Before you start, yes I know it was a horrible idea and I should probably have kept it intact. However, the good news is Coast Guard is now but a happy little memory in the back of my head.
This weekend was one of those random stories where something goes from bad, to worse, to a random glimmer of gossamer hope bursting through the clouds of doubt and remorse.
Thursday:
I sit at the bar as usual with Coast Guard next to me. A random guy comes up to him and asks if he knows where I went to high school. Coast Guard takes great pride in telling me that the guys opening words were "hey, I'm not trying to stare at your girl man, but she looks really familiar." Evidently it took him a minute to realize that the guy meant me. However, Coast Guard took really great pride in the idea that someone thought I was his girl. Before the night ended, I was using him as a human shield from a crazy guy singing karaoke in the bar.
Coast Guard also decided to crack my back in the parking lot. First of all, it's almost impossible to crack my back. He picks me up without consent and starts to try and crack my back. A cab driver pulls into the parking lot and looks at the two of us. He does a strange version of a Middle Eastern double take and then realizes what is going on with me and Coast Guard. I start laughing from the experience, making it even harder to crack my back. Coast Guard suddenly starts lifting me up and down in a way that looks oddly erotic to everyone around us and CRACK. I go home, I go to sleep and pray that I stop thinking about him.
Friday:
I'd been asked to go swing dancing by someone I will refer to as Swingboy. Though a pleasant individual, I can only categorize him as part of my crazy guys are naturally attracted to me kind of person. I show up to a swing dance club in Orange County (there aren't many, I'm sure you can figure out where I went) and he is there. He is wearing a coral colored ruffled top...with no sleeves. He shows me the basic swing steps. We dance for ten to fifteen minutes. He decides we need air. The two of us go outside to talk. He begins to launch into a story about how this girl broke his heart. As he divulges the tempestuous details of a makeout session gone bad, I realize I recognize the names attached to this story. He tells me how into this girl he was, and how deeply attracted he still is to her. To my complete and UTTER HORROR I realize that he's talking about my best friend from high school. Asking him if this is so removes all doubt. I also discover that she spent a good deal of time talking about me when they were fooling around. He then informs me that it was her input that led him to legally change his middle name to "Awesome." Swingboy then removes his drivers license to show me. Look upon my works and despair...
I have suddenly given up all hope for the night. We go back inside and he informs me that he is going to dance with some other people and that I need to stand on the wall. He then tells me that other people will probably ask to dance with me. Um, scared? First of all, until about an hour before, I didn't swing dance. Then add into the equation that I was asked by all older semi-attractive men who seemed to know what they were doing, and you get a pretty scared pissed off Tori. He then comes up to me and informs me he is tired and wants to go get food. I agree to follow him to Ihop. Because it was my local IHOP, I didn't have a problem out pacing him and getting there first. Swingboy gets out of his car and proceeds to put on a lime green florescent sweatshirt and a maroon cap. I suddenly despair further. Realizing this is going to get worse, I order only a diet coke.
I can tell that the waitress can already see where this is going. She gives me a patient knowing smile and takes his order. Swingboy proceeds to make comments about the waitress after she leaves. I have a huge problem with this. Grandpa always told me that if someone cannot be polite to the waitstaff, they will end up not being polite to you. I watch as he complains that his hamburger has mayo on it, asks for a different bun, etc. Nothing is right, nothing is good. I am in hell. During all this we are discussing how much he hates his family, how smart he is, how much money his "side business" makes. He then tells me that he's disappointed that we aren't "doing more." This is code word for fucking. I realize this. When I tell him I'm not really thinking we're going to sleep together, he informs me that there is "so much more we can do." I feel myself want to vomit at this thought, but smirk and ask where he lives. I am informed he currently resides in a Travelodge. Evidently his credit is so bad that at the moment he cannot rent an apartment. I hand him a five dollar bill, we pay the check and I politely tell him that I will "see him around" and get in my car and go home.
I get home and go into despair. My best friend will tell you of the lengthy depressed text messages I sent her. My saving grace was this line, for which I choose to make t-shirts someday:
"But my wrists are too pretty to cut"
I think about Coast Guard and cry myself to sleep, asking God what I've done so wrong to have this keep happening to me.
