Dating story #38, Three times the shady.

This post is brought to you by the number 3.


Story #1
It's not a new story. It's the continuation of the Almost Doc story. Because, who can really get enough of that story? It's the gift that just keeps on giving. Like herpes.
In case you haven't had a chance to read any of the Twitter feed on the right side, allow me to summarize the lovely and stimulating text-change we've had today.  I've been asked by tonight's girl's dinner friends to transcribe this exactly, so here you go. Bon appetit!
[starting @ 11:23am EST]
HIM: "Rough around the edges huh"
ME: "Just a little. I think it's really the no-filter thing we spoke about."
HIM: "I filter when I need."
"Andpp [giant random space in text] I really had deep feelings for u."
ME: "Wow, that's sweet of you to say, but I also find it hard to believe after only 3 dates!"
HIM: "Its. True."
"I wanted this to go to the next level"
"I could give u everything u wanted"
"Come away with me this weekend"
"Ill prove it"
ME: "I really appreciate all the effort here. But it's just not gonna work. I think we're in 2 different places."
HIM: "Well I think ur wrong."
And...END. SCENE. 
[at least I hope so. please. pleeease.]
Almost Doc gives me something I can only describe as 
THE DOUCHEBUMPS.
Yes, I made that up. Yes, you should all start using it. I'm sure you know people who give you douchebumps. And if you don't, I want to be you.


Story #2 (aka The one you've been waiting for!)
'member how, in my last post, I told you that SoCal had done something reeeallly shady but didn't tell you what? 
Welcome to what.
I was feelin' pretty pscyhed last weekend about my pending Thursday night swanky LA hotel slumber party with SoCal. Was thinking it would be a fun, flirty way for us to reconnect since we kept missing each other. Plus, he's hot. What's not to be excited about?
Sunday, I even got a cute text from him calling me "mamacita" (cute, non-creepy term of endearment) and he was asking for reco's of places to watch the Jets vs. Steelers playoff game in NYC.  Ironically, I was looking for the same thing in Santa Monica, his old town! How adorable. So we exchanged venue ideas and I was all aglow. Mostly from the epic facial I had just treated myself to, but also loving the attention from Mr. Potential.  Then, this text happened:
HIM: "also, can I ask you a random question that you PROMISE not to get mad at or take the wrong way? innocent question :)"
ME: "go ahead."
HIM: "do you like girls at all, or have you ever gone there?"
Oh dear lord. Here comes the freak flag. May as well start hoisting it up the pole. SH*T!
ME: "Interesting. 
Never gone there. 
Can I ask why you're asking?"
This can't be just totally "random."
I then got no response for 5 minutes and decided it was time for us to pop our no-phone-convo cherry and so I called that boy up.
He answered laughing, "I had a feeling I'd be hearing from you!"
I said "Yeah well you can't ask me a question like that and not expect me to have LOTS more questions in return!"
Basically, I guess the story is that he went out a few times with some chick in LA before he moved here and apparently, she's into the menage thing. Or maybe she's into girls. I don't really understand. My brain was working in overdrive warp speed after all this started going down and all the details are therefore fuzzy.  So it seems like this classy broad had recently expressed to SoCal her desire for this and since I was going to be in LA Thurs, he was and she was, he "would be remiss if he didn't at least ask." 
Waaahwaahweeeewah! Whoa nellie. Whoaaaa horsie. WHOA.
Even though my neurons were firing like the 4th of July, the rest of me was processing this in super slo-mo.  I remember telling him I appreciated the cojones it took to even ask me that. [He really isn't that bold or confident. It's amazing what sex/porn fantasies can get a guy to do]. 
Then, I had to jump off the phone due to work [AHHH!] and we said we'd talk about it later.
I immediately felt icky like green slime.
Then, he sent me this pic:

Um...HOLY MOTHER OF BOOBS! 
Cue. Minor. Panic. Attack.
Not that I was even really entertaining this "idea" at all, but HER? I've heard someone always gets left out in a three-way. I mean, sure, she has stringy hair and I can't see her whole face. But who can compete with that rack-tasticness??? Def not ME! I'm all legs and nothin' up top.
And, furthermore, who the hell has pics like that? Mind racing, mulling over this girl's possible professions:
-Call girl
-Pole dancer
-Table dancer
-Private dancer
-Accountant [as in accountant in PORN movie involving financial fantasies]
Upon seeing this, I promptly wrote him back:
"Look, I am a very open person but this is just WAY too soon to even talk about something like this. I don't know you that well yet and this whole thing is just making me feel weird. But if you'd rather hang with her Thurs night, say the word. You're not stuck with me."
He wrote back right away, apologizing and hoping he didn't offend, and that he would really like to have our date Thursday night, with JUST me.
What can I say...I'm a sucker for a guy who can sincerely apologize. I guess I couldn't fault the guy for trying and felt a teensy bit honored that he thought I could hang with Count Rack-ula. But I definitely still felt icky about it for a few days after.  In hindsight, I'm wondering if maybe the Universe was doing me a favor by snowing SoCal into NYC? 
And, after all, it did send me Story #3...


