Romantic Prelude

Romantic Prelude

I was at Bogie’s tonight.

This place held a special memory in my heart, considering I had met an extraordinary man there, whom I ended up falling in love with throughout the months we dated. (Yes, yes, I know it’s the place where cougars and divorced—or not-so divorced—men try to, ahem, “hook up.”) In any case, when that relationship disappeared into distant memory, I continued to Bogie’s to prove to myself I could go there without “the man” in mind, and to also prove to myself that I liked the place after all. I created Girls’ Nights and occasions to attend the casual Westlake lounge.

There was a bartender, charming and generous. He treated us girls with affection and unlimited alcoholic beverages. I liked him. Not because of the free drinks in a place where a martini would cost 14 dollars. I liked him because of the sparkle in his eyes; because of the slow, scoundrel-like smile that spread across his Italian, yet baby-face expression; because of how relaxed I could feel around him when he closed his arms around me in a warm, soft embrace and then the gentle kiss on my cheek, and the murmur he would say to me, “Please come back and I’ll buy you dinner.”

I liked him.

But I would never go there alone. The idea seemed embarrassing, even though I had in the past gone out to dinner by myself. But this was purely to see a man, FOR a man, to attract a man. Every time I imagined showing up to the bar by myself to see the handsome and charming bartender, I foresaw other beautiful girls sitting by themselves all waiting for the attention of the same young, Italian, baby-faced man. And, every time, I would convince myself that this man would never want me out of all the other beautiful options.

After all, I am a nerd. I am not the typical woman. I spend my off times either reading, writing Star Wars, or watching Star Trek episodes in order (or any science-fiction in that respect). I am an obsessive person. I discover things I like, or dislike, and obsess over them until there is nothing left to obsess about.

For approximately eight months, I have had random acquaintance with this enchanting young bartender. Sometimes at his work, sometimes at mine, and he even had the off-chance of meeting my father, spurring a BMW conversation while Dad was waiting for me to finish one of my shows. How one interacts with my parents is HUGE to me, and apparently the young bartender did reasonably well at the time, enough to be logged into my father’s memory. That’s a good bartender, Dad must’ve thought.

And as much as my crush compelled me to want him, I did not pursue. In the past, I had experienced negative results anytime I had pursued a man. They always disappeared. So I was tentative and rather discouraged to even show this young man that I was even interested in him.

Then, came the whimming itch. My whimming itch usually occurs when I feel ultimately down in life, discouraged in everything I do, and the feeling of “nothing to lose” comes to play.

I had been feeling this way for the past month, since the start of the new year. Somehow, my positive streak had dived down into negative, and I went sour. I worked non-stop and auditioned with no luck. Everything felt like crap. Then, one day at work, after months of not seeing The Bartender, or even thinking of him, he appeared. He had wrapped his arms around me and said, “Did you ever get my message? I had called your work to find you. To tell you not to come in when I had asked you to because I wouldn’t have been there. They switched my days. Did you ever get it?”

“I did,” I said, “and I texted you to say that it was okay, but I never got a response. I assumed it was the wrong number.”

And it was, just barely by a single misplaced numeral. About a month ago, I had remembered him asking me to come see him and that he would treat me dinner. Later, I had gotten the “cancel” message from work and was given the wrong number. But I had let it go, figuring this wasn’t meant to be in the first place.

And there he was again. At MY work, telling me he was sorry the shifts changed, that he’d hoped I got his message and that he wanted me to come in again THIS week.

Why would a person, as charming, vibrant, handsome and AVAILABLE as he be so persistent? I always imagined him surrounded by beautiful girls so that he would never need to persist.

And I know guys. A guy doesn’t go out of his way to find a girl without some sort of mission, however simple that mission may be.

So, when the time came, I almost didn’t go out. I knew that if I went to Bogie’s alone that I would be accosted by numerous, unrelenting old divorced (or MARRIED) men. I knew that I wouldn’t really be able to spend any time with The Bartender because he would be busy working.

Then I decided, what the hell. I’ve got to do something mysterious and exciting in my life, or else I’ll go nuts.

I dressed myself in sheer black stockings dotted with tiny hearts, a thin cream-pink shirt-dress with a black lace back, and black suede stiletto pumps. I have all these great clothes and never get the chance to wear them. So I did tonight.

