My older sister is a lawyer, wife, mother, board member on the City Council, the Celiac Organization and the Special Olympics. I tell jokes and play with dolls. More specifically, I am a 23 year comedy act.
Our phone calls usually go something like this.
“Hi Jamie – what are you doing?”
“I’m finishing this brief to change the constitutional law of the state of Florida. You?”
“I’m trying to get this bird puppet to poop.”
Clearly we are both helping mankind.
I also have a younger brother. He received the tall, handsome, buff, smart, athletic gene, while I received the short, swarthy, thinning hairline, bump in the nose, slower metabolism gene. This was very helpful throughout my teens to retain the “3rd wheel, funny friend that never got laid” status, unlike my brother who moved out of his apartment because he was tired of bumping into every hot chick he had fucked in the building. I am pleased for him and wish him the best.
I turned 40. 40 is the number that no longer allows you to fake youth. It sounds very official. Of course there are young 40 year olds and old 40 year olds.
Since turning 40 (or the 1st anniversary of my 39th birthday)…
- I am lactose intolerant
- I can’t eat after 9pm
- I get acid reflux from eating/not eating/drinking/ breathing/ doing math.
- I lay my face on the pillow and I can feel my skin mask push to the other side of my face.
- I can see under eye, pre-bags coming in, and the area where the chin, neck and cheek jowl meet is getting a little pleat like a pair of 80’s khakis.When I used to fold sheets by holding it under my chin it would go “chin, sheet, chest” …. now it’s “chin, chin, sheet, chest”.
- I also need to get rid of 10 pounds but I worry that it’ll leave me with hanging body parts like an Austrian curtain (look it up on Google images).
My heart tells me these things do not define me as a whole. My head tells me, “You are a pre-owned car trying to be sold before rusting out on someone’s lawn.” The clock is ticking. SO I make sure I eat pretty well and stay active. But not compared to these LA boys I’ll tell ya, and now I’ve been single here for two years.
The land of the transient beings, only here to further the dream of a career in the entertainment industry, where the gays now integrate the WeHo lifestyle behavior only topped (forgive the phrase) by the Hollywood behavior. What do two shallow layers equal? Nothing I’m afraid. But it sure is fun to watch all the snubbing, posing & posturing. By night, that guy is King of the Club! By day, a bagger at Ralph’s.
I remember my second week in LA, I was walking past a tall, model-esque twink holding a clipboard in front of a nightclub. I won’t mention the club but it rhymes with “Club 11 on Santa Monica Blvd”.
“Is that a mailing list?” I asked. “No honey, hehe, it’s the guest list.” The bitchy child replied. What happened next was the very thing I pride myself on. Rocking people’s worlds.
I spun around with fire in my eyes and in a loud, direct voice bellowed, “Is THIS how you’re representing my club you fucking little bitch? Which one of my asshole managers put your stupid ass outside for clipboard duty? My dog could do this job! Don’t you move while I go inside and decide if you still work here!”
I then stormed past the VIP line, entered and enjoyed a night with my friends while Eye candy – Clipboard –Fetus – Douchbag quaked in his boots.
… so back to the single thing.
My recent self-discovery is primarily out of panic thanks to being single and two people attempting to be helpful:
“You don’t want to be the last one at the dance. You’ll only have left overs to choose from!”– My mother.
“The fat girl’s phone never rings.” – A bitchy queen.
For the record, these are two separate people.
I UNfriended my mother from Facebook because she inhibits any dating I DO have going. EX) the hot, dancer-boy from NY that posted how he came to see me in LA. My mother called immediate to rant without outwardly mentioning her real concerns:
A) I’m dating a younger, unestablished, financially unstable man
B) He’s black
C) All she can think of is a large, muscular black man sodomizing her son. And let’s be honest, that’s exactly what’s happening.
BTW — it was short lived.
I believe that everyone has a type and there is someone out there who loves “this” type. Unfortunately they seem to be overweight Asian men in their 60’s. I’m sure my guy exists … perhaps somewhere in Uganda. I am rarely if never booked in Uganda (although I’m sure I’d kill there) and chances are I won’t be there before I die.
Don’t be misled. I have been with tons of hot guys. Not my definition of hot, everyone’s definition of hot. Model hot.
How did I do this? Well, while I am shy, I know how to force myself to be interested, interesting and put myself out there. It’s painful but I do it quick like ripping of a Band-Aid because the alternative doesn’t get you anywhere. You have to take action to create possibilities.
Generally I would ask many questions about their boring lives and then instead of complimenting them on their muscles, or eyes or killer smile like everyone else, I’d pick the one thing I guessed they were self conscious about … their hairline, their nose, their little ears or long fingers. Talking about what they viewed as their “short-coming” showed my acceptance of it (which was true) and simultaneously brought them down a few pegs. Terrible? Maybe. Effective? Take off your pants.
I also had another trick in my corner (not a hooker trick, a magic trick). You may have discovered in your own life that people are the most attracted to you when you are in your element, in control and confident. I learned at a very early age that after people who would not normally give me a second look saw my show, they would be naked and on the bed before I could even ask and then forget their name. I got laid a lot after that. But I eventually made a concerted effort to use my powers for good, not evil.
I should also mention that while I appreciate that look and the work they or their gene pool put into it, I personally find it boring and not terribly unique. Also, many of the stereotypically super hot guys are shitty in bed. They somehow learned they didn’t have to do much except lay there and look good. I don’t blame them. It is learned behavior from their worshippers that did all the work because they felt they weren’t worthy enough to receive mutual appreciation from a hottie.
Some first dates in LA …
The guy that only gave 1-word answers for 25 minutes.
The guy that brought his dog along and only spoke about or to his dog.
The guy who admitted to being an escort but was going to quit for me.
The guy that asked me to give him a wake-up call before the date in case he overslept.
The gyno that smelled like garlic, looked like 4 days of napping and kept telling me how he had no life and he’s cheap.
The guy who invited his friend to “watch” the assumed sex we’d have after coffee.
And of course … the old, fat Asian men.
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