Samarah – 2015 – St. Patrick’s Day

Before we take our shots she looks me in the eye and says… “Whiskey makes me kind of crazy, just so you know.”

It was a couple years ago, and I had been an active online dater for a while. Long enough to know that people definitely exaggerate and even lie in their dating profiles, and that sometimes the person turns out to look nothing like their photos.

I matched with Samarah on Tinder, and she was definitely one of those questionable “swipes” where her photos were kind of blurry, but her apparent job and hobbies were interesting enough, so swipe right I did, and we ended up making a date to grab a drink on St. Patrick’s Day. Yea… St. Patrick’s Day. Not a fan. I don’t think drunk people sitting on the curb, throwing up into green plastic hats is what St. Patrick had in mind.

As an aside: When dating, for the first date I always only make plans to grab a drink or a coffee (generally a drink, because most people do better with a little bit of social lubricant when meeting someone new) so that I can get a quick assessment of the person and then split if there’s no chemistry or if they’re a weird, or whatever.

I get to the bar where we are to have our date, and the girl is nearly an hour late. (I HATE LATENESS) She texts me along the way to tell me he had trouble getting a cab, so being the nice person that I am, I wait for her to arrive instead of just blowing her off and leaving, as I was tempted to do because I thought about the nightmare I went through with Marisa (See: Marisa – 2017 – The Friendly Hostess)

When she finally arrives, she’s super flustered and weird, and clearly the socially awkward type. She looked sort-of like her photos, but had definitely put on a few. I’m not horribly superficial, no big deal. (Who am I kidding? Yes I am.) Anyway, back to the socially awkward. I know we all have our moments, but this girl didn’t even seem to be able to order a drink from the server without falling all over herself. I was like, “Whoa babe, relax. It’s just a beer.” I don’t believe she was drunk. However, that was my first suspicion.

So we finally get our drinks (I’ve already had two since I was sitting and waiting for her for so long) and exchanging the usual first date info, and I am definitely not into her. She had clearly lied about her job on her profile and honestly seemed like kind of a weirdo. This girl was a different breed of weirdo. Either that or she had some kind of mental disability that I was not able to pinpoint in the small amount of time we had spent together.

After about 10 or 15 minutes, she says “It’s St. Patrick’s Day. I feel like we should get some whiskey! Do you want some whiskey?”

Here we go.

I love whiskey and drink it occasionally, so I agreed. Samarah (awkwardly) orders two shots of Jameson and as soon as the server brings them over she tells her that we will have two more. I’m thinking “Okay honey. Chill out.” Because she had previously mentioned that she’s a lightweight in the drinking department.

Before we take our shots she looks me in the eye and says, “Whiskey makes me kind of crazy, just so you know.”

“Thanks for the intel,” sort of assuming that she meant massive quantities of whiskey made her crazy. Well, I was about to find out that she was being completely serious, and I was in for quite the show.

We clink our shot glasses together and before I can get the shot glass to my lips she asks if I am going to drink the whole thing. Um, yeah baby, it’s just a shot, but I confusedly mumble something like, “I don’t know, maybe?” I’m not a big shot drinker. Sometimes I drink the whole thing in one swallow, sometimes I don’t. Why does she care?

So I take the shot, and she takes about half of hers, and when she sees that I drained mine, she yells at me, “YOU LIAR! YOU SAID YOU WERE NOT GOING TO DRINK THE WHOLE THING! YOU LIED TO ME!” I just sort of stared at her, and didn’t have a chance to respond, because the server was back with our second round of shots.

At this point I am starting to think this is maybe a bad idea, but before I can say or do anything, Samarah downs the second shot and looks at me triumphantly as if she has accomplished something commendable.

Me: “Yay, you took a shot, what do you want, a fucking award? Is this date over yet?”

Obviously, I didn’t really say that, but I should have, because then she went berserk for absolutely no reason at all. As if I had at least said that, she may have had some mild justification for what was about to happen.

