Let’s Not And Say That We Didn’t

I was drinking my brunch this weekend when Showtime, a friend of Hollywood’s (my ex), wandered into my peripheral.  I waved hello as I motioned for my server to bring over another round of bubbly which in certain circles doubles as the international sign for “come over and join me.” Or is it?

I don’t know Showtime well. In fact I actually don’t really know him at all.  Our time together has been limited the occasional cocktail with Hollywood’s Lights Camera Action circle of friends. They’re an interesting bunch – those guys. They are impossibly good looking, well traveled, successful menagerie of triple threats. A boy band for the executive sect if you will.    

As a girlfriend, I made it a point to always be friendly. I’d buy the occasional round of Kettle One and tonics … stock the fridge with ranch dressing and wings… respect boy’s night. You know, super official girlfriend stuff. Of course, there’s a difference between being “friends” and being “friendly.” Thirty seconds into our conversation I instinctively knew Showtime and I were the latter.

“You know I’ve been studying your face for the last twenty and I was saying to myself … Showtime – Where do you know her from guy? The moment he addressed himself in third person my inner douche-dar sounded off.

“Pretty, right?” he said lighting a slim green twig of a beadie. “Roll’m myself.” For next fifteen minutes Showtime spewed random factoids about every.little.thing. or “The Gospel According to Showtime” – his words, not mine. “Yeah, you know people are always saying to me – Showtime, it’s like you step outside of yourself and you just … you just know… become bigger than who you are.”

Huh? Exactly. Yeah, I didn’t know what the hell he was saying either. Since he wouldn’t allow me to get a word in I stuck to tepid, obligatory nods and vocalized pauses. Ohhh, Mmmmm. My glazed over face must have tipped him off because he finally asked a question directly pertaining to someone other than himself- me. I’m so transparent.

“So I mean, where’s H?” When I broke the news that H and I had parted ways you would have thought he was acting out a scene from a coming of age novel.

“Oh.My.God!” he said clutching my hands. “You know, I didn’t want to say – but I could totally see that happening.” Oh? I wondered how he could see anything beyond his own self absorbed ego, but I’ll roll with the foolishness. P.S.- the last time I’d seen him he was nestled in a pool of  some stripper’s vomit. But I digress.

 “Listen, Showtime’s here for you babe– I mean like, anything you tell me stays between us. We’ll get through this together”

First, why would I confide in someone I hardly know. And Secondly “We’ll get through this together.” “We” (c’est que ce qoui)- does Showtime speak douche in French too?

The randomness continued with a brief overview of his relationship to Hollywood and his vitae.“To be honest, I just met the guy a few weeks ago. You know, {Insert Name Drop Here} was in town, and I don’t really know {Name drop} that well, but I’m really good friends with his {Moderately famous Celebrity wife’s name here}. H, probably told you that I’ve done some professional television and film acting. You may have seen me on Degrassi Next Generation. It’s no big deal though.” I can’t tell.

It was exhausting. Especially when he went into unsolicited advice mode- complete with a phone call to Hollywood. Yes, he called him.

Dude, Pretty looks super hot, man … You should come down and hang out, we’re just having some drinks man.” No, no I motioned intensely with my hands. “Yeah dude, I can tell she misses you.” Wow. I actually wasn’t. I have been feeling pretty amazing about things as of late. The last thing I need was Showtime pimping me out. Thank God, Hollywood was mid jet set and respectfully declined. How awkward could that have been?

By this point I’m feverishly blinking h.e.l.p. in morris code to anyone who would have me. The elderly couple to my right. Emos to my left and guy with freakishly long nails directly in front of me. I’d been around many a douche before, but this guy was gunning for M.V.D. 2010 – most valuable douche.  

Then suddenly Boom tap boom tap. Boom tap boom. “I know you want meeee … It’s easy to seeee.” It was divine intervention compliments of PCD (Pussy Cat Dolls). I snatched up my phone like a lion holding its cub. “Hello … Something bad happened? I’m on my way.” I tossed a crumpled $50 on the table, gathered my belongings and wished Showtime well in record time as I private danced it to the door.

 “Let’s do lunch soon doll!” he shouted.

“Yeahhh” I grinned.

Dear Showtime, I’ve got a better idea … let’s not do lunch and say that we didn’t.

 Xox, The Pretty One.


About The.Pretty.One

"I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.” - Carry Bradshaw The Pretty One is the youngest daughter of a former 70s pageant queen and her first husband, a wealthy financier. A former debutante and southern belle, this Steel Magnolia is anything but. A visionary, she is the owner and creative mind behind a successful boutique communications and event firm. But what I really want to do is dance ... and blog.
This entry was posted in Humor, Love, Notes To Self, Pseudo Friendship, Relationships, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Let’s Not And Say That We Didn’t

  1. Posky says:

    If you get that guys address, please forward it to me. I’ve had a lot of free time lately and have become interested in taking up “street justice.”

  2. Ha! I believe he lives on the corner of delusional & peaked in high school.

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