OK, so I've been asked out again by the Millionaire. Lovely. Actually, he asked me to hang out the NEXT NIGHT but I thought that was a little much. I adore being adored but there's a fine line between 'adoration' and 'desperation'.
I head to his house, again. I really don't mind this even though my friends are a bit suspicious. Hey, he took me out for the first date and this is an early Saturday night drink. Why NOT sit on his gorgeous deck looking at the city lights and talking?
I am dressed to go out after our drink; he has a poker game later and it's Saturday night so I'm not going to go home at 8pm looking this good! When he answers the door he tells me I look chic. I am pleasantly surprised by the unique word choice. He asks what I'd like to drink and says he doesn't have much. I inwardly cringe. So he's a little less than suave in some areas, I forgive him. This is an area men can be trained in.
We make screwdrivers (which remind me of the first party I had when my parents left me home alone. A night full of flaming Dr. Peppers and waking up to the smell of Peach Schnapps....but I digress) and sit on the deck. Conversation flows much easier this time. He seems to relax a bit more, though maybe it's the vodka. At whatever rate, I am much more enthusiastic about him after this date. He asks if I like museums and I say yes and he asks if I'd like to go to one the next day. Now, I know I said there's a line between adoration and desperation but when I'm into someone that line becomes much blurrier. I say yes.
After an hour or so it's time for him to get to his poker game. As I'm driving down from the Hollywood Hills to go meet some of my girl friends I find myself thinking about him. This causes me to shriek out loud alone in my car, "SHIT! I like him!" This is exciting to most but scary to me, given that I am incredibly hard headed and defensive. To admit that I like someone means making myself vulnerable to them. But, let's face it, that approach to relationships hasn't been doing me a whole heck of a lot of good these past few years so I'm going to try not to freak out and run the opposite direction faster than George Clooney from commitment.
Besides, I have more dates lined up. So, much like a man, I'm going to prove my freedom to myself by being a slut. Great.
Getting married for sex is like buying a 747 for the free peanuts,
LL
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