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Another Night Out in LA

Just so you know, I didn't make it out on Saturday, thanks to a visit from Mother Nature. It was cool, though, because I needed the time to rest and think.

And what, pray tell, did I think about? My crazy ex. Can you believe he had the nerve to call again? After I told him -- in no uncertain terms -- that I'm done with the relationship, he still had the nerve to ring my phone this weekend. Fortunately for him, I didn't answer. However, his complete disregard for my feelings makes me think, once again, that I made the right choice in cancelling his subscription to MackDiva Magazine.

That incident made me angry, but fortunately all was not lost this holiday weekend. I felt better on Monday, so I went to this wonderful little thing called "The Battle of the Sexes." One of my new-found Cali friends hosts the monthly forum, which gives people the opportunity to find out exactly what goes on with the opposite sex. People submit questions anonymously to the host, who poses the question to the room. Anyone can answer, and it usually turns into a spirited debate on topics of love, lust, and everything in between. Even though I find the rhetoric fairly redundant, I like it because a) it gives me the chance to see other LA singles, and b) I can get out of the house.

When the shindig was over, everyone was still milling around despite the fact that there was no after-party in sight. One of the guys who had been especially vocal and abrasive said to me, "Oh, don't look at me like that, pretty lady." When I asked him what kind of look I was giving him, he said that I had that "I wanna slap a brotha" look on my face.

I should probably clarify something at this point. My face is very expressive, and I have a very hard time hiding things. Even though I don't always comment on stuff, it's not hard to figure out what's on my mind. For the record, I really didn't want to slap him. I was actually waiting to talk to my friend, and she was busy entertaining a group of guys who'd come in late. I was slightly annoyed by that because I didn't want to stand around like a groupie. Even though I was looking at Abrasive Boy, he was the furthest thing from my mind.

I told him, "Chile, please! I am not bothered by you." And I wasn't. His comments were crazy, but I wouldn't hold them against him. I had a little polite conversation with him, said goodbye to my friend -- finally -- and got ready to head home.

When I got outside, Abrasive Boy and the guy he rode with were about to leave, too. His friend had been at my table, and he was a cutie. Not only was dude rocking a smooth baldy with a goatee, he had been quite charming to me and the other girl I was sitting with during the discussion. I turned to them and said, "It was nice to meet y'all. Have a good night." AB was like, "Where are you parked?" I told him that my car was around the corner. He said, "Well, I would walk you there, but I'm not able to go fast because of these crutches." He turned to his homeboy and said, "Dude, walk her to her car." And he did.

It was a small gesture, but one that restored my faith in the quality of California men.


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