A date in the life...

A date in the life...

Monday, September 22, 2014

(N)ot (F)or (L)ong


Wasn't it Ferris Bueller who said, "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once and awhile, you could miss it."?  Well Ferris, you're not wrong!  It seems like someone has flipped a switch on my life over the last two years.  As soon as I quit my safe comfortable career and took a chance and dedicated my life to reality TV (UGH), things have been moving in fast forward.  I went from a very predictable life complete with bi weekly paychecks, beer drinking at the local pub at night, sleeping in on Sundays to then 6-8 hours a day of workouts, eating less calories than you can fathom and cameras in your face wanting you to share with the world those deep dark secrets that you've worked so hard to hide.  Once the cameras and crew leave, it's not over.  No no, then you sit and wait to see what kind of joke they've turned your life into and then air it for the world to see.  After you chug a Big Gulp of Merlot and realize that what you signed up to do, worked your ass off for and poured your heart into has now been blended up and shown as a big pile of dramatic crap designed for ratings.  Hmmm... that's about as settling as fermented wine.  It's not over yet because suddenly people want to know you and depending on how the story aired, you can get loads of haters, creepers and all sorts of arrogant fucks who feel that they now know you and can say anything they want.  Thank you social media. 

Woah!  All that ranting can get a gal thirsty.  Before I take a swig (or two) of my grapey goodness, please share in a toast with me:

Dear Haters, until you've climbed 112 flights of stairs to the top of the Stratosphere weighing 385lbs in an hour and a half, lunged across the Hoover Dam Bridge in the middle of August in 115 degree heat weighing 298lbs for 3 hours, dropped in the desert in the middle of summer and told to find your way home (and did), or stood in your bra and underwear sweating like a pig and fat as hell all the while with cameras in your face, then keep your ridiculous comments to yourself and just do me a favor and shut up.

...clinging glasses...CHEERS!

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me get back to my point(and story).  In the middle of all of the new chaos, I also managed to do some dating.  Not much, but some.  I have also been able to participate in a few films, commercials and TV shows (not reality).  While on set of a movie, I met a former NFL player who immediately charmed the pants right off me.  It's not what you are thinking.  He didn't say "Hi, my name is Jackson...now drop and give me 20!".  He actually complimented me, called me beautiful and did those kind gestures like pull out my chair that just really melt my butter.  After all of the name calling, on camera arguments and overall degrading of my soul I had just gone through with the reality show, it was a breath of fresh air to be treated so kindly.  I ate it up!  At first glance, I was attracted to him.  Tall, Italian, tattoos, nice build but I had no idea he was a former pro baller (not balla).  We ended up working together for a few weeks and since we were on set for 12 hours plus a night, it allowed for plenty of time to talk and get to know each other.  One night we were walking to get something to eat and someone approached him asking about his football career.   Once they finished their conversation, I learned that he used to play professionally for many years as a tight end and as luck would have it, he actually had a very tight end.  Touchdown for Christy!  During dinner, I decided to share with him the experience I had recently gone through with the show.  It was interesting exchanging our adventures as neither one of us had any idea what it was like for the other.  I mean, I had never befriended or dated an NFL'er and he had never known a weight loss reality participant so it was actually interesting and there was a lot to learn about the other.  We couldn't stop talking!  We both seemed intrigued by what the other had to say.  Things were going so well that nothing could've interrupted my current state of bliss... eeeeeeer screeeetch crash boom!
That's right, pump the brakes. 


Before I continue, I must refill my jug, umm I mean glass, and add this disclaimer:


- I like kids, babies, toddlers, pre teens and a few select teenagers. 
- I don't begrudge anyone for having kids although I cannot believe that some of the morons in this world do procreate.  Some people can't find their way out of an box but yet they manage to have kids.  Oh how I wish natural selection occurred in humans or we at least could enforce sterilization in the hopelessly stupid.
- At this stage of the game, I am well aware that most men have kids.  The only way I will find a man without them is to attend freshmen orientation at the local university and even that is no longer a guarantee thanks to shows like Teen Mom.


