Rich Guys, Pt II

Thinking you've found "the one" before you've met said "one" really only sets you up for a healthy dose of disappointment, I've found.

As I've mentioned before in my post Rich Guys and Kelly Clarkson, I playfully signed up for a website called Millionaire Match, which has all kinds of people, but more importantly rich, handsome, entrepreneurial ones (what could be better, I ask). The interesting thing about the site is that when you sign up for it, it asks if you make over $150 grand a year. If you say no, you are grouped in the non-millionaire club and there is nothing on your profile related to income. If you say that you make $150+, you are asked to specify (the max category they offer is $1Billion a year, but I have yet to see one of those profiles). For those wealthy members that want to obliterate any shred of doubt, there is a Certified Millionaire option, where they can fax in their W4s from the previous year to verify that they do, in fact, make as much money as they claim they do. These members receive a sparkling ruby emblem on their profile next to their yearly income.


And after exchanging a few lighthearted emails with the hot Persian fashion mogul I mentioned in Rich Guys, we decided we were going to hang out. We spent a few weeks texting for days and spending hours on the phone chatting and laughing, and it seemed clear that we had chemistry. I found him on the pompous side (his entire profile is quoted directly from Zoolander.... as in "I'm sure there's more to life than being really really ridiculously good looking"... you know what I mean) and he makes a lot of comments like "try not to daydream about me too much," but I took them with a grain of salt and figured he had a healthy sense of humor. Plus, in his pictures he looks like he actually is ridiculously good-looking. And to make matters better, he's under 30, is totally intelligent, makes me laugh like crazy, and is certified as making $1Million+ a year. Not bad.

The day finally came to hang out with the hot Persian fashion mogul (or Zoolander, as he will now be referred to) and I was beyond nervous. I spent the day shopping for new clothes (they had to at least look expensive... he's not only rich beyond reason but also owns a clothing company for God's sakes), getting my nails done, tanning, exfoliating, deep conditioning, moisturizing, and so on. Forget any flaws he might have; I wanted to seem as flawless as possible, since on paper this guy was just that.

I told him that I was going to meet up with an old friend for a little while before we hung out, which he said was totally fine as he'd be getting home from the gym and showering at that point. As it turned out, my old friend likes to talk a lot (I guess I had forgotten that part) and our one drink turned into a long-ass dinner. Except that I didn't eat anything but a bloody mary because me and Zoo were supposed to eat at some chic new restaurant in Weho, so I sat there wishing he would eat faster and staring at his delicious-looking mashed potatoes. I texted Zoolander a few times, apologizing profusely for my tardiness, but he assured me it was no problem at all. I finally got out of there and rushed over to his hot Hollywood home, now 45 minutes late.

The directions he gave me were clear, and he described his house as the one with a lot of lights and a yellow Corvette in the driveway. He was right; of the whole street, his house was by far the most well-lit, which showcased an amazing modern style concrete porch area sitting proudly in front of a three story house and beautiful landscape. And the yellow Corvette was not the only flashy car in his long driveway.... only the brightest. I knocked on the door, shaking a bit and trying to breathe deeply.

When he opened it, I was actually relieved to see he wasn't as perfect as I imagined. He stood at about 5'8" and had a big nose and a white blazer over a blue shirt. He was extremely welcoming though, and after asking for it gave me a little tour of his house. It was very lightly furnished; he told me he hadn't lived there long and was remodeling it. He showed me his kitchen (my favorite part of any house) and it was surprisingly small. I found a small Menorah in a glass cabinet. "Are you Jewish?" "Only on holidays," he told me. He took me upstairs and showed me his rec room, music room, art room, lofts, and finally his master bedroom - complete with the most gigantic, mahogany 4-poster bed, which he said he got in an auction of late 16th century royal furniture. I tried not to act too impressed. We went back downstairs.

The one thing I couldn't take my eyes off of, though, was a wall-sized painting of the famous moment when Britney Spears and Madonna kissed on stage at the MTV VMA's. I asked about it, and he told me he painted it, along with a few ocean scenes hanging in the kitchen that also closely resembled photographs. Impressive! He said he was working on a collection of important moments in Pop Culture.... sexy.

I sat down in his living room in front of his 50" Flat Panel Plasma TV hanging on the wall to watch some music videos while he made us drinks and called a cab. We chatted and drank until it arrived. He said it seemed a bit late for dinner but we should go out for some drinks and maybe an appetizer. As much as I had been totally starving, I had already started to get my buzz on and had pretty much lost my appetite anyway.

