I have a confession to make: I love men!
Tall men. Short men. Rich men. Po–ok, employed men. Love ‘em all!
Recently I got out of a long relationship when I realized I still knew nothing about the male species. Except that they cost a lot in therapy bills.
I googled an article that said to truly understand men, you need to get into their head. I was temporarily confused since I thought there was nothing in there in the first place. But I decided to play along anyway.
Most important it said to read the sports page. I can do that. 50 yard line. Ok. Quarterback plays left field. Check. David Beckham plays football. Or doesn’t. It depends on his injury-du-jour. Got it.
I decided to then use my new found knowledge during a recent weekend trip to Los Angeles. I wanted to see all the delicious cuts of meat available to me in the market of life.
I went to the Sky Bar and found the most handsome man there. We smile, he compliments me on my new sexy dress and then I whip out my secret weapon. “How about those Yankees?” He spit his drink all over me.
“I said ’how about those Yankees?’”
Never really got past that question. Seems ‘patriotism’ doesn’t earn brownie points with die hard Los Angeles baseball fans.
Ok, well, rejection is good. Makes you stronger or so I’ve heard.
I go to the second item. Way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. How old is this article?
I met my next Sir Loin while asking for directions getting away from the Sky Bar. That should have been my first clue. But I digress. I’m directionally challenged myself.
He wined and dined me at El Coyote Cafe. Called the rice and spaghetti best of both worlds. Later, we went to Pinkberry for dessert since he had to watch his ’girlish’ figure. Looking back, he had frosted hair, was a little older than me and said his name was Ryan.
Hmm….. Strike two.
To make it up to me, my male friend took me to another Mexican restaurant filled with eye candy. Never been rejected by a man so fast so many times in my life! Oh yeah, the place was filled with men – all gay men!
I ended up spending the night with a Mexican man named Jose. Cuervo.
One more try. The third item says to learn the area’s lingo.
………. moving on to number four. Want intelligent men? Go to the bookstore.
I pull out my crisp new unused map. Take the 405 to 10 east 5 + 5 = 10. Yeah, I take a cab.
Inside several men stand around looking at nude magazines. They all giggle like it’s the first time they’ve seen it. Ok ignore them. But look over there. More men. Just like the article. Wow. I walk up to one.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Why hello. How are you?”
This feels weird. Can’t be real.
“Where are you from?”
“I live actually just down the road.”
“Oh really…”
“Yeah, I live with…”
And then he said it.
“…my boyfriend, Steve. We just moved here from Reno.”
“I came all the way from Reno and I end up meeting someone from Reno?”
“Hey, about those Yankees?”
“You mean Silver Sox. They suck. Still.”
I walk out amazed at my own (mis) fortune. I mean what are the odds? Apparently pretty damn good.
Looking back, I think I learned more about myself. Don’t try so hard. Be yourself and taste test the meat before you buy it – it could be overcooked.
Oh, and you can’t run away from your problems no matter how hard you kick that hockey puck! At least that’s what my new therapist tells me.
Filed under: Living the High Life, Travel Journal | Tagged: David Beckham, Los Angeles, magazines, men, Reno, Yankees
