Introducing Mister Red
April 13, 2011 § 1 Comment
You’re ready for the gossip, I know. The Ginger Haired Bartender saga begins, so without further introduction, here’s the story on Mister Red.
You know how we met, how naturally charming he is, this is old juice. After we reconnected on Paddy’s Day I had to dash out of town, subsequently leading to scheduling difficulties and facebook stalking. During my 10-day disappearing act I was submerged in a domesticated lifestyle. Ideas of marriage, buying houses, having kids, and naming pets swarmed my mind like a cloud of insects around a street lamp. I swatted them away with no clear escape. Upon landing back in my metropolis of immaturity I knew I had to put blinders on, ignoring the now ticking clock. I called Mister Red before the seat belt light was turned off (which got me yelled at by the stewardess, wtf… this was urgent).
Date #1: Getting to Know You… Getting To Know All About You…
There’s nothing like handsome to distract from big picture worries. We crafted a plan to enjoy tequila and live music locally under the supervision of my airport pickup, who thought I was buying her a drink in exchange for the ride. Ladies, it’s dangerous to go on a date with random man you’ve only met once. Always bring back-up or let someone know where you are. And that’s My PSA on that. Little did she know she was my chaperone that night. Good thing too, Mister Red kept asking me to text him a picture. Whoa! Hello?! Do you not remember me? Perturbed by the creepy offense, I refused the surrender to the request.
We walked into the venue, my heart racing a little… wait, first things first. Drink. Must order a drink. Tequila gimlet, please. Swaying to the music became easier after that, as I scanned the bar for the tall ginger. He’s pretty easy to spot, Irish skin glowing in the black light. I thought I had caught a glimpse of him peering around a pillar. After a quick game of peek-a-boo, he made his way over and we made introductions.
Quickly, my chaperone abandoned the mission after finding someone cute to talk to. That was fine because Mister Red checked out despite his borderline sex offender requests for pictures. He’s harmless like a mama’s boy watching an after school special. Excuse me, please and thank you harmless, and I’m a sucker for manners. After the band’s set (to which I discovered the dude’s got rhythm, a definite plus if you know what I mean), we convened outside and chatted with a couple of the band members loading their gear. Out of this 3rd party discussion we learned that we were born two days apart, exactly. This cleared up huge misconception, I thought he was a 30-something and he was hoping I was really old enough to drink. So I’ve got a young face, I’m going to look great when I’m 40. I also learned he only lives four blocks away from me and his power animal is a shark.
When we parted ways I played it cool, no smooches yet. As I turned back to see his radiant smile, and he blew me a kiss. Normally I would have thought this was completely cheesy, rolled my eyes and dreaded his next text, but for some reason it gave me butterflies.
Date #2: First Kiss or Last?
After noticing Mister Red was able to chip some of the ice off my heart with a mere smirk, I told him find me again. And he did. Now I’m normally against text messaging, but the Ginger uses 5-dollar words, sprinkling adjectives with a snappy whit and rapid recall. Well crafted sentences = total swoon. So a few days later we connected last minute. I had to ditch my plans with a friend and told him I’d call him back to confirm. When I followed up, not ten minutes later, he didn’t answer. I left a rational message, waited impatiently, texted, then let the anger brew. After about 20 minutes I was a firecracker. No one stands me up.
I called my wing-girl in a panic. She was on a date headed south and advised me to join so she didn’t do anything stupid in her drunken state. Needing a drink and someone to vent to, I rushed over (also texting Mister Red to let him know my whereabouts just in case he had been taking an unfortunate shit). I sat down and complained to my bartender, “I think I was just stood up?!” Then Mister Red CALLS apologizing profusely and wanting to know if we were still there. Politely asking for a pardon, and on his way? But I already turned everyone against him.
He swaggered in with a stunning strut and we swam effortlessly through conversation. He said I was wholesome with a natural beauty, probably because I’m from the mid-west. And then he told me I have an ass like a 16 year old in the least pedophile way possible. Which I take as a huge complement considering that was over 10 years ago (yeah, chew on that, ladies, a decade ago). When my partner in crime announced that her and her date were heading for some midnight beaching, we decided to join. Mister Red had never been to the beach at night, I had to fix this.
We spread a blanket and my friend was unfortunately distracted, but the Ginger and I continued our conversation about deeper things than my ass. I couldn’t tell you how exactly it started, but it was good, different, but good and I like to try new things. Venice Beach at midnight was the site of our first kiss. How perfect? So perfect that recalling it now makes it seem like a cheap chick flick starring Ashton Kutcher without the high pitch in his voice every time he tells a joke. But rest assured I’m sure I said something mean or gross to stop the mood from getting completely romantic.
Like a perfect gentleman, he escorted me to my car and we made out some more, this time standing up, capping the night his lips seem to finally warm up to me. Yes, thank you, and may I have another. I have to say, Mister Red just might be shaping up to be the perfect summer boyfriend. For the meantime, I’ll just let him entertain me with textual banter until he invites me out again.