Monday, January 9, 2017

Just Another Couple Of Dates

There was a time when I was seeing my therapist many years ago, one of the several spans of time during my life that I was going to him for advice of differing sorts, that I told him about this gorgeous girl I met in Santa Monica.  Her name was Julie.  I had actually met her at a Del Taco drive through in Marina Del Rey.  She was so sexy and pretty and sitting in her friend’s blue bug’s passenger seat while they were ordering.  I was getting back into my car on Lincoln Avenue when I decided to put my order to go into my car (I had walked up and ordered), and go up and talk to her.  It was a funny scene.  Her friend was ordering while I was squatted down on the drive through curb talking to her on the passenger side with my elbow resting on her friend’s car.  I got Julie’s number and told her I’d call her.

I took her out on a date and we went to eat at a place on Main Street in Santa Monica, kind of on the far northern side of the same street of where the Oar House used to be if you remember that place. Also, north of Schatzi, or whatever Arnold Schwartenegger’s restaurant was called.  We had a great dinner that night and enjoyed each other’s company.  She wore tight jeans that made my heart flutter and all that I could think about was that I wanted to sleep her directly in the next few weeks. I was about age twenty-seven, so forgive my directness of intention; I was young at the time.  As we were walking to our cars (now that I remember it, we had both driven there separately and we had parked in the same lot near Ocean Park Blvd by coincidence), she pulled out a cigarette and puffed it pretty quickly so that as we arrived at the lot, she had finished her cigarette down to the nub.