Men: What the Hell's Wrong With Them - Part Deux
Sorry. It's been a few days. Some day I won't buy so many shoes and I'll invest in a computer at home. But until then, I leave you in suspense....more fun for me.
So let's continue with the Rachel chronicles. To date, we are up to my move to the fabulouso region that is Southern California and up until this point (2000) life has been pretty "normal" for our young heroine. But like the area itself, the dating scene changes dramatically to "odd" and "bizarre" from the moment I stepped foot in LA. From this point on, all male names will be changed not for their protection but because I'm embarrassed for the most part to admit that I've spent valuable hair-washing time with these young lads.
So, I'm in LA. "Hi LA, " I say. For the first couple weeks, I walked around aimlessly looking for not only Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Matt Damon, but also for friends, because, oops, I left everyone I ever knew a minimum of 1,200 miles behind - including Jason. So I did what any girl would do - I went in for a bikini wax and asked the girl doing it (mid-rip) if she wanted to hang out sometime and introduce me to her friends and go hunting for dudes. She awkwardly obliged and the blossoming friendship didn't last long. The one night I went out with her she introduced me to exactly 8 crackheads, 11 cokeheads and a handful of meth-heads. Ah, they were quite a barrel of men to choose from. It was like playing "name that rehab". From that point on, I went to a different salon and began to worry that maybe good ole' Jason was not such a bad thing. His drug of choice was a Snickers bar....uh oh. But things began to change for the better once I met my girlfriend Bobbi and moved in with her. There was "Steve" the 20-year old Marine from, um, Alabama or something like that. I was over that when our first date was to the Sizzler. Next I graduated to a Marine Officer - very fancy. His name is, oh, "Bob". Bob lasted for about a year, but, then Bob went to Afghanistan (which we all appreciate as it is a courageous thing to do), but, he managed to stalk me from the desert and came home a pure bred psycho asshole, so, that was the end of Bob. At this point, I was homeless, since Bob wanted his apartment back even though our roommate liked me better (yah, you Will), so I moved back up to LA (and quit the 200-mile-per-day commute - WHAT?! I know). For the next year, I met some nice guys, some freaks, and went to dinner a lot with "Bling Bling" - a young investment banker who bought me stuff. Although that was fun, he sprinted at the word "we" and Bling Bling went bye bye. At this point, I'd had it. I was O-V-E-R all Los Angeles-based "men" (and I use that word loosely). So, I went home for Christmas to the land of men with flannel shirts and mullets and who can forget the zuba pants. Ahhhhh, Buffalo - home sweet home. Hey, at least the guys there aren't prettier then the girls - and better dressed. After a festive holiday season, I ran onto my connecting flight in Cincinnati, not very gracefully, mind you. And after smacking my head on the overhead compartment and stepping on my neighbor's shoes, I realized that Mr. Newly Flat Foot was actually pretty cute and that plane ride was the beginning of a whirlwind romance with, um, we'll call him "Michigan". Six months later I was drinking cheap wine at home crying over spilled milk and swearing off men yet again. And that actually lasted for about 6 months - dating here and there between spells of karaoke bliss. Then came "Charlie" - the one who spawned the blog. Charlie - a devastatingly handsome, charming, international wonder. Fell for him on Day 1. But after 9 months of of roller coaster, Charlie is in the midst of dropping me like the a bad habit. Which is ironic since he can't actually kick the bad habits he does have. So here I am. 27, still in LA, surrounded by freakishly large lips and breasts and not a date to be had. So now begins my next chapter - it's either going to be called "Going to the Convent", "Institutionalizing Yourself - For Dummies" or "The Quest for Mr. Right....Now". After some grieving, I'll hopefully shoot for the latter. In the meantime, my life is full of amazing bad-luck-who-the-hell-else-does-this-happen-to adventures. And you'll be able to sneak a peak into all that fun. After all, 95% of you who are reading this are "normal" and you can only live vicariously through me. Suckers. Read on....
So let's continue with the Rachel chronicles. To date, we are up to my move to the fabulouso region that is Southern California and up until this point (2000) life has been pretty "normal" for our young heroine. But like the area itself, the dating scene changes dramatically to "odd" and "bizarre" from the moment I stepped foot in LA. From this point on, all male names will be changed not for their protection but because I'm embarrassed for the most part to admit that I've spent valuable hair-washing time with these young lads.
So, I'm in LA. "Hi LA, " I say. For the first couple weeks, I walked around aimlessly looking for not only Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise and Matt Damon, but also for friends, because, oops, I left everyone I ever knew a minimum of 1,200 miles behind - including Jason. So I did what any girl would do - I went in for a bikini wax and asked the girl doing it (mid-rip) if she wanted to hang out sometime and introduce me to her friends and go hunting for dudes. She awkwardly obliged and the blossoming friendship didn't last long. The one night I went out with her she introduced me to exactly 8 crackheads, 11 cokeheads and a handful of meth-heads. Ah, they were quite a barrel of men to choose from. It was like playing "name that rehab". From that point on, I went to a different salon and began to worry that maybe good ole' Jason was not such a bad thing. His drug of choice was a Snickers bar....uh oh. But things began to change for the better once I met my girlfriend Bobbi and moved in with her. There was "Steve" the 20-year old Marine from, um, Alabama or something like that. I was over that when our first date was to the Sizzler. Next I graduated to a Marine Officer - very fancy. His name is, oh, "Bob". Bob lasted for about a year, but, then Bob went to Afghanistan (which we all appreciate as it is a courageous thing to do), but, he managed to stalk me from the desert and came home a pure bred psycho asshole, so, that was the end of Bob. At this point, I was homeless, since Bob wanted his apartment back even though our roommate liked me better (yah, you Will), so I moved back up to LA (and quit the 200-mile-per-day commute - WHAT?! I know). For the next year, I met some nice guys, some freaks, and went to dinner a lot with "Bling Bling" - a young investment banker who bought me stuff. Although that was fun, he sprinted at the word "we" and Bling Bling went bye bye. At this point, I'd had it. I was O-V-E-R all Los Angeles-based "men" (and I use that word loosely). So, I went home for Christmas to the land of men with flannel shirts and mullets and who can forget the zuba pants. Ahhhhh, Buffalo - home sweet home. Hey, at least the guys there aren't prettier then the girls - and better dressed. After a festive holiday season, I ran onto my connecting flight in Cincinnati, not very gracefully, mind you. And after smacking my head on the overhead compartment and stepping on my neighbor's shoes, I realized that Mr. Newly Flat Foot was actually pretty cute and that plane ride was the beginning of a whirlwind romance with, um, we'll call him "Michigan". Six months later I was drinking cheap wine at home crying over spilled milk and swearing off men yet again. And that actually lasted for about 6 months - dating here and there between spells of karaoke bliss. Then came "Charlie" - the one who spawned the blog. Charlie - a devastatingly handsome, charming, international wonder. Fell for him on Day 1. But after 9 months of of roller coaster, Charlie is in the midst of dropping me like the a bad habit. Which is ironic since he can't actually kick the bad habits he does have. So here I am. 27, still in LA, surrounded by freakishly large lips and breasts and not a date to be had. So now begins my next chapter - it's either going to be called "Going to the Convent", "Institutionalizing Yourself - For Dummies" or "The Quest for Mr. Right....Now". After some grieving, I'll hopefully shoot for the latter. In the meantime, my life is full of amazing bad-luck-who-the-hell-else-does-this-happen-to adventures. And you'll be able to sneak a peak into all that fun. After all, 95% of you who are reading this are "normal" and you can only live vicariously through me. Suckers. Read on....
posted by Rach2LA @ 3:17 PM
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