10 gay dating disasters
I checked the text message with the address one more time against my navigation system.
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The addresses matched. I was parked in front of an old ass building with chipped paint and bars on the windows. I looked to the right where there were dumpsters and there was a homeless man going through the garbage. He finally found a sandwich, began eating it, and walked off. Oh shit!!! There was no way I was about to park Freedom the name for my convertible Audi anywhere near this place. I was hoping and praying he had accidentally given me the wrong address. You can park in the back of my building in space 5. Okay, because I have a convertible.
My car is the silver BMW. Just park behind my car. Alright, so he has a BMW. So I figured my car would be safe. I drove to the back of the building and looked for parking spot 5. I saw an old BMW parked there.
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When I say old, I mean old. The shit had to be from AND it was propped up where it appeared to be missing the front passenger wheel. What the fuck?! Just as I was about to put my car in reverse and get the fuck out of there, I saw a man riding a bike in my direction. This bitch looked like Bojangles! Come on up for a drink. I also wanted you to see the Dali painting I was telling you about. I had an interior decorator come and do my spot.
Come check it out. Come on, I have a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc chilling in the freezer. Well at least this fool knew how to make my ass stay. Besides the traffic on the was like a fucking parking lot. I had driven all the way up here, the least I could do was stay for a cocktail. I followed him up the steps to his spot. And he was describing all the detail that went into decorating. I figured, maybe this was one of those buildings that looked like shit from the outside but inside it was really nice.
I tell ya I can be such a judgmental bitch at times.
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It was smaller than a studio apartment although it was a one bedroom. But that shit was so damn small. He walked me over to a sketching he had on his wall. I walked up as close as I could. My nose was probably less than an inch away from the frame. But I decided to be nice and go along with the act. So we sat down on his couch and had a glass of wine.
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No I insist. I really appreciate you giving a brotha a chance and not letting age get in the way. I was expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out of his back room and the camera crew to hop out from wherever they were hiding. I had no intention of bringing that shitty candle home. Just as I slammed back my glass of wine. There was a car passing by with loud music. You know when a car is blasting its music so damn loud you can feel the vibrations in your house.
It was that loud. I figured it would pass by but it sounded like it was getting louder and louder. I reluctantly got into the cab. With each mile we drove I sank lower and lower into the back seat hoping I would not be seen. Well, yeah I do that too. I gave him major side eye. I was no dummy. He was a damn bartender.
Now it made sense why his ass knew all the bartenders around LA. Typically when you are a waiter or bartender you know other waiters and bartenders and hang out and hook people up with free drinks! Oh my goodness. We pulled up to the elegant spot, loud music blasting. I hopped out of the taxi so fast and practically sprinted into the restaurant. I was hoping no one saw me and associated me with this foolery.
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When we sat down the bartender sent us over a bottle of Rose. The restaurant was small and packed so it was almost like a community table. After he ordered our food a huge sampler plate of various seafood came to the table of the ladies sitting next to us. I wanted to die! I wanted to run out of the restaurant. He asked if I wanted some. I said no before he could even get the sentence out. There was a couple who was sitting at the table on the opposite side of us who observed this fiasco.
They saw my face. So the man tried to lighten the mood of the situation.
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With that I grabbed my purse and stood up. I walked out the restaurant.
And I forgot my fucking car was at his house. So I walked to the corner to see if I could hail a taxi. Shortly after Bojangles came out of the restaurant. Who the fuck do you think you are? Fine then go the fuck home! Then bring your broke, wanna be Bojangles, 50 year old, living in a shack, waiter ass wanna be a writer ass back in the fucking restaurant. I saw a taxi pulling up. Thank goodness. As I grabbed the handle of the taxi to open the door I stuck him with my parting words hoping to cut him with my tongue.
And by the way, give your son a call.
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