The Cherry GuyThat's right. All you boys on that list better start sweating. I've decided to start a weekly post highlighting some of my fondest dating memories.
I was getting my hair done at one of those fancy DryBar locations the other day, when I noticed the pair of cherries tattooed on my male hairdresser's forearm. "Hey! I have that same tattoo...but in a much more ridiculous location!" He, being gay, thought it was adorable. It brought me back to 2010...when I moved back home with my parents and started working at Bloggiano's. After finishing my training, I was on a mission for extreme drunkenness and hot guys. Where did we go? A douchey LA sports bar...Actually I think it's even #9 on this list of douchiest LA bars. Perfect.
Whilst drowning my "I'm living at home...again" sorrows in vodka soda, a girlfriend and I stepped outside for some fresh air and started talking to a pair of guys having a smoke break. To be honest, it was really dark so I wasn't sure if he was hot. But he was definitely a tall, bearded hipster who told me instantly that he's always wanted to marry a little Jewish girl. Swoon.
He had noticed the tattoo peeking out of my top on my ribs and stated his general lack of interest in tattoos. "They're stupid. That's why I got the dumbest one I could think of," he said. He lifted his shirt just enough to show the lack of muscles developed from his vegetarian diet, and pulled down the side of his jeans just slightly, revealing a pair of cherries on his left hip.
Holy fuck. I have the same tattoo. And not just "Hey, we both have a pair of cherries so that's funny" kind of tattoos...they were mirroring each other as we stood face-to-face. Was it fate that he had the same tattoo my family and friends make fun of me for getting when I was 18 and feeling rebellious? Maybe...We ended up chatting the rest of the night and he asked to kiss me. Sure. He even went so far as to ask if he could take me to dinner the next night. Why not?
The Cherry Guy took me on a few dates Downtown...and impressed me with his bachelor pad loft. One too many games of Dirty Jenga (you don't want to know) and I was telling myself he was probably not boyfriend material. The man was holding onto a pair of leopard speedos from his glory days in college...ten years prior. When he asked me why I wouldn't have sex with him, I told him I was looking for a relationship. He was looking for a girl he could meet up with at the end of the night. No thanks!