Wine Country

Ahhh wine country. It’s a place Californians know and love. A place where one goes to take a vacation, long weekend, or day trip to just relax and drink some of the best vino this corner of the United States.

To some, however, it’s a reminder of the douchebaggery that coincides with living in Los Angeles. One example is my first date with a dude from Hinge (you know, the more reputable dating app).

We had similar interests. Flirty and smart converstation. He marketed himself as pretty humble. We declared ourselves “drinkers” to each other (this is kind of a requirement for one to be my soul mate. Sober individuals need not apply). He appeared to be right up my alley. We chatted via the app for a couple weeks before meeting, which was fine with me. I like to properly gauge a person prior to wasting my time meeting them……… joke’s on me?

Halfway through dinner he drops the first douchebomb. “Have you seen -such and such- movie? I was a child actor and I keep paying my SAG dues so I can get all the screeners”. That’s great dude, but not worth bragging about unless you’re a working (or out-of-work, shit if I can judge that) actor. I don’t care about your screeners. Sure, they’re nice. Necessary? Meh. Also, child actor? Former? You’re 33, have some dignity.

That was minor league tomfoolery so I let it go. He did not.

Macaulay decided it was worth it to shoot ahead and describe the time when he was working on a movie and asked one of the actors for his autograph, not knowing who the actor was.

Said actor was apparently George Clooney. I don’t know. Call me crazy, but I did some of the math (#mathishard) and I’m pretty sure George was at least semi-known whilst this individual was “acting”, but I digress. So, minor league tomfoolery, bordering on “you’re getting boring”. (If you can’t tell by any of these blogs, I have very little patience for most people. I have to talk myself into putting up with the majority of humanity). The food was excellent and the wine was flowing so I proceeded. I wanted my oysters and lobster mac more than anything at that point.

Boasting about SAG membership wasn’t enough. We were discussing the wines he had brought to dinner (all very fine choices; he got points for this). He admitted he was embarassed that he got them at BevMo. I sat there for a few seconds processing that confession, wondering if he was serious or not. He was. “I go to BevMo all the time”, I said. (Give me a buy one get one for 5 cents deal any damn day of the week). “I can’t usually be bothered with liquor stores or anything like that, because I get my wines directly from wine country”, he replied. I sat there for a few more seconds to see if he’d elaborate. He did. “I pay $5000 a year for a wine country membership”. I waited yet again to see if he was for real. He was. I had no answer for that other than my initial thought, which was “you’re ridiculous”, so I just chuckled and said “nice” while mentally rolling my eyes. If there’s one flavor I loathe in a person, it’s arrogance. It was at this point he came off very arrogant.

We finished dinner (with a few other eye-rolling moments similar to the ones already mentioned) and since I drove (to Santa Monica from the Valley), I drove him home. Pretension aside, he still seemed like a decent individual as far as individuals I’ve known go (this is where I end up giving the wrong people the benefit of the doubt — I think my bar is set too low). I think to myself that I probably will see him again, why not. Maybe take advantage of some that Napa wine that I had just scoffed at.

What happened next still makes my stomach turn when I think about it. There are mundane kissers and then there are just BAD kissers. My entire face got swallowed and I felt like I was drowning, not only in his saliva, but in the leftover seafood as well. Like the corpses of 200 shellfish. 1000% unappealing. I drove home chewing 4 sticks of gum.

The next night he texts me with “LA has the best pizza” and “I’m drunk”. Clearly you are my friend, to make a statement like that. I said, “Now you’re picking a fight with a Jersey girl”, to which he responded, “Jersey is known for it’s pizza? I thought NY was. I didn’t know they just lumped them together like that (know your history before coming at me, dude). I thought Jersey was all factories and Springsteen”.

I am pretty sure some teeth grinding happened at this point in the “conversation”, if one can call it that and not an all out assault on someone from the opposite coast who doesn’t take any LA bullshit. (LA is my lady, don’t get me wrong. Its pedestrians, not always the case). It’s here where I realized just how Jersey I am. Yes, Jersey is a verb, don’t @ me. I decided at that point that I was pretty much done with this individual. Call me a tough sell if you will, but I already told you that patience is indeed NOT my virtue. Act accordingly.

Published by Kat

Jersey born | LA living | Sometimes Acting ๐ŸŽญ| Usually Snapping ๐Ÿ“ธ | Always Writing โœ๐Ÿผ | Lover of weird shit & all the music

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