9/25/08
"Sweating in any form just makes me feel so alive." Lines like that in an email tend to catch my attention and drag it (merrily, merrily, merrily) into the gutter. I'd "met" this woman online and although we hadn't actually met in person yet, we were very much into the e-flirtation part of the courting process, which is so much a part of 21st century dating.
For my married and recluse friends, let me breakdown the differences between dating in the 20th century vs. this one. In the 20th century, it was boy meets girl. They fall in love. Boy loses girl, but can't get over it, so he begins stalking her. Girl files a restraining order. Nowadays, things are a little different. You just can't go up to a woman and say hello without running the risk of being looked at like you're an A#1 creep-ola. So, boys and girls meet online because, and this is going to sound strange, it feels safer. You send emails back and forth for an undefined period of time, and if both parties are comfortable with the subject matter, levels of wit, spelling, grammar and punctuation, eventually phone numbers are exchanged. From that point, you can pretty much refer back to what dating was like in the last century.
Another thing meeting women online has forced me to do is expand my dating perimeters. For those of you who know me, then you probably know that for a long time I limited my dating radius to women who reside in the 213, 323 and 310 area codes. I wouldn't take my show on the road to the Valley, the I.E. or behind the Orange Curtain. Now I just exclude women who list their favorite book as either Catcher in the Rye (I haven't read anything since high school) or The Da Vinci Code (I only read it because everyone else did, or I just the saw movie and really think the films of Ron Howard are more than just populist crap).
Let's get back to sweating and how alive it makes one feel, eh? Well, this woman, Allison, was talking about how much she likes to workout, so get your minds out of the gutter. She was, however, definitely flirting too, and that's always appreciated. After the appropriate amount of e-flirting back and forth, eventually we exchanged numbers and began chatting on the phone. Allison lives in San Dimas and that might as well have been on the moon as far I'm concerned. I still don't drive. All I know is there is a major water park (Raging Waters) there and the town is the primary setting for the 80's classic, Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure ("Strange things are afoot at the Circle K").
"Los Angeles is 72 suburbs in search of a city." ~ Dorothy Parker
By some twist of fate or miracle of serendipity, the fact that I don't drive doesn't seem bother Allison in the least. Rather, she finds my urban lifestyle choices fascinating. She tells me, "LA just seems so exotic to me. I've lived here all my life, but I've only been out there a couple times to hangout, and then just Santa Monica at the beach." Apparently, she grew up in the HB (Huntington Beach for those not up on their OC lingo) and moved to San Dimas a few years ago to attend nursing school. I share with her some of the magic and mystery that is Koreatown and before I know it, a date is made. She wants to come out to LA and for me to take her around and show her a good time. I can do that.
On the evening of our date, I'm debating whether to take her to Korean BBQ (there are no meats she excludes from her diet) or Korean Sushi (not the place with the still living lobsters I wrote about a few months back). I've already decided not to take her to either of these places on the subway. Allison arrives at my place, and right away I'm stunned… in a good way. This woman is prettier than her picture, and lemme tellya, she's got some eye-catching pics posted on her page. She's wearing heels, a skirt and a sleeveless top that shows off the muscle tone in her arms. Have I mentioned how alive sweating makes this woman feel?
I'm almost thankful she excuses herself to the restroom (and extremely thankful I had cleaned it earlier that day) when she gets here to freshen up after the long drive. It gives me a moment to collect myself. All I can think is that I hope I don't screw this date up. When she emerges, we start talking about where to eat. She tells me, "I've had the strangest craving for pizza all week. Is there any place good around here to get some pizza and maybe a glass of wine?" Can anyone say, Mr. Pizza Factory? Love for women? "I know just the place," I respond quickly then begin fearing this just might be the point where I screw things up. Korean pizza may be good for fashionable Koreans and weird white guys like yours truly, but I'm not so sure about pretty young ladies from suburbia more accustomed to BJ's or CPK.
We drive over (she drives, naturally) and she is immediately taken by the décor, the ambiance and the whole surreal experience that is Mr. Pizza Factory. I order us a salad and a bottle of white wine to share. As for the pizza, I go Nude. Shrimp Nude, that is. I'll spare you all the details as to just what's on that pie. Ok, ok, I'll tell you this much: shrimp, corn niblets, cheese Danish crust. Thankfully, Mr. Pizza did not disappoint. Love for Women! The food was, as it always is there, absolutely delish and Allison was completely enthralled with the whole experience. She thinks my world, K-town, is equal parts Blade Runner and Breakfast at Tiffany's.
