Saturday, November 1, 2014

Know What I'm Saying?

Just before my vacation, I met, Tortoise online. He is much older. Like, much much. He sent me an email, asking me to prove that I am who I am and am where I say I am. He wanted me to send him mail from Los Angeles. That way, he would see on the postage stamp that the mail was mailed from Los Angeles. He also told me that he wanted to meet up. He wasn't going to drive all the way to meet me in California. He wanted me to meet him at the State-ine. On the border of Nevada and California. I thought he was being ridiculous. I told him that I don't know about him, but I personally hadn't even established whether or not I wanted to be part of his life that I would go through all that trouble to prove to him all those things. I told him that he was the one with issues, therefore he should figure out how he was going to prove all this for his own sanity.

We exchanged a few emails. On my profile, I had selected artist under job. He himself is an artist, he's a painter. He got so excited, thinking that like him, I had gone to school for art. Even if I were an artist, that's not necessary the route everyone becomes an artist. It was rather presumptuous of him, but what are you gonna do? The arts industry entails way more than painters and drawers.

One of the days, he asked to call me, he had told me that he's a blues singer as well. I thought that was interesting. He sounded like everyone I have met in Los Angeles, they are all gifted in more ways than one. Triple or Quadruple threats so to speak.  I gave him my number. I also told him that way, he could prove that I was really in LA. I have an LA number. Still do, even though I'm no longer there. He told me that wasn't proof enough, he still wanted me to write him a letter. Too bad, that wasn't gonna happen! I'm not running up and down the streets of Hollywood, trying to catch the post office in time before it closes to mail a letter to a man I hardly know. Someone I have no intentions of being with. I was just talking to him because he was there and one can always have more friends. Nothing wrong with that. I don't write my friends letters. That's ridiculous, this is not 1864!

After having given him my number, he turned around and gave me his number. He told me to call him. I was like, this guy sure seems to be sure of himself, why am I calling him? Let's call him and see what he has to say that can't be said if he makes the call himself. He merely picked up the phone and asked if I could hear him. I told him I could.
T: 'Can you here me now?'
Me: YES!
T: 'And now?'
Me: YYYEEESSSS!
T: Nooowwww?
Me: YYYYEESSSSS. WHAT'S GOING ON? (rolling my eyes)

Before my eyes could get to the roof of my head, I guitar strings! I was being serenaded! He belted out to the top of his lungs! I was like, well, I be damned!

Funny because earlier that evening, I had chatted with another dude on the same site, he serenaded me as well with his bass guitar. Who can say no to that? The dude from earlier and I had chatted a bit first, he didn't just ram it down my throat. No pun intended.

Tort played the whole song. It seems longer when you had no idea what is going on. I was still kinda taken aback. Afterwards, he asked what I thought of the song. I mean, what do you say? I told him I liked it. He told me that he wrote it for me. Uhm?!?!?!?!?!? Then he hung up. Click! Just like that! The call was just for him to perform his song. I guess that was my paying for entry to his private show!  I was left more confused than before.

We continued to talk over time. He suggested at some point that I could move to Las Vegas if I wish. I could be his back up singer. He performs at open mics weekly and the crowd loves him (?!?!?!!??!). They sometimes let him perform hours in a row, even past the allocate time. I don't know how sober these people are by the time he performs. I'm not saying his bad, I'm just saying, you know what I'm saying? He also has t-shirts that he has drawn on, a number of suitcases full of them that he told me I could also sell when in Vegas if I decide to move here. He owns a three bedroom house. Owns it! I don't know how many times he told me he owns the house as if it's the first thing he has ever owned in his life. He had been married twice before. The second wife used to sell the T-shirts for him. It's team work though. Tortoise will play the guitar, sing the blues (yawn) to draw the crowd in, then I would sell to the crowd. He told me we could split the profit. It probably is a great idea, but I don't know if I want to move to Vegas to be this person's entourage. I want to be the lead in my own life, or even a partner with my better half but nobody's shadow. If I am not his back up singer in a free gig, I am selling t shirt in the desert son in the streets of Las Vegas. I grew up doing that. During school holidays, we had no choice but to help mom sell secondhand clothes and curtains on the side of the streets. I wished I didn't have to but we had to put food on the table. At this point in my life, I don't know if I want to be with a man my mom's age, struggling to make ends meet. Men out there, if you want to sleep with a child, be prepared to make her life as comfy and cosy as ever! Whether they admit this to you or not, no child wants to be with an old, wrinkly man who has nothing to offer. Not just that, but who's going to make her move backwards in life. None of this makes a woman want to take her knickers off and open her legs. Come on now! Two marriages and you still haven't learnt anything? This kind of behaviour bothers me!

I see a lot of men who are old enough to me my father or grandfather who are looking for an independent man, who don't pay for sex, who are not looking to be nobody's sugar daddy, and yet are not willing to date people their age. They want to sleep with children. It's disgusting! These kids are bringing their youth,the humiliation of being with your old, wrinkly ass, what are you bringing to the table? Blues? T Shirts that you don't know what to do with? That's not bringing something to the table? That's something that's been in the garage for years. We're talking about the table here, not the garage. Have some pride!

Daniel and I were going to meet at 7. He was taking me out for dinner on my first night in Vegas. I had tickets to a show that night at 10. Two tickets. I'd invited Daniel to see it with me. He hadn't made up his mind about it yet. Initially, I was going to see Criss Angel's Magic show but apparently he broke his arm and was on sick leave. They told me they had a hip hop dance group that were winners of America's best Dance crew;  Jabbawockeez. Because of the timing of that show, I had to go for a different one because I wanted to accommodate Daniel. The much later show that night was Fantasy, a Burlesque show in a theatre at the resort where I was staying. 

I turned on my phone, sent a courtesy text to Tortoise apologising about him. I explained to him that my phone had died and I had to put it on charge. He knew that I had arrived that very day. His response was, 'you have a phone in the hotel room'. I thought to my self, THE NERVE! Is this fool expecting me to know his number by heart? To then dial it on the hotel phone, to say what to him? I had already told him what I wanted to tell him anyways, that I was now in Vegas, I arrived safely. It was a courtesy call. He has my number, I didn't see him calling me asking if I arrived safely or if  I needed a ride from the station. So please! Instead, he had said that if I have time, I could take the bus to his house and we could hang out over there, I could see this house he lives in that he owns. I could spend the night, the has two spare bedrooms. I should know though that he doesn't have beds in the house. IN THE ENTIRE HOUSE!  There are no beds in the whole house! I would have to sleep on the carpet. He has comfortable rugs on the floor that I could sleep on. Mind you, I'd never met this person and he has all these weird demands from the 1800's. He has a car, and, let's say, hypothetically speaking, I intended to forgo my paid for hotel on the Exciting Las Vegas Strip and go sleep on the floor in the house he owns, Why would I take the bus there? He could at least pick me up. What a narcissist!

I never replied to his text about the hotel telephone. I thought to myself, choose your battles, Brook. So I didn't choose that one. I chose the battle of going out with The Italian Stallion who had driven three hours to take me to a five star hotel on our first date. I put my wig on, make up, perfume, new dress number one, heels. Daniel called when he was on his way to pick me up. Butterflies! He called when he arrived, I was almost done. I was done, right? But not done enough to step out like that! :)

When I was finally done done, I stepped out, took the elevator to the foyer, Daniel was waiting for me there. It was so nice to see him! To think that that was only the second time we were seeing each other in our entire lives after talking for about three months!