Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Mojo (She's Crazy But I Like It)
"I'm living vicariously through you and your single life."
My friends like to tell me this. I am a single girl who has never been in a long-term relationship. I've literally never had the time to invest in one. My entire life revolves around my work. Work, work, and more work. Employed since I was 11, I can't remember a time where I didn't put work (and school) prior to the opposite sex. Work also used to be a big reason why I did not have a social life. Sometimes it still is. Throughout my life, I let being busy fill my world and stayed that way, letting it sink into every crevice of the woman I was becoming. When it felt like work wasn't enough, when it felt like there was ache beginning to form inside, I filled the gaps with the things I liked. My books, writing, friendships, and fashion.
There were and still are the times when I look into myself and think, "I wish I had a special guy in my life." For years I've been under the impression (an impression that will occasionally come out when there's too much vodka in my system) that my soulmate was struck by lightning. Everyone seems to find this hilarious, but it is entirely plausible. Fate has a strange sense of humor like that. Still. There are the moments where I wish I could sit with a man, laugh with him, hold his hand and mean every word when I say I love you. When I was very little (maybe 8) I had a dream one night in which a tall, dashing man kissed me. In the dream, I was much older and we sat in a carriage, like a prince and princess. Secretly, my heart hopes and wonders for the day I will eventually meet this dream man...
In any case, that day is yet to arrive and currently we are at the 23 year old version of me. Plus with this giveaway title of the blog post, you're here for a vicarious story indeed! I never disappoint, never.
At my age, all I want to do is just have a good time. I crush all of the time, my brain focusing on one guy for an entire week or even just one day, then dropping him in favor of the next one. The sea is forever full of fishes to me, so why not keep it filled with choices? And while we're at it dipping into other seas is de rigueur, so yes, men from other countries are always a delight. When I told one of my closest friends about a guy I had met, she immediately wanted to know what country he was from. I'm just a sucker for an accent. Keep the Brits, Aussies, Scots, and Kiwis far, far from me. And great clothing is my constant Achilles's Heel. I cannot resist a man in a blazer or dress shirt, ever. Which is what led me to the tale you're about to hear.
As a disclaimer, I'd also like to state for the record that I'm just a kissing bandit. That's it. I just enjoy a lovely make-out session or two. They're grand. Even if you're in a crummy mood, they can lift you back up to your feet and find your footing in the world again. All is not lost when you've had some wonderful kisses. I don't know anyone who would disagree with me on this one.
Our story takes place two weeks ago in West Hollywood, at a bar called Saddle Ranch. I'm there with my roommate, Britney and her friend who incidentally is also named Heather. My ensemble for the evening is black dress with black stockings, black blazer, silver and black heels, red lipstick, and a black beret, my "Ebert."
A few drinks in, I head over to the bar to order us a round of shots. A voice to the left of me croons out, "Oy mate, I love your hat!" in a full-on Cockney'd accent. I look and see a beautiful man in a white dress shirt with a black sweater and jeans. Very blond. He looks like a grown-up version of Chris from the British teen show Skins. I LOVE that show. He smiles at me. Full grin with all of his teeth. He looks like he's in his late 30's (IMPORTANT).
I am smitten.
The sequence of events after that gets hazy but here's what I do remember:
~We have a conversation. His name is Tony (haha, another Skins reference), he lives in London, works for a big video game company.
~He buys me quite a few drinks. This I cannot stress enough in importance. I love a man who's willing to treat a lady to the drink of her choice.
~I meet the couple with him he's been chatting with, Roger and Stacy. They both look...older than most couples. Very proper. (IMPORTANT)
~I think I spilled something on his perfect jeans. I begin rubbing my hand all over them to wipe it off. I have no idea what I'm doing, other than giving him total bedroom eyes.
Then we're making out. I'm almost in his lap. It's intense and thoroughly satisfying.
The rest of the night blurs. At one point we're walking around the bar hand in hand. At a different point, he tells me he's staying at the W Hotel in that adorable accent. I'm pretty giggly. I think I lose him when I go to the bathroom where I make a series of phone calls, one to my roommate who isn't there that night that I vaguely remember, one to someone-who-shall not be named that I do not remember AT ALL, and finally one to the operator for no apparent reason.
We all leave after and stay at Heather's apartment for the evening. I sleep in my Ebert and do not mind it one bit. That beret is my shiny penny. It's great luck for any circumstance. The next day we recount this tale together. I tell the tale via texts to my closest friends who all love the story. I spend the day cursing myself for not getting his number
Perhaps it was a good thing I didn't.
That Thursday I arrive home from work late and my roommate Sara (who was not there at the bar that night) comes running out of her room, "Heather! You didn't tell me old that British guy you were with was!"
"He was in his late 30's." I absently replied. That's not old in my book.
"That's not what Britney said. She said he was 50!"
This is a new development. "50?" I asked. Really? How is this possible?
Britney comes home a little while later and I ask her, "How old was the guy I was making out with at the bar?"
"Late 40's to early 50's." She replies but then cinches the deal, "He had a bald spot."
Wow. I made out with a guy who was practically my father's age. Not that I mind or anything. I have a thing for older men. It's well-documented. I smiled wide at my roommates. "Well, what can I say..." I start and giggle, "I do like them older!"
This was officially the end of my dry spell, the moment in which I got my mojo back. Like Stella getting her groove back, I received my mojo, which had suffered terribly for months during the summer, but was now back in business! We discussed how it wasn't creepy at all, with Britney adding that Tony was "very well dressed."
"Of course," Sara nodded, "That's the part of the story that makes perfect sense."
And I added in my piece on before the kiss when all my giddy brain could think was "We're going to snog now! Snogging!" (Snog is British slang for kissing.)
This only means one thing.
My new destiny in life, my latest ambition, is to travel to London. Work for an ad agency there and meet all of those British boys who will love this American Girl. All of those accents....oh yes! When I set my mind to something, there's not much of a chance in stopping me.
Never fear though. Packed along for the ride no matter where I go will be my trusty Ebert ;)
Love to you all,