Story #3
Weds night, upon returning from a 5-course, 3 schmillion calorie tasting-menu dinner at my Venice fave, Tasting Kitchen, I didn't know what to do with myself. I knew NYC was snowed in, thus [fortunately] squalching my Thursday night rendezvous with SoCal, so I didn't even care about being a bloatation device for the next 24 hours. Hell, no leg-shaving either. Woohoo! Sometimes, it's the little things... 
Anyway, I was out with my amazingly hilarious co-worker Bill. Just to give you some insight into Bill, he thought he would buy me a nice, helpful gift while we were in LA:

Thanks, Bill. You're so good to me.

Awesome-sauce.
So Bill and all 300 water-weight lbs of me knew that, even though it was 12a and we had an early shoot the next am, we could not drag our full asses to bed yet.  He decided to work on his fullness with a cigarette and I chose a digestive (aka liquor that burns like a fiery inferno down your throat but actually helps make you feel less full.) 
We sat outside at the cool Viceroy pool area and ran into some advertising friends of ours, as all Ad people stay at these hotels when out on production and the industry is so incestuous that you always run into people you know. In this case, we ran into a horrible ex-coworker, The Russian, who attempted to face-rape me earlier in the week [long story. another time.] but he had cute friends with him. And, luckily, they weren't even his friends, but friends of acquaintances. I say luckily because I would have serious trepidation for anyone who was actually voluntarily friends with The Russian. So I began chatting with tall, dark and plaid friend, San Fran.  He had sparkly blue eyes, was most definitely AA in appearance, and is also a copywriter for a great agency in San Francisco.  After hanging out for a bit, I knew I needed to go upstairs simply because the button on my jeans was threatening to spontaneously explode off of them and I was afraid for anyone in the line of fire. [Seriously, I think I'm STILL full from that meal.]
Before I bolted, San Fran said we should exchange numbers and meet up another night. I agreed and ran to seek refuge in stretchy pants.
He and I exchanged a few funny texts that night/the next day.  And in the early evening I asked what kind of trouble they were getting into that night.  He wrote back that he was trying not to go out as he had a 5am call-time the next morning. [ouch.] 
I ended up hangin' with the work crew in the swanky hotel bar, doing some drinks n' apps. Again, I managed to re-bloat myself. I think it was really residual bloatation from the previous night, triggered the minute I put more salt in my mouth.  So at about 12a I adjourned to my room thinking I might actually chill and watch a movie while I packed for my return flight the next day. 
About 10 mins later, I got a text from San Fran saying he was coming to the Viceroy for a drink and I was meeting him. Guess he gave up trying to behave, huh?  Sounds like someone I know... (me!). Honestly, if I had taken my makeup off, it would have been an automatic no-go. But miraculously it was all still on as was my cute outfit. And it would be such a shame to waste it. Plus I figured I could drink a little more of that hellfire-water to help my poor, angry tummy.  So, I obliged. 
We met at the bar- he was even cuter than I remembered and TALL! 6'5" to be exact, which I LOVE. I can still wear heels and not feel like a trannie!
We went outside to have a drink and I felt instant chemistry. He was smart, witty, complimentary of me, and well beyond AA-- 38!  He told me I was even more beautiful than he remembered as he gently tucked a stray hair behind my ear. 
Cue: heart pounding. 
After awhile, he leaned in and gave me an amazingly sweet yet sultry kiss. 
Cue: heart racing.
Sure, he doesn't live in NYC. But I could still enjoy myself, right?
Cue: more time in smooch-town
He talked about his dog. I live for dogs, so I love a guy who does too.  We talked all about the dog and the hikes they take together, how she got hurt once, how she curls up on his lap even though she's a big dog. Innocently, I asked who was watching his prized dog while he was away.
His response: "My girlfriend."
Check. Please.


They say bad news usually comes in threes. I'd like to expand that to threes and three-somes. 
Thank you, Universe. 
You. Are. Awesome. x3.