You’ve been warned. Do not date a man in politics. If he’s not smarmy yet, he’ll get there.
Mr. Pretentious was a fellow from Match.com that I dared to leave my Westside bubble to meet for a first date in Hollywood on a Friday night. Those from LA will understand that attempting to date someone outside a 5 mile radius of your home in LA is the equivalent of a long distance relationship. You deal with so much traffic that in all likelihood, the two of you only see each other on the weekends. So you’re in a long distance relationship minus the bonus of air miles.
Mr. Pretentious (of Los Feliz) suggested to meet at a jazz club – points for originality, sir! He was a lawyer who was also running for a position in local LA politics. This was a red flag naturally to me, but I decided to throw all caution to the wind and trek out to Sunset Blvd. and ignore the whole political thing and the fact he was a lawyer who “occasionally” handled DUI cases.
Upon meeting him at the club, I was already thrown off by his height lie (5’10 on Match.com, 5’6 in real life) but his schmuck outfit really took the crown. Boating shoes, blue blazer, douche-y glasses, and a handkerchief does not make a Prince Charming to this girl. He informed me within minutes that the glasses were on because he was dealing with a sty that I would have never noticed had he not pointed it out. The sty would continue to stare at me the rest of the evening.
I ordered a salad since I missed dinner to get my butt on the road to sit in Friday night traffic and he decided that he would “drink his dinner”. Halfway through his first martini, he began attempting to touch my thigh, and at every single attempt of which I literally swapped his hand away. He also called the Latino waiter Senor when ordering more martinis and a pretentious espresso.
Lynda Carter (yes of “Wonder Woman” fame; she also apparently dabbles in jazz club performances) proved to be quite the performer at the jazz club and I actually enjoyed Mrs. Carter, despite my hands-y companion. Upon her finale, he suggested a drink nearby as it was only 10:00. Given that I had spent more time in traffic getting to Hollywood than actually in Hollywood and that there was a sadistic enough part of me that wanted to know just how bad the night would get, I agreed to the suggestion. So off in a taxi we went to Santa Monica Blvd.
To hear the ending, proceed to Mr. Pretentious. Part II.
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