When I showed up at Bogie’s around eight, the place was already full. I sat near a fire pit and waited for The Bartender to see me. He did and he smiled. He was very busy, though, as I knew he would be. Nonetheless, he was able to come over and say hello. He brought me a French martini, one of those pink vanilla flavored ones, and I ordered the Ahi Tuna Tartar. I sat by the fire pit enjoying my drink, trying to look busy on my phone, but all the while watching him work. There were three older men that night that tried to get my attention.

The first: Ken Something from The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

“Are you really sitting here by yourself, alone?” he asked.

I said, “I’m actually here by invitation.” And I gestured to The Bartender.

“The Bartender?!” he exclaimed. Then he went on to say something about helping me out, or that he was looking for someone new because he and his girlfriend might be breaking up at some point, and that he’ll let The Bartender know that I like him, etc. I didn’t care what happened. The man had obviously plenty to drink. He continued to stress about how I might recognize him, which I didn’t. And not that it would have mattered anyhow. I had my eyes on The Bartender.

The second: Something Something married man. I didn’t bother to remember his name.

“Please tell me you’re not really here to watch the basketball game, right?” he said, gesturing to the game I was distracted by.

“No, you’re right. I’m actually here for The Bartender. He invited me to come out to see him tonight,” I said, as I sipped on my second drink, a smooth Pinot Noir.

“The Bartender?!” he bellowed. Then he went on to talk about himself, and how he wished he had a redhead to buy tomato soup for (I was currently nursing a tomato bisque at the time). I listened patiently, but not really paying any attention. My ears were picking up another conversation to my right from a couple deeply intrigued with each other.

It was obvious they had met that night, and the man was trying his very hardest to be agreeable, mysterious, troubled, smart, and a “good guy” all at the same time. There were a few times I couldn’t contain my laughter every time he proclaimed something only a woman would WANT to hear from a guy, proclamations undoubtedly quoted from all the other women he’d picked up in the past: “I’ve been bad before, but I truly believe in really knowing a person before sharing something as intimate as sex with them…as much as I enjoy it…I have been bad before, but I strive to be good…” The man might as well be saying, “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” and the woman probably would still be interested.

Then I was brought back to my unfortunate conversation with Something Something, when suddenly The Bartender met my gaze. He looked at me as if to ask if I was okay. A gave him a smile to assure him that I could handle it and to not worry about me.

Something Something eventually left (although he had come back for a second try until realizing I wasn’t cracking).

Finally The Bartender came over to me, as the lounge began to wither to only a few.

Leaning over the bar and grasping my hands in his, he said, “This place is too dangerous for you. Next time you should bring a wingman.”

But I hadn’t wanted to bring anyone else with me. I only wanted to see him and wanted his attention only on me, not on another beautiful wingman. Besides, he had asked for ME to come, not me “and my friends.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy,” he said, his voice silky and sweet, always drawing a smile from me.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been fairly amused by the people around me. Besides, I needed to come out and relax a little.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he said, still grasping my hands in his. “A real dinner where I’m not working. And we’ll do something fun.”

“That sounds great,” I said, my smile brightening. Boy, had I been waiting for him to ask, from the first day I saw him. So we swapped numbers and then, before I knew it, he was swept back up into work.

That’s when man number 3 came into play.

He was married just like man 2, but this one was much more harmless. He began asking me questions about what it was like to be an only-child, that he had a daughter he was worried about not growing up happy because she, too, was an only-child. That marriage was so hard, especially when he travelled so much. And he just wanted to know what it was like for me.

I told him I’d always been happy, and, though my parents were always away throughout my growing up years, I never questioned their love for me. That they were honest with me, which helped me to trust them as I grew older. And I was completely aware of my parents’ difficult marriage.

“I guess one of the most important keys in marriage is to always strive to be kind to one another, no matter how stressed out you are, how hurt or angry you are. It’s always easier to attack the person closest to you. So striving to show kindness regardless of the situation can very well keep a marriage safe.” I said this, although I wasn’t sure where all that came from, and watched the expression on this man’s face go from worried to an almost bewildered yet peaceful countenance.

“You are wise beyond your years,” he murmured, shaking his head, as if surprising himself that he said it at all.

“No I’m not,” I said. “It’s just something my mother taught me. I have yet to experience what marriage is like.”

“Thank you, anyway,” he said. “I feel better talking to you. I have to leave now. Have a goodnight. And thank you.”

And man number 3 left, just like that.

And I was alone at the bar. The Bartender was busying himself with closing tabs. There were two other men at the far end of the bar that tried to invite me to join them, but I firmly told them I was here WITH The Bartender.

“I’ve been using you as an excuse,” I later told him.

He smiled. “Good. Thank you so much for coming in anyway. I hope it was somewhat enjoyable.”

