Shitty Date No.3 and 4 – My Independence Days

Ok, it’s been a famine. Seriously. My dating mojo has dried up and shrunk like those tiny little shrimp you see in chinese friend rice that you can’t believe are actually that size.

At this particular point in time, I could walk into a bar naked with a suitcase full of cash for the first person who would touch the Commander and I still would go home with blue balls.

I’m getting a little obsessed now. Every day I open my eyes and think, what’s wrong with me? I sneer at ads in magazines with smiling couples. I want spit on the street in front of people holding hands.

Realizing that I’m not the nicest of people right now, I sequester myself away and bury my head in work. Till this passes, if ever…

It’s 4th of July Weekend, and I’m sitting at my desk banging away on Diary, trying to get this rewrite finished for another completely unrealistic deadline by the funding powers that be.

I can hear the whole of LA partying like it’s 1999 and I have sore fingers, an achy head and a resentful taste in my mouth.

Then the phone rings. It’s my great mate, Mike G, who is half plastered down in Long Beach at a great party that he tells me I have to come to, because there are so many cute guys and I have to come and I’m going to love the guys here and I have to come and it’s down in Long Beach and there are so many cute guys…

I love Mike when he’s had a margarita. And just the sound of his voice gets me in the social mood. So I jump in KITT and together we head down to Long Beach, the site of my last non-date.

So I find the place and Michael is right, it’s cutie heaven, packed with 60 or more people and just plain fun. Then Mike introduces me to the host, Randy. Who is just lovely. Very handsome, very my thing, very single.

Things are looking up. But I’m getting kind of mixed messages, is he interested and shy? Or is he not interested and being a good host? When Mike suggests we should be dating, Randy goes red. Is this adorable embarrassment? Or the look of a man being dug into a hole by a well-intentioned friend?

I ponder this question by the fence with a beer and meet a few other guys at the party, including Leo, who is bolshy and very attractive and coming on strong. I kind of like that. There’s no mistaking Leo’s intentions. But he’s leaving and then tells me that if I want to give him my number, it’s now or never. So I do.

The party begins to wind down, so I go to say bye to Randy. He once again goes red and asks if he can get my number from Mike. Ah hah! Shy! I like shy!

I tell him he can get it from me and hand him my card. Wow, this is a turn around, famine to feast. Dating in LA is a numbers game. For every 5 numbers you hand out you get half a phone call. But two in a day, makes me feel like I’m back in the game again.

He takes my card, then it all goes as off as one of the half drunk warm beers that surround us.

Randy: So you met Leo?
Me: Uh yeah.
Randy: He’s cool huh?
Me: Yeah, seems to be.

How does he know Leo? Karl, it’s his party you idiot.

Randy: He’s my best friend; I’ve known him for 9 years.

Oh great. I see the conversation on the phone the next day. I met a great guy at your party Randy. Really? I met a great guy at my party too, Leo.

Me: Ah, I see. Well, I actually gave him my number too.
Randy: Oh?
Me: Yeah.

I’m stuck somewhere between feeling like the whore of Babylon and like I just got a Karmic backhander for what I’m not sure. Why do two of the handful of interesting men I’ve met all year, have to both be single and best friends?

So there was an awkward hug goodbye, and then I went home to wait by the phone. It doesn’t ring. Ever. So I pick it up and making a booking. Table for one at the famine please.

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