
Suddenly and unexpectedly, I had the night off from Mama duty. Ah, fuck it. I shot Scott a text that I was free, after all he did say if something opened up sooner then Saturday to let him know. He had some Jazzercise class he was going to but could meet up after. Perfect, I can work late on all the shit I don't do during the day when I am blogging, texting, tweeting, jerking off in my office then run home to dust off the pretty parts and meet up.
Was I nervous? Yes, I had talked rather intimately with this guy on the phone for a couple of weeks and probably built up the situation to be more than it was going to be. But I figured he'll be a little nervous too. WOW was I wrong!! The guy didn't even smile when he walked into the bar to find me sitting there with my RBV (Red Bull Vodka) with lime. I stood up to hug him and I got this polite yet cold embrace. Ouch number one.
Let me back up for a minute... I fucking used Nair before meeting him. I am not that kind of chick. I don't slather on toxic hair remover only to burn the shit out of my overly sensitive, uber white bordering on translucent skin for anyone. Red toenail polish had been applied, hair extra coiffed, light make up but dark lips to give the illusion that I was pure as the driven snow but painted mouth as to say I'll blow you the second I see you. Jesus, it took me almost two fucking hours to peacock it out. I am not ugly but I really wanted all my i's dotted and my t's crossed to meet Scott. He can get everyday, a little scruffy sometimes Niki down the line. The outfit was cute too, jeans, little black vneck t-shirt with a touch of silver shit on it to match my ultra sexy dark silver strappy shoes with just enough peep to see those shiny toes. I was sexy with out being slutty.
I got to the bar that he suggested and we agreed upon about 15 minutes early. Cool little joint in NoHo (North Hollywood). One of those places that you have to know it's there to be able to find it, no name, no address, just a red light bulb over the drab door. It was a Tuesday night so the place was quiet with regulars hanging out in two pockets of groups. Hipster set on the couches casually talking and occasionally pulling out iPhones or Blackberrys to check on whatever needed checking. The "one drink" group hanging at the end of the physical bar with the bartender. These are generally those that live near by, are bored and think I'll go down to Match for "one drink and say hi to Kitty". Yes, the place is called Match and I'm not making that name up.
Kitty, a cute, petite black woman with short blonde hair and a pretty smile asked me "what can I get for you?". I looked at her loveliness and thought if it doesn't go well with him, maybe a few chocolate kisses could be nice. I was so sexually charged to meet him that everything and everyone was turning me on. She poured me a strong drink and noticed she had some horror flick on the big screens on mute. There was some old Squeeze playing on the jukebox. I felt oddly comfortable when I walked in because no one really gave a shit. Here's the thing about LA bars, everyone looks at the door when any one walks into their watering hole and generally the bartenders are too cool for school. But not this place and not my Kitty. It and she was just cool.
I stirred the drink a bit hoping the melting ice would take the bite off the vodka. With sheer panic I realized no one had any idea where I was so immediately picked up my phone and text my friend Hildy. "If I turn up missing tomorrow, let the police know I went to Match in NoHo to meet Scott Pilgrim. Search the net Hildy, he's all over it. I met him on nerve. Tell Bean I love her." It parsed into two messages. To which she replied, "Ooooo, is this the guy you told me about? Wait, I thought it was happening on Saturday night?" I filled her in and we decided if it didn't work out with him or her soon to be husband we'd be old lady roomies down the line. I was feeling good, I had immediate plan B, Kitty and future plan C, Hildy.
We come to the part where he walks in, he looked handsome but I knew what he looked like from the video's online I had googled earlier the week before. He has his own business that involves a certain niche market that deals with entertainment and celebrities from time to time. No it's not porn. He had on these dark brown cord like pants and a black t-shirt. Doesn't sound as good as it looked but he looked good. He's got an eighthead which he called it so I am not being unkind. Besides my brother has been bald since 17 so I know what a sensitive subject that can be for a man. A goatee and a few extra pounds but that's not something that has ever bothered me about a person. I did notice later when we moved to the couches after he ordered his tequila and ginger that he kept pulling at his shirt right at the belly part as if to say he was uncomfortable about his size. But I just thought he was adorable.
He asked me if I was nervous, I answered honestly and then I asked him if he was to which he was honest too. "No, actually I almost canceled. I'm really tired." Ouch number two.
Fuck me no smile, almost a blow off. Ok Ok don't over think it, I started chanting in my brain. I try a new approach. "Can I just say I think you're very handsome." And here's the reply and red flag, "Thanks, and thank God you look like your pictures."
Dudes, I was so like, really?! Really?! Did he just say that. For my young friends reading, um that means two things 1) he doesn't know how to compliment a woman and B) he's an online serial dater. (Yes 1 & B were on purpose.) Of course writing this in hindsight, I understand that now but at the time I wasn't as quick, I simply thought he was being jerky. Now for all my experience woman reading, why do we continue the evening at this point? Because the situation and the jerk then becomes a challenge to get the compliment, be the one pussy he can't live without and him to never have a need to online date or date at all again; for I am the one and I will make him see it. Retarded thinking and yet so many women have done this and the following things.
More to come...
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