I’m the definition of a false advertisement, and I feel badly that the guy I met last night doesn’t know this. I come across cool, all loosey-goosey and full of trashy talk and innuendoes, and the quiet, serious computer technician I met at a cheesy Los Angeles bar last night thinks he hit the dating lottery. Little does he know I am not laid-back at all: I’m complicated, demanding, impossible to please, and if you date me long enough my keen sense of humor will be twisted back so that the only joke I’m really telling is the one on you. I bought him a drink and I kissed him before sending him off with the cute girl I talked up at the bar for him, and he texted this morning that he got lucky with the girl, and it was really great meeting me. It’s the classic bait and switch, he will likely never see that other girl again, but I give great text so I’m sure the next girl he gets lucky with will be me. Unfortunately for him, lucky isn’t really the word I would use to describe getting involved with me: this poor guy has no idea what he’s getting himself into. A good friend should tell him, if it seems to be good to be true, it probably is.

It’s all sales, the dating world, and I’m terrible at sales so I try and stay out of it, I don’t internet date or have my friends set me up, I just sleep with guys I know sometimes and every once in a while fall headlong into love and it’s like a bad car accident with casualties and broken parts scattered all over the road; it’s an unfortunate circumstance for everyone involved, and the computer guy from last night is just standing in the middle of a wet road staring into the headlights of a car without brakes. But that doesn’t stop me from sending him flirty texts all day, like mini-advertisements for a great new product on the market. I think I’m ready for a new bad relationship, it’s been a while since I really fucked up someone’s life.


Read the full-on… D-Girl Diary tomorrow!

(d girls image artist Tashina Suzuki)