My city is haunted. Everywhere I turn it seems I come face to face with endless reminders of some guy I used to date who has since disappeared into thin air, yet still manages to haunt my existence, proving essentially that most guys are there only to drive us to the brink of insanity. I recently went on a night out with my go-to girls to discuss sex in our city over mid-afternoon martinis, when no sooner had one of my Mademoiselles opened the menu, than she burst into tears.
We were just about to toast to our fabulous single-ness, the scandals we would inevitably endure, and the adventures we’d embark on, when disaster struck in the form of a sobbing mascara-running monster. The girls and I had barely even taken a sip of our now much needed cocktail before we could react to the tears now streaming down her face at the rate of Niagara Falls. The reason? (If your gag-reflex has a low tolerance, I suggest you skip this portion of my not-so-happily-ever-after tale.) She opened the menu and saw the appetizer she and her beau-no-more had ordered on their first date. Now, taking careful concentration to resist the urge to reach across the table and slap her back to reality, the girls and I instead chose to coax her into turning her cocktail into a much more scandalous, more girls’-night-worthy mock-tale.
The most upsetting thing about our wayward girls’ night gone wrong? She managed to get so upset over a guy she dated for a little over three months. Three months! Now, I can get down with the idea of lust at first sight, but seeing this once strong, gorgeous girl fall apart at some half-priced happy hour delicacy was utterly nauseating, enough to qualify as bulimic motivation to all those size-two sweethearts that need the occasional extra encouragement to lose their lunch over something so absurdly disconcerting.
If my city of angels truly is haunted, and victim to a demonic possession of past affairs that refuse to be exercised and instead, find amusement in the somewhat insanity-inducing playful poltergeists that live after death in order to remind you of how happy you once were…well it seems all girls are destined to live a Linda Blair life. I guess what it comes down to is, are you willing to live in Amityville territory? All hauntings are said to occur because something horrific took place there, and L.A. being, let’s face it, less than hallowed ground – I guess it’s just a simple matter of if you are willing to share your affair with ghosts of relationships past? Or are threesomes just a bit too scandalous for your taste? Because girls, how are we supposed to pursue our happily ever after when our once upon a time is out to get us? Clearly Los Scandalous needs an exorcism, an eraser, and some much stronger beverages.