Sunday, March 29, 2009
After Carly's season finale tonight, the trio headed to Toi for some tasty Thai food. Afterwards, we met up with my friend from work at a very popular bar down the street in Hollywood called Happy Endings. The place is always packed; a great bar with an awesome dj spinning an eclectic mix of music (Kate Walsh and the entire Private Practice cast were there celebrating a birthday!) when a guy started talking to me... that was the first guy I have met in LA that didn't instantly annoy me. He wasn't a short guy with a pretty face and all too big ego to make up for his lack in height. He didn't assume I was an aspiring actress and his jaw didn't even hit the floor in disbelief processing the concept that I could actually be "a real nurse". He wasn't using his monologue to pick me up and he didn't hand me his head shot to remember him by (okay, no one's actually done that but every hipster does seem to never be able to get out character). I could tell he was from the East Coast because he was wearing a collared Polo and had (yet) not fallen to the trendy demise of tacky t-shirts that could just as easily be a tattoo. And to top it off he was from Winnipeg. He seemed pretty alright. Until... as Carly is simultaneously texting me from the bar down the street "I have never been hit on more in my entire life! I hate single life!" (we are not used to being out without each other to rescue one another from awkward hit-ons or save us from forced dancing!)... I made the mistake of asking him what brought him to the States... "School." "Oh, where at?" "Cornell." "Really? I had friends that played hockey there." "Get out, I played hockey there!?" The conversation started going downhill real fast when he proceeded to tell me that not only did he grow up in Manitoba, move to Cornell to play hockey but he was now on the West Coast applying to med schools to obtain a 4-year degree in health. Fuck me. Thankfully, it was last call as I have never had a fairy tale fade so fast. So much for my happy ending.