“Do you think that’s them over there?” asked Rayanne.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But, they are staring at us, so maybe.”
“What do you think?” Rayanne asked.
“Well, they don’t really look like their pictures. They’re sort of cute though, like bulldog cute.”
“Yeah, I agree,” she said and smiled.
The two guys approached us. “Hello,” said the darker haired one.
“Hello,” I said.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” said Rayanne. “Which one is which?”
“What do you mean?” said the blonde, in a beautiful foreign accent.
Rayanne laughed. We both thought they were being cute.
“Which one of you is the Colombian one?” I asked.
“Colombian?” said brown hair. “We’re Italian.”
“Wait, you’re not the guys from the Craigslist ad?” asked Rayanne.
“No,” said blondie. “But, we could be, if you want,” he smiled.
Just then our two guys walked in. They were the spitting image of their pictures. Thank God.
“That’s them,” I said.
Our Craigslist dates saw us and nodded hello. They both walked over.
“Sorry guys,” said Rayanne to the Italians.
“But, wait. We are much better than these guys,” said the first Italian.
I smiled at them as if to say, “you’re sweet for trying” and took a step towards our dates. Sorry, but Rayanne and I are not the “double date, dine and ditch” type girls.
“Hi,” said the guys approaching us confidently.
“I’m Carlos,” said brown hair.
“And I’m Miguel,” said the other.
They were cute. Really cute. Rayanne and I started small talking with them. We let them know right away that we had two comedy sets in about an hour around the corner. The guys were up for it, which was cool. Naturally, Rayanne gravitated towards the blonde and me towards the dark haired one. It’s funny attraction, isn’t it? I’ve always been attracted to dark haired people. Theoretically, I know that Charlize Theron and Jude Law are hot, but they never do it for me like Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem. The even stranger part – the guys had also decided that one of them would talk on the phone and the other on the computer. Carlos, the dark haired one and quickly becoming MY date was the computer part of his pair and Miguel – Rayanne’s date – was the phone talker. We had a bunch of wine and chit chatted, just the four of us. It was fun. The best part was that it had NONE of the awkwardness that a first date can sometimes have. Mainly because myself and Rayanne, we didn’t give much of a sh*t. Alone we might have been shyer, but together – a force of nature would’ve been the best definition. The guys were the same way. They had an easy way between them and it indicated they had been friends for a long time.
We finished off our wine, had a few laughs and headed around the corner to the club. When we arrived the tension with our male friends was palpable, almost to the point of hilarious. Rayanne and I had brought dates to the club before, but never as a team and this seemed to upset the pack order somehow. Nothing was ever said out loud, but the guy comedians were starting to act weird. My date went to the bathroom and Niko stepped up to me, “That’s what you consider a date?” he said. “The guy’s a toothpick. I didn’t know you liked pipe-cleaner-dudes.”
“Niko, what the feck are you talking about?” I said.
“I’m just saying,” Niko began, his voice almost a whisper now, “That little man can’t protect you.”
Carlos stepped back outside and Niko moved into the crowd of male comedians shooting the shit to my left. Miguel asked Carlos to help him get some drinks. They took our order and headed to the bar.
Jay stepped up into our circle. “Are those your dates, ladies? Rayanne, what is yours a sailor?”
“What?” said Rayanne.
“A sailor,” he repeated.
“Jay, what the hell do you mean?” she huffed.
“The shoes. The shoes,” said Jay, as he shuffled back into the group of comedians.
Carlos and Miguel re-entered with our drinks.
The four of us rekindled our chat. Rayanne went to check with JC to see what time we were performing. Turns out, there were a few acts before us, so Rayanne suggested we head down to McCann’s to enjoy our drinks. I was very grateful to get them away from our comedian friends, so I nodded yes, immediately.
Downstairs the chemistry really ignited or the drinks were hitting, I’m not sure which. We laughed and flirted and drank some more. At one point, Rayanne said, “I need to go to the ladies’ room,” which I interpreted correctly as, “We both need to go to the ladies’ room.”
