I over-eat, over-drink, and over-analyze.
So why not over-share?
I had a one-night stand last month.
I didn’t realize it, but I never had one before. I generally always go back for seconds, hence the over-eating problem.
I did six TV shows this year. I love to work. It keeps me out of trouble. When I’m working it’s usually all consuming, so when I have a break I tend to make up for lost freedom.
I spent nearly all of November traveling the country. On my first night back in Los Angeles, a Tuesday, I went to the Hollywood Improv, my home away from home. Since I didn’t have to be anywhere early on Wednesday morning, I closed down the Improv bar talking to a woman. I probably could’ve taken her to my place, but I was trying not to go down my usual path of hiatus destruction, and was actually more interested in sleep after not having done it for a month on the road.
The next morning I went to the movies, and afterward I went to Subway for a salad. Yeah, I’m the weirdo who orders a salad at Subway. Probably because I don’t like the judgmental look from my sandwich artist when I order a sandwich and say, “no cheese.” Anyways, when the cashier handed me back my platinum blue Wells Fargo debit card, I noticed something was different about the card this time. “My name isn’t ‘Stacy.’”
I had someone else’s debit card. Why didn’t I notice this at the movie theater? Oh yeah, I was hung over. One of my two favorite bartenders at the Improv, Eddie, must’ve gave “Stacy” my debit card when she closed out her tab and he gave me hers at the end of the night since her card looks exactly like mine. Simple mistake. I wasn’t mad.
I had never lost a debit card before, so my natural instinct wasn’t to immediately call my bank and cancel the card. My mind operates in the world of social media so I opened Facebook, typed “Stacy’s” full name into the search box. Through some deductive reasoning I landed on who I thought might have my card, so I sent her a message with my phone number.
We talked on the phone, had a pleasant conversation, and realized we weren’t serial killers so she asked if we could meet to exchange cards. I cancelled mine already, but I suggested we meet at the Improv, since I was planning on going there again and she obviously knew where it was. She agreed to meet around midnight.
A couple hours passed and she sent me a text message saying she wasn’t going to be able to make it to the Improv at that time, but asked if I’d be willing to drop it off at her place on my way to the club. I said I’d be getting to the Improv at around 8pm, so I’d stop by her place at 7:45pm.
On Facebook I must look really trustworthy or really innocent, because I had her debit card and she gave me her address. All I needed next was her social security number.
Another hour or two passed and she sent me another text message.
I like free beer.
When I got to her apartment she invited me in and told me to grab a seat on her couch. She gave me a beer, and sat across from me on a chair. She was wearing a skirt and didn’t cross her legs. I thought that was weird, but then again, I’m a complete stranger and she invited me in to her place. We talked for a little bit before we moved to her courtyard, so she could smoke. She brought me another beer before I even finished the first one. Looking back now, I think she was trying to get me drunk. Before I realized, an hour passed and her attempt was successful. To that point, all I had to eat was that salad from Subway seven hours prior.
Now, this blog entry isn’t titled “#37 – Have Debit Card Stolen,” because otherwise the story would’ve ended at Subway.
We had sex.
It was pretty damn good. Unexpected sex is always good. I was drunk. She was drunk. She made the first move, because I’m dense and don’t know when a woman is interested in me. We watched “Hello Ladies” in between her orgasms, which is underrated. The TV show, not the orgasms. I got home at 6am Thursday morning, tried to sleep, and couldn’t.
I usually can’t sleep after sex, because I question, “why did I do that?” If you’ve never asked yourself that after sex, then you’re probably a well-adjusted person in a healthy relationship. So congrats to you.
But I’m the type of man who has sex with a stranger that has my credit card just an hour after meeting her, so you can imagine how many times in my life I’ve asked myself, “why did I do that?”
In fact, I am kind of asking myself that question about publishing this blog entry.
I mean, I know why I “did that.” No hassle vagina, and a great story. Plus, I’m attracted to women older than me and “Stacy” was seven years older than me. I’m also attracted to women younger than me since at 29 years old I am at that weird age where not too old and not too young women are interested, but that’s beside the point, because I didn’t even orgasm. So, really why did I do that?
Over the next week she hit me up multiple times for a return trip, but I was frightened by the degenerate slope I was slipping down just one week off from work, so I didn’t return phone calls, texts, or Facebook messages and decided I should go back to work. I got an offer to help out on a new show until the end of the year, so I took it.
I don’t need to spell it out, but there is so much that frightens me looking back. I mean it would be easy for me to say she was crazy for inviting a complete stranger into her place. But I was even crazier to accept the invitation
“Stacy” eventually revealed to me that she was in the middle of a 10-day bender and that she also had a boyfriend. Despite that, I still gave thought to her offers to hook up again, because after all, vagina. But I didn’t.