Samarah got super angry and started yelling and flailing her arms around telling me that she would kill anyone that came near me. She would fucking shoot anyone that ever tried to come near me. At this point, I was like,HOLY SHIT. This chick is psycho! And I start to wonder if she is possibly carrying a gun in her purse.

I make a move to get up so that I can pay the tab and be done with it. Samarah obviously sees me get up, and she just assumes I’m going to the bar to get more drinks, and says she needs to go to the restroom. I walk up to the bar and pay my tab, and look to the back of the bar (it wasn’t a large bar, just a standard, open, rectangular room with bathrooms in the back, clearly labeled) and I see her wandering around in small, drunken circles looking for the bathroom!

I decide to take pity on this poor thing, and walk to the back of the bar and show her where the restroom is (she had used it previously without incident so I couldn’t figure out why finding it again was such an issue. Maybe she’s on drugs?)

As soon as she gets inside the ladies’s room, I can hear her becoming violently ill. Puking her guts out. The people sitting at the bar can hear it and are looking at me like “What the hell is going on?” I literally told them, “I don’t know her. I think she might be crazy! Like, really crazy!” They continued to look concerned, but went back to their own conversations.

At this point, I should have just left, but being the gentleman that I am, I waited until she came out of the bathroom so that I could say goodbye. She comes out like nothing happened. She acts like a totally different person. All the rage and anger were gone and just this nice, normal girl comes out speaking in regular tones, and sounding not at all like the person that went into that bathroom a few minutes before.

I am saying my goodbyes to her, just saying whatever I have to say to get out of this situation immediately, and she pops a piece of gum in her mouth, and then grabs me and tries to kiss me! At this point I practically did a back bend to get my face as far away from her face as possible with her holding on to me.

At this point I actually ran. I full on ran out the door and started sprinting up the street. The bartender was actually around the corner having a cigarette and asked me as I whizzed past if everything was alright and I yelled back over my shoulder, “I’m fine! Just running away from that crazy girl!”

Bartender: “Who Samarah? Everybody knows that!”

I got home and figured that was the end of it, and I wouldn’t hear from her again.

Inexplicably, that was not the end. Samarah ended up texting and calling me incessantly for weeks asking what she did wrong, and begging to see me again. Those calls and messages went unanswered until I finally blocked her in all ways possible, and that was that. I hope I never see her again. I can’t imagine how she didn’t have any inkling of what went wrong on that date.

 

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Tales of Rock – Edgewater Hotel Incidents

The Edgewater is a hotel in Seattle, Washington that is located on a pier over Elliott Bay. It is currently the only hotel in Seattle that sits over-water. In the 1960s the Edgewater became a popular destination for famous rock stars. Some of the bands to visit the hotel include the Beatles in 1964, the Rolling Stones, Frank Zappa, and Led Zeppelin. The Edgewater is unique because in the past it allowed customers to fish from their rooms on the north elevation.

On July 27, 1969, Led Zeppelin performed at the Seattle Pop Festival and stayed at the Edgewater. The band was known to have wild parties and was often joined by groupies. According to Zeppelin’s road manager Richard Cole, during one incident, things between a fish and a sexy red head got a bit intimate. On the day in question, Cole was in his room fishing with drummer John Bonham when they were joined by some women. Cole and Bonham had caught a large collection of sharks, at least two dozen, stuck coat hangers through the gills and then left them in the closet. The hotel room was also scattered with various types of smaller fish.

As parties go, one thing led to another and people began to lose their clothing. One particular woman in the crowd with red hair found herself with Cole. She made a unique request, so he decided to reach for a fish and the shark episode was born. Cole was later quoted: “Let’s see how your red snapper likes this red snapper.” It was the nose of the fish and the girl liked it. There was nothing malicious or harmful and Mark Stein of Vanilla Fudge filmed the whole thing. After the story was published by the media a large collection of rumors began to circulate, but many were exaggerated. The band received bad press so they stopped talking about the event.

