ZX--Rigamarole And Ballyhoo And She Has A Date Tonight (Maybe)

Hip Hip Hooray, the insurance company the sixteen year old claimed to belong to did indeed locate her under her parent's policy after swearing they had no record of anyone by that name ever having GEICO insurance. I guess I got so emotional about the hug, I forgot to get her address and phone number, nor did I notice the make and model of the car. Since it was a rental, I was only able to babble lamely, "It was a sedan. Um, color, ummmm.... Tan? Tan. Definitely tan," like Rainman. After all my suspicion and surreptitious noting of the plates, you'd think I'd be a bit more thorough, but if she doesn't say I backed into her on the freeway or something, it should be handled soon.

My gay friend called me up and said he wanted to set me up with a close friend of his, who is an extremely well known actor. I don't date actors because they're mostly a bunch of preeny, self absorbed, undereducated, insecure, unfaithful creeps, and when I haven't been impervious to their charms, I've been squashed like an eggplant.

But it was my friend's pool party after all, and this particular boy does look at you like you're water in a desert with those ethereal blue eyes and interesting foreign expressions and reckless smile, all of which melt me, so I gave him my number.

Went to dinner with my gay friend at Mr. Chow's afterward, and he started to explain how his shrink told him not to see Mr. Charisma at all because my friend is in love with him. All these bells and whistles and sirens and a firing squad went off in my head. You can't give your number to someone whom your friend is in love with. It's bad manners.

I thought he was saying, 'he's hot, he's nice, you're both single, go for it. So now I'm supposed to go for dinner with Mr. Charisma tonight. Luckily it conflicts with my capoeira class so I can get out of it, but really. Setting your friend up with your crush, what was he THINKING?

Mr. Chow's was awesome and my gay friend told me I had to dress up, so I feathered the hair and wore the clothes I managed to heist from a clothing company for going to their store opening- I swear, people talk about not whoring themselves out for products but I'll have my picture taken in the most degrading position possible if they'll give me the thing I'm modeling. You have to keep your priorities straight. Apparently you can take the girl out of the ghetto but... at Mr.Chow's, even dressed like a starlet with five waiters moving tables and competing to place my napkin gently in my lap, the ghetto shined through and they knew I'd never been there before.

"Do you know how to order here?" one of the guys asked.
"Ummm."
"We bring you two appetizers and two entrees that are complementary to the palate."
"Oh. Goody."

I went home under the auspices of reading the five scripts I managed to put off until Sunday night. I started reading, then my phone rang and it was my best friend needing boy advice, (and I of course, am the relationship guru,) shopped for a handbag on ebay, started reading again, realized it was getting dark and I'd better take my only four legged daughter running because I was feeling especially maternal on Mother's Day, called my mom, and still have four scripts to go.

My same friend from the clutching crotch, "I'm here for Ryan Gosling," incident decided on her way to the gym yesterday morning that she needed a chocolate cupcake, ate it in the car, and was into mile three on the treadmill before someone asked her about the stain on her pants. She glanced back at her rear petrified, but the treadmill kept going and jammed her hip. Poor girl had to limp around all day, looking like she'd had an accident.