#mrhotla

I’ve returned home from my summer in Los Angeles, determined to relocate in exactly one year and working two full-time jobs to cushion the move. AND I AM BORED.

My sister calls from Chicago, on a WEDNESDAY and says she is flying into NYC for the night to party with her co-workers (ringing the bell in the morning), accommodations handled, and I should meet her there AT TEN PM.

I generally enjoy being in bed/asleep at around 9:30, so my instinct is NO WAY/HAVE FUN WITHOUT ME. But I am over-worked, underpaid, and LAME.So I decide if I can convince Emily to join me, I will suck it up and drive us into the city.

OF COURSE Emily is game (I love her more than anyone).

So is another sister (I have four). So three of us meet the fourth at the hotel and get ready to party. We head to absolutely the hippest club and I know the doorman from TEN YEARS AGO, when I used to be awesome (it’s Wass). We are double hooked up.

Inside, my sister has rented out an upstairs VIP section where our booze is free and we are happy to take advantage. But the guys from her work are mostly married, so I wander out onto the balcony to scope out the scene below.

While jamming out to the DJ, I spot the nicest man-candy I’ve ever seen. I tell my sister I am going to bring him upstairs and I frantically try to catch his eye while maintaining a sexy vibe (not easy for a giant broad). When he finally looks up, I motion for him to join us in the lounge and he looks at me, points to himself as if to say, “Who, me?” and I nod, YES, YOU.

He approaches us nervously, asks me a few complimentary, preliminary questions (“Do you live here? Are you a model?”) and says he lives in Los Angeles and is just in town for the night, following an audition. I warn him that I’ll be moving to Los Angeles a year later and he suggests that we keep in touch. I put my number in his phone and then call it so I have his number and name it, appropriately, Mr. Hot LA.

My sister, who cannot tolerate NOT being the center of attention, walks over, knocks his drink out of his hand (to the ground) and when we look at her as if to say, “what the hell?” she shrugs and walks away.

He departs immediately, wondering what could have caused such behavior and likely never to be heard from again. When I ask my sister WTF caused her to react like that, she says she doesn’t know, but he was just too good-looking to elicit a normal response, so she felt like she needed to make him feel bad.

Nearly six months later, I receive a mass text from “Mr. Hot LA” that states that he has changed his phone number. Now I’m not fooled by a mass text, but I also know that when I change my number, the new one only goes to the most select few. I guess he wasn’t so miffed about the spill after all.

And then, not two months before I move out west, I receive another text. “I hope you are still moving out here. If you do, let’s hang out. P.S. it’s [Mr. Hot LA] from that party in NYC.” To which I reply, “I know, my phone can be very descriptive – when you texted it came up as Mr. Hot LA and YESSSSSS, let’s.”

I finally get out to LA, and I track him down and invite him to meet up with me at a bar. He does.

I am on a “carmageddon” bar crawl with my new roommate and his friend Mr. Fred and absolutely hammered. Mr. Hot LA doesn’t drink alcohol (it wasn’t booze that my sister spilled?), but he buys me a beer, we make out and plan a date to go hiking the next day.

I don’t remember if he tastes like truffles, only that I laughed and apologized to the valet guys, who were watching.

The next day we go hiking. I have the most brutal hangover and try my best not to throw up/die on our date. He doesn’t think it’s cute and doesn’t set up a subsequent date.

In the meantime, Mr. Fred is pursuing me like he’s never met a girl before. And I am not interested. I would rather wait for Mr. Hot LA. My roommates think I am crazy. They sit me down one afternoon, having enlisted my girlfriend, and beg/bully me to give Mr.  Fred a chance.

“He loves you!”

“He has been following you around everywhere!”

“Mr. Hot LA hasn’t called! He doesn’t like you!”

“Wouldn’t you rather date someone who really wants to be with you?”

YES.

But a few weeks pass and I get a message from Mr. Hot LA about hanging out again. Who knows what kind of “other girl on the back burner” stuff he has been handling, but I am IN.

He invites me to a movie, Tuesday night, at 9:40. I accept, even though it’s wayyyyy after my bedtime. I have an interview with a new restaurant at 8PM and I don’t have anything to do the next morning.

When he calls to confirm that he is purchasing the tickets, I let him know that I have an interview that I hope will be wrapped up in time for the movie, but I can’t be sure. He asks for what I am interviewing and when I respond that I am trying to get a job at a the newest restaurant opening in West Hollywood, he laughs and said his interview is at 8:20. AT THE SAME RESTAURANT.

What’s the point of this ridiculous story? Every instinct in my whole body screams YES at this guy. Even when I find out that he has a tattoo, wants to be an actor and doesn’t drink, I cannot get turned off by him.

And whether we have set up a date or not, destiny will make sure that we run into each other that evening at the interview, which lasts until two in the morning, causes us to miss the movie, ends in a late-night diner run (Swingers) and the chance for Mr. Hot LA to see how much syrup I put on my waffles (comparable to Elf - kind of sexy?).

We both get the job. Our new boss says he is in love with both of us and can’t wait for us to get together and make beautiful babies, but we decide it’s best not to date someone at work.