The conversation and the laughter flowed easily and naturally during our meal, so much so, I wasn't overly eager to have the check arrive and dinner end. On the way back to my place, Allison insisted on taking the leftovers back to San Dimas because, as she said, "My friends just aren't going to believe this shit!" We get to my place and I invite her up for a cup of tea before she heads back home. "Do you have any chamomile?" she asks. I do. "Well, then I'd love some." Perfect.
We head up stairs and I'm thanking my lucky stars I didn't screw this evening up by taking her to one of the two or three strangest restaurants I know. Feel free to ask me for the others… I put the teapot on the stove and some Isaac Hayes on the turntable (he had just passed at the time) and we settle in on the couch. Allison is telling me about how she is working as well as going to school to help support her parents because her father needs a surgery and can't work at the moment. Prettier than her picture and a saint too? Pinch me.
It's at around this time that the teapot starts to whistle, so I dash off to the kitchen to make the tea. It's shortly after this that I hear, very loud, very close outside, "Pop!" and then, "Pop! Pop-Pop!" I know right away what the sound is. As I dash back to the living room I see Allison heading over to the window saying, "What is that?" This is almost drained out by whole other slew of "Pops!" and "Bangs!" in rapid succession. There is a full-blown gun battle going on in the street outside my apartment. I scream at Allison to get the fuck away from the window. I'd guess there was between 20 and 25 shots fired total. From outside, we hear tires screeching and, "We're ROCKWOOD muthafuckas!" And then, "RockWOOOOOD! RockWOOOOOOD!"
Rockwood Street Gang is the name of the Latino gang that calls my block its home turf. For the most part, they're pretty quiet other than loud music and hanging out on the stoops of the buildings the gang bangers live in down the street (not in my building). They like to leave their tag RWST as large as possible on the wall of the church on the corner as often possible. They tag and then the church paints over it… and then they tag… and so on and so on. I did a little research on these murderers and future inmates and found they have a myspace page: http://www.myspace.com/lostangeles79. Click on it if you dare. When I first found the page, they had a great picture of my block taken from one of the rooftops here. Whoever it is took that pic down, but he's interested in meeting girls with whom he can talk without any "drama." Ladies…? Whaddya say?
"When I hold you in my arms and I feel my finger on your trigger I know no one can do me no harm because happiness is a warm gun." ~ John Lennon
Allison is noticeably, understandably freaked. She's now on the couch shaking, telling me that she's never heard gunshots so close and that stuff like this just doesn't happen anywhere she's ever lived. From outside, I can hear the sounds of screaming coming from the street, and this isn't someone screaming, "Rockwood." Allison is telling me she needs to get out of my apartment and now. I'm trying to tell her that it would be better to let things cool down outside before she tries to go anywhere when a whole armada cop cars come and block up most of the street.
Allison and I now go to the window to check out the goings on. We quickly identify the source of the screaming as coming from one of the gangsters who was shot in the leg and is lying in the street. A group of six cops, guns drawn, go to him, handcuff him and drag him to the sidewalk in front of my building where they deposit him. They also apprehend one of his homies who they bring up the street to the top of the block where they put him in a squad car. Eventually, an ambulance and two fire trucks arrive to join the dozen or so cop cars that are now blocking my street. We watch from the window as the cops interrogate the wounded gang banger in front of my building for about 15 minutes before finally taking him to the ambulance.
The arrival of armed authority in force has done little to settle Allison down. "Look, I just can't be around this. This isn't right. I need to get out of here. Now." I can see that there is nothing I can do to save what had been, up to that point, a near perfect evening and even less that I can do to get her to stay. While she gets in her car, I go to the cop whose black & white is blocking my alley and tell him that my girlfriend needs to leave to go to work and that we only heard the shots and didn't see anything. He lets her pass and she's gone without giving me so much as a hug. I give her a call the next day and then send her an email and don't hear anything back.
Thanks RWST. Sweating makes her feel so alive… and gunshots scare the living crap out of her.
No comments:
Post a Comment