Dont Mince Words

The last time I was in Toys ‘R Us may have been a decade or two or three ago. I just remember wanting to carve my ovaries out with a dull spoon. What got me in this time? Well, coffee and the prospect of sex, of course.

Armed with a pumpkin latte, I went with GC to do Santa shopping. I discovered there was indeed a recession. I think I saw a dozen people in there on a Sunday which gave me more assumed latitude to “press here” and “pull here.” After pressing one too many Elmo hands, GC said, “you know every parent in here knows you have no kids because you are trying to make noise.”

Yeap. Attention breeders. Marna is in the house and she’s here to have some fun.

Once home, my Santa workshop opened and I was elf-ing to perpetuate the big lie, except this time I was smarter than my mom. My Santa had different wrapping paper, ribbon, and tags. No 6-year old could CSI my work and figure out Santa was really Daddy. And, instead of hiding the gifts in the trunk, like my dad did, we’re hiding the presents off-site at my place.

This kid better believe or else!

This guy, let’s call him my boyfriend, asked a very difficult question recently. “So, when are you going to write about me?” I gave my standard response, “I only write about bizarre LA dates and people that screw up. I actually like you.”

I’m not sure if his ego kicked in, or if he wanted to provide input on my blog genre. “But don’t you want to let women out there know there IS hope?” he asked.

Oh, I know there’s hope out there. For me, it usually comes from Toys in Babeland. This guy has managed to survive two cycles with me. If he can make it four seasons, then that’s something to write about.

I’m hopeful.