While on a walk during my lunch at work near the Santa Monica Promenade, a homeless guy offered to set me up with his friend because he thought I was very pretty and that we would make a good pair.
I thought about it for a few moments but ultimately decided that it wasn’t a great idea.
{ a continuation of Mr. Pretentious Part I }
There’s a wonderfully quirky bar in West Hollywood called Bar Lubitsch; inside that bar lurks a not so wonderful gentleman named Mr. Pretentious.
Once we arrived from the jazz club, he ordered another martini and I elected to nurse a Stella since I had a long drive back to West LA. Since Bar Lubitsch was noticeably quieter than the jazz club he took this as his chance to ask such insightful first date questions as “When was your last long term relationship?” and “They say a person makes a judgment about another person within 5 seconds. So what did you think of me?” As I was starting to lose my patience, I informed him of the truth that I hadn’t been in a long term relationship in 4 years and what the hell was with that handkerchief.
After the handkerchief mockery, the conversation got very awkward and I realized maybe I should attempt to be a little nicer to even pretentious guys on a first date. I asked why he was running for local office. He in turn gave me the most ridiculous spiel about how nothing ever gets done in politics because too many old people are in control and they don’t care about making a difference anymore and are too lazy to push changes through. My cynicism reared its ugly head at this point and I told him that in my opinion he was being naïve. I said he’ll get into office and realize how much red tape there is and how difficult it is to actually get anything done, and that is why the people currently in office seemingly get nothing accomplished. He retorted it would not be that way for him and he’s here to legitimately change things.
That was my cue to use the bathroom, check the time to ensure that I would get back to my car at midnight when the garage closed, and text multiple girlfriends that this was the night in Hollywood Hell. Upon my return, 2 lemon shots sat on the table. I glared at them and announced, “I’m not drinking that.” So he drank both and then suggested we dance. Since I had 20 minutes and a beer to kill, I acquiesced and then bore witness to the worst thing ever: this man on a dance floor. Imagine a robot with a broken hip but this robot thinks he’s sexy. It was still worse than what you are imagining.
11:30 was my cue to get back to my car before it turned into a pumpkin at midnight and as much as I attempted to leave him in his lemon drop haze at Bar Lubbitsch, he insisted on ensuring I make it back to my car safely – right after he pounded his last martini. The following series of events took place between 11:40 and 11:47 PM on this Friday night:
11:40 PM: Taxi pulls up to garage and the gate is closed and there is no sign of escape for my car.
11:40:20 seconds PM: I get angry.
11:41 PM: “I’ll handle this, don’t worry” he slurs. His version of handling it consists of him screaming at the gate “Is anyone there?”
11:42 PM: politicians can’t get anything done, but I sure can. Just as I’m iPhone googling the parking garage management company (I can read signs, apparently Mr. Pretentious cannot), a nice gentleman in a car pulls up and says he works in the building and he can buzz me into it and I can get my car out that way.
11:44 PM: I get to my car and Mr. Pretentious is still somehow beside me. Now I’m not sure how he would get out of the locked garage so I let him in my car and say I’ll drop him at whatever bar his alleged friends are at. He says to just drop him at the corner at Sunset.
11:45 PM: Corner of Sunset. Of course he won’t get out of my car. 2-minute conversation ensues of the following, “Get out, I’m going home. Unless you want to be dropped off nearby, get out.” “Wait, are you serious” “Yes.” “Wait, you are seriously telling me to get out of the car?” “Yes.” “What?” “I’m going home, I’m tired, I have a long drive home, get out.” He finally opens the door and glares at me – “Is this seriously happening right now?” Me – “Yes, get out!” he throws his hand up at me in anger, exits, and slams the door.
The last martini must have been a mind eraser for Mr. Pretentious because at 7:30 the following morning, he texted “Did you have a nice night last night?” I ignored him and my instincts to write back “Were we on the same date?”
I did wind up getting back to Mr. Pretentious eventually and wishing him good luck on his campaign. After all, he’s just what Washington and Los Angeles need in office – another douchebag.
A woman after my own heart.
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.
I claim to be no expert in dating but I have been online dating on and off for years and I’ve learned a few things that I always like to pass along to my fellow single ladies.
Create a whole new email account that has nothing to do with your last name. This is just so smart on so many levels. If you want to hear more reasons as to why this is so smart, email me at lamatchbook@gmail.com (notice – NO LAST NAME).
I am incredibly weary of giving out my phone number online. Sometimes, I second guess this because I will give a dude in a bar my number from time to time. So what’s to stop a creep from the bar from stalking me just as an online guy could? That being said, giving your phone number is 100% your discretion. For those of us extra paranoid out there, create a Google Voice account and get a Google Voice number. You can give that number out. If he turns out to be a creeper, deleting that Google Voice number is far easier than arguing with Verizon for a day to get your number changed.
If he asks to friend you on Facebook because he “has found girls are not honest in their Match.com pictures and they are more honest on Facebook”, ditch the dude for 2 reasons.
1) Don’t give him access to your last name.
2) That’s freaking douche-y.
If I have to tell you not to put your full birth date online ANYWHERE, please go back to 5th Grade computers/Internet call and ask the teacher why. If I have to tell you why you shouldn’t give your social security number out, go home, lock your door, and don’t talk to people. Ever.
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