Attention, attention: Mr. Wild Card is single. S-I-N-G-L-E. Now, I wouldn't normally make such a huge production about something like this... but this is a guy that every woman – big or small, tall or short, old or preteen – wants/ yearns/ needs to be around. He’s like a very own magnetic force. Truly unique, truly down to earth, truly hilarious, and no matter what, TRULY... the life of the party. Every woman has probably experienced their own version of a Wild Card. If you haven’t, I highly suggest you find one.
To trust or not to trust the Wild Card, that is the question. With his flirty nature, his free spirit and his ability to charm any woman, it only seems natural to want question his every move. Sigh, he is so unattainable, yet all I want to do is conquer him.
So, you can understand how head over feet (insert Alanis Morrisette’s jam here) I was when he messaged me the day his 6 year relationship ended… to “hangout”. Was I a rebound? Fuck ya. Did I care? Fuck no. The skanky school girl in me pounced on the opportunity. Years of anticipation... WELL worth it. Five times in a night worth it. (sorry, roomie!) Getting a little personal, I feel. Welcome to my blog!
Fast forward a couple months, and we are at date #5. The Wild Card recently moved into a new condo, like a true bachelor. During the time weren’t doing each other, there were definitely messages of doing each other, but we never actually did each other... until now. A part of me wanted to just keep him around as a eff buddy, but my more moral/ Iwannagetmarriedandhavekidseventuallyjustloveme part of me was screaming at my skanky side to at LEAST get dinner out of it before you give up the lower nether regions, again. And that’s exactly what I got.
The Wild Card invited me over to his place for dinner. To my surprise, he actually went all out! He cooked up a feast – seasoned chicken breast with “bruschetta potatoes” and steamed carrots. And for dessert, frozen oranges to ‘clean the palette’ like they do in many Asian restaurants. There were candles lit, music softly playing in the background, and the Moscato wine was deliciously chilling in the fridge. Key. To. My. Heart. Unless you don’t have a romantic bone in your body, how can a woman not fall for this? Damn you.
As the night progressed, the conversation progressed, the music got progressively louder, I got progressively drunker, and the progressive become the inevitable fill in the blanks here.
After we filled in the blanks, it was 2 am. Disclaimer: It’s a Tuesday night. A work night. We decided we needed more wine…duh. Income the Shiraz. Income the tunes. Income the greatest moment I’ve had in a really long time: Picture this – music is blaring with all the amazing jams of the 80’s and 90’s, red wine in one hand, cigarette in the other, belting out song lyrics like we were in a karaoke bar; it was truly an episode right out of Californication. We harmonized our voices to the tunes of Hootie and the Blowfish.
With a genuine smile on my face during the heat of a karaoke moment, I couldn’t help but think – ‘if nothing ever comes out of the Wild Card and I… I am honestly grateful to have met such a fun loving, unique, legitimate human being. Everyone needs a Wild Card in their life. I am happy I found mine.’ With that, I put out my smoke, finished my last sip of wine, bid farewell to Pearl Jam, hopped into bed, wrapped my arms tightly around the Wild Card and braced myself for the worst hangover I had felt in months.
Worth every throbbing moment.
La Blonde xx