Pearl Handcuffs

I think my mother's afraid I'm kicking it Ellen Degenres style or my heart is set on unrealistic hopes for John Cusack to come knocking on my door with Peter Gabriel playing on his boom box. Either way, it causes a strain on our relationship when the subject of dating comes up. The look of disappointment over takes her face when she finds out the Mike I am going out with to dinner on a Friday night will end up borrowing my heels later for a drag show he is starring in at a Gay club downtown. I'm going to be straight up with you, the last time I had a good date was...well, counting a tea party with the neighbor boy at the age of nine as a date is pretty pathetic, right? Honestly, I don't remember when I had a GOOD date. But, let's go over the definition of "GOOD" shall we? A date not ending with a penis picture sent to my phone on date one, the subject of his ex not being the main headline for topic of conversation or not being asked if I like my asshole licked after we talked about our future careers. I blame Obama for all this. I do. Actually I don't, it just seems like everyone else does in this world for their problems. But seriously, I feel like I'm in a marathon of Sex and the City episodes that I cant get out of and unlike the ending to that show, there are no satisfying orgasms at the end of the night. Well, at least not on my end. Like a lot of the women did in Sex and The City, I stopped believing in the whole idea of Prince Charming when I was nine years old. Yet I still believed that Santa Clause put a pink bike under the Christmas tree and the Easter Bunny pooped out colored hard-boiled eggs in my basket. Yes, I know it doesn’t make much sense to me either. Ever since a boy on the playground told me his dad went to see other women’s boobies on his parents’ anniversary, I knew there was no hope in the world for Mister Perfect. From then on my Barbie went out for girls night, sipped pink champagne with her many friends, had meaningless sex with Ken and kicked him out of their dream Barbie house late at night. I learned quite young.

I know what you're thinking, my problems that I experience in the dating world and men are because something's wrong with me. I suppose I could agree and disagree.

Disagree, because I'm a great catch. I know I am. I have my shit together to put it plainly and have my priorities set straight. Besides having all the important qualities a civilized human being in society should have, I feel like I'm slightly familiar with the balance a woman needs to have to be a lady and a vixen. I'm trying my best to refrain from the ever so popular saying in rap songs "Lady in the street but a freak in the bed" ...this task isn't easy. In fact, Paris Hilton and Miley Cyrus are still striving to obtain this title. I call this achievement the "Scarlett Johansson" the right amount of "bam" but you still know the chick has some brains to her and she does everything in a classy matter. But, you still have to question whether she has pearl handcuffs at home in her goody drawer.

But, then the agreeing part would say "Yes, I'm a handful to say the least. I don't settle or agree with everything you say. I judge people on their music taste and I have a wall surrounding me that's as tall as fifty-five Shaquille O'Neals." Yes, this serves as a problem. But, show me one girl who doesn't have something stopping her from her ideal dating life.

It sounds like I'm complaining about this ordeal in my world. Maybe I am. Just a little. But, it's a love/hate relationship I have in this department. The things I go through, the people I meet, the shit I say in response to stupidity...It just gives me a story to tell at a Friday night dinner.

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