We got in the cab and sped off to the Sofitel's Stone Rose Lounge, a totally swanking hotel bar that was packed with good-looking LA socialites. He asked if they were still serving appetizers - the cocktail waitress said they had closed the kitchen an hour ago. He handed her something, and asked, "are you sure?" She scurried off and came back with good news. We ordered some crab thing (I was too drunk at this point to really care about reading the menu) and got a table. We sat intimately close, which somehow seemed comfortable already. There was just something about him I connected to. It didn't have anything to do with what he does or what he has, but there's just something about him that puts me at ease.

We laughed about how we had come about the Millionaire site; my story paled in comparison to his: Running on the treadmill at the gym next to Tommy Lee (yes, THE Tommy Lee) working on his laptop simultaneously, he told him he thought that was a great idea to bring a laptop to the gym. "I'm on this website, its amazing. You gotta join it," Tommy told him. Millionaire Match, no less. He was sold. (And so am I!)

Our crab thing came and it turned out to be A-MAZING... some totally rich crab/mayo mix on top of sticky rice and stuff, but he wouldn't eat any of it. "Oh my god," I said, "You don't eat shellfish. Why didn't you say something??" Duh. He's Jewish. I'm an idiot. He took a few bites and mmm-ed a little bit to make me feel better. I ate a few more bites and left the rest.

After a few more impressive speciality martinis we headed outside to a glass firepit and continued our conversation. The thing I found most surprising about him was that his cockiness (in jest or not) totally disappeared in person. He seemed completely humbled, and come to think of it, sort of in awe of me. Not that I think I deserve that kind of reaction, but it was certainly nice coming from someone that I was totally intimidated by prior to our meeting.

We got up to leave (I a little unbalanced no less) and he took my hand. Almost outside he stopped and turned to me, and leaned in close. "There's just... something about you... something I'm drawn to, I feel like I can't get enough of you." My heart raced. I smiled and played it cool. He kissed me. My heart raced faster. I kissed back. We pulled away and smiled at each other close.

We practically skipped out to the front, giddy in our newly discovered intimacy. He asked a doorman for a cab, and tipped him when it pulled up. He told the cabbie his address and made out in the backseat like teenagers for a few blocks. He pulled away suddenly, and sat straight up. "Why are you taking Santa Monica," he asked sternly. The cabbie explained he couldn't turn around on the street we'd been on. He pushed. "We could have taken Robertson, why didn't we take Robertson?" They argued back and forth 'til we pulled up to his house. He paid and we walked inside.

"Was that guy trying to stiff me??"

I wasn't sure how to respond. Was he really that concerned with a few extra dollars? Even I wouldn't have given it a second thought, and with my monthly salary being less than what he makes in a single day, I couldn't understand his frustration.

"No... I don't think so. It sounded like he had a reason to go that way."

He insisted he was trying to pull a fast one on him. I suggested that maybe he had a family at home he was struggling to take care of. He told me that wasn't his problem. After a few minutes of this, I tried to reason with him.

"Do you realize how many seconds it takes you to make $3?"

That seemed to calm him down. He made us some more drinks and we cozied up on the couch and made out playfully 'til the wee hours of the morning. I told him I had to leave, he asked me if I wanted to stay. He was worried about my driving after having had quite a few drinks and being tired.

I was so concerned with not staying at his house that I convinced not only him, but myself, that I would be just fine to make the trip home. We made out for the next 20 minutes, slowly inching our way to the door, where we said a sad goodbye and I got in my car and took off, only to realize that I was definitely too drunk to be driving.

(Sidenote: I do NOT under any circumstances condone drunk driving. In fact, I am extremely against it and am always 100% willing to pick up my friends anywhere in the middle of the night, no matter how late. This was a mistake all the way, and one that I won't make again!)

I tried to turn around and go back to his house so I could stay the night, but was lost in a matter of minutes. I drove around for two hours before I was able to find my way to the freeway to get out of LA, and another hour on the freeway back to my house.

Upon arriving home, I burst into tears, never so relieved to be alive.


On a happier note, other than the totally obvious display of awful stereotypical behavior (and I HATE stereotyping) during the second cab ride, I think it was a pretty successful date. He's out of town for a month, but I guess we'll see what happens when he gets back!