In 1973, Led Zeppelin returned to the Edgewater and the band was officially banned from the hotel after it was discovered that they had caught some 30 mudsharks and left them under beds, in closets, elevators, hallways, bathtubs, and all over their rooms. They threw stuff out the windows into Elliott Bay, including beds, TVs, mattresses, lamps, drapes, and glassware. Since that time Robert Plant has been welcomed back to the Edgewater. The mudshark incident remains one of the most popular rock stories from the 1960s.

Here’s a version of this song I’ve never heard before. It’s a rough mix. Interesting imagery by Brandy and Coke.

 

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Marisa – 2017 to Present – Aww…Come On!

I know what I said about Marisa the last time I wrote about her, but I thought I’d give her just one last chance to redeem herself. (see: Marisa – 2017 to present – The Friendly Hostess. It’s a three part story, so you should probably read them before you read this one because you’ll better understand who Marisa is) Maybe she learned her lesson and wants to be better. I left all of the grammatical errors in to keep it real. Also, pay close attention to the timeline.

Here’s the recent dialogue:

Thu. Jan 19, 9:33pm

Marisa: Hey

Sat. Jan 21, 7:58pm

Marisa: Hi

Marisa: How are you

Marisa: Good morning

Thu, Jan 26, 1:39pm

Marisa: Hi

Me: Hey (This is the first time I have responded since I last saw her)

Marisa: How’s going on

Marisa: I might go tomorrow in tanning salon

Me: I’m doing well.

Me: I’ll be at the salon from 3 to 8

Fri, Jan 27, 8:35am

Marisa: Hey morning

Me: What’s up Marisa

Marisa: What you up to lol

Me: I’m getting some breakfast and then I have a meeting at the pyramid club at 10. Meeting with my broker at 1pm then working at the salon at 3pm. What are you up to?

Me: ?

Sat, Jan 28, 8:28am

Marisa: Hi How are you?

Sat, Jan 28, 11:47am

Me: I’m good. Just woke up. Are you working today?

Sat, Jan 28, 11:37pm

Marisa: Hi

Sun, Jan 29, 9:52am

Marisa: Hey

Me: Hey

Marisa: What are you up too

Me: Going to work at the tanning salon

Marisa: Ohh

Me: What are you up to?

Marisa: Just wake up

Me: What are you doing after 4 today?

Marisa: Not much why you wanna grab a drink

Me: Yes

Marisa: Cool you must like to drink

Me: Of course

Sun, Jan 29, 12:37

Marisa: OK I’ll see you 4?

Me: Ok. Meet me at Square 1682

Sun, Jan 29, 4:14pm

Me: Where are you?

Sun, Jan 29, 4:58pm

Marisa: Where are the square

Marisa: Where im gonna meet you

Sun, Jan 29, 5:02pm

Me: You were supposed to meet me at Square 1682 an hour ago. It’s right across the street from Sofitel. I waited there for you for a half hour. and when I didn’t hear from you I went home. I couldn’t let you do what you did to me last time again.

(A bold-faced lie. I went straight home after work knowing this idiot wouldn’t be able to be at the bar right across the street from Sofitel were she works as a hostess)

Sun, Jan 29, 5:39pm

Marisa: You wanna meet

Me: I’m home now. Maybe some other time when I know you can really meet me on time. I like you but you need to be better with being reliable.

Sun, Jan 29, 6:55pm

Marisa: If you still wanna go out for drinks I’m cool

Me: Some other time, dear.

Sun, Feb 5, 2:50pm

Marisa: Hey. You wanna meet today for just dessert

Sun, Feb 5, 5:34pm

Marisa: Hey. You wanna grab some drinks

Mon, Feb 6, 5:20pm

Me: Sorry. I was out-of-town. How are you?

 

And it just ends there. Hopefully she’s finally given up. But can you believe this crazy shit? It’s like she has some sort of mental disability. She seems to have a complete inability to communicate, or accomplish even the simplest of tasks. How does this woman in her early thirties even function in this city, let alone in life? I don’t think I’ve ever had a dumber exchange with anyone ever. Look at the timeline. It goes on for weeks with no real connection. She never came to the tanning salon, and we never met up once. Can you imagine having this conversation with anyone? She almost seems insane in her behavior.