Saturday:
I wake up with an angry purpose. I don't want to do anything, but I know I should clean. Knowing this, I clean my bedroom. In a moment of weakness, I text Coast Guard and ask if he wanted to go see a movie. We'd talked about it Thursday, but I didn't know if he was serious. I received not reply, and found myself falling back into a state of utter despair and mental anguish. He answers several hours later, but by then things have already changed.
A text comes through. The Texan, a sweet guy who has been texting me for about a week, is texting to say hello. He asks how my date went the night before and informs me that he would like to call me, as he has yet to hear my voice. Some back story here: The Texan messaged me on OK Cupid with a comment about my Dr. Girlfriend costume. I am a huge Venture fan. He is a bigger Venture fan. I didn't know someone could be that way and still be somewhat sane. "Witty banter was shared" and before you knew it, I'd given him my number and we were causally texting back and forth. Over a few days I discovered his mutual love for the shows Archer, Aqua Teen Hunger Force and Frisky Dingo. Honestly, while funny, I didn't think anything would come of it. I figured he would get bored and fall back like so many others.
Texan asks if he can call me. I lie and say I'm busy. It's bullshit and I know it. I finish making my bed and picking up laundry and dial his number. It's one of those, aw why the hell not. His voice comes across the phone and I suddenly realize I'm doomed. He has a deep booming voice that I can't help but find sexy. We discuss random Venture trivia and then end up going on a 4 hour marathon conversation that covers everything from our stance on gay marriage to how much we both love sushi. It is literally the funniest conversation I have ever had on the phone. We discuss his parents, his family dog, his upcoming trip back home to see his family.
Texan tells me "I have to meet you. I really like you." I feel my heart go giddy and I tell him that yes, this is an excellent idea. The problem is I have plans, and I discover that he is scheduled to go on a date with a "vegetarian with a tramp stamp." I jokingly tell him he should go on his scheduled date, and he informs me that "I'm from Texas. I love meat. I have no business being with a vegetarian, let alone one with a tramp stamp." We agree to meet. He cancels his date. I call my friend and let her know what happened. I go hang out with her briefly and then drive to the Texan's place in Long Beach.
Further backstory. I don't date stable guys. I don't date guys with jobs. I don't date guys with cars. I don't date guys with functioning families or those who give off vibes that they might not just rape me in a dark alley. I am a smart, beautiful, sexy, hilarious woman...who has no idea how to pick a man that might be good for her.
I get lost on the way to his place and end up having to call for directions. I could get lost in my own neighborhood; it's just the way I am. People for the most part have accepted me and love me for it. He guides me to his place and he comes outside to meet me. He gets in my car, tells me immediately how beautiful he thinks I am, and then guides me to his parking structure. We hop in his totally gorgeous car (THE MAN HAS A CAR- AN EXPENSIVE CAR) and he proceeds to drive me to an amazing sushi place downtown.
The Texan and I discuss our mutual love of David Bowie, and I realize we are listening to a live recording of a David Bowie concert as we drive. First of all, this gives me an instant music girl boner. I'm in the car with a computer programer (another girl boner maker) and we are going to sushi (pretty much my favorite food in the world). He informs me that I am not to look at price tags, and I damn well am not paying for my dinner. This concept is almost entirely lost on me. I have spent so much of my life paying for the dinners of others, making sure my half is paid, or just trying to make sure that there is enough to keep us from washing dishes, that I don't really know how to accept someone giving me a meal.
We walk into the restaurant. He has made a reservation. Advanced planning? He is so winning. The waitress informs us that the table is not quite ready, but if we'd like to wait at the bar she will come find us as soon as it is.
The Texan and I walk into the bar... and the band begins to play "Space Oddity" by David Bowie. I have NEVER heard this played by a band in a bar, EVER. He smiles, leans down from his tall frame and whispers in my ear "I'm going to take that as a sign." The Texan has no idea how well he is working on me.
