Simple Simon Says: Never Abandon Your Top "Must Have"

Anyone acquainted with me for above five minutes knows that the first in a list of qualities I'm looking for in a man is intelligence. Smarts. Sense. Brains. Wit...I know you catch my drift, you kindred-vixen-spirits...

Repeatedly forced to endure the many and constant admonitions of family and friends on my all too stringent list of "must haves," and the encroaching loneliness of dateless months in a new city, I conceded--perhaps they had a point. On top of lonely, I was horny. And feeling desperate. And well, desperately horny to get on top of ...some kind of male specimen, preferably with all his hair and his own transportation. It really was getting that calamitous.

So, allow me to introduce you to: Simon. I guess I still owe thanks to 'simple' Simon, who singlehandedly reinforced my staunch belief that a gal should never compromise on her "must haves." He represents the only time I deviated from my own enlightened path and sent that first prerequisite packing for a (albeit brief) leave of absence while I entered an equally short-lived interlude with a nice, simple, average, and as it turned out, dumb as a box of bricks, blonde guy. (Haven't been fond of blondes since then, come to think of it.)

Introduced by my cousin at her annual Super Bowl party, I'm not sure if I was intoxicated by the hours immersed in rampant testosterone, tightly crammed into their pint-sized apartment, the umpteenth beer, or some drug-laced macho nachos, but by night's end, I had a date set up with Simon. It was the first one I'd scheduled since moving to Los Angeles, so out the window went the wheels I thought my potential date should have. I mean, if he had family willing to schlep his ass all over greater metropolitan Los Angeles and Orange Counties, who was I to argue?

I quickly found the sound of this guy's voice annoying, but not half as much as the words formed with it. After ignorantly informing me that he was the "white sheep of the family" (and in his mid-20's, still living with some of said family...ok, just his mother) I had some debating to do. I did have my own apartment, so I figured I'd get the one thing we gals are told we can unfailingly expect from guys. Nevermind that I wasn't physically attracted to him. Nevermind that he hadn't finished college. Nevermind he had a ton of credit card debt and lived with mumsy. Nevermind my hand fetish (love guys with big manly, hardworking hands) and his bony fingers conjured childhood memories of Hansel & Gretel for some reason...but I digress. He brought me some daisies and a six-pack. It was ON.

And so. My desperate horniness had convinced me to take a spin around the track in the sack races. Who'd have thought I'd have to do all the pedalling? (Seriously, I've had better luck using a vibratory device with a dying battery). Unfortunately, once my earplugs were discovered--mid-coitus--due to an uninvited attempt to stick his pointy tongue in my ear, the 'jig' shall we say, was up. And relieved I was for that: the abilities of his schwanz were as underwhelming as those of his brain.

A somewhat heated discussion ensued and he ended up standing on the street in front of my apartment for almost two hours waiting for his mom to pick him up. But don't think I'm a bitch--this was before the days of sprint and at&t mobile-- and I let him use my phone to call mommie dearest for a ride. And for the record, when my cousin and I were recently laughing about that episode from all those years ago, she informed me that Simon still resides with his mother. Go figure.