Man Repellent

Not to put myself down, but right now I feel like man repellent. The cute barista at the coffeeshop I go to on Wednesdays wasn't there today. I go for a writing workshop. I'm working on a collection of short stories. He's asked me about "my group" and I have admitted to "being nervous about reading my stuff." It's all very Victorian, crushy, and makes me want to use the word mirth.

I live in a bleak savannah that is man-less, free of males. It's of my own creation. I realize there have been many boyfriends and friends, all males who have at some point populated my life, and I have a brother and a father and surely they count. And both our dogs growing up were male too.

But still, it's not so bad. Nobody is eating my leftovers in the fridge. No unemployed boy on the couch, collecting dust in his goatee. But still, without these so-called men, what to post?

I've been mulling over what I can whip up here, aside from the earth-shattering ceramics romp or a burger binge, and I've considered relating past tales of love gone wrong. So here's a little something...

A while back I dated a guy I met at Starbuck's (don't judge) . He was a Latino Jew (a rarity, but Jews - we are everywhere - this is true). He adored me, but repeatedly bit my bottom lip, on purpose, I let this go until it happened again multiple times and by the third date, I'd had enough - I wanted my lip back. It wasn't just a biting. It was so painful my lip was swollen and bruised. I'd not known a lip could bruise, but believe me, it can. When I saw myself in the mirror that next morning, I broke up with him over brunch, waiting until after he paid the bill.

To his credit he offered me a lovely, sweet gesture. Yes, he was disappointed that I'd ended our romantical, storybook affair, the one we might tell our fictional future children, but if I ever wished to have causal sex, I should give him a call. He promised not to get all needy or call me all the time. Somehow, I didn't believe him. We parted ways on a sidewalk on Hawthorne, but right before he gave me what I believe to be the most poignant compliment to date. He called me ruthlessly hot.

Did I mention the part where he called me ruthlessly hot? Sadly, I do not have his number in my cell any longer. And, no proverbial black book.

Where are all the hot Latino-Jews in this town? And when did all the men turn to turds?