Don't 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!

I used to look forward to Sunday nights to have an ocular orgy with David Duchovny in the X-Files. As I got older, Sunday nights became reserved for Tony Soprano and Carrie Bradshaw. Now I get to look forward to the kid drop off followed by divorced daddy sex with GC.

Last night’s pillow talk was a little different. I forgot, when dating a writer, there’s a chance he may actually read my blog. Dripping with sweat he said, “Oh, by the way, we’ve been dating for longer than 90 days.”

I’ve beat my LA relationship record. There must be a Hallmark gift for this. “Hey, so what do I get? Paper? A pen?” I asked

“You just got it,” he told me.

Oh yeah, that hot monkey sex with a real man instead of a machine. Yeah, that is the perfect gift. I’ve been paroled from bad LA dating.

Today a coworker changed his status on Facebook from single to “In relationship.” I realized, I still had my “Facebook is gonna get me laid” settings on. I changed it to “In relationship” looking to “network.” Holy crap, you would of thought there was a 7.0. I received one long distance call and dozens of emails and comments ranging from ‘congratulations” to “WTF.”

Everyone’s tragically heterosexual and single girl is now unavailable. Call the dogs off.

They say with age comes experience. In Los Angeles, with dating comes experiences.

A girlfriend recently had a male-variety dilemma. She actually stopped and asked herself, “What Would Marna Do?” I’m flattered that anyone would listen to my advice given my favorite four-lettered word is N-E-X-T and none of my dating experiences have lasted more than 90 days.

California has good lemon laws. So do I.