I'm enjoying lunch at my FAVORITE fast food place -if you know anything about me at all, it's Del Taco. It's all about Del Taco. It will mostly likely, always, be about Del Taco. Oh, thank you, whoever you are for inventing Del Taco- and there's a beefy looking guy sitting down a few pews from me. Decent looking individual, obviously spends a lot of his days in the gym. I can admit, I couldn't stop staring at his muscular orientation. His dark features. That attractive and graceful way he is... eating.. a burrito? Dammit. Fail. How quickly I went from a simple admiration to the hard-on "Creeper" status.
At the register, there is a man wearing a t-shirt, rope sandals, and... a skirt? I'm not quite sure. but it definitely wasn't pants, or shorts. And, with a poker face worthy of no grand card table, I smirk and glance quickly back down at my burrito. Red. Oh, and mini cheese quesadilla. Sigh. Inferno sauce.
Before I consider that he was possibly wearing coolots -possibly spelled culottes- the bodybuilder stunt double says out loud in my general direction, "Was that guy wearing a skirt?" And I literally burst out laughing. Because, of course he was. I'm in LA. Besides, it was too long for a kilt, and wasn't of the plaid persuasion. I couldn't accurately categorize it. Drapes, maybe?
And this is where the voices in my head ponder the leap from boring Betty to armchair odyssey. We chat for a while. He's flirtatious, single. Wait, did you say you, walked, to this fine establishment? Maybe he needed to take a break from his sports training mundane existence. Even if you love your job, you need to take a hiatus from the norm, right? He's got pretty good energy. He's lifelike, and personable. We connect on a few levels. This is going pretty good. Wait. Did he just grab my hand? Hold on, how did we get so close? I could have sworn we had a good eight feet between booths. Why do I feel uncomfortable all of a sudden. Is it hot in here? He has a sexy accent though. Puerto-Rican and Mexican did you say? Oh wow, I've always wanted to brush up on my foreign linguistics. He asks me if I have to catch an afternoon drink. Sure. Why not, I have a moment. Oh wait, he walked here. Does he expect me to drive him in my car? Why doesn't he have his car here again? He wanted to take a leisurely walk and enjoy his time off. Oh that's right. Well, OK, I'm not one to take these extreme thrill-seeking quests, but what the hell, I'm bored.
We exit my Del Taco and I'm thinking that we will just walk across the street to where he pointed a lounge/bar/restaurant with a bar, might possibly be located. And, he says, oh well, it is walking distance, but driving would be quicker if your short on time. Oh. Ok. So, I drive us to the next shopping center, we get out of the car, and... I don't see any kind of restaurant/bar/lounge at all. It's a run down shopping center containing business with signage missing letters and such on most storefronts; Except, the biggest sign I've ever seen for a store and it clearly reads 'Liquer.' You must be kidding. I take a deep breath and I say, strike one. Ok, hold your horses fellow reader, I know what you're thinking, strike never, he met me at Del Taco, he didn't have a vehicle and that should have been the end of that. I know. I broke one of my rules, which was adaptable to meeting someone at random. Like I said, I took a risk. It wasn't Del Taco's fault. *shrugs
We enter the 'Liquer' store -which I still think should have been a bar/restaurant/pub- and we head for the wine bottles. Ok Hercules, redemption time. I grab what might be a decent bottle, I don't recognize the name but it's at an approximate price point of fifteen dollars. I actually don't recognize most labels on the wines I've drank; But, for all intents and purposes, it "appeared" like it could be a better option than the 3.99 variety I first noticed on the shelf when turning the corner of the end cap. My husky companion quickly rips the bottle I had chosen out of my hand with his ham-like biceps and exchanges it for the decanter above it. I noticed quickly it was a brand of lesser quality. Listen, it looked like it was cheap. And, yes, I'm judging. And quite frankly, it was at a price point of seven dollars for heavens sake. Ugh. Really? This strapping young buffalo should have read my blog. Would have saved him a bunch of unanswered texts after this sad afternoon.
Heading toward his house now... Always a bad idea ladies. Alas, I broke another fucking rule of mine. Sigh. My chiseled warrior has now guided me through a chicken wire style of gating up to the door and proceeds to tell me, with a confidence I think he should have capped at hello, that he rents a room. I'm not judging this. I'm lying. I am. We go into the house, I mean, his cubicle and crack open the wine and he hops on the bed. Ew. Which, by the way, is a mattress on the floor. The bed isn't made -like it matters at this point. There are extra large plastic bins and his random belongings around the floor. I hope there aren't chopped up people inside those bins. Or animals. Either way, I'm ready to get the hell out of here. Literally, once he bounced onto the bed, I was over this voyage.
Why I'm still being polite at this junket, I don't know, but I sip the wine and internally discuss how I'm going to escape from Alcatraz. He asks me if I want to watch a movie. Um, sure. There's no television so this will be interesting. He whips out his phone and looks for movies online. Oh geez. On his phone? The screen is the size of a small envelope. Bah. How did he get so close to me? Now he's on the horizon, way too close to me and goes in for the kill. And no quicker than his lips touch mine, I pop up and grab my things and say, hey, thanks but I gotta go. And like lightening, I was off with a flash.
If it wasn't for the guy wearing an oversized scarf around his lower body, I could have missed this expedition, and thus, never would have had the solidarity that, I was NOT, the creeper. But, merely, a volunteer on this joyous expedition.
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