I’m headed out for a breakfast date. A friend of mine went on one of these recently and he swore, never again. A sober, well-lit date that ends after breakfast pretty securely says you’re not taking anyone home with you. No way, he’ll stick to his standard of taking them to a beautiful, ambient bar with a patio all lit up pretty and soft like chic fireflies are lounging around. And at the bar he’ll order a whole bottle of wine, and by, I think, the second cigarette, he’ll swoop in for the kiss and see how it goes from there.
Me, though. I fucking rock the breakfast date. I have these extremely bright, well shaped eyes, and when the sun hits my eyeballs it turns me into a pretty exotic looking creature. Plus, in the sunlight, the freckles on my nose stand out. At breakfast dates there is zero protocol on what to wear. I could show up in my pajamas and that would make total sense. (Have I mentioned that I love Los Angeles? Pajamas in public is one of my many reasons for this.) So, I get to be comfortable, which then leads to me at my best for conversation.
Also, in the mornings, that’s when the whole damn day hasn’t distracted me with it’s lists and messes and conversations and updates. That’s when I am at my mouthiest, quickest, when I say the first thing that comes to mind and it’s sharp. I love breakfast dates. I am good at them. Bring on the eggs florentine and iced tea.
However, I am reminded this morning of a breakfast date I had back in November. It was early in the morning and I was wide awake, sorting through messages on OkCupid. I came across a guy with a big, bushy beard and hipster glasses and took a chance, sending him a message telling me he should come out right then and meet me for breakfast. He was awake, we worked out the details, and I made a rule.
“No showering. No combing your hair. Just find the nearest clothes and throw them on. I’m not putting any make-up on. You better look good and mussed up because you’re about to get an eyeload of what I look like when I don’t put in any effort.”
When I got to the place, he was already seated. Short guy, kind, good conversation about Michelle Williams and movie making. It was a good breakfast date. He asked to see me that night, saying we could do the whole date thing in reverse, starting with the morning after breakfast and at night, dinner and drinks. And the thing was, at first I wasn’t all that into the guy.
Actually, the first month we dated he was alright- a decent person to grab a meal with. But nothing overly special. But then one night he showed up at my house with flowers wrapped in newspaper, and after that I went kind of stupid over him. I was in serious like with this guy. I stopped dating anyone else. I thought about him all the time. I talked to him every day. I was sad when I couldn’t see him. All because of some goddamn flowers.
Yet, there are things about me that tend to intimidate a man. And that came up a lot in our relationship. I’m highly flirtatious with the entire world, I have dated a lot in the past, and I’m very open with my sexuality. He was also baffled by my Facebook connection to the point that it bothered him. He said, “Most people say something, a few people give it the thumbs up, maybe someone comments. But you have a whole world on Facebook. You could say what you ate for dinner, and people are honestly paying attention.” I still don’t fully understand why, but that bothered the guy.
And eventually, when I asked for things to be more serious, he bailed. To be fair to him, he really tried to be friendly and supportive. But I don’t deal with being bailed on very well. If you think hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, hell trembles in terror when I am rejected. So, the best thing for him to do was to cut me out of his life completely. And the best thing for me to do was to delete him from mine. I knew if I kept his number I would continue to call him, to text him late at night when I was sad and lonely or turned on and missing him.
That happens sometimes, and I think it’s okay. We’re not all good for each other, even if we once were. Which makes me think of this really great song. This song happened to come on last night while Tim and I were at a strip club having a boys’ night out. Interesting stripper music choice. I hadn’t heard the song in a while. Listen. Watch. It’s pretty spot on.
Wish me luck on my breakfast date. No assumptions of how it’ll go, but I’ve got a good feeling about it.
For those wondering, the song was accompaniment for a gargantuan Toltec-looking woman with Christmas lights in the lucite of her heels. Her stage name was “Hermione.”
How crazy. I love this song but for some reason I guess I haven’t realy paid attention to the story of it until now.