 

Update: Just got a text from her that said: ” Happy Valentine’s”

Oh maybe the love is still alive… lol

You never know…

Art imitates life imitates art.

 

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Tales of Rock – James Brown Pulls a Shotgun on Someone for Using His Toilet

“Experimentation with drugs was more a qualification than a fire-able offense.”

Watching James Brown in action in video of his performances in the 1960s and ’70s, it’s difficult to imagine someone so assured and in control of himself and his band descending into drug-induced chaos. He even insisted his musicians remain drug-free, which alienated some, including Catfish and Bootsy Collins, who departed for Parliament-Funkadelic where experimentation with drugs was more a qualification than a fire-able offense.

But the ’80s took their toll on the “Soul Brother No. 1” as he started using PCP. He was arrested numerous times before, in 1988, he reportedly pulled a shotgun on a man for using the toilet in his office before fleeing, leading police on a chase near the border of Georgia and South Carolina. He was convicted of possession, driving under the influence, carrying an unlicensed pistol and assaulting a police officer and sentenced to six years in jail; released in three. He continued to have problems with the law for the last 15 years of his life, most often owing to charges of domestic violence.

His relationship with Adrienne Lois Rodriguez was insane. They met on the set of the TV show Solid Gold, on which Rodriguez worked as a hairstylist. Brown told Sharpton to get her number. The two fell in love, got married (she would be Brown’s third wife), and had a tumultuous relationship: They were both addicted to PCP; she called the cops on him a number of times for domestic violence; she once stabbed a woman in the butt who she thought was sleeping with Brown; she set his clothes on fire; she allegedly put PCP into his creamed corn. In 1996, she died after undergoing liposuction owing to a combination of PCP and prescription medications.

Brown kept up a rigorous tour schedule well into his 70s. His trumpeter Hollie Farris remembered they were doing a show in South America when the doctor gave him shots, put a catheter in him, only to take it out, do a one-and-a-half-hour show, and then come back and put the catheter back in. In another performance in Tbilisi, Georgia, Brown performed in a swimming facility with the stage at the edge of the pool. Brown jumped into the pool at the climax of “Sex Machine” and had to be fished out by his bandmates. He got back onstage and finished the song.

 

 

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Abigail – I Can’t Even…

Another tale of one man’s journey navigating his way through the dating scene in Philadelphia.

Here is another Tinder date. We both swiped right and started chatting. After a bit of that we exchange numbers. Abigail is a cute 26-year-old woman. She is about 5’3″, long brown wavy hair, green eyes, and fair skin. She’s fit and attractive. She arrives wearing a light blouse and a lovely red and white skirt accented by a large white purse.

We meet at Ruth Chris’ Steakhouse on 18th Street. The space was formerly the old Elephant and Castle. I have some great memories with my ex-girlfriend Michelle there. They have spent over $1.2 million on the remodel. The place is gorgeous. I’ll have to see how the food is. Abigail picked the place, and I’m wondering what this is going to cost me.

The place was surprisingly quiet, and she asks for a mistress booth. There are booths that when you sit in them, they pull a privacy curtain across the front of the booth. This way no one can see you. It’s very private. I like that she picked this type of table, because maybe she has some private sexy fun in store for me. I’m down for anything she wants to do.

We order some light fare. Abigail goes with the seared ahi tuna, and I go for the grilled barbecue shrimp. She said she knows this place is expensive, so she thinks we should just have some appetizers and drinks. I couldn’t agree more! A girl who likes the upscale spots, likes some privacy, and has a thrifty side. She just became more attractive to me. Abigail orders a double cuba libre and I go for my usual vodka martini, straight up with a twist.

The conversation is going okay. She seems nice. She works at a local bank as a client services representative. I like that because I used to work in retail banking myself many years ago. So much has changed in the financial industry, but some things still remain the same. Abigail is cute. As we used to say in the banking industry, “I’d like to make a deposit into her account. No penalty for early withdrawal!”

