A Public Service Announcement

To 99.9% of the men in Los Angeles:

Please leave me alone.

I am attractive. I realize this. I hope that in my unabashed admission of this you do not find me to be a conceded bitch. But it is true. I am tall, thin, and I don't need to wear tons of make-up in an attempt to make myself more beautiful. In fact, most of the time I strive to make myself as plain and ordinary as possible.

And yet, you don't give up. On the contrary, your tenacity is overwhelming, even exhausting. I am at my wits end. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, the simple fact is I can't even walk to 7-11 to buy a six pack without getting hit on.

Now, I know most women would be delighted by this. Most likely, the female of the species' general hatred for me just doubled within the last two sentences. I guess the vile disdain I have for most men comes not from the simplicity of the action itself, but rather from the way you go about doing it. To illustrate my point, I will give you a scenario.

Exhibit A: I am walking either to or from the subway station on my way to or from work. We'll say it's about 9 P.M. You and your buddies are walking ahead of me, in a pack, hogging up the whole damn sidewalk. It is a well-known fact that I walk fast, so eventually, in your attempt to look undeniably "gangsta" and walk at a snail's pace, I am going to catch up to you.

When this happens, I know you're going to give me the once over. I know it. Hey, you're a guy. And it's human nature to stare at other people anyway. But do so discretely, please. And don't choose this as the time to ask questions, like "Where's the bud at?"

WTF?!?! Really? Do I look like I know "where the bud's at?" First of all, the grammatical structure of that sentence is, for lack of a better term, completely jacked. Secondly, I rarely smoke. And I would never EVER smoke (or do anything else) with you, Creepy-Guy-I-Hardly-Know.

So when I don't answer you simply for the fact that A) I DON'T CARE, and B) YOU ARE CREEPY, in an attempt to nurse your wounded manhood and elicit some kind of response from me, it's not really going to help you out if you yell, "Damn girl, you got ass! You got ass!"

True story. I was there.

I know what you're thinking: "Well, maybe you shouldn't walk around in that skimpy little top and that mini-skirt with your derriere hanging out for all the world to see, you dime-store floozie!" (Please refer to Paragraph 2, Sentence 6. Thank you.)

Alas, if one is looking for Mr. Right, it seems that Los Angeles is hardly the place to find him. And all the nice, educated, good-looking ones are already taken. I guess I'm too picky; I mean, I know I have ridiculously high standards (I don't like to "settle" for anything, least of all my men), but the dichotomy that exists here is frustrating beyond. I mean, either someone is really good-looking, and a total idiot, or they are really nice and funny and smart and wouldn't buy you a Rufie-Colada at the local club, but you look at them and think, "you know, I just can't see myself ever sleeping with you."

Sad? Yes. Cruel? Absolutely. But it's the truth. And I may sound shallow, but, well... At least I'm honest. I don't want to waste your time, and I sure as hell don't want to waste mine.

So maybe someone else can solve this puzzle: why do guys think acting like a total moron will get them chicks? Or why do some women find that attractive? Furthermore, why do women seem to flock to the men who treat them like crap?

Perhaps I can liken this to the age-old question, "Just how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?"

The world may never know.