairs of Manolo Blahnik’s, or more than 2,000 Kit Kat bars.

I’m ready for a reverse mortgage so I can buy back my life, my pussy, and something cool that doesn’t come with a cardboard applicator.