We are called to our table. He is sweet to the waiter. We both get drinks. He is courteous and polite and offers suggestions on food. He helps us order an amazing set of sushi rolls and doesn't balk at my desire to get a spicy tuna roll. I find myself wanting to kiss him so bad, but I hold back. As we talk, a familiar musical chord comes drifting in from the bar. I recognize it as "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd. He looks up and goes "oh I love this song." And I go "How can you not love Pink Floyd." He looks at me, smiles and says "I think I love you." We both giggle and I let him know my dad was a DJ in the 70's; music is in my veins.
We drive back to my car and he asks if I want to come to up his place (HE HAS HIS OWN PLACE). He's bought two bottles of wine because he was hoping I'd come over. Evidently he bought me a bottle of Chardonnay, because we'd discussed the fact that white wine is my favorite. I tell him I'd very much like to go see his place.
The Texan's apartment borders on orgasmic. He has taste, is a geek, and technologically savvy. His place is CLEAN. He has a giant flat screen and a roku player in his living room and bedroom. He shows me the kitchen and then stops me by putting his arms on my shoulders. "I believe I should just go for this," he says, kissing me deeply. It is sweet, and skilled, and he tastes amazing. I want him so bad, but I hold back. I'm not going to be that girl. I'm not going to be that girl. We walk out on one of his 3 balconies and look at the city scape. He points out Long Beach landmarks and then he kisses me again. We walk inside and makeout on his couch. He urges me back to the bedroom and we makeout more. We drink wine and makeout. We joke and giggle, and laugh and touch each other. He makes sure to pleasure me. He is very focused on pleasuring me. It is one of the best experiences of my life, and we haven't even had sex.
We discuss what he has on the Roku player. We kiss more. He asks if I'd like to make love. I say yes. It is intense, and insane, and delicious. I find myself shivering right now thinking about it. As a gentleman never asks and a lady never tells, let me say it ranks in the top three. Wow.
We finish and he turns on Venture Bros. AMAZING. We discuss random trivia, quote lines, touch each other like "badgers on Vaseline." He takes great care to touch me, kiss me, rub my feet and back, tell me I look and taste amazing.
I look over at him and realize that I have found my Henchman 21. It's geeky, and odd, and I find myself so turned on by that geeky we go again. Henchmen 21 aka Gary on Venture Bros holds a very strange attraction for me.
We watch Frisky Dingo and Archer and make love and drink wine and then he asks if I'd like to stay. He holds me and tells me how beautiful I am, over and over. He kisses my nose and my forehead. He looks me in the eyes and can't stop telling me how amazing I am. At this point, I don't care if this is real or not; I am in heaven. We drift off to sleep.
We awake today and I'm all concerned that it's going to be a "get the fuck out" sort of situation. Instead, he informs me that he really has nothing going on today, so if I'd like to hang out, all the better. We make love again. I use his shower. He takes me to a fantastic crepe place in Belmont Shore. We exchange bites of our breakfasts and split a side of potatoes. We kiss at odd times, drive around Long Beach, come back to his place and start our previous cycle over again. He tells me how much he likes me. I tell him how much I like him. We joke and laugh and act like idiots until 5pm when I head out. He's got work to do, I've got stuff to catch up on. We text when I get home, having mutually changed our text message notification to "DANGER ZONE" from Archer. It wasn't planned, but we both happened to do it at roughly the same time. He messages me online. He asks when I plan to tell my friends about him. I tell him I already am. He seems pleased.
My concern is this: that this is all just a random fantasy. I want so badly for it to be true. He has killed my longing for Coast Guard. He makes me feel sexy and amazing. He is polite, likes his family, has a real job, his own place, a car...so I can't help but wonder what is wrong with him. I can't help but wonder what I'm getting myself into. I want so badly for him to be real, and not some bullshit mystical unicorn concept. He is going back home for Christmas. Two weeks he will be gone. Two weeks where he has the chance to forget about me.
I am of two minds about this. One part of me is telling me horrible things. He will forget me. He isn't thinking the experience was so amazing. He is thinking I must be a floozy. The other side of me wants to believe him when he points out random restaurants, points of interest etc and tells me that he wants to take me there next time we see each other. I want to believe him when he tells me he likes me. I want to believe him when he tells me he wants to see me again.
In the words of the X-Files "I want to believe." However, I do realize that only time will tell if this is the real deal, or I'm just going to get fooled again.
Signing off with that ache of hope in her chest,
Scarlet.
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