I’m feeling good and sipping my cocktail. But I start to notice something a bit odd. I notice she’s taking some small bits of her ahi tuna and ripping them up with her fingers and putting them into her huge purse.

What the hell? Is she stealing food for later? I mean…I’ve seen people do that with rolls and bread, but not fish.

So naturally I call her out on it. She smiles and says, “Oh, I’m just feeding Ernie.”

“Who?”

And with that she pulls out a fat guinea pig from her purse. I swear to God.

She plopped the thing in the middle of the table and it just kinda chilled out. I can’t believe this is happening.

“You can’t bring and animal in here.”

“That’s why I wanted this table, so we could have some privacy.”

“Here comes the server. Put that thing away.”

“His name is Ernie!” She hissed, as she stuffs the little brown and white creature back into her bag.

“How are you guys doing over here?” says our smiling server.

“I’ll have another martini, and the lady will have another rum and coke.”

The server leaves to go fetch our second round.

“Do you carry that thing around with you all of the time?”

“Ernie is my pet companion. Like Paris Hilton and her little dogs.”

“Yea, but she’s a millionaire, and famous…and those are dogs. You’re carrying around a rodent!”

“Keep your voice down!”

The server returns with our cocktails. I thank her and take a healthy gulp of the icy medication.

“I think this is some sort of health code violation.”

Abigail pulls “Ernie” back out onto the table.

“I really don’t think you should be….”

And that’s when I felt her foot travel along my leg and up to my crotch. I take my eyes off the little fella and look into her emerald eyes. They twinkle, and she gives me a sly grin.

“Okay…okay… Well he is kind of cute.”

I played with the little fella as Abby’s foot played with mine through my pants.  Ernie, was soft and cute. I on the other hand, no longer was!

He was really a chill little dude. I’m glad I’m drinking through this date. (Martinis help in any situation where everything doesn’t make sense) After a while, I could tell she was getting a little jealous of how well Ernie and I were bonding. I don’t have any pets, but I have had them in the past. Cats mostly.  My father always told me to touch an animal like you would a woman. Very gently. Living things respond to a gentle touch. Abigail was getting fed up at me for playing with Ernie, and back in the purse he went. She also withdrew her foot from my crotch. I could tell that after not eating much, and two double rum and cokes, our girl was getting a bit tipsy.

I was ready to bail and leave, but she mentioned she could go for some ice cream. At this point I figured what the hell, and was cool with it. Maybe it would sober her up. My father used to say he would eat ice cream after he drank, because the milk fat neutralized the alcohol. I always believed that, but most of the time it just made me puke. I also later found out that maybe the ice cream settled his stomach or coated it, there was no ‘neutralization of the alcohol. It was already in your bloodstream by then. But if it worked for my father…

So be it.

So we go to Ben & Jerry’s over on Sansom Street. The place is empty. We get to talking about tattoos and piercing, (none of which I have) and she tells me she has nipple piercings, and I’m like “Oh?” and then she pulls down her shirt, in the middle of Ben and Jerry’s at 8pm and shows me her tits. I just kind of went poker-faced. So then I decide to walk her to her to the corner and hailed her a taxi. She “kiss attacks” me, and well, she WAS kinda cute, so I made out with her, sort of…Her lips were tense the whole time and she licked my teeth.

I bid her and “Ernie” a fond farewell, as I watch the cab disappear up 18th street.

A few days later, I accepted her friend request on Facebook.  I noticed that she had a Facebook page for her guinea pig that had more Facebook friends than I did.

I didn’t hear from her for a while. I was kind of glad about that, because let’s face it, the chick is crazytown.

A few months later the guinea pig died and its Facebook was a memorial page where a bunch of people commented how much they missed it. I ‘liked’ one of her statuses and she called me crying. She was hysterical. I calmed her down and promised her we would go out soon, to help ‘mourn her loss’. (Bold faced lie)

I eventually unfriended her, but not the guinea pig.

RIP:  Ernie

 

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Marisa – 2017 to Present – Part IV – A Blonde Moment

Another tale of one man’s journey navigating his way through the dating scene in Philadelphia.

