Adventures In Dating VI: Baconalia II

I arrived at the Denny’s near the Burbank airport and there was no one there. Not a single patron in sight. Maybe everyone was at the Del Taco or the McDonald’s next door. I don’t see why they would be — it’s not like any other fast food chain was running a Baconalia campaign. I walked inside and grabbed a booth near the far wall, hoping to be somewhat out of sight should anyone I know happen to walk into a random airport Denny’s. I texted the girl to see where she was and she said she’d be there in a moment. She said to wait for her before getting a table, but I texted back that it was too late, I’d already grabbed one for us.

She arrived wearing a somewhat loose-fitting white t-shirt with black tights. There were a number of gold chains hanging from her neck. She was heavily made up, and happened to be sporting some of the most bizarrely-long fake eyelashes I’ve ever seen in my life. The gold hoop earrings were even larger than those she wore to run at the Reservoir. In fact, they were so large that they were digging into her shoulders. She introduced herself. Her quasi-ghetto dialect sounded much harsher than it did when we met. I guess you could say her “hood” accent was stronger.

A waiter came by to ask if we wanted anything to drink. I thought I responded matter-of-factly when I said that some water would be fine, but she started laughing at me. As soon as the waiter disappeared she said, “Damn, why you so angry at the waiter.” I asked what she was talking about, and she said my response sounded like I was within an inch of ripping his head off. I apologized, I don’t know why, and told her I’d treat him more gently when he returned. She was laughing in a kind of schoolgirl way where her intentions were more to poke fun at me than seriously accost me about my waiter-speaking skills.

We started to talk about running. She asked how I was doing and how often I exercised. She mentioned that she hits the gym almost every night because she’s afraid she’s going to get “cottage cheese thighs.” I must have given her a look of doubt because she immediately yelled, “What!?” at me. I told her she couldn’t weigh more than 80 pounds and she said that’s because she spends so much time working out. She got very quiet and almost whispered that she was afraid she’d get fat if she missed a night at the gym. I told her that was ridiculous and she seemed to close off a little bit. I rebounded by telling her that “cottage cheese” was fucking gross and it was impressive how hard she worked to keep herself in shape. That seemed to lift her spirits.

We ordered our bacon maple sundaes and the conversation shifted. We talked about her family and friends. She mentioned that we couldn’t eat anywhere in her neighborhood because it wouldn’t be safe for me. She said they don’t like white guys where she lives, and they especially don’t like to see why guys with girls like her. She told me that if we ever go to her ‘hood she’d have to drive me because I might get shot at if I drove there alone. It was hard for me to tell if what she was saying was true or not, because she was laughing at everything she said but following it up with comments such as, “No…I’m serious.” We talked about how she wanted to be a professional DJ and had paid lots of money for records with certain samples or breaks on them, then asked if I’d heard of any of them. I hadn’t heard of a single one, but that didn’t stop me from saying, “Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that” once or twice.

She mentioned that she didn’t like to drink. She said she was a lightweight and also couldn’t find anything with a flavor she liked. Then out of nowhere she lifted her high-heeled open-toed shoe and stretched her leg so that it was on the seat next to me. She asked me if I liked her diamond, and then said that she’d just had it done that morning. She was talking about the rhinestones on her toe nails. I didn’t really have a response for that one. It was a weird one.

Oh, at some point we talked about Halloween costumes and she mentioned that she only ever dresses up as a variation of a queen. Like if she’s a bee she’s a queen bee. If she’s a cavewoman she’s the queen of the cavewomen. Shit like that. The funniest comment she made all night was when she asked if I like Mexican food. I told her how when I was growing up my family would have a taco night where we’d buy one of those prepared taco kits from the supermarket with all the ingredients packaged together. She told me that she had a get-rich idea that she wanted to market. I asked her what it was, and she said, “It’s kind of like the prepared taco kit, but instead it’s with nachos.”

“So…it’s like chips and salsa…packaged together?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed.

I told her it was a really good idea.

When the bill arrived I offered to pay and she said that she would take cafe of it because I came all the way over the hill to see her. It’s a move I’ve used once or twice before with girls on dates when I had no money on me, and of course it worked again. If your wallet is empty, always offer to pay first. Then back down when she offers to pay. It works like a charm. She paid (it wasn’t expensive — how much are two bacon maple sundaes, twelve bucks?). We requested a refill on our glasses of water and then we stood up to leave. We walked out to the parking lot and she asked me which car was mine. I told her to guess and she picked an Audi. Nice try, but I’m not that white. I showed her the Carolla and then she asked me to spot her car. I went for the black Mazda or Kia or something — whichever one had the tinted windows. And, duh. I was right. I walked her over to her car and thanked her for the bacon ice cream. We exchanged an awkward sideways hug and then I went on my way. It was a pretty normal first meeting, if a little bit awkward because of the glaring cultural differences between she and I. Whatever, I had a story I could share with my friends and it didn’t come at any real expense. I wasted like 90 minutes of my life I could have been at home blogging.

And then when I got home things took a sharp turn. Unprovoked, she started to send me a series of text messages. We volleyed back and forth for a few minutes. She asked how come I didn’t make a move, and followed that up by asking if I wanted to see her again. I said sure, and then she lobbed one in: a shot of her standing in what I guessed was her bedroom, topless, with a white bath towel wrapped around her waist. This Adventure was nowhere near over…

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