lundi 17 avril 2006

Chicken, soup, and idiots.

Of late, I've been really into soup. Very fresh soups, with nothing more than whatever vegetables are in season (bought at the farmers' market of course), perhaps some potatoes or turnips to thicken the soup, perhaps some complimentary herbs, all brought to a simmer with some chicken stock, and pureed togther. It's really hard to find a good restaurant that serves soup, and the prepared stuff you get at the supermarket is either way too salty or just icky. I'm not sure why I've suddenly become such an ardent fan of soups - maybe it's because after a long (hah!) day at school, I like to curl up on the couch with a big steaming mug of soup from which to sip. Plus, you get a nice healthy serving of vegetables, and you don't have to chew it all.

Maybe I'm just lazy and don't like chewing my food. Lately, I also like my fruit in the form of smoothies. So I'm becoming an old gummy no-toothed lady before my time. Goes along with the sore back from sitting too long.

Anyway, over the weekend I had some friends over for cauliflower, spinach, and tarragon soup along with roast chicken. A very wintry meal, at odds with the rather warm weather we've been having lately (aside from that day of annoying rain). But roast chicken and soup. The only more comfort food-ish you could get would be to have mac and cheese also.

Anyhow. Because while I could talk about soup forever (I made a leek and cauliflower one last night), it's not terribly interesting. What is more interesting, perhaps, is that before leaving for Paris, I met a hairdresser at a very fancy chichi salon. I'm not going to get into the details of how I thought he was staring at me because I hadn't done anything with my hair that morning and was picking up something from a friend, and thus was very self-conscious because I was in a Hair Salon. Suffice it to say that he was given my number, because it turned out he thought I was cute (rather than that I had bad hair, which is somewhat of a relief, as I'm still trying to grow out the hatchet job of two haircuts ago). I mean, why not? A hairdresser? At the very least, I could get free hair products and perhaps even a good haircut out of it, right?

All names and identifying salons have been changed to protect the innocent stupid.

[Text from hairdresser guy, 12:46pm]
Good afternoon sweetie pie. This is Sam

[Text from me. 3:56pm]
Sam who?

[Text from hairdresser guy, 4:50pm]
From [the fancy dancy hair salon]

[Text from me, 5:30pm]
Oh hi! Thought you might’ve been my roommate fr last year & was v confused. How are you?

[Text from hairdresser guy, 5:35pm]
No worries. I am fine. How is everything. How was your day. I think you are so cute. Can I ask how old you are.

So, I was really confused because I had been mistakenly told that his name was something else, so to receive a text message from an unknown number, from someone who had my roommate from last year's name, threw me for a loop. And, yes, he was a little forward. A little too forward. I don't like being called pet names by people I've barely met (since I said maybe two words to him at the hair salon), and I always find it slightly rude when people just come out and ask how old you are. When I met my friend for dinner that night, she told me that I was being hypercritical (who, me?) and dude, free hair care. And maybe some bed action. But free hair care. So with her help, I came up with what I thought was a very clever reply.

[Text from me, 8:24pm]
Good, busy too. Older than Natalie Portman, younger than Reese Witherspoon. You?

[Text from hairdresser guy, 8:54pm]
Cutie pie. Have no idea how old they are.

That is what IMDB is for, you idiot. Plus, if you work for a high-end hair salon in Beverly Hills, shouldn't you make it your duty to know such things? Also, it is sad that in FOUR short text messages, he has shown himself to be not at all witty. And I hate my guys dull.

[Text from me, 9:47pm]
Definitely old enough to drink. Why, aren’t you?

And I didn't hear any more from him that night, so I thought that things were over. Oh, not by a long shot. For the next morning, I received:

[Text from hairdresser guy, 9:40am]
Sorry. I feel 2 sleep early. I like your attitude. Very sexy. I will guess 24.

I can give attitude in spades. I however, cannot take stupid males at all. Even for the potential of free hair care. As one of my friends put it: "PROS: sex and hair products. CONS: cheesy not so bright guy". But I responded, because I don't know, I didn't want to work on my papers that morning, that must have been it.

[Text from me, 10:37am]
Close, 25. How old are you?

[Text from hairdresser guy, 10:52am]
39, but act 25

THAT, my friends, is NOT a selling point. Acting FOURTEEN years younger than your actual age is really not cool, in my book. If anything, it is a total turnoff. But I had one last question:

[Text from me, 11:23am]
Where are you from? LA originally?

You see, I thought that if he was from, oh, I don't know, a foreign country so he didn't really have a full grasp of the English language nor American customs or norms, I'd give him a pass.

[Text from him, 11:41am]
Yes mama. San Dimas.

SO NO. No free pass. Do not pass go and collect your $200. I was done with this. Not even for the free hair care could I deal with someone like this. If you are going to start contacting me by text-messaging me, you bet your ass you need to be more clever than the rocks-for-brain guy with whom I was dealing. So I wrote him back and told him that I was actually going to Paris on vacation and would get in touch when I got back. As it concerned him, I was going to move to Paris and never come back. And I thought that that was the end of the brilliant but didn't-even-get-off-the-ground affair.

Um, no. Last week I got a call from him, wanting to know if I was back from Paris yet and to give him a call when I got back into town. Ergh.

I spent the weekend dithering over what to do. It's bad karma to not return a phone call, and I thought that perhaps I'd go out with him just because he was so persistent, but luckily, I was snapped out of my weird benovelent mood by my smarter friends, who all told me that that was a stupid idea and that I didn't owe him anything. Which is true. Another friend further reminded me that I hate guys who don't follow my instructions and that this guy definitely did NOT follow my instructions and so that all bad karma would reflect on him, not me. True also. And that this guy was probably no more brilliant in real life than he was over text messages, and that even if we just went out for a drink I'd probably have a miserable time and nothing is worth that. Definitely true.

Is there a moral to the story here? I dunno. Oh, that free hair products aren't worth this kind of idiocy.