Adventures In Dating VI: Baconalia

As many of you know, I have been running a lot this year. I’m getting pretty good at it. I started by visiting Runyon Canyon a few times a week, then Elysian Park, Echo Park, and the Silver Lake Reservoir. I had to branch out because I get bored running in circles on the same path all the time. Now it’s gotten to the point where if I run three days a week, I can go about two weeks without visiting the same location twice. It’s keeping me refreshed, and as far as I know the key to not growing tired of something is to inject new life or change things up whenever possible. Which leads me to this installment of Adventures In Dating.

After my recent break-up I started to run more because it allowed me to clear my mind and gave me new goals to reach. I wanted to set a personal 5K record. I wanted to run the Runyon stairs track five times without stopping. I wanted to run six miles in under an hour. I wanted to run ten and then fifteen miles. I had all kinds of goals that I worked on at different locations. Almost one week after the break-up I was running at a spot on the east side of town (okay, it was the Reservoir), and at each lap I noticed I was crossing paths with this tiny little Latina who was wearing bright blue tights and a white tank-top. She wore large, gaudy gold hoop earrings. Each time we passed one another she’d look at me and smile. I, in turn, probably displayed abject horror. Okay, that’s not true. I think I smiled back at her because I’m polite. Or maybe I was smiling because it was the only way to stifle my laughter. Who wears hoop earrings when they run? To mean that’s a trip to the emergency room waiting to happen. Or maybe I really did display abject horror whenever she smiled at me. Because it’s creepy when people look at me. Especially while running. Especially women. There’s just something off-putting about it. Don’t look at me. Just look at the ground in front of you, you know?

No, don’t look at the ground. You’re supposed to keep your eyes right on the horizon because it keeps your body straight and forces you to remain further upright. Supposedly running while looking down slows you down, and running while looking at the horizon actually helps your speed. I read it somewhere on the Internet, so it must be true.

She retired after about four miles (that would be two laps) and disappeared. I assumed she’d retired and left the area. I ran another lap before quitting for the day. But as I was leaving the park I noticed she was standing around — it could even have been described as pacing — typing into her cell phone with her earbud headphones still affixed to her ears. As I tried to pass her on the way to my car she sidestepped in front of me. I might have flinched. I was definitely taken aback by her stopping me in my tracks. Have I mentioned how much I flinch when people make sudden movements around me? I think it comes from having an older sibling who used to pummel me when I was younger.

The Latina smiled and chuckled before introducing herself. Then she made a joke about how none of her “homeboys” are runners, and she liked how we were keeping pace together. I jokingly said that none of my “homegirls” run either, and as the words fell from my mouth her eyes lit up. I knew I’d made a mistake. I should have just chuckled at her joke and continued walking. I should have said, “How can you tell? We only passed each other twice…” But no, I returned her serve and her eyes lit up and she asked if we could exchange phone numbers. She said it was because she wanted someone to take long runs with. When I said okay (whatever, she was kind of cute in a weird tiny Latina girl way…the way in which a 5’0″ tall 80 pound girl who wears gold hoop earrings when she runs can sometimes be) she demanded that I text her the next time I planned to run at the Reservoir. She even went so far as to add that if I ever wanted to hang out or get a bite to eat I should let her know. I added her number to my contacts list as she watched me like a hawk, and immediately decided I needed to find a new place to run. I haven’t been back to the reservoir but maybe once since then.

Two weeks passed. I went back to Jersey to clear my head. I drove down to Georgia to party. The Latina texted me a couple times while I was away from Los Angeles to see if I was interested in running. When I told her I was on vacation she said to get in touch with her when I returned so that we could plan a long run. I was beginning to regret trading phone numbers with a stranger. To be fair I was also having a really good time back East so the idea that her texts might have been signs of attraction didn’t exactly cross my mind. It’s funny how attention from girls can make attention from girls seem like a hinderance. I didn’t respond to her text. Like I said, I was having way too much fun embracing my single-dom.

I returned to Los Angeles from my trip refreshed and full of verve and vigor. My first morning back at work my boss called me to say he’d just gone to Denny’s to sample their Baconalia menu. He said the bacon meatloaf was terrible and the BBLT would have been a better option. As soon as we disconnected I felt an intense craving for bacon. I was thinking about it at work all day. Bacon, bacon, bacon. I went over to my friend’s place to catch the post-Celtics game celebration (this was after their first opening-round game against the Knicks) and all I could think about was bacon. The craving only intensified when I showed up and everyone at his house was going back and forth between the television and the deep fryer. The smell of burning oil reminded me of greasy food reminded me of bacon. After the game everyone decided we should go see a movie — which temporarily took my mind off bacon — but then one by one they dropped out and went home. So I thoughts of bacon returned. How the hell could I get myself some god damned bacon at a god damned Denny’s by my god damned self?

And then it hit me. The greatest idea I’d ever had in my entire life. Okay, that’s not even remotely accurate. In fact it’s wildly inaccurate. In hindsight it was a terrible idea, but it made me laugh aloud as I contemplated it lo that balmy Sunday night back in April. I decided I was going to call the Latina chick and ask her out for bacon maple sundaes at Denny’s. If she agreed to meet me, I could spin it into an Adventures In Dating story. Even if nothing happened, the idea of meeting up with this girl was incredibly funny. As I reached into my pocket for my phone I felt around and realized that I had no cash on me. So, my night’s goal became clear: invite the Latina out for bacon maple sundaes and then make her pay for me.

Like I said, it was the greatest idea I’ve ever had in my entire life. That is, until it actually came to fruition and started me on the slippery path to one of the most awkward hook-up success failures I’ve ever experienced in my life. You’ll understand what that means soon enough.

***

The Jazz Butcher – Bath Of Bacon
Sir Douglas Quintet – Bacon Fat