On a lazy Sunday in September of 2009, I was winked at by the spirit of Serendipity who reminded me just how small the world of Southern California can be.I was at my desk, writing a paper for British Lit, when I migrated over to Okcupid for a short break. On the face of the website flashed the face of a man that I knew I knew, somehow. But how?
I went to his Okcupid profile to investigate.
He was older than me, and the kind of buff that made me imagine him as a farmhand on an old Southern plantation: shirtless, dirty, sweat dripping, shoveling hay with a pitchfork and pausing to wipe his brow with the hanky that was hanging out the rear his tight jeans that accentuated that hot little turd-cutter. And suddenly, I am the plantation owner, watching him under the brim of my Southern Belle hat, sipping my sweet tea and yelling out, “Faster, Farmhand! Faster…”
Back in real life, I was sitting in my computer chair in a bra and a pair of granny panties that pooched out a little and made me look like a baby carrying a load in its diaper. I had a bowl of Mini Wheats in my crotch, my hair was uncombed, and it was 2 in the afternoon.
Even a Southern Belle gets a late start.
I wrote him a short message, “I know you from somewhere. Where?”
He replied immediately: “I don’t know, but you have the bestestest profile I’ve ever seen. You should call me.”
He included his number at the bottom of the email.
*Beep-boop-boop-beep-beep.*
* Ring! Ring! *
He answered.
We made introductions. His name was Rod. Rod Steele.
(I asked him what I should call him in the blog, and he answered, “I don’t care.” So Rod Steele it is)
It was time to roll up our sleeves and finger this matter into submission: where had I seen this Rod before?
He was born and raised in Ventura County. He worked at Port Hueneme Naval Base when he was in his teens. He graduated from college in the valley while moonlighting as a bouncer at The Palace (now Avalon). Nowadays, he spent all of his time in Hollywood farting around.
My dad was head of security at Port Hueneme, I attended a show at the Palace back in ’96–
Too long ago. Additionally, he had hair back then. Was I so good with faces that I recognized him bald? Probably not.
There was one more place I didn’t mention. A freaky little club in Hollywood called Kitty’s. If you haven’t been there, it’s where cross dressers, trannys, gays, straights, leather freaks, and those who enjoy an old fashioned stage sex show, game of strip-poker, dark rooms where anything goes, or spanking, go to enjoy each other’s company. It’s a very friendly crowd. The music is a mixed bag of dance, industrial, and goth.
“I’ve been there,” he said, and he sounded a bit hesitant. Probably wondering if I was one of the many chicks he’s danced into Kitty’s bathroom to meet Peter, the tube-meat Camel. Watch out-–he spits.
“That’s gotta be it,” I told him. “Maybe I saw you at the bar or something.”
“Why didn’t you come up to me?’
“I’m pretty shy in person.”
“What? Why?”
Then, he shined his high-power detective’s light into my face.
“Why do you go to that place?” he asked.
“Because my friends go there.”
“Little bit freaky for a girl who is so shy.”
I turned it around, “Look, Rod…Why do you go there? For the architecture?”
“You should have come up to me. Girl’s are always aggressive at that place.”
“Not me.”
“For example, last month a girl came up to me and said that her friend had a thing for bald guys and wanted me to take a picture–”
I had an instant flashback, and said, “Oh my shit.”
“Was that you?” he asked.
A few months before seeing Rod on okcupid, I was at Kitty’s for the 2nd time in my life. I was joking around with Kristy, my best friend of 15 years, about her thing for bald-man and I went out of my way to locate a Yul Brenner to satisfy her cue-ball fetish. I found my Kojack on the Patio, wearing a wife beater, leaning against a wall like he was doing it a favor.
Having had a little bit of Captain Morgan’s rum sauce, I was feeling pretty dang daring that night. I approached this wife-beater-wearer and said, “Hi. My friend likes bald guys. Can I get a picture of you with her? Please?”
From the look on his face, I think he expected me to say “Five dollar sucky sucky,” but instead, he got, “would you like to buy a subscription to Life magazine, sir?” He replied, “Okay.”
I grabbed Kristy and shoved her toward him. He grabbed her around the waist and I snapped the picture.
Then, he decided to give her a kiss. Slow, sloppy, and wet.
“That was you!” he said.
“You made out with my best friend. If I kiss you, I’m kissing her…”
“Wait! No! Funny! You don’t think this is funny? This is funny!…You’ve never made out with a chick before?“
“Funny, yes. Made out with another chick? Hell no.”
Later, I told Kristy that I was meeting the guy she made out with at Kitty’s.
“Which one?” she asked.
I made her compare the pictures on OKcupid to the pictures we took.
“Holy crap, dude,” she said. “It’s him!”
That night, Kristy and I went to LA for a Depeche Mode Tribute at a club in Hollywood. Rod went, too.
We had a few drinks and ended up making out like two pigs rolling around in slop. He said something really sweet that night: “Have you ever thought about getting breast implants?” And he said it night, after night. It took a while for me to stand up for myself and tell him it wasn’t funny anymore.
It’s 10 months later and we’re still friends. My life, because of Rod, can’t be the same. Serendipity is the discovery of fortunate things by accident. I was seeking a relationship, but serendipity brought me something more valuable with Rod: bravery. He’s the kind of guy you have to learn to stand up to, or get ready to know what his boots taste like.
This makes Rod sound like a total douche bag, but he isn’t. He is also a screenplay writer who has dedicated his life to his passion for writing. It’s rare to meet someone who will put themselves out on a limb like this, and who will not take the easy route, and I admire him for that.
Serendipity. He didn’t know he would have this effect, but I know he’s secretly proud of himself for having made me a stronger woman. And because of Serendipity, I know I’ve made him better, too. No more breast comments.
(Big breasts are necessary for beauty like a big cock is necessary for good sex. Sure, both are nice to play with, but the reality is: it’s gotta be something deeper than that, eventually; otherwise, you’ve got this mound of human meat that gets boring after a few months)
Southern California is small, and serendipitous moments can happen everywhere–
…fleeting glances, meet-cutes, chance conversations, arguments…
–you just have to be open to the fact that even if an experience isn’t good, it can still be interesting, which is good…that is, if you’re patient enough wait, and intuitive enough to recognize it.
“and whether or not it is clear to you why, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should” (Max Ehrman, Desiderata).
Published by permission. Visit Mari's blog at http://www.mari-go-round.com/
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