The locker room shenanigans, on the field drama, player scandals and all of the behind the scenes secrets that he shared were fascinating to me.  I just love hearing about those things that I know nothing about!  In the midst of throwing the football, he also managed to get married.  Okay, now my ears are perfectly perked!  He continued on about their relationship and how once they had kids it all went downhill.  So what do you do when your marriage fails because you had children?  You get married to wife number two and have a few more.  Turns out, he was so good at getting married and having kids that he did it a third time and ended up with 8 kids total.  I had to hand it to him, he managed to get married then divorce 3 times, fertilize a bunch of eggs and father 8 kids while sustaining a long pro football career.  Bravo buddy!  Someone hand this guy the Heisman trophy.  By the time he finished sharing his autobiography with me, I was exhausted.  That was a lot to digest and I hadn't even touched my meal. 

After we wrapped that morning, I said goodbye to him and got in my car to go home and catch a bit of sleep before returning to set that night.  I got to bed feeling exhausted but couldn't turn my mind off.  I meet this guy and we hit it off but how in the world could we date?  It gets challenging enough trying to fit into a single father's life when he has one ex wife and a child or two but Jackson has 3 ex wives and 8 children.  I was once heavily involved with a man who had his son full time and we never had alone time and our relationship revolved around his son.  That was a lot of work!  I grew to love his son and if our relationship was going to work, I would have to so thankfully I did.  Eventually we parted ways because he was giving it to his ex whore wife while I was at home with his little boy doing homework.  Another story, another time.  Now that I know just how much commitment and time goes into children, rather dating men with them, I just can't fathom how it could possibly work with 8 kids.  Granted, we were spending lots of time together on set but he had to hire babysitters and get the ex wives to help watch them all.  This was all planned out because it was in fact a job but I just can't believe that he could organize all of that for him and I to grab a movie or a meal.  Could you imagine him asking wives 1-3 if they could keep all 8 kids one night so we could get busy in the sack?  Nope, me neither.

I got to set that night and we had a few hours in holding so we got to chat.  He managed to bring up his birthday that was just around the corner and suggested we go out and celebrate.  As nice as I could, I asked him if that was possible with all of his clan at home?  He assured me that since it was his birthday he could wrangle enough childcare for the night.  That led to me asking him if we should see each other after our work was done and he said "Of course!  This isn't just a fling for me.  I want to get to know you better and see what can happen."  In my realistic mind, I thought it was a nice thing to say but just didn't know how in the world we would ever have time together.  I had to give the lad credit for his optimism though. 

Our parts had finally wrapped and now it was time to test drive dating in the real world.  We text mostly with the occasional phone call late at night and he set up his birthday festivities with me for the following week.  He said he had childcare in place and nothing was going to get in the way of having fun.  The following week rolled around and I sent a text asking how his day was blah blah blah with no response.  Let's jus say that I did not get a response for two weeks.  Nothing.  At first I was worried but then I just told myself that he is a guy and probably just blew me off.  I was a bit pissed off about it but hey, life goes on. 

Three weeks after the last time I had heard from him, I decided to shoot him a text.  I wrote "If you are blowing me off then have the balls to tell me.  If not and something is wrong, let me know.  Either way, man up and say something."  Ding ding ding!  I got a response!  He said "I am sorry.  I had to travel out of state for an emergency with my ex wife and I am on my way back.  It has been hectic so I haven't had time to text you."   I sat on that for a few minutes then text this, "I am sorry that there was an emergency and I hope all is well.  For future reference, texting someone takes less than a minute and despite how busy you are, you can at least have the decency to send one even if you have to do it while taking a crap on the toilet."   He said he was sorry and I never replied.  That was really all I needed to solidify what I had been thinking all along.  This guy, regardless of how great I thought he was, had too much going on in his life with exes and kids.  Do I think less of him for having that many?  No.  It just doesn't work for me.  Besides, I think that seeing as how I have never been married and unable to have kids automatically disqualifies me to be with him.

Despite that bump in the road, my life is still continuing to go in fast forward.   Regardless of the speed it's going in, I always make time for my dogs, wine and the occasional 80's movie.

