About two weeks ago I met a nice young man at a cute little bar in West Hollywood. He stood out amongst an otherwise rowdy and obnoxious group of boys, largely due to the fact that he, unlike his cohorts, was polite, well-behaved, and quite good looking. His consistent admiration of my recently purchased Coach stillettos, combined with the fact that he kept insisting I was classy, was charming and I gave in and gave him my phone number. Since I never expect anyone to actually call when they say they are going to, I was incredibly surprised when I recieved a voicemail from him immediately following the obligatory 5 day waiting period. He left a sweet message about how he'd really like to take me out for dinner, and supplied me with a phone number where I could reach him.

I called him back. What did I have to lose? I was new in town, and hey...a girl has to eat right? We arranged to meet for sushi at a little lounge in Hermosa Beach. The date was awkward at first, a situation remedied quickly by a large amount of saki. We had a perfectly nice dinner, paid for by him, and afterwards he accompanied me to my front door to make sure I got home okay. He was quite the gentleman. We agreed to talk that weekend, and meet again next week for a date.

On Saturday evening I was out with some friends. Fueled by way too many afternoon Bloody Marys consumed at Sharkeez on the Hermosa Beach pier, I placed a call and left him a message asking if he'd like to meet me out that night. I regretted my hasty call the next morning, but was pleased when he called me back on Sunday night. He thanked me for calling him, we chatted amicably and we tentatively set a date to meet on Wednesday evening.

While sitting at my desk on Wednesday morning, my cell phone rang and his number popped up. I answered:

Jen: (Cheerily) Hey...what's up.
Female Voice: (Icily)Who is this?
Jen: (Skeptically) Who is THIS?
Female Voice: (Even more Icily) You left a message on a shared cell phone that I have with my husband. You were asking him to meet you out on Saturday.
Jen: (Silence)
Female Voice: Hello?
Jen: (Confused, bewildered, slightly frightened) Um...yeah. I'm here. Who is this again?
Female Voice: I'm Xxx's wife.
Jen: What?
Xxx's Wife: Yeah, and I have been for eight years. I take it he didn't mention me?
Jen: Um..God no. Wait. You are Xxx Xxxxx's wife? This MUST be some sort of mistake.
xxx's Wife of Eight Years: You're telling me.
Jen: (Matter-of-Factly) Wait just one minute. This must be some sort of mix up. This can't be true. Xxx Xxxxx? 6'4'', dark hair, tattoo on his arm?
Xxx's Wife of Eight Years: Yeah. That's my husband. Do you mind me asking what you were doing calling.
Jen: Um...I don't mind..no. He..uh...he told me to call him. I mean, uh, we actually...uh...we went on a date on Wednesday night. (Ashamed) He took me out for...
Xxx's Wife of Eight Years: He took you out for what?
Jen: (Gulp) Sushi. He took me out for Sushi
Xxx's Wife of Eight Years: You mean to tell me that you went on a date with my Husband?
Jen: (Frantically) I am so sorry. I had absolutely no idea. I would have NEVER ever gone out with him had I known he was married. God! This is insane. I'm so sorry. I feel horrible. I am so sorry. So very, very sorry.
Xxx's Wife of Eight Years: Horrible? You feel horrible. I'm clearly getting a divorce now...I'm the one that feels horrible.
Jen: (Silence)
Xxx's Wife of Eight Years: If you don't mind...If he calls again I'd appreciate it if you could tell him that you know that he's married. I'd also really appreciate it if you stopped seeing him.
Jen: Done, and done. Of course. I'll gladly never speak to him again. Gladly. Oh my god. I'm SO sorry. (Quietly) I'm so sorry that this has happened to you.
Xxx's Wife of Eight Years: (Sobbing) Me too. (Click)

Hello!!??!! What the hell is going on?

Let me just point out a couple of things. This guy pursued me. He wore no wedding ring. The friends that he was with when I met him failed to mention ANYTHING about a wife of eight years. He took me on a date, and very nonchalantly went on and on how wonderful of a first date it was. He then proceeded to give me the phone number of a cell phone that he shares with his WIFE? Yes... I failed to actually ask him..."Hey, by the way, have you been married to someone for eight years and if so, do you share a cell phone with her?" What the... I was utterly perplexed and once again, incredibly disappointed in the heterosexual male race. Thankfully, I got out relatively unscathed, but the wife of eight years...I can't even imagine. That poor woman.

Of course, I immediately called Gina, Stevie, and Jerry with the story, interrupting them at yet another one of thier company Christmas parties. Sadly, their surprise was only minimal, as Gina remarked, "And here we'd thought you'd turned over a new (and more normal) leaf with this one." They'd thought I'd left my bad luck with men behind in New York. (Note: If you take a gander at the Man Meter, my bad luck is clearly on display.) Unfortunately it was quite obvious that I had brought the string of bad luck with me to Los Angeles, only now it was inflamed, and it was leaving divorcee's behind in its wake.

I'm sorry, but I must ask the question. Where are all the normal men? I think that they exist. My father is one. I have male friends that are normal. I hate to spend any more on this well worn topic, but some of these people are purely bizarre, and now in addition to being simply bizarre, they are also, lying, cheating, adulterous bastards. I honestly feel the need to warn others that they are out there running around amongst the gerneral population. BEWARE! At this point I may as well stand next to Lady Liberty in New York harbor, one hand in the air, one hand clutching a tablet. ....

Give me your tired, your poor, your cheating husbands yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of the dating world. Send these, the assholes, the freaks... to me....

I'm like friggin Ellis Island for all the crazies in the dating community.