A date in the life...

A date in the life...

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!