Cheers










Sunday, June 15, 2014

Just Do It....Or Not


I never have trouble starting a tale of despair and disaster in the world of blogging but tonight I find myself at a loss.  I am trying to figure out what the problem is and all I can come up with is that I am getting tired of dating.  It is literally exhausting both physically and emotionally.  Not even a glass (or jug) of Merlot can pep me up and snap me out of this dating funk.  Okay, it may not cure what is ailing me but it sure does dress up my wounds in a beautiful burgundy colored bandage.  I suppose what I am getting at is that this particular story may not have much whit, lessons or sex but as always I guarantee that it will possess the sad and pathetic truth (and a name change to protect the guilty). 

I can't really say what it was that got into me this particular lonely evening but I decided to scroll through the endless rolodex of available Vegas bachelors online.  After the first 50, they all start to morph into the same looking guy.  Let me paint the picture for you.  The Vegas bachelor is shirtless and standing in front of his bathroom mirror flexing and showing off whatever muscles are toned on his upper body.  He is holding his phone while displaying his biceps snapping that one photo that will make the women swoon.  All the while he has forgotten to tidy up the counter in front of him or wipe off the toothpaste/spit combo speckled on his mirror.  Their profiles suggest that not only are they physically fit but that they are also serious about finding their partner.  Sure they spend their free time riding quads, eating healthy, watching sports, shooting targets in the desert, taking care of homeless children, feeding the hungry and working out in the gym but they still have plenty of time for that one special woman.  After looking at the last profile before calling it quits, I got a message.  DING!  The message was from this tall, dark, handsome and seemingly successful man who was in his early 40's named Devon.  He didn't say much but mentioned that he liked blondes and if I would like to get to know each other to please reply.  After scanning his bio online, I decided to reply.  He seemed different and interesting.  He owned an athletic shoe company and was partnered up with a famous NBA player.  No no, I wasn't immediately drawn to dollar signs or free shoes (okay maybe one pair) but I was more excited at the thought of someone having a job and ambition.  So we exchanged messages throughout the evening and the next day spoke on the phone.  After a lot of chit chat, he asked me out on a date.

Let's refill before we go on.... Logistics can really make a gal thirsty!

Three days after first talking to Devon, we met.  He had asked me to meet him at The Venetian at a nice little Italian restaurant where we could sit by the canal that runs through the casino and afterward take a ride on the Gondola.  What?  Wait a minute!  We aren't meeting at a dive bar or a frozen yogurt eatery where I can sit and listen to you tell me how fat women are submissive or leave me at the table while you go to the bathroom and I never see you again??  I was so ill prepared for such a date!  No jeans and sexy top, no no, this required a dress, heels and lots of hairspray.  After all, he said he was 6'8" tall and seeing as how I am merely 5'10", I had some height to make up for.  Platform shoes and at least 4" of teased blonde locks and I was armed and ready to go.  I arrived right on time and as I approached the restaurant, I spotted Devon sitting at a table for two.  At first glance I immediately knew it was him because he was decked out in his own athletic gear from head to toe.  I then noticed how much older he looked than his photos but still very good looking.  I approached him and he stood up and hugged me.  He said he spotted me a mile away because of my bright blonde hair.  Why do people always point this out to me?  Clearly I am not the only one with platinum hair and an amazing hair stylist!  So we sat down and he handed me my menu while pointing out that while he was waiting for me, he already decided on what to eat.  Woah!  Slow down bro, I wasn't late.  Let me catch up! While he was utilizing the art of small talk and I surveyed the selections, I noticed that my menu seemed a bit limited for such a nice restaurant.  There were only two choices for everything including entrees.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't there for the meal but it just seemed a bit strange.  If I was one of those girls who merely went on first dates for a free meal then I wouldn't go through so much trouble of beautification and callus causing shoes.  The server came to our table and proceeded to take our orders.  Although Devon only chose water to drink, I of course opted for my own preference in liquid refreshment (one tall glass of red, thank you).

