Ladies, for the last effing time: I’m not trying to sleep with your men.

I’ve always preferred the company of men to women. Maybe it’s because my Father wanted a boy and I grew up with all Uncles and no Aunties, but I just get along better with them. I like sports and have been positively obsessed with baseball since before I hit puberty. I don’t like to talk about my emotions and I never, ever cry in front of people. I’m not a fan of vegetables, per se, and I always clear my plate; In-and-Out cheeseburger Animal Style, Ocean Taqueria chicken burrito, Costco hot dog slathered in mustard: I devour them all. I pretty much only drink beer, Stella Artois being the love of my dive-bar life, but I like Pabst and Tecate just the same when it comes right down to it.

I'm an Honorary Dude Sometimes

But I’m no one-trick pony, either; I very much have my girly attributes. I love fashion and know couture like the back of my hand because I worked for Barney’s New York for a period of time, and I’m addicted to vintage everything so I frequent thrift stores and flea markets on a regular basis. I do enjoy a mani-pedi when the mood and the necessary cash flow permit. I read the newspaper every day and finish a book a week on topics which range from classical fiction, to modern philosophy, to chick lit, to cultural studies and all the way along the literate boardwalk to poetry. I am 100% obsessed with every type of music imaginable, and attend at least a handful of concerts a month in a mixture of business and pleasure. I’m also addicted to all kinds of television, so I’m not a cultural snob: How I Met Your Mother, Shadow Force, Intervention, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Extras, Grey’s Anatomy…I can’t quit ‘em. Art and photography are side-projects I dabble in and I also enjoy them as cultural production. Movies, plays, symphonies, ice skating, roller derby, bowling, or sitting on my buddy’s couch for hours talking about and doing nothing in particular are all activities I will witness or take part in.

But This is What Drains my Bank Account

If I’m allowed strategic wardrobe changes I can go from a Dodgers-Giants game during the day, to a hipster dive bar in the evening, and then on to a production of La Boheme and a quick stop at an after-hours club before getting into my flannel pajamas or sexy lingerie (depending if my date plays his cards right) at the end of it all. What I’m saying (besides tooting my own horn here) is that I get along with anyone and everyone because I like everything.

I get along with everyone, except catty bitches. Look, I get it: no one likes to see their man hanging out with a leggy blonde who looks moderately like Kirsten Dunst. But your issues aren’t with me, they are with yourselves. I love pretty much everyone I meet and I hate confrontation so I’ll never be openly rude to you, unless you come out claws extended or you verbally attack one of my people, in which case you will know I’m not pleased. So if you have a problem with me, I’m really not your problem because you’re dealing with your own insecurities, ladies. It’s not my fault you barely have a personality because all you do is sit at home and file your nails. It’s also not my fault that you practically starve yourself to get the naturally thin build I was graced with, so back off. I’m no expert here, but maybe y’all should spend more time crafting yourselves into interesting people your fellas want to spend time with in lieu of critiquing my actions and my theoretical sex life (which is non-existent anyways!).

So, for the last time, I’m not trying to seduce your men; I just want to hang out in a laid back environment that’s free of estrogen-produced yipping that stirs up a whole lot of drama. And if you’re a bitchin’ lady in the San Francisco area who read this post and sympathized with my predicament, we should totally hang out. Let’s grab some brewskies at Zeitgeist and discuss the Yves Saint Laurent exhibit at the De Young Museum.

See you there…

Beers...ASAP