Alright Los Angeles....why do you have no good men? I remember a time where I had crushes, and daydreams. But since living in L.A. things have changed, it is now mandatory for me to ask myself "Is he gay?...." If the answer is no, I must then ask myself "Does he wear more mousse than me?" If a man's hair is glossy and stands on end more than 1/2 inch....I must close that door firmly and lock it. Of course if it's not the hair its the Ed Hardy v-neck that dips to the navel, and exposes the spray-tanned, inflated pectorals. Thank L.A. I now know what douche bag means. Was that mean? It was supposed to be. If not, lets get in touch and I'll rip you a new one.
Men just arent what they used to be, of course I just started noticing them my sophomore year of college, so that statement may not be valid. I recently met a nice fellow, Beau, in Venice, last night actually. Unfortunately he was about sixty or so years old and homeless. Beau entered my life when he stepped in front of my friends car with his hand up and yelled 'Stop!'. At the height of our confusion, we noticed a reverse lights of a Mini Cooper light up just ahead on the left. The Mini reversed slowly, and the yuppies driving it seemed to be just as confused as we were. However all hostile reactions were restrained as we realized Beau was indeed guiding us to a parking spot. 'How nice of him to find a spot', I thought to myself, but I still had that awkward feeling you get when receiving an undesired gift from a relative. One year for my birthday my mom unexpectedly gave me a table runner.
"I thought you might like this sweetie, I'm always thinking of you when I'm out", she said .
"Um, what is this?," I asked, coating my annoyance with a perky tone. We've all done it.
"It's a table runner," she answered.
"Do I have a table?....I mean what am I gonna do....with this?"
"You don't like it?"
"I never said that," I answered, although that is exactly what I was saying.
"You dont like it," my mom stated, she was getting frazzled.
"Mom, stop. Its great....thanks."

This was no table runner, but I was still a little confused. I shrugged it off and exited the car. Not a second after, I look up to see Beau, standing at a might 6 feet and some inches tall. I did not know he was homeless until he said, "Now ya'll remember I'm homeless" (this was followed by a hearty chuckle). My friend and I offered to grab him some dinner and he kindly accepted. At the end of the evening I looked up and down the Venice streets (exaggeration), but there was no sign of my self-proclaiming, homeless friend Beau. As the dos chicken tacos began to chill, my doubt grew, then all of the sudden I heard a bellowing voice from the other end of the parking lot, "Keep going, little to the left, there you go now straighten it out"....there he was, my knight in stretching sweatpants, Beau. He was nothing less than thrilled to receive the tacos.....thrilled, and also bold, because he gave me a mighty side hug, and my hand a kiss.

Back to my point, where have all the good men gone? Or perhaps Paula Cole (late nineties recording artist....most known for the Dawson's Creek theme song) said it best..."Where have all the cowboys gone?"