Our conversation was off to a running start!  All I had to do was ask about his shoe company and how it got started.  BOOM!  He had so much to say that I didn't have to say a word.  My job was merely going to entail just sitting there, nodding my head and look pretty.  I found myself a bit intrigued by his story of how he got started and how shoes are made and then we were interrupted.  To my right, just outside of the eating area, there were people standing and staring at us.  One started taking photos.  Then another couple slows down and starts whispering.  I asked "Do you know them?  Do they know you?  What's going on?"  He sort of laughed and said that they must think we are "somebody famous" because he is a tall black guy wearing athletic gear and I am the big breasted blonde seated with him.  No sooner did he say those words that we hear one lady say out loud, "That's Coco but that isn't Ice T."   Our sudden fame continued on throughout our meal but eventually we ignored it all and he continued to talk while I was sure to sit up right and smile pretty (Lord knows where those pictures could surface someday).  Despite the tourist paparazzi and his endless supply of conversation (about himself) I really enjoyed my meal and then the server reappeared offering us a choice of two desserts.  I declined but opted for another glass of wine.  After all, being a new celebrity is exhausting.

After dessert and wine, he asked if I would care to take a ride on the Gondola.  Hmmm... with all of that talk, photos and wine, I somehow forgot to see if I was even attracted to this guy.  Well after careful thought, I came to the conclusion that I really had no idea other than I loved his passion for what he does. So I told him that I would like to join him.
 Grab your glass and make sure it is at least half full for what I am about to tell you...
The server then arrived and said to Devon "Sir, your prepaid 2 for 1 coupon does not cover the wine."   GULP!  Without even batting an eyelash, Devon pointed at me and said, "Give her the bill for the wine then."  GULP!  Not that I am opposed to paying for my own meal or wine (hell I do that daily) but this guy used a coupon and if you are keeping score, he owns an athletic show company and let's just say, I do not!  After I realized he wasn't kidding, I pulled out my wallet and paid my part of the bill and as I closed my wallet he pipes up and asks, "Will you take care of the tip too?"  I opened my wallet back up and pulled out the tip money and placed it on the table and jokingly quipped, "Do you need any cab fare before I put it away?"
Devon laughed and then motioned for us to get up and go.  We walked out towards the Gondola and he pulls out this ticket from his pocket and started to read it.  He then informed me that his free tickets have expired and apologized.  If things weren't interesting enough already, wouldn't you know it, a young girl walks up to us and asks if she could have his autograph.   He told her in a simple yet sarcastic sort of way, "No, I am not who you think I am.".

Wait for it... wait for it...


After quick assessment I concluded that this night was just an entire pile of bizarre and it was time to go.  I didn't feel any spark (unless you count the flash from the strangers taking photos), he was cheap, self absorbed and now rude to young girls.  At that moment I told him that we should call it a night and I was going to go home.  He leaned over, hugged me and asked if I would give him a ride back to his place.   Yeah, I thought he was joking too, but no such luck.  He then went on to explain that back in California he was involved in a hit and run and didn't take responsibility for it so his license is suspended because he refuses to pay the $16,000 worth of fines he has now accumulated.  Luckily my scrunched up facial expression answered that question for him because he then chuckled and  said not to worry about it, he will take a taxi.  I suppose I am lucky he didn't take me up on that offer for cab fare after all!  I turned and walked away (would've ran but platforms don't allow for that) saying goodnight.

The next morning while I was enjoying a lovely glass of orange juice (and vodka) and still shaking my head over the events that took place the night before, my phone alerted me to a text.   Guess who?  Devon text to say that he loved our date and hoped to do it again very soon.  I really didn't know what to say so all I did was reply with "It was nice meeting you too."   I didn't want to suggest doing it again but I did want to say that if he had anymore interesting prepaid coupons for a show like Celine Dion, then sure, I am game.  But no, I left it at that, finished my morning beverage and went about my life... All by myself...

Okay, if you didn't pick up on that Celine Dion reference then you need to drink more...

Cheers!







Friday, January 24, 2014

Can't Buy Me Love




I am the kind of gal who doesn't drink just one type of vino.  I am an equal opportunist in the field of red wine.  In fact, I have yet to meet a glass of red grapes that I didn't like.  However, if you were to ask why I don't drink white wine the answer would be simple.  White wine makes the end of my nose itch.  We aren't  talking about just a mere tickle but rather full blown bugs under the skin, rip my nose off and overdose on Benedryl type of itch.  I don't look at it like it is a bad thing but rather a sign from the grape Gods that I was meant to be a red wine connoisseur.   Who am I to question a higher power?  With that said, I have my glass poured and enjoying each sip as I share another tale from the crypt.

