There are some girls in Los Angeles who love to be spoiled, appreciate expensive cars, and name-dropping. I am not one of those girls. Give me a night of cheap Chinese food, BYOB wine, and we can even take the bus and I’m a happy camper. (True story – one of my best dates ever was at Mao’s Kitchen in Venice and we walked there with a bottle of wine).
For those aforementioned LA girls, I found the perfect man for you: Mr. High Maintenance.
I met Mr. High Maintenance at The Wilshire Bar and Restaurant, a place I frequent as little as possible because I hate the female and male douchebags it attracts every Friday and Saturday night and at age 28, I refuse to pay cover. He was nice enough, bought me a vodka-soda, worked in something vague called “private equity/real estate”, and asked for my number. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I agreed to a date with him.
To his credit, Mr. High Maintenance was very good at making plans, which is a skill that a lot of LA men lack. He wanted to pick me up and drive me to 41Ocean (a chi-chi, members-only club in Santa Monica that you pay $2000/year for the privilege of sitting at a bar and drinking $15 drinks which you still pay $15 each for), but I don’t trust any man with my address on a first date, so we met at a bar in Brentwood first. I wound up having more fun than anticipated but was still unsure how much I liked him given that he said such sentences as “I don’t get hangovers because I drink an entire bottle of Pellegrino with my multivitamins before I go to sleep after drinking” and “I don’t drink beer at the pool; I prefer Sauvignon Blanc”.
For our 2nd date, Mr. High Maintenance wanted to “surprise me” which I thought was creepy but my friends said was actually romantic. But hey, at least he’s good at making plans. He picked me up in his 2-door BMW, which he said he was tired of after 3 years and wanted a new one. I in turn launched into the story of my 1997 Honda Accord that I drove despite it leaking when it rained but I jimmied a paper towel/duct tape solution and it never rains in LA anyways.
We went to Tavern for late drinks and appetizers but had to order fish appetizers that adhered to his diet. He avoided carbs all week but allowed himself one splurge day per week; apparently this Monday was not splurge day. Dating Mr. Vegetarian had been annoying enough but at least that guy appreciated a good piece of margherita pizza. The night went fine enough but after he tried to talk me into going to his place for a drink and “the view”, I decided I had had enough. I bid farewell to Mr. High Maintenance and tried to ignore all his subsequent text messages. However he simply didn’t get the message (and he was also just aggressive by nature), so I had to finally send off a bitchy text saying I didn’t want to see him anymore.
I’m not at all concerned about Mr. High Maintenance because I have every belief that he is going to meet Miss High Maintenance one day soon and they’ll be quite content sipping Sauvignon Blanc and Pellegrino together poolside in no time.