I’m back at the restaurant. Mary is still there but she’s about to leave. “She’s in the restroom.” She says.

“I know. She text me.”

“Maybe she got lost in there too!”

I’m sitting at my table. The restaurant is nearly empty now. Out from the back comes a cute Filipino girl with blonde hair!

She gets to the table and apologizes profusely. I tell her I forgive her and we’ll move on.

The hair closest to her scalp is now blonde. As it descends to her shoulders it fades into a tawny color. She tells me that she let a friend of hers experiment on her. It looks kind of cute. A dramatic change from the black hair she had when I met her a week ago. It’s a little weird, but she’s got a cute face. I also notice she is wearing a really low-cut top that showcases her ample bosom.

She keeps asking me if I like her hair. I tell her it looks fine and that she looks cute. I don’t think she’s happy with it. I would bet you the next time I see her it’s back to black.

We order food, and start chatting. She is currently enrolled in the Community College of Philadelphia. She says she is studying criminal law. I find that impressive. She lives on her own, and the only job she has currently is the hostess gig at Sofitel. She formerly worked at Parx casino as a craps dealer, blackjack, and roulette person. She mentions that she also worked at The Sands Casino in Bethlehem. What she really wants to do is become a poker dealer, because they get to keep their tips instead of pooling them with the rest of the dealers.  I ask her why she isn’t doing anything with the casinos currently.

“It’s a long story.” She says.

She asked if I am married. I remind her that I already told her that I was married, but divorced back in 2001. She doesn’t ask about children, so I don’t volunteer it. She says that marriage sucks. She said she got married about ten years ago and divorced three years ago. She tells me she has a younger sister that is still married. She says none of the rest of her family is here in the states.

Based on the math, I would bet that they both may have been mail order brides. They got their citizenship and off they went. Her younger sister’s marriage stuck, but Marisa’s failed. If her being a total scatterbrain is any indication as to how she is most of the time, I can see why she’s divorced. Once the cute, flirty exterior stuff wears off, I can see how the interior is just a tangle of bad wiring and grinding frustration. I ask her why her marriage ended.

“It’s a long story.” She says.

I notice something else about her during lunch. She chews with her mouth open. It’s fucking gross. iI makes her look like an amphibian. How has she lived for thirty-two years on this planet without anyone giving a shit enough to tell her to shut her trap when she’s chewing.? It really is unattractive. This is only the second times I have been appalled about a woman’s eating habits. The first being Annabelle. She ate like she was raised by wolves. Just shoveling the chow into her gob at feeding time. Just awful. (See: Annabelle – 2013-2014)

I’ve been told by several people that I am a very neat eater. One should have proper etiquette at the table and dine in a civilized manner. If you eat like an animal, you were raised by animals. That, or parents that just didn’t give a shit about you enough to provide you with the proper tools to break bread with other civilized human beings.

So the problem that she is facing with communication lies in her phone. I can see that is only a fraction of the problem. She says she dropped her phone into a toilet and it fried. The college she is attending gives out free phones if you’ve lost or don’t have a phone. It’s a safety thing for the students. It’s a crap phone that doesn’t do much of anything. But that doesn’t explain a person having no sense of direction and being an hour late. I’m sort of a sap for coming back and meeting with her but, cuteness won this round.

The bill comes and of course, no wallet comes out. I’ll have to ask my accountant if I can somehow claim these lunches on my taxes. Make Phicklephilly into a business entity, so I can write off all of these stupid dates.

She says she hasn’t drank an alcoholic beverage in 2017. I then ask her why she’s been texting me to meet her for a beer late night. She said I could drink but she would just drink soda. I think alcohol is the only way I could deal with her beyond today. It would have to be brown liquor and lots of it.

She tells me she was due in at work at 3pm but has called them to say she got held up at school. She uses my phone to call, and is texting with her phone. I ask her won’t she get in trouble for coming in late? She says as long as she calls, who cares. I’m starting to see why she’s working as a hostess at a hotel bar, and no longer with the casinos.