“It was,” I said. “Thank you for treating me. I hope we can do something outside of Bogie’s next time.”

“Me too.”

I got up to leave and he gave me a big hug and a quick kiss on the mouth. I found it interesting how relaxed and natural I felt in his arms. There didn’t seem to be any awkwardness that usually accompanies two people who barely knew each other.

When I arrived home, I received a text from The Bartender saying, “Thank you beautiful for coming in tonight! Xoxo!”

I smiled as I climbed into bed. Whether or not he ever decides to call me, it didn’t matter. It felt good to feel attractive again. It felt good that I made myself whim again. It felt good that the unknown was out there again. He had my number now. Who knows if he’ll use it. But it’s fun to know it’s out there. And never knowing what might happen is the beauty of a whim, and a possible prelude to a romance.

Waitin’ on the zombies.

zombies

So I hear the end of the world is coming, 2012, and that there’ll be zombies afoot. Well, that’s just great, because I’ve always wanted to blow zombie heads with a shotgun—a whim I’ve wanted to take a wham at for years. I’ve been practicing too, 2012. Honing my skills in Nazi Zombies, Resident Evil, and Left 4 Dead. Learning to reload in stressful, fast-paced situations. And running. Running is always key.

But what I really want for Christmas, 2012—oops, sorry, already past, lemme rephrase—what I really want for New Years is to be able to quit my current job, The Restaurant. Although, I figure the end of the world is coming ‘n all, which would mean the end of The Restaurant indefinitely, I’d much rather spend my last year NOT working for them and finally working for ME. Selfish? Absolutely. Why not think of yourself in the final months of human life on this planet? That’s what whimming really is all about, anyhow. You whim when you lose. Whim when you have NOTHING to lose. Whim when you’re a losER. Whim when it’s the last thing you can do. Whimming is for yourself when you have nobody else.

Personally, I don’t believe it’s the end of the world at all. And I’ll admit, grudgingly, I’ve been a poor whimmer in 2011. My career as an actress has enveloped me into a career-only lifestyle. And it’s very lonely, I have to say. However, I had been ecstatic about everything that happened in 2011. I visited, AND performed, in Hawaii for the first time. I did three musicals back to back without a break. I had my very first lead in California, playing opposite Sally Struthers, a celebrity no less! And I finally got a theater agent, which was my New Years resolution for 2011.

So because of my unrelenting concentration in one path, my career, I had neglected to do the things I’d never done before. I brushed aside the adventures that awaited me. I ignored the possibilities of new friendships because there was no time left. The whimmer who searches for new experiences in life had died in me somehow. Even on New Year’s Eve I refused going out with a small group of good people, a whim to downtown L. A. it was to be, and instead stayed at home with myself watching Star Trek. Not a bad night. In fact it was very relaxing. The only thing I kissed that night was my cat. Dare I say it, I sound old. And that is something I swore I’d never be. Life should never be boring or old. Life is our one shot at anything. You never know when it’s your time to go…or if a zombie might get you. Don’t sit and wait for them either. Live so hard that it hurts so good.

With that said, 2012, may it be that I never grow old; may it be that I never know loneliness; may it be that I love harder than ever; and may it finally be that I can QUIT The Restaurant, for the love of all that’s holy! Because who knows? A zombie might actually get me. But at least I won’t be waitin’.

Black Friday

I was thankful for a lot of things this year. My parents whom I can’t live without. My grandma who helps me see life from the eyes of someone who’s been around for a while. My new agent that I got right after doing Annie!!! My kitteh-cat, Indy, the one indything I’m happy to come home to.

BUT BLACK FRIDAY is NOT what I’d be thankful for…EVER.

 

So my parents and I have never actually tried out Black Friday before because we feared the hour long line where, somehow, you feel like they should have figured out the fast-pass at some point recent. Disney got it right, for heck’s sake!

Mom had this wild idea to try it out for the first time this year. Well, why not. I’m a whimmer, after all. How bad could it be in Prescott Valley, Arizona, where the town itself is nearly ghostified. Prescott Valley

Mind you, some of those houses aren’t even occupied, as in never finished, as in real estate got so bad the companies ran like sh#t.

Okay, so I’m not a fan. You might as well accuse me of despising the entire state of Arizona…because you would be right.

 

Anyhow, in the small section of Arizona called Prescott, Mom and I are thinking chances are good at the midnight opening of Black Friday…not so much.

Lost mom…so took refuge in the kid game aisle.