Once inside, Rayanne and I had the first moment to talk about the boys.
“So, what do you think?” I asked.
“Well, Miguel’s shoes are problematic,” she said.
“Whaaat??” I replied.
“They’re problematic. They’re problematic shoes. They are some kind of shiny, white, patent leather. They don’t make sense.”
“Ok, he’s foreign!! And he’s totally cute!! You can not just cut him off for problematic shoes.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s there. The problematic shoes are a sign. I’m telling you, they are a sign. You and Carlos seem to be hitting it off however. He’s cute. I don’t know about the necklace though.”
“The necklace?” I said.
“He’s wearing a little turntable necklace. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice that,” she answered.
“No, I noticed. I noticed,” I said. “Maybe he’s a DJ?”
“Oh, Christ, it’s cheesy, Mother, cheesy!!” she said.
With that, we headed back out to our dates. It was time for Rayanne and I to perform. So, we went back upstairs to the club. Rayanne was up first and then another act and then me. Rayanne crushed it. Then there was the in-between act. Carlos asked me if I’d like to go out for a cigarette while the other act performed. Joe, one of our male comedian friends, was outside smoking too. He got off the steps to give us room and stood opposite from us on the sidewalk. I watched Joe glance from me to my date and then back to me. He smiled. Then Joe, the glorious a-hole that he is, started scratching. He started miming like he was scratching a record on a turntable and beat boxing.
“What are you doing, Joe?” I asked.
“Nothing. I just feel like scratching,” he smiled.
Carlos finished his cigarette and asked if I’d like to go back inside. I told him to head in and I’d meet him at our seats. Once Carlos was out of earshot, I said to Joe and all the other dudes listening, “Would you guys knock it off??!!”
Joe, Niko, Jason, and JC all fell over laughing.
“You’ve got to make the turntable smaller,” yelled Niko to Joe. “It’s a mini-turntable.”
Joe mimed scratching a mini-turntable and they all fell down again.
“Goddamn it!” I yelled, which only made them laugh harder.
After my set, Rayanne and I got our dates out of there as fast as we could. We headed to a last bar for the final nightcap of the evening. Rayanne and Miguel chatted. I headed outside with Carlos because he wanted another cig. Another hour or so passed and the sangria flowed. At the end of the night, Rayanne and Miguel exchanged numbers. Carlos offered to accompany me in a cab back to my place. I had had a few and was becoming blinded by the items on the Dollar Menu, so I said yes.
Once at my place, I invited Carlos up. After a few fumbly minutes, I had my top off and Carlos was sans pantalones. We got into my queen sized bed. Now, this was my Manhattan apartment and, therefore, a very small space. I had hardwood floors and I kept the wheels on my bed because I was always moving my bed around to try and maximize the room in one way or another. On this particular evening, my practicality did not work to my advantage. Carlos tried to gracefully flip me over, but he did so with too much gusto. The bed went rolling forward and I went flipping over the top of it like a shirtless, female, WWF wrestler. I was down for the count. It was sobering and hysterical. I landed on the floor with a thump and an ugh.
Carlos got up and apologized profusely. I couldn’t stop laughing. I got up and put my shirt on. “Wait, we don’t have to stop,” he said.
“Oh, yes, yes we do,” I replied. “I’m no longer hungry.”
Carlos put on his jeans and left the apartment, probably annoyed.
I fell asleep blissfully. Carlos called me a couple of times after that, but I knew it just wasn’t going to work out. Rayanne and Miguel never spoke again. About a year or so after that, I would meet Wifesy and my Dollar Menu board went out for good. (Thank God.) In fact, Wifesy burned down my McDonald’s and destroyed my image of the lesbian-lazy-Susan. It’s been her and I against the world ever since then. I’ve never been more grateful. I’ve never been more in love.
To quote Dan Savage, “Every relationship is wrong, until one isn’t.”
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