I Like My Girlfriends Best

A couple weeks ago I had to the best night ever, one of those girls nights out nights you see in movies and think 'god I need a night like that.' It was that good and not even cheesy. Imagine that. We were all amazing in our own ways and all happy to be around each other. That's pretty cool. I was wearing my sparkly strappy expensive heels and we shared cigarettes and stories. I fell in love with this one girl for having the gumption to befriend Anna Faris. Apparently they hang out, Anna Faris confessed to her that she has a hard time making girl friends.  I wish I knew that when I staw her standing alone at the MTV Movie Awards last year. I would have said something to her instead of stood there in fear, staring over my boyfriends shoulder like a child looks out of a window to see if the monsters are coming.

"Oh my god it's Anna Faris!"

"She's so hot," was his only response. It's memories like that that really make me miss him.

One of the girls in our girl troupe wants to be a sports agent, another is going to play guitar with me whenever we can. Everyone is amazing. It was the end of the night when "Leeland" introduced himself to me. He had a nice jawline and a deep, well-pronounced voice. He was also wearing a jacket over a light agyle sweater. You know, he looked kind of perfect. Drunk perfect. And he wanted to talk about my shoes and was impressed by my large group of friends. "You are rolling like what, 10 deep tonight?"
"Yes I think so!"

The bar lights flipped on and as we gathered to leave he asked for my number. "Sure it's..." I didn't think to not give it to him. He was handsome, had a good handshake and "kind eyes." A couple days later I got a text inviting me to either an art show on Thursday night or to see a band on Friday. Of course I went for the exhibit.

I had a date. This is what people call "a date." Okay I can do this, I told myself. Why not? So this is what I did, I spent 100 dollars and an incredible pair of black velvety heels, another 20 on black tights, threw a deep purple tunic over a black bra and I was off. Who needs pants?

When I finally got there the show had been going for a while, parking was full, most of the wine was drunk. He met me outside by my car a ways off and walked with me to the place. Sparks weren't flying in the air or anything, but he seemed like a gentleman. As soon as we got into the even I almost had a hot guy ovderdose. I think I clutched a tree branch for air. Everyone looked like Devandrah Burnhardt or Vincent Gallo, or better. It was like Woodstock meets the East Village. And I was on "a date." Shit.

"You look really nice," Leeland said as we walked in. See who needs pants?

We took a pamphlet and walked along the walls of art discussing it, it was fun. He had an opinion on things and I felt like I could share mine which is not always the case. Especially with art I have found that lesser men get incredibly insecure and challenged around art. So that was good. Then Norman Reedus came over the installation art in the corner and us. Norman Reedus, an awkward name for a ridiculously good looking guy. It was his art show in support of a model and former actress who is struggling with a benign brain tumor. So you could say he's a good guy too.

We talked for a bit, and I mentioned how I dislike Los Angeles, because I'm like that boring girl who's always complaining, and my "date" Leeland asked him a few questions that I didn't pay attention to because I was too busy looking at Norman's perfectly chiseled eyes and his thick, gorgeous hands on his Iphone. "Yeah I hate Los Angeles," he said.

I lit up.

"I mean, I come out here from New York City and it's like yeah, let's go to the beach. Then instead I spend four hours in the car and never get anywhwere," His hand made a gun shape, his big pointer finger in his mouth, and he fake shot himself dead with it.

Oh I liked this guy. I liked his baggy sweatshirt and his dirty jeans. I like the way he didn't give a shit but at the same time cared about the right shit.

"So I have to tell you..."

"What's that?" He said, taking his attention off his Iphone.

"I've seen your movie, Boondock Saints, four times but everytime I've been drunk and still can't remember it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah" I apologized. I looked overdressed for him. His girl would be able to wear dirty sneakers and shorts or anything in the hell she felt like wearing. Now I was falling in love a little bit. I wanted someone a lot like him. "But I understand it's a great movie. I mean, people love it."

He went on to explain that it gets more attention in reproduction and t-shirts and posters and all of the t-shirts and keychains that hot topic can sell than Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings. He wasn't bragging, he was mystified by it.

"Really?" my wine glass was getting hard to hold. "So you must be set! Like for life!"

"What do you mean, money wise?" He crinkled his face, "Nah, I live in Chinatown, I never have enough money."

When we walked away from Mr. Reedus and the installation that was apparently his, Leeland express his disappointment in me. "I can't believe you said that to him."

"What?"

"About not remembering his movie."

"Oh. This place is out of wine huh?"

We took a spot on the outside patio where we stood for a while before I realized that it was Andy Samburg's shoulder rubbing against mine.

"Hey! Andy Samburg!"

"Hey!"

"I love you!"
"Thanks!

Then I started talking more about Justin Timberlake than he seemed to like, although he was very polite the whole time. And then when we were done he said "Well thanks for all the compliments, with that smudgy face he makes." And I said you're welcome with my own rendition of that smudgy face, and when I went to walk away and leave him in celebrity peace, I heard "Hi, I'm Leeland."

Oh God. I was mortified. I took a seat on a low stone wall and waited for my aspiring actor, opportunist "date" to find me.

 "You remind me of someone," he sat down, done doing whatever it was aspiring actors must do in this town. 

"I get that a lot from people. I must have a very common look."

"No," he shook his head and looked at the ground as if something was bothering him. "You have red hair and blue eyes. And that is very rare."

"Oh. Cool." I was ready to get going. I felt tired.

He started asking me about my ex-boyfriend. "I don't really want to talk about it. It was kind of abusive. You know, it's embarrassing. I'm actually really embarrassed about it."

"Oh," he responded. "So are you guys not together anymore?"

"No," I answered wondering why the hell I'd be on a "date" if I had a boyfriend.

"Yeah, my girlfriend and I definitely try not to disrepsect each other, but relationships are definitely hard."

"Oh, you have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah. We have a kind of, "open relationship" I guess you could say."

"Wow how L.A. of you," I laughed, the stone beneath me coming a bit loose.

"What do you mean? How so?"