Marisa says she’s forgotten her black button down shirt for work. She has also forgotten her shoes. She tells me she has to go to H & M to buy a shirt. I have a little time, so I go with her. We’re walking south on 17th street, and I tell her it’s probably not a good idea to keep going towards Walnut street. When she asks why, I tell her that we will literally walk right past the Sofitel hotel. It’s already almost 3:30. She really has no sense of direction.

She sees a Forever 21 on Chestnut street. We hang a right into there to find the shirt. I notice her sense of humor is like Eliana’s.  (See: Eliana – 10/2016 – Part 1 – Third Time’s the Charm) Sort of a poke fun at you humor. They say something, you believe they mean it, then they say, “Just kidding.” But this happens over and over again to the point of it being annoying. It may be something that is just part of their culture, but I don’t care for it. American’s have a hip sense of humor and some other culture’s humor is silly to us. Look at humor on your local hispanic channel. There’s nothing clever or ironic about any of their humor. It’s mostly silly. Almost vaudvillian in nature.

I don’t know my way around Forever 21, but I have no problem being the only guy in a store full of attractive young women. If Marisa can’t find her way to a restaurant on a major intersection in Philly, there’s no way she knows where to find a dress shirt in a retail outlet with two floors full of stuff. She starts wandering around and I simply ask one of the sales ladies. They direct us to where we should go. I actually found the right shirt for her. I have three sisters and a daughter. I know my way around women’s clothing stores.

She is going to get the shirt and now we’re looking at shoes. I ask her size and she says five. I find a nice pair of dress shoes in her size. She likes them and for some reason thinks they are 30% off.

So we’re all set. We go up to the counter, and she starts looking at stuff to hold her hair back. She let’s another woman go ahead of her, and I don’t know if she found anything. We go next and the cashier is ringing up the sale. The shoes are $27. She asks the girl if they are 30% off and the girl says no. I tell her that $30 is cheap for that sweet pair of shoes. But Marisa tells the girl to take them off the bill because she doesn’t want them now. Okay, so just the shirt.

She swipes her card and it is declined. the whole deal is off. I assume there isn’t even enough in her account to cover a $15 shirt. I don’t know if she expected me to step in and pay for it, but if that’s what she thought, then she can kiss my black ass.

We end up leaving the store empty-handed having basically wasted an hour where she should have been at work. She tells me she brought the wrong card. I know that the “wrong card” usually means, “No money.”

I walk her down to Sofitel, and before she walks down the alley to go in at the service entrance, she gives me a hug and a kiss. I watch her as she goes, to make sure she gets in okay.

To sum up this ordeal I would say this. She’s a cute girl with a nice body. She looks younger than her thirty-two years. I would take her to the movies, if I felt there was any sort of future with this girl. But I kind of don’t like her. She had a chance to just have a nice free lunch today, and she fucked it up royally. I think the chewing with the mouth open just ruined it for me. she’s an unmade bed in all aspects of her life.

But… I would sleep with her. But that’s it. Just a purely physical and sexual coupling. I don’t want to hang out with her again. It was just too painful for me. This poor soul is just a scatterbrained idiot. But I am very forgiving, so you never know.

Maybe being a blonde suits her.

 

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Marisa – 2017 to Present – Part III – Lost in the Translation

One man’s quest to find love in this city

Marisa gets back to me in regard to my arrival at the restaurant. The lunch is set for 1pm.

Let the madness unfold here…

12:45

Me: I’m at the restaurant and our reservation is for 1pm

12:51

Her: Hey Ok, I’m gonna be there.

Me: Ok. (smiley face and thumbs up)

(She’s lost.)

1:00

Her: Hold on.

Me: Ok

1:22

Her: Hey where is actually. the hotel.

(Hotel? What? Why doesn’t she know where the place is? I’ve given her the name and address three times.)

Me: 18th and JFK Blvd. Right on the corner.

1:23

Her: the restaurant

Does she have a flip phone?

Me: Where are you? Yes. (Name of restaurant)

Her: Ok. Sorry. Walking. Cause. I’m.

