Five years ago tonight, I took the advice of my best friend Yvette and went on a date with a virtual stranger. I was terrified. Yes, we had mutual friends whom Yvette had already made swear on a stack of bibles that he wasn't a serial killer, rapist, or just plain d-bag, but I was still suspicious. I'd never dated a musician. Intentionally. What if he sucked?
He didn't. At all.
As I approached the corner of Las Palmas and Franklin Place that warm spring night, the voice on my cell said, "Is that you?" I was on the phone with the mystery man as we walked towards each other.
"Jeans and tan jacket? Yeah, that's me."
"Wow."
"Is that you? Jeans and black jacket?"
"Spiky hair? Yup, that's me."
"Wow, yourself."
We were standing in front of each other now. Both smiling ear to ear, we hung up our phones and hugged.
We talked for hours over martinis at a dark vibey bar that no longer exists (which is a shame cuz that place was
awesome). There were no awkward pauses, no weirdness, no first-date stumbling. Just honest chat, story-telling, and
a lot of laughter. And a phone call from Yvette. The "my best friend is on a first date so I'll fake an emergency in case she wants an out" call that every true friend makes. I shut her down. Hard. "Uh-huh. Nope. Great. Call you tomorrow. Yes! Okaaay. Yessss! I gotta go!" He looked at me and said "Best friend fake emergency call?" Damn. This guy was good.
When the martinis had done their work, but we were nowhere near wanting the night to end, we walked a block to King King. It was a Tuesday. Live salsa. Perfect.
As we sat at the bar waiting for his Maker's Manhattan and my Kettle and Tonic, I caught a glimpse of his phone as he texted a friend. "She's a hottie." Kinda cheesy, but I took the compliment.
We danced till closing and somewhere in the middle, he kissed me. In the center of the dance floor, trumpets blaring, drums throbbing, and sweat-soaked, he kissed me. It didn't feel like a first kiss. It felt
right.
When he walked me back to my car at 4am, he kissed me softly and said, "Talk soon." As I drove back to the Valley I figured it was just a one-time deal, but was jazzed that it had been such a great night. He was fun, but I didn't date musicians. And we both knew that neither of us wanted a relationship as we were having too much fun sowing our respective oats.
At ten the next morning, I had an email from him.
"How'd the conference call go?
Had a great time. Wanna reprise it next week?
-t"
The guy had not only remembered that I had a crazy important call with a celeb that shall remain nameless (but I will say was once on trial for murder) but he'd used the word
reprise?!?
I never dated anyone else ever again. Neither did he.
And we've lived happily ever after.
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| ~ I love you, Hubs. ~ |
Tonight, was my tried and true (and The Hubs' fave) turkey sausage penne. I tossed in some french cut green beans for color. For a side I steamed up a couple of late season artichokes. Feeling like the meal was just a weird combo of boring regulars, I decided to try my hand at ailoi to un-bland the 'chokes. Did y'all know it was so insanely easy to concoct your own aioli? I had no idea it was really just a fancy word for spruced-up mayo!
