There we were, sitting down at the Village Cafe and we noted all of the folks with terrible haircuts walking up and getting in line. I've often wondered if trendy/shitty haircuts were a pre-requisite if one wished to partake of any of the local eateries located on Los Feliz. It seemed as much.
Our eyes were locked and conversation was really easy, once we got beyond that awkward one armed hug and the coffee machine that would only make Cappuccino; everything flowed nicely.
It turned out Erica and I had a number of things in common: We're both from po-dunk towns in the Pacific Northwest, we both like ‘Arrested Development' and we're both annoyed by ‘Girls.' We're getting really deep here.
Erica is a busy gal, from what I can tell as she tells me about the different comedy troupes that she's a part of and the classes she teaches at night, while maintaining a droll day job that she openly tells her boss she hates and asks to be fired from. “Oh, Erica! You're so hilarious!!” her boss says, according to her.
Actually, she's a really charming girl; very easy to be around. After a few moments chatting with her I felt at ease, as I got cozy in my wrought iron chair (does one ever really get cozy in those?) . The sky was scattered with thick, puffy, storm clouds that looked ripe to let rain upon the too-hip denizens of LA, yet it let loose just enough sun that made Erica's blonde hair shimmer just a bit more brightly. She sat down and peered at her Cappucinno and asked “Would you like this instead? I really can't stand this stuff.” I happily relieved her of the cup, her eyes are big, thin lips; she's remarkably awkward in body language and features, if I'm being completely honest. Yet it's this unorthodox manner about her that seems to draw me to her, sure, the conversation helped, but I couldn't figure out what the attraction was at the time.
I settled up our bill and we took in the scattered-sunny day with a walk through Griffith Park, sharing stories of teen angst, shitty jobs, ghost stories and guilty pleasures. In all, I was having a great fucking time and I could tell Erica was, too.
We made our way back to her car when she says “Yes, they do go all the way up! I see you looking at them,” Erica chides. “Look, I'm a leg man, what do you want from me?” After exchanging a few more barbs, we hug and I take a couple paces back. I want to kiss this girl. The moment isn't right, but what the fuck do I care? I'm the king of awkward moments. I'm the person that always tells people to “embrace awkward situations.” I couldn't let this go, as we each stood in place looking at one another with goofy grins. And so I did what any person lacking self respect would do. I took two determined steps and I kissed her…
The thing about a kiss is that it really is meant for two participants… When one person doesn't kiss you back it's, well, it's fucking weird. Yes, so here I am kissing a wall. Did I really just fuck up and make weird an otherwise fun time? Did I misread any of the signs that I'd seen as “welcoming?” So it seemed kids, so it seemed.
It was just such a weird end to a good time. Was it her fault? Was it mine? The signs tell me that I was on the right path, however, one of those signs led me down a dead-end that I overlooked apparently.
Not every date is a winner, folks. I've had more ‘misses than hits' this year, since I got back into the dating scene. At least I'm still a legend in my own mind…
Just as an aside here, I did text Erica to ask her if I'd been inappropriate. She confided that she was seeing someone else, but casually, so she felt weird about it. Perhaps a ‘soft let down?' Probably… Them's the breaks, kids.