Dont Mince Words

When I heard Budweiser declared February 15th the official start to dating season, I panicked. Was I missing something I’d regret? Something better than 1/2 price chocolate?

As a professional dater, I decided to evaluate my existing relationship. I pulled it into the pit, checked the gauges and determined we weren’t going to make it, even with a retread.

In order to avoid losing time in this new season, I called him and told him it was time to retire the relationship and move on. Irreconcilable differences. Generation gap. What ever the excuse may be, I really didn’t see ourselves making it to Fat Tuesday or even St. Patrick’s day.

While the Whitman’s and bear were sweet, the future holds something just as nice. Gentlemen, start your engines.

I’m starting to become the conduit for bad date stories. I have enough of my own to go around, but it is disheartening to wonder if anyone in their 30s is successful in dating.

April has been a parade of fools. My one girlfriend had to hit the eject button after her boyfriend stated he couldn’t afford to call her while he was on location. Apparently this six-figure man didn’t feel she ranked cell toll charges. Another friend had to pass when she found out the guy she was dating lived with his healthy mother. A friend in New York is writing a piece for a news magazine on portfolio dating and how the trend is to date multiple people to feel like you have one whole relationship. One is hard enough, but more than one? Please, I couldn’t take it.

While my eyes are wide open, I have no tolerance for crap. This feeling was accentuated this past weekend when I finally saw Todd Solondz’ Happiness. The opening sequence with Jon Lovitz is classic, but the line I took away was “I’m champagne and you are shit.” It prompted me to call the guy I had gone out with a few times and let him know is cancellations without notice were annoying and I was interested in seeing someone more available. As a wise Greek woman told me, “Date me right or I’ll fuck you up.”

N-E-X-T.

I get so tickled when people find my life exciting. On the whole, it really isn’t that exciting….except if you are married. If you are married, you read my blog to affirm that being blissfully tied to another might be one notch above dating in LA in your 30’s.

Tonight Lauren, my absolute favorite lesbian, checked in on me. “Oh Bunger, I want to live heterovicariously through you. Dazzle me with a recent date story,” she requested. My former Brooklyn neighbor retreated to California two years before me. She’s a lot like me… open minded, direct, intelligent, and wickedly funny… except she eats pussy and I don’t.

But if I did, she’d be my first choice. Why? Because she has the coolest shoes and she’s the same size as me. If I were going to be a lesbian, it would be with Lauren because we could having engaging and hilarious conversations and trade shoes. I still covet her Doc Martins with red flames.

Alas, Lauren is one of those committed lesbians. She’s now in a domestic partnership with a lovely woman who can’t fit into her shoes. She found love in less than a year in California. Bitch. But that’s the Bay area for you.

I remain in LA where I can’t swing a dead cat with out hitting dysfunction ripe for mocking which continues to fuel my blog. Well, all you happily married folks, keep on reading.

Lauren, this blog’s for you, babe. You are a tremendous friend and relationship role model. If I ever decide I need to change teams, I’ve got your number. Now excuse me while I recharge my batteries.