Real Men Use Chopsticks

Hello all,

Just so you know, even though you may not believe me, interesting things don't happen to me everyday. Somedays I need a little bit of perspective to realize what is funny and what is just mildly amusing. So for those of you, how I am like you personal crack, I apologize for any delay of posting because of writer's anxiety and mundane jobs.

Anywho-New Year's Eve. So I went out by myself and and had a spectacular time. I was wearing a new outfit (indigo shirt, white and silvery tie, grey vest, my tightest jeans- oh yeah, I was in it to win it) and I chugged a fruit smoothie with a crap load of vodka in it from the car to the bar. Drinks are expensive and driving intoxicated, although it happens, is also not cool. I just felt I needed to clarify that.

So, a handful of drinks later, I woke up the next morning in some guy's bed (no judgement). We could call him....Mr. Has-a-cat, or we could call him Mr. Smokes-with-drinks, but for the sake of hilarity, let's call him Mr. Lives-with-Grandma. Now, life happens, I of all people understand this and people who live in glass houses with relatives shouldn't throw rocks.....unless it's your only way out. But when I sobered up around 9 a.m. and found myself peeing into one of those toilets with the medical seat and handle bars attached to the bowl, I knew there was something different between living with you parents and living with your 83 year old grandmother who just broke her hip.

Mr. Lives-with-Grandma was very into me, which I found very endearing, and after I left him that morning the first 20 texts were more than welcomed. But somewhere in between the 50th "Can't wait to C U!!!" text (gag) and me showing up to the bar a half our early, where I realized I was way too cute for him and was getting hit on by a plethora of guys in my waist range, I lost interest. At the second bar I met many more fun guys and Mr. Lives-with Grandma faded into the background with nothing more than a blurry memory and about 8 angry texts I found on my phone the next morning.

The next morning I woke up with a new friend (no judgement!) and he could have a real name as well, but let's call him Stumpy-end of story.

I was sitting at P. F. Changs today thinking over my lunch special. I looked left and I looked right and decided that I was the most sophisticated person at the bar. It wasn't my love of the arts, feelings of competitive drive during a heated game of Jeopardy!, or the fact that I read books for fun; I was the only one using chopsticks. I do not eat exceedingly well with chopsticks, but I try. I try because when I see someone eating with chopsticks I think, "Whoa, he must know what he's doing!" And that's hot. I am looking for a man who eats with chopsticks. He could be named Mr. Unemployed or Mr. Doesn't-believe-in-manscaping, he could even be named Mr. No-college-degree, but as long as he ate with chopsticks, he would make it through the second date......It wouldn't hurt if he was independently wealthy and really hot; I mean if he's going to be a hairy unemployed college drop-out he better be hot.....or rich.