Dont Mince Words

Ana and I were in the air, on our way to a photo shoot in Denver, when I told her I wanted to conduct an experiment. “I hear when you leave LA, guys pay attention to you. Let’s see if that’s true,” I said.

Little did I know I wouldn’t have the energy to get out after working 12-hour days. On our last night in Denver, we ventured two blocks from the hotel and hit a diner with the photographer and his assistant, Mike.

I sat on the outside edge of the booth which was a prime seat to view our waiter. He was very eager to serve us and had lots of flare and arm gestures. When Ana’s Mount Gay lime jumped out of her glass, the waiter promptly returned with two more and announced the new limes were asexual.

Everything the waiter did from here on out seemed really funny, but I finished a schooner of beer while waiting for my meal. My humor and body animation was ampted up and the whole table was roaring. The waiter continued to add to our good times.

By the time the check came, I was still sitting in the booth, but my head was on my pillow two blocks away. The waiter made one final comment as we got up. Mike, the youngest and gayest in the group, had his ‘dar tuned up and told me, “Girl, are you blind? Our waiter has been hitting on you.”

“Me?”

“Yes you. Didn’t you hear him mention that he was the MANAGER helping out. He wanted to make sure you didn’t see him as a middle-aged waiter,” Mike said.

“Crap. I didn’t notice. What do I do?” I asked, hopelessly clueless.

“Throw your business card down on the table. Maybe he’ll call,” Mike suggested.

I tossed my waterproof Don’t Mince Words card on the table and walked outside. Los Angeles to Denver makes for some geographically undesirable dating, but I realized I had just proved my inflight point – men are men outside of LA.

While walking back to the hotel, Mike and I doubled over laughing about the whole experience. I haven’t been with a real man in so long, it takes a gay man to point one out to me.

God help me and god bless my seeing eye queer.

My friends mean well. They look out for me. Last week was no different.

Wall Street Pete called about a $5,000 opportunity. He heard K-ROCK 92.3FM was having a “tramp stamp” contest. I began listening to him years ago when he suggested I pay attention to a pre-IPO biotech stock.

“You will win. You have to enter. That tattoo is hilarious,” he affirmed.

I had an opportunity to make money off my clothed body. With my winnings, I could make the max contribution to my IRA. I could make a Visa payment. I could go to Hawaii. I could also get the R in my tattoo retouched. It was fading.

I emailed Booker in the afternoon a digital pic. His intern replied to let me know the announcement would be made Monday. The only person that called Monday was Pete to see if I won.

My week progressed as normal until today. “We have to have you in the studio tomorrow afternoon with the other nine finalists. Your tattoo is great,” Booked called to tell me. He asked where I got it and didn’t seem thrilled when I said, “Key West during my friend’s 40th birthday celebration a few years ago.” The silence made it seem like I’d be the old fogey in the studio next to hot, dumb 20-something girls of questionable virtue.

My fate was sealed when I reminded Booker, as I did in my email, I live in Los Angeles.

“Oh.”

“I’d be happy to do a live remote with you. The tattoo is easy to describe to listeners,” I replied.

I found out afterwards, that couldn’t be an option. A tattoo shop in Jersey sponsored the contest. Anyone that knows me knows if I were in the New York region, I’d get a tattoo in the east Village before I’d go to northern New Jersey for ink.

Another 15 minutes of fame averted.

There are seven words that every writer hates hearing. “When are you going to be published?” My day job continues to get in the way of my professional development.

I received an email this weekend from a friend who periodically checks in. The last time I heard from him he was laughing and threatening to read my posts aloud in the city center of Rihyad to “liberate” women. “As usual, you are an incredible writer- you constantly have me rolling on the floor! Publish soon and let me know so I can PAY for the privilege of reading you!”

Three of my short stories were published in the WriteGirl anthology that is now available on Amazon, I think. My other piece that is part of an LA writers’ anthology is being shopped and if the houses kick it back, we’re going to self-publish. I’ve got tons of chick lit pitches floating around at the women’s mags as well as with the LAT and NYT. My big push is to get “Internet dating: A decade of bad coffee and backward screams” published. Yes, I actually have 10 years of Internet dating experience to talk about.

So, I’m getting published, slowly, but I’m not ready to quit my day job. But if you know of a handsome benefactor that would like to sponsor my unemployment while I pitch fulltime, let me know.