what are we calling them these day?—oh, yes: males.

(1) Conservative guy calls me. "Yeah, fine," I tell him. "Meet the other bloggers and me for a drink on Friday or Saturday night. If you haven't gone back to bed at that point, with a bottle of cheap booze."

"The place in the lobby, the one across the street, or the pub that's catty-corner to the hotel?" he asks.

"God knows," I tell him. "Ask the boys at RedState. I'm just concentrating on not slashing my wrists—one day at a time."

"Oh, yes," he remarks. "That little McCain problem. Do you think Stephen Glass was prescient?"

"Downright psychic," I reply. "He should get hired back at New Republic. Just a bit ahead of his time. It'll be ugly this year."

"Should the bartenders and pub-owners start arming themselves?" he asks.

"Fuck, yeah," I reply. "In the short term, they need to start stashing Louisville Sluggers behind the bars. Long-term, things are looking good for our beloved Second Amendment; the Cons will be on the prowl this year."

(2) Liberal guy meets me at the Italian place near the old mall Santa Monica Promenade for a plate of pasta and a walk.

"I've been accused of being hostile," I tell him.

"Your blog is hostile," he reminds me.

"Just toward John McCain! And other people like that."

"What? Men?" He's joking. Sort of.

He decides we should see a movie, and I'm on-board because my lack of media exposure makes me well-nigh unemployable in L.A.

But we squabble over the fact that George-fucking-Clooney is the star of the show, and give each other the silent treatment afterward, on the way back to our cars, for no discernable reason.

"I took my blog down," he remarks.

"Fine," I tell him. "It was only a matter of time."

"How many glasses of wine did you have with dinner?" he enquires.

"Not many," I respond. "Circa three."

"You're tipsy," he informs me.

"Fine," I respond. "When was the last time you decided you had to fucking pay for fucking sex?

This is all cool, though: if we squabble, he doesn't have to rag on his sisters. And I, in turn, don't have to take it all out on my brother. Or my father. So all is well.

Wait—if I sound like a man-hater, there is a perfectly good reason for that . . . and someday, I'll blog about it. Or post my brother's pay stub. Or something.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:34 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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