She Will Have Her Way

You know how when you're returning home from a long road trip, and your bladder starts getting full from the biggie size Dr. Pepper you unwisely bought at the McDonald's twenty miles back on the interstate, and you've already passed the last rest stop before you hit home, and home is like fifty miles over roads winding through undulating hills? You know how with each mile that passes, that pressure in the bladder rises exponentially, and within five miles, you start seeping, and within a mile, it's really touch and go in terms of bursting and having your car smell like ammonia with a slight undertone of Dr. Pepper, and strangely, asparagus, or making it into the driveway, fumbling with the keys and releasing into porcelain goodness?

So yeah, I have a week and a half before I'm fully moved down to Lalaland. And sure, L.A. Chick has been on my mind a lot in the last four months. But within ten days, all those probabilty waves will collapse. I'm trying to gird myself for the "Ummm, well, I'm seeing someone right now" or the "sorry, I'm just not interested" or even "You? [Click]." I mean, it'll be a little less than four friggin' months since I met her. Attractive blonde in L.A., you do the math (on the other hand, she is working for a sweat shop of a law firm--working 12 hours a day seven days a week tends to put a crimp on your plans of socializing outside the firm). Sigh, hope springs eternal.

OK, so why the hang up on L.A. Chick? I've already mentioned her music geek knowledge and her young Annette O'Toole looks, her pal telling us to get a room, her quirky dancing, and oh yeah, she called me "her hero" for leaving the law. And as the move to Lalaland approaches, I keep thinking of more things--she turns red with alcohol just like me (but she's a round eye), she's already cynical about the law after just a couple of months, she not only understood but also laughed at my self-deprecating humor (Her: "You know, I took you for a creative type since you didn't take the overcoat off at all." Me: "Yeah, just call me John Keats. Gotta keep it on cuz of the consumption and all." Her: Nice smile and a chuckle).

So May 15th, the movers will bring my furniture to the loft in Westwood. After making some headway on opening boxes, arranging my CD collection, setting up the entertainment system, I'll pick up my nifty Bang and Olufson phone and dial her digits. The phone will ring, I'll hear the click of the phone being picked up.

"Hi L.A. Chick. It's Marty Stark. We met earlier this year. I'm living in L.A. now. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime this weekend."
"Oh. Hi. Umm, I have plans this weekend."
"Oh. Ok."
"Look, I need to get back to work."
"Sure."
[Click]

Yeah, I know, more fish in the sea and all that. Doesn't mean I'm going to be too happy with the aforementioned outcome though.

Here's hoping that I'm as accurate with this prediction as I was with my April 1st prediction. Damnit, I should've gotten more beer.