I cannot wait to tell you all about my super hot date with Mark Leno, but you'll have to wait for Wednesday's Culture Blog because I'm still recovering from our intense emotional connection. I'm too aflutter to articulate right now.
But get a load of this:
After my big date with Mark, the very chivalrous Leno staffer Bob walked me back to the big show with the hats I'm not allowed to mention, where I planned to pop in and catch the finale. In my wild youth, I worked at this show biz institution and occasionally swing by to say hi to my gays. But when I got there, they were in between shows and I had to wade through tourists just to get in the front door of Capp's, the bar on the corner. I figured I'd recover from my date (again, with Mark Leno) with a drink and my little notebook, hoping to jot down Mark's gems before I forgot them.
As I scribbled away, 4 drunk douchebags started asking me retarded questions. I will admit, all I ever need to do to meet men is sit alone at a bar with a Gibson and a notebook, but sometimes, those 2 things are all I really want. Sometimes, males, we really don't want to talk to you. It's rare, but it happens.
Douchebags finally leave, and I move over to the end of the bar, where I found myself on a little note-taking roll.
There's only one other guy at the bar now, sitting alone having a beer.
And he's hot.
I was just about done and ready to head home when I hear, "Okay. I'll bite. What's up with the notebook?"
Oh yeah. I still got it.
"Um, I just had this interview/meeting thing and I didn't want to forget anything."
And moving stools closer together.
His name was Vic and much to my horror, Vic was 24.
None the less, Vic was also hot and funny, taking the shit I was giving him and throwing it right back.
And then Vic said, "Listen, I'm starving. Do you want to get some dinner?"
Oh my golly, two dates in one night.
So we got dinner. Which is, in accordance with God's plan, where things started to go wrong.
How do I put this? Well, let's see. Um...Vic's girlfriend is pregnant.
I thought he was kidding too.
Nope. He's "excited."
Not so much about his on and off girlfriend, but about his impending daughter, who he's already named.
Suddenly, Millie the local hobo/loon comes around, offering to take our polaroid for $5. Vic readily agrees and commissions two photos, in both of which his eyes are closed.
We return to our dinner, where I proceed to give Vic a hard time about his age, his kid and his girlfriend who he is obviously and randomly cheating on.
Which is when it happened.
Vic called me...A COUGAR.
I will admit, as I sat there, sharing this huge piece of pork with a 24 year old dad named Vic, I thought to myself, 'What the fuck are you doing, Spotswood? Go home."
Did I go home?
Oh no. I sure didn't.
As Vic paid for dinner, he's all, "Where are we going now? Let's get some drinks, cougar!"
He even wrote "Vic and the cougar" on the polaroid.
Know that it pains me to tell you this. Know that I'm fully aware this is pathetic and sad. Know that obviously, I have some issues. But sometimes, I get blinded by the hotness.
So I took Vic to see the finale of the show with the big hats.
Again, afterwards, he starts in with "Alright, let's get some cocktails. Where are we going?"
It was now midnight and I was now tired.
"Seriously, I have to go home. I'm exhausted."
"What kind of cougar are you, Beth? Come on! One drink. We'll go somewhere fancy so you feel comfortable. I mean, I'd hate for you to slum it."
We go to Joe DiMaggio's.
Where Vic then orders two shots of Patron.
I sip my shot, turn to Vic and announce, "Just to clarify, there will be no sex."
At this point, I cannot figure out what the fuck I'm still doing with this guy, why the fuck his hand in on my leg and when the fuck I'm going to face reality and get lost.
I think perhaps it's when Vic requested the shots with pineapple juice back.
That's my cue.
Vic walks me out to the sidewalk, still trying to figure out where to go next.
"Vic, I'm done. It's 1am and I seriously have to get home."
"Oh, okay. Well, I'm grabbing this cab. You sure you don't want me to call you a cab?"
"No, I'm sure I don't want..."
But he was gone.
In the cab, off to drink his ghetto ass drinks with other strangers and find someone else to impregnate.
And I stood there, like an OLD idiot alone on a sidewalk, still unable to fathom that I'd spent the past 4 hours with some 24 year old with a pregnant girlfriend, a wandering eye and a penchant for calling a 29 year old a goddamn cougar!
Mark Leno would never pull this shit...
*polaroid to come, once I scan it. It's a treasure...