Sunday, June 01, 2008


Last night I watched a movie called Rocket Science. At the end a kid asks his dad his thoughts about love. It got me thinking of how I'd answer that if my kids asked me in 15 years. I have no idea. I'd imagine I'd want to relate it back to how Kym and I fell in love, but that was an odd situation. We worked together for a few months before ever meeting, or me knowing she was a hot chick. So I went through some of my dating history and thought of this one that think is interesting.

It was the summer of 2001 and I was at a club with two friends. My one friend, who's life revolves around how many phone numbers he could get, was off picking up chicks. My other friend and I were talking and checking out all the girls we weren't going to talk to when one of them came up to us. Apparently my friend was hitting on her friend, so she came over to talk to us. She told us she was from Madrid Spain, which she claimed was obvious from her heavy accent... which she didn't have. The odd sense of humor had me intrigued and we talked and I got her phone number at the end of the night. After waiting the standard 3 days to call, I did and we set up to meet the next weekend. It was one of about a handful of actual, real dates in my life. I told my roommates I'd probably meet them at a party a few hours later when the date tanked. But it didn't. By the end of the night we had found a chess board on a park bench (she killed me) then swing danced through the streets of Philadelphia (I was drunk and Swingers was my favorite movie and a girl I once dated wanted to take lessons so I did). It was a good date and we agreed to go out again.

When I called her a few days later she told me she had great news. She was moving to Ecuador. Rejected by the old I'm Moving to Ecuador Story again. A few weeks later I actually got a post card from Ecuador (who knew there were Ecuadorian post cards?). Then a few months later she called me saying she was in town at a conference and asked to meet up for lunch. She had an hour. I met up with her and a friend for an awkward lunch and said goodbye. I never heard from her again.

But, when I left her that day I walked across the street to a Banana Republic and bought my favorite t-shirt ever. SCORE!


Think Frustrated said...

I would've liked this story to end: "So I walked across the street and met Kym, and, because as they say, 'any port in a storm,' we got married that day and learned to love each other. So you see, son, sometimes love is just settling for the girl selling flowers at the intersection. Love means letting that girl go to Ecuador to get pounded by some Latin hunk."

Great story.

filmgoerjuan said...

There is no love like that of a man for his Banana Republic t-shirt. Words to live by.

Christina said...

The Banana makes a damn fine t-shirt. And this is a beautiful story.

Big Momma Pimpalishisness said...


Tim said...

t - the postcard actually was a latin dude topless. He was also wearing a squirrel for a hat. So, I guess that was her type of guy.

f - moral of the story: I still love my t-shirt and I can't even remember her name.

c - they do, don't they? I feel either a shopping trip or a date with a radom club chick in my future.

b - hell yeah!

Leezer said...

How did you find out your wife was a hot chick? And does she like the B.R. t-shirt?

Oh great One said...

I was hoping for a sappy "how I met yo mamma" story.