I pretty much lost mom for about an hour. She told me I couldn’t hang around her, so I was assuming she was attempting to shop for me. After about thirty minutes, I decided to look for her.

Searching for mother in Best Buy.

I went back to my car after this. She called me fifteen minutes later saying she’d given up as well. There was one line and it circled the inside of the building. She said it wasn’t even moving.

Yeah.

We’re not doing that again. What a whim that wasn’t!

A Hawaii Whim

Four months ago, my parents were discussing their Hawaii trip with concert leader Ed Lojeski. The trip would consist of four rehearsals and two large choral and orchestral performances for the Fourth of July. It was a concert tribute for the men who died at Pearl Harbor, and all the men in service to this day, called Salute to Valor. My parents, along with choral groups from all over the country, were to be singing on the battle ship USS Missouri.

And, as usual, I would not be able to join them. My parents have been all over the world. I have never stepped outside of the North American continent. It was only a month before the time of events did I know I was suddenly signed up with a plane ticket and a book full of music with a large solo waiting inside.

So my whim to Hawaii began. I finally was going to step off North America and fly half way down the planet to one of the most popular vacation islands ever.

My parents had arrived on the island a day before, but as soon as I arrived, we dived into Pina Coladas, Lava Flows, and Mai Tais. Once rehearsal started, we wouldn’t be able to “party” too much. But I think I squeezed in as much as I could. Winking smile

The banana pina colada was my favorite.

Being that Pearl Harbor is located in Oahu, I didn’t get to experience the tropical island feeling as much as I would have liked. But I shouldn’t complain. On one of our days off, we did get to go snorkeling in Hanauma Bay. Exactly where I wanted to be!

Getting some sun and heavily covered in sunscreen.

It took me sixty seconds to get used to breathing under water before I turned into the water baby I used to be, and started hunting coral sharks. Didn’t find any though. They were sleeping beneath me, hidden by the coral. But I did get to play mermaid with the other fishies, one of them eyeing me oddly before disappearing. I wanted so badly to go deeper into the caves, but knew without gloves and other proper gear that I had better refrain from my adventurous instincts. Probably not a good idea to get hurt before the concerts.

I did find a ring, though, amidst the coral. Smile My treasure

Gave it to Mom.

Later, we explored Pearl Harbor’s USS Arizona Memorial and the USS Missouri. Also, we enjoyed being entertained by the luau show, The Creation, while we drank Mai Tais with Ed Lojeski and TV host Wink Martindale. Definitely had a full day of swimming, exploring, eating, drinking, and watching gloriously tanned and ripped Polynesian men in skirts dance barbarically…oh, sigh.

The rest of the week was spent in rehearsals with tropical dinner breaks. I hate rehearsals, but I can’t complain when they’re on a luscious island. The first concert was inside a large theater.First concert. This was where I sang my solo, “O My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose”…phew, what a title! I had some big shoes to fill with this song considering it was my dad’s staple. He was the only one who could sing it and blow people out of the water. But because of Sweeney Todd where Dad played Judge Turpin, his voice had gone to the bass land and couldn’t warm back up to tenor heaven in just a week. In order to sing “Red Rose,” you have to be able to float notes. So he said, “You got it, baby. Do it well.” Great…

As intimidating as it was to replace Dad, the audience seemed to really like it, giving a roaring cheer as their response. Dad still won’t let it go… I’m on the hunt for a recording. It’s not very often that I actually feel proud of one of my performances, so when I do, I’d kill for a copy.

The second concert was performed at the stern of the USS Missouri, followed by fireworks over the ocean and accompanied by the Pacific Navy Band, who were incredible! And MORE Mai Tai’s were to be had!

All in all, I sang my very best, Mai Tai’ed myself out, wore skirts and sundresses every day, and remained braless for the entire trip.

And I DID get leid… Winking smile

Wolf

I prefer wolves for men. Mystic_Wolf_1280x800

Let me explain.

I’ve always been afraid of the “wolfman” since I was a child, and yet, always fascinated. It was when I had first seen Universal’s Wolfman, the original, and I couldn’t wipe the image from my mind. This man-wolf tried to kill the woman he loved, because it was depicted in this film that the Wolf was pure evil.

Not so, I have decided, after watching the film Wolf, starring Jack Nicholson. Wolves are scientifically considered to be protective and loyal to their chosen mate. Wolf is a perfect example of this.

As much as I know of myself, at the ripe age of 25, I am very headstrong and stubborn, not to mention slightly violent (this is something I am able to contain, of course, THANK YOU, CONSCIENCE)…can I just say that if I were an animal, I would definitely be a WOLF. Therefore, I’m looking for my Wolfman.