I look at men and dating the way I look at wine.  I love all types but unfortunately I have a bad reaction to a large amount of them.  Every now and then I test the waters and try a good Gew├╝rztraminer and find that my reaction hasn't changed.  Throughout my dating career, er um I mean life, I have found that extremely wealthy men and I don't mix either.  They make my skin not only itch, but crawl.  Being the optimist that I am, I like to go and revisit my allergies and convictions and give a rich man a try.  

I had received a message on the old trusty dating site from a man who seemed normal.  They all appear normal at first until proven guilty (which never takes long as we know).  At first glance, nothing about him screamed millionaire.  He posted a few photos and wasn't bad looking, very clean cut complete with polo shirts.  His profile said that he had two kids, in his 40's,over 6 feet tall with a full head of hair, business owner, no pets (should've been a red flag) and was looking for a long term relationship.  His message to me was simple.  He said  "Hi, I am Matt and would like to cut to the chase and take you to dinner."   I wrote back and offered my phone number and suggested we talk for a bit before meeting.  He called the next day and I found him to be charming, witty and direct.  Not too shabby for our first conversation.  At the end of the call he asked if I would meet him for lunch the following day to which I happily agreed.  Right as we were about to say goodbye, he offered up his full name so I would know he was legit.  WOW!  I didn't have to ask for it or do my own private investigation (also known as Google).  Now there had to be a catch!  It was all just too smooth and too easy.  The first thing I did was look up the restaurant we were meeting at the next day.  I had never heard of it when he suggested it but of course I acted like I had been there plenty of times.  Turns out that the restaurant is located on the most prestigious golf course in Las Vegas.  From there, I went on to look up Matt and see what I could find out on him.  I quickly learned that he was no ordinary lad.  No no, he was in fact a multi millionaire who came from a long line of other well known wealthy men.  His grandfather was responsible for some really well known creatures in the film industry and his father was also extremely well known for creating some of the most beautiful buildings in this country.  Then there is Matt who took the family money and prestige and developed restaurants and buildings around the country.  Normally when finding out such details I wouldn't even agree to go out with a man like that but this one just seemed so nice.  Maybe Matt would be the one to prove me wrong?  He could be that one particular white wine that didn't cause an allergic reaction that affected my nose.  

The next morning I quickly jumped out of bed and went straight into the closet pulling out every cute clothing option I own.  I held up one thing after another while staring in the mirror and nothing seemed good enough.   It could've been my ratty bed head sticking straight up or the countless jagged lines across my face from where my face was smashed against the pillow all night, but nothing looked good enough for this lunch date.  I thought perhaps if I showered and put my makeup on then maybe my clothes might look differently.  While shaking all of my bits in the shower to the perky lyrics of my favorite Lady Ga Ga song, it dawned on me that it doesn't matter what I wear.  I just had to look nice and not try so hard.  He is a human just like me and I am sure he isn't at home fretting over what he is going to wear.  Besides, if all it took was a hot outfit to land a mate then I wouldn't be single all these years.  I may not be a size zero but I know how to pull off nice attire.  Even the most simple clothes can be spruced up with the right shoes and accessories.  So I put aside all of my silly wardrobe concerns and threw an outfit together and completed it with a black wool peacoat.  Besides the abnormal frigid Vegas temperature, the coat also hides a lot of imperfections.  

