Being from the East Coast, I feel a natural opposition to many things “California”. Sometimes, I start to feel guilty about how much I rag on the Golden State. Then I sit behind a young blonde driving her 80 year old boyfriend’s convertible, admiring her new lip injections in the rear view mirror, fully stopped at a green light.
Nevertheless, I have decided that I need to experience a bit more of the “culture”, so that at least my derogatory comments have merit and possibly an amusing backstory. And what better way to familiarize myself with SoCal life than by spending some quality time with the creature it’s most known for: The Surfer.
The title of this post is a misnomer as well as an opportunity for alliteration; If I were actually desperate to meet a surfer I would ask someone to kindly take me out to pasture and shoot me between the eyes.
Anyway, I agreed to go on a date with Cameron because he fit the criteria and because his hair was so shockingly out of control that I had to see it in person. I could not believe it when he told me he worked for a well-known potato chip brand because I don’t know how anyone goes into corporate America looking like a scarecrow that lost it’s hat.
We met for buffalo wings and awkward conversation which circled around his career endeavors. His new project was developing a line of Southern California-themed beverages. I didn’t and I still do not have any idea what this meant. Was it the name that was themed? What did they taste like? Suntan lotion? Silicone? Foreclosure?
This nonsense aside, it was one of the more benign dates I had been on. There was zero physical attraction, and here is the other thing about surfers: once you hit 26 or 27, all that sun catches up with you. This gent was 3 years younger than me and looked 5 years older.
Cameron followed up our date (a week later) with bizarre, perverse texts where he asked me wildly personal questions out of nowhere. I decided to let the sunburned scarecrow go find his Dorothy elsewhere. I like to think of myself as a boundary-setter, and asking someone you barely know about bondage is behavior I simply don’t care for.
Luckily, there are plenty more where he came from, and I look forward to sharing them with you!