New year new start right? Wrong. Same old dating disaster stories that honestly give the famed four females from Manhattan a run for their money. So in an effort to meet new people, I agree to go out with this guy who would totally be my type (if I really had one) preppy, motivated, loves classic rock, should have just gone ahead and wrote future Mr. SweetLo. This of course was my train of thought before “the incident,” as I like to refer to it. Now most girls’ dating horror stories consist of skirt in underwear, spilling cocktail on white couture, tripping and falling in front of the mass population of Los Scandalous. But me? No, I like to be different! So we go to this place where fried food and arcade games circa 1980 came a dime a dozen. In a post food, post-drink haze of flirtation, we decided to compete in a little rousing round of air hockey. Well my train of thought was still on track until I successfully blocked the little dangerous disc, sent it back his way, with a trail of blood across the table. Now, my train of thought had officially gone off track and crashed. There were no survivors. Now leave it to me to turn West Hollywood into a South Central-style murder scene. All I needed was to be wearing either red or blue and my gang affiliation wouldn’t be questioned due to my bloody street cred. So while I was in questioning (from former Mr. Perfect) as to how I managed to sever my hand on a plastic disc, I told him I was just talented. Well, twenty-ten is officially off to one hell of a start. Can’t wait for my next misadventure on the search for mister right….now.