Me: Ok. Where are you now? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour.

1:27

Her: I was lost. I’m sorry. I’m walking now.

Me: Where are you now? Ok

Her: I went the other side.

On the other side? The other side of what? The city? The Earth? Has she died and gone over to the other side and is texting me from beyond the grave?

It’s been forty-five minutes now. I have asked her three times now what her present location is, and she hasn’t responded with and answer. Where the fuck is she? I can walk from Penn’s Landing back to Rittenhouse in forty minutes.

Me: Ok. Where are you now?

1:35

Her: Near by

(Nearby what???? I hate lateness. As I said above, that was drilled into my soul by my father.)

Me: Near what? What is the cross street of your present location? ???

(I hear nothing but the familiar roar of frustrating crickets.)

I should fucking leave. On top of all, of this there are two assholes that have been sitting at MY table for over an hour and a half. They finished eating a half hour ago and are just dawdling.

I hate everyone now.

Except Mary. She doesn’t know this is a date with a young Filipino delish that looks like it’s not happening.

I haven’t heard anything from her. It’s been an hour that I’ve been waiting and texting this idiot.

Marisa stood me up.

It’s now nearly 2pm and I have been here for over an hour. I tell Mary I’m just going to leave and tell Marisa I have other appointments and I can’t wait around anymore. Mary agrees. I tell her I am very busy, but I miss her and want to see her. She is her usual self and feels the same. The thing with Mary is; she has never been married, no kids, so she isn’t romantically minded. She actually is unable to be lovey and flirty at all. She explained this to me on one of our dates. I understand. This tells me that I can either remove her armor or simply be the man who opens her up.

“I’m not a player” she says.

I ask her to explain. Mary says that she’s not used to being in the game anymore. “It takes me a long time to warm up.”

“There are other ways to warm you up, Mary.” I smile, and look away.

It’s all very interesting to me how I am now. I want her, but if I never saw her again, I’d be just fine. I see me in her apartment, watching movies with her and us kissing, and then me taking her. This is new to me. I normally have spent my life with younger women. Maybe now that I’m spending time with some of these older women, the scale has shifted, and now I’m the jewel.

I tell her that we should go to Doobies (awesome dive bar) and get some cheap drinks and food and catch up. She agrees. I tell her I’ve never left a restaurant because of a delayed or failed client. She says, “Tell them you were here and had to go meet other clients. It’ll put you in a position of strength. They were late or cancelled, and you were here on time. You were on point. They blew it. Now they owe you.”

Mary’s great.

I leave and head over to 17th and Market. I was supposed to have eaten lunch an hour ago. I head for my favorite hot dog street cart. I’m done with this chick. I order a grilled dog from the cart. I go for the brown mustard of course. I don’t need a bag. I’m going to ram that burnt crispy dog into my open maw like a baby Caiman.

I decide before my two afternoon appointments that have now been compromised by this silly, scatterbrained girl, I’ll stop over at the salon and commiserate with my partner, Achilles. I get there and rage out on how frustrated I am with these idiots. He agrees and comes back full force. We’re a good team.

Then this text comes in when I am at the salon. Remember, I got there at 12:45 for our 1pm lunch. It is now 2pm.

1:55

Her: Hey I’m here a cross. What is the restaurant. Name. I’m calling you. I’m here. Hi. Are you still here. Are you. Still here.

2:03

Me: I left

Her: Pls. Reply. Still here.

Me: Are you really there?

2:05

Her: Yes. Misconduct tavern. ? I’m here. Where are you

Me: Ok. On my way.

I jump in a taxi and head back to the restaurant. At this point I’m just doing it for the blog.

Her: I cannot.

Me: Cannot what?

Her: Use. The phone. To call now. I cannot. I was using. Someone. Phone. Ok.

2:08

Me: I’ll be there in 2 minutes

Her: K. I’m in restroo

I walk back into the restaurant

Me: Ok. I’m at the table.

Her: Ok

Goddammit.

 

Tune in tomorrow for the crazy conclusion!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at 9am EST.

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