I arrived at the valet of the country club and after seeing the brand new Mercedes, BMW's and countless Bentley cars, I made a swift detour into the self parking lot.  Don't get me wrong, I love my modest Honda but it didn't stand a chance next to those higher end vehicles.  The only flaw in that decision was that I was wearing 3" heels that were for show and not for comfort.  I hiked up to the restaurant, wiped the sweat off of my forehead and entered.  I told the host who I was there to meet and I was immediately escorted to the table where Matt was already seated.  He stood up from his chair, shook my hand and gestured to the seat that I was to sit in.  My first impression was that he looked much older than his photos and he licked his lips non stop.  There was an obvious discomfort in the air and our small talk was really forced.  I looked over the menu and as I browsed the lunch selections, he kept insisting I get a salad.  The waiter approached (calling my date by name) and asked if he would like his usual and what I would like to order.  Matt proceeded to order a Scotch for himself, a sandwich with a bowl of soup and for me the infamous salad with a glass of water.  Wait!  He gets Scotch and I get water??  To say I was a bit shocked and pissed off would be an understatement.  It was at this moment I decided to just suck it up, eat my salad and sip my water (yuck) and get the hell out of there.  Who does that?  He didn't know me and then orders my meal!  Obviously this guy is used to being the boss in life and on dates.  Granted, I like a little take charge in a man but this was a bit much after only knowing each other for five minutes.  I gave the waiter my menu and started asking Mr. bossy pants some personal questions.  I wasn't too thrilled with him but why not dig in and learn a thing or two.  

Within 10 minutes I learned that he owned several homes between Las Vegas and Southern California.  He likes to travel around Europe at least twice a year.  He doesn't like dogs because in his words "all they do is shit and shed" and divorced his wife for lack of blow jobs.  
That's right, you heard me.  Now take a deep breath and a large sip of your beverage then we will continue.
He ripped through all sorts of little details until he touched on his ex wife.  Now the can was wide open and worms were everywhere!   Still incessantly licking his lips and blinking one eye, he sipped his Scotch and proceeded to go on and on about his ex wife.  Sure she had slept with his good friend and sure she liked to gamble away thousands of dollars a week but it was the lack of oral gratification that ultimately was the cause of their demise.  He went on to say that he told her upon marriage that she would never have to lift a finger in their home, have a nanny if they had kids and maids to clean the home just as long as she greeted him on her knees each night when he returned home from work.  He then asked me, "If you and I were married and you were spoiled rotten, wouldn't you greet me by giving me head every night?"  I was so blown away (yeah I said blown) by this that my only response was "no but it's only because I have arthritis in my knees."  He gave off an unamused chuckle and then gulped down the rest of his drink.  Once our meal arrived, we both dove in and used the food as a reason not to speak to each other.  He ate his lunch quite quickly and I was only half through my delicious (he was right) salad.  Who knew that a garden in a bowl could be so scrumptious?  As he took his last bite, he summoned the server and asked for the check.  He didn't ask if I was finished, needed a refill of water or if I wanted anything else.  Nothing!  He pulled out his American Express black card and was sure to show it to me before handing it with the bill to the waiter.  Yes hot shot, I know you are rich so calm down!  In my best military imitation, I scarfed down as much salad as I could.  As he finished signing for our lunch, he pulled out his wad of hundred dollar bills and asked our server for change.  Once he got the money back, he stood up and said "well thanks, better get back to work".  I quickly grabbed my things and followed him out towards the exit.  

In an effort to end this date on a decent note I made mention of how beautiful the Christmas tree was in the lobby.   Matt's response was just "UGH, Christmas!"   He reached out his hand to shake mine and said that he was going to "hit the head" before he leaves and then offered me money for valet.  I sarcastically said that I had it covered.  Okay so I didn't use the valet service but he didn't need to know that.  I happily left through the door and made my way back to my humble little Honda and got the hell out of there.  As I drove home, my phone rang.  Guess who?  That's right, it was Mr. Bossy Pants.   I hesitantly answered and he said hello in an annoyed type of tone.  He thanked me for meeting him but was disheartened that I deceived him.  I asked what in the hell was he referring to and he went on to say that I never mentioned the tattoo under my right wrist.  He was so disgusted by my visible ink stain that you would've thought I had been his ex wife who didn't give him blow jobs.  Before I could say anything in return he told me that he had another call and had to go.  Click!  If our lunch date wasn't bad enough, he had to top it off with some verbal shit dessert.

Once I arrived home, I kicked off my blister causing (but cute) shoes and poured a glass of Merlot.  As I savored each sip I replayed the entire lunch in my head and came to the conclusion that clearly I am still unable to date rich men.  So next time the urge strikes, I will drink some Pinot Grigio, scratch my nose and remind myself that white wine and rich men don't mix!
Cheers!