Sometimes when I go on a date with a woman, I’m made to feel as if I did something wrong. I feel like some women, not all, but definately some, will make a guy feel like he has to climb out of a hole, dug by the guys before who did something shitty to them, or based on whatever shitty thing a male celebrity did to women this week. Dates can sometimes be “Guilty until proven innocent” situations.
Although I’m not here to diminish pain caused by men prior to me in a woman’s life, sometimes I’m left a little baffled that ‘preconcieved notions’ exist in the dating world; I mean, who the fuck is YOU?
That leads me to this week’s parable…
In the early 2000’s, I went to Coachella with my friend Matt. We worked together at Borders and became close like brothers, besides our many differences. Matt smoked weed, I drank. Matt was into house and electronic dance music, I was into rock. Matt wore HUGE baggy skater pants with chains on them, I wore blue jeans. Where we came together though, was on women. Matt and I talked women all the time. Sometimes we’d go to clubs he liked to meet women, sometimes we”d go to rocker bars I liked to meet women. Our separate styles and tastes, brought us together in a way. SO when I started dating one of our coworkers, Matt started dating her best friend and the 4 of us were inseparable for a time.
But before we started tandem dating the girls we worked with at Borders, Matt and I decided to go to Coachella. Red Hot Chili Peppers were headlining that year for me, bunch of house/electronic DJ’s in tents with glow sticks and the what-nots for Matt. Win-win.
Coachella is near Palm Springs, so we decided we’d fly into San Diego, stay a few days by the ocean, rent a car, drive the coast a bit, and cut through the Mohave into Palm Springs.
1st night in San Diego, we went to Jim Croche’s Steakhouse. At the time, Matt and I both smoked and California had banned indoor smoking before Illinios. It didn’t really matter though, because EVERY place had an outdoor area for smokers. It actually wasn’t bad, especially with the nice weather.
The thing that stood out to me about Cali, besides the weather, was just how friendly and approachable everyone was. Coming from the “What the fuck are you looking at?”, “mindja fucking business” attitude of Chicago, it was a pleasant culture shock, especially for a couple of extroverts like Matt and I.
Anyway, while smoking, we got to talking to some other smokers, who told us of a great club right off the highway, not far from our hotel, so we went there that night and met up with the guys who told us about the place. They introduced us to their friends, and that’s when Matt and I met Chrissie and Angel.
These were no ordinary women; Chrissie and Angel were California 9’s, which is like a Chicago 17. Absolutely stunning blonds. They were friendly, personable, smart and funny as hell. The four of us laughed and drank until midnight, and then the guys invited us to a party at their apartment. We went, had a great time, and Chrissie and Angel went back to our hotel with us. Chrissie with Matt, Angel with me.
The next day, as the girls slept, Matt and I met in the lobby, high fived each other AND bro hugged (this was almost 20 years ago, I was a kid. Gimme a break.), then had coffee by the ocean and watched the dolphins play in the distance. After they woke up, Chrissie and Angel toured us around San Diego. They took us to Tiauana for weed, took us paragliding on the Pacific, we rented a speedboat and then the four of us watched the night grow dark at sunset on a Pier that stretched out for a mile over the ocean. It was a perfect day.
We retired to our rooms for a bit, drunk on sunsets and infatuations. Later that night, we went back to the same club. Matt and I began talking to a guy named Ken, and after a while, he invited the four of us to a party at a rich guy’s beach house. He was really adamant about it, almost insistent. What could we do but go?
The house we went to was huge, with a big expanse of private beach property in front. The four of us arrived, and we were met at a gate by Ken. We parked and he led into a huge house, with windows everywhere. I can remember, as we walked up to the huge wooden front doors, hearing the ocean waves coming from behind the house, even over the music coming from inside. Ken was a bit slimey, like a cartoon talent agent and we were wondering why he was giving us so much attention. He introduced us around, and told us who people knew, and how much they were worth, or what they owned. As Matt and I settled in and began chatting with people, Ken told Chrissie and Angel to follow him for drinks.
Matt and I looked very out of place, but everyone was super nice. I think that because you never really know someone’s value by how they dress in California, everyone out there hedges their bets. Some people thought Matt must be a famous DJ, and he rolled with that, introducing himself as “Dub-Step” and me as his lawyer and tour manager, “McPickles” (inside joke.) In reality, here we were, two schmucks who worked at a book store in Illinois, hobknobbing at a party filled with millionaires, with the two most beautiful women in the room on our arms. The high of knowing that didn’t last.
As I’m talking about movies with some writer, Matt pushes my arm and whispers “Dude…look…” I follow his finger and about 20 feet away, is OJ Simpson.
My first thought was “I’m IN a room with DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON.” The writer I was talking to said “Yup; this is his party. Looks like he’s about to score again, too.” I thought later “OHHHH, that was a football pun…fun.”
I hadn’t even noticed who DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON was talking too, but when the initial shock wore off, I realized it was Chrissie and Angel. Before Matt and I could even register suprise, DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON, puts his arms around Chrissy and Angel’s waists, walks off into another room, and closed the door behind them. The three of them laughing as they went; DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON with that annoying “Eh, TEE-HEE-HEE”. Offa.
Matt and I immediately realized we’d been played by Ken. Apparently NOT everyone in California was as nice as they seemed. He was a vagina recruiter, sent out by DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON, to find blondes (anecdotally the hair color of the woman he MURDERED). I later pondered how one puts that on a resume, “DOUBLE MURDERER OJ Simpson’s Vaginal Facilitator, 2003-2005”, maybe?
These two incredible women; smart, funny, beautiful; were seduced by the fame and money of a DOUBLE MURDERER. And from what the writer I’d been talking to told us, they wouldn’t be the first of that evening. It seems that even though he DOUBLE MURDERED PEOPLE (not just AH person)…women still fucked OJ Simpson. He was over there living his best life, and Matt and I, who had not murdered ANYONE up to that point as far as you know, were left holding our dicks. We left not long after, alone and somewhat dejected.
So just remember ladies, that “Guilty until proven innocent” can go both ways. I’m perfectly willing to prove myself a chivalrous gentleman; but you have to be able to prove to me that you’re not going to ditch me to bang DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON.
And no, I am NOT proud in any way that DOUBLE MURDERER OJ SIMPSON sloppy seconded me, just hours after I’d been with Angel. Neither Matt nor I told anybody about this because the shame of being cuckolded to a DOUBLE MURDERER vastly overshadowed the pride of having been intimate with two California 9’s.
And be sure to follow the further adventures of Dub-Step and McPickles, coming this fall…TO FOX!