Mind you, not a bad wolf. Bad wolves need taming. Bad wolves kill, ravage, are unstable, and probably have rabies.

Good wolves are protective, strong, loving, brave, and, most importantly, loyal. They protect their mate and the cubs they bear.

I am a good wolf. Although I’ve been afraid of wolfmen as a child, I now am attracted to them. The strength, courage, and loyalty is everything. And I give back these qualities to those I feel need it, and therefore, hope for it in return.

I am looking for a wolf. A good wolf.

 

Grr.

A real-life Pretty Woman in Vegas

When walking into a 3 bedroom suite at the very top of the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, it’s hard not to gawk when someone like me has never experienced “lush living.” It’s even more jaw-dropping when you realize you’re walking into the suite full of makeup artists and three gorgeous models with Funny Man and his business partner, my boyfriend Mr. Georgia, beside me.

Just minutes earlier, we arrived by private jet, which I took a nap on, then to the hotel by a private van with a special security driver. It felt very…exclusive. Once we settled into our suite, Funny Man was hungry and so was I. Funny Man’s personal makeup artist ordered room service for us. Trying to stay out of the way of all the hustle, I sat quietly at the dining table watching the models get ready while Mr. Georgia continued doing business. I remember hearing one of the models asking Mr. Georgia how his wife was and hearing him stumble over the answer of divorce. Thought that was funny. I bet they were wondering who the hell I was, the not-so-Hollywood, not-so-done-up, average girl.

An hour later, Funny Man did his convention show to promote the new slot machines and then we returned to the suite to ready for the cocktail party. The models got touched up, then the makeup artists were nice enough to play with my face and hair as well. The suite quickly filled with other guests eagerly waiting to meet Funny Man. People were enjoying freshly rolled cigars and chilled cocktails. I was still readying inside the privacy of the master bedroom. I had felt so not-glamorous earlier that I couldn’t wait to pretty myself. I layered my skin with Vanilla Berry lotion and perfume, slipped into my silver mini-dress, and donned my brand new pink-gold pumps. I slipped out of the bedroom and the first person to see me was one a woman rolling the cigars. A wide smile spread across her face and she beamed, “Oh you are so beautiful!” S7303037This obviously made me feel really good. Being around those gorgeous models can really affect you to try to look just as stunning. I felt like a princess at that point, especially when the other models were so complimentary. But I think the best moment was when I was looking for Mr. Georgia among the crowd of people in the suite, then caught his eye across the room and saw the biggest smile cross his face. I felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman when Richard Gear finds her in the bar transformed from hooker to a beautiful lady. That was me, minus the hooker part.

Mr. Georgia took me to The Mix at the top of The Hotel for dinner after the cocktail party. That place had the most amazing food I have ever had. I had ordered scallops and as soon as one bite him my tongue, I actually did NOT want to swallow. I just wanted to keep the flavor of the food in my mouth for as long as possible. It was incredible. Then we went to see Cris Angel’s show and continued the rest of the night hopping clubs, finishing at Club Pure around 5am.

We returned to the Hard Rock suite, having it all to ourselves. At this point, I had decided to take on an Australian accent inspired by the 2 Australian girls who ran into us randomly at the Playboy Club, saying to us, “We just escaped two creepy guys who wanted us to go into the bathrooms with them. So we hid inside the girl’s bathroom for an hour…” Awesome.

Mr. Georgia and I took a load off in the incredible Jacuzzi inside our suite, which was conveniently placed right by the 2 stripper poles mounted in the living room. Who needs 2, I wonder? Hmmmm…

The next day, after sleeping until noon, Mr. Georgia did some business while I readied into a mini skirt and knee-high socks. We ate a hearty lunch and then Mr. Georgia took me to the Mall inside Caesars Palace. He likes to shop…a guy. This was the first time I ever saw Dior, Versace, Chanel and every other amazing designer up close. I walked into Versace and fell in love. This designer should design for me. I tried on a mustard yellow, sci-fi inspired, wool coat and died. Then the sales lady said, “Okay, now take it off…unless you want it. It’s only $5,000, not bad at all on a credit card.” Another Pretty Woman moment. I nearly choked, then decided to keep it on for one more minute just to annoy the lady.

We left Vegas later that night, exhausted but fulfilled. It was, so far, one of the most amazing and once-in-a-lifetime experiences I’ve had…SO FAR. Winking smile