Getting to Know Someone You Want to Have Sex With

Fuck you. The real problem with bringing your werewolf or vampire on a leash is that the mood does its own thing and i’m not paying full price for dinner. 

I was on a date the other day, she said “Yes, Yes, Yes…” and I said the same when she wanted me to spend money at the 1852. This is a very expensive restaurant built of an old Monterey House somewhere near the Museum of Fine Art. 1852 is literally their address so we both know they lack style and panache but will charge 30$ for eggs and sell absinthe for the same price as Mountain water in Tokyo. It is absurd. The Price.

Well, this old lady brought her wolf. Like anyone would really ask her to scoot over and grab her purse. We are so full of tourists that no one remembers how to steal or mug anymore. This was a great big ugly Wolf and no matter how many times she went to Petsmart and had that beast combed it was still just a stinking corpse of a dog, with a stupid little vest that read “Emotional Support Animal.” 

Fuck her. I got wolf hair in my mussel soup. Sheila bought the thirty-dollar bowl of exotic mushrooms which were supposed to taste like a Skor candy bar (English toffee in broth). We ordered the 128-dollar bottle of something red. It is usually very good to pretend that you don’t know each other very well and can have fun in the naked even though she is the woman who checks you into the dentist and calls your health network to argue that you really needed that crown. 

“How is the food, Sheila?” 

I don’t actually care so long as she feels royal and special and the four waiters don’t make eyes down her shirt. I get it. They are called titties or breasts or “oh my gods!” but they are not for the minimal-wage waiters who wait. Do your job you, draftsmen. 

Everything was going superbly until the manager or one of his helpers turned on the ceiling fan. I know this is an old throwback to the days when the Argentine Navy conquered Monterey Bay. Who the hell needs a ceiling fan next to the ocean in Central California? It’s stupid. Unless there was an old lady fart and we would have to protect our candles and the dainty flowers on the table. Because women who are about to receive The Great Love want candles and flowers. 

That’s when I found the wirey Canibus Lupus hair in her soup. 

I had been sucking this down for half an hour, trying to get my money’s worth, thinking about tender kisses, not really caring to send the soup back and get “fresh” Werewolf hair in the next batch. Really didn’t care to get in a DNA transmission situation with the chef (blame Ryan) because my job is to make this dental hygienist/receptionist feel like this is the last time in her life that she can dine like a queen. We are all doing the waltz and I might need hair plugs in Louisianna next week. 

Let’s enjoy the night my dear. 

Them damn clouds. 

Tuesday, October 15th said really bad things but there were clouds and the old lady with the old Cannabis Lupis looked pretty schnookered and she just wanted to be a charmed old lady two tables away and I shouldn’t have cared. 

We were just in the middle of the 3rd course of her steak, my fish (reverse that ) and then this six-foot-standing dog thing started to howl. Oh yeah. We all hear the damn thing howl and the waiters are huddling to see if they can move that old thing to the patio but it wasn’t even close to done, it was squatting like dinner was over, and it was cringing like the sound of Billy Joel in instrumental rendition was too much; this wolf, this fuck’n Emotional Support Animal for an old biddy who should live in Old Biddy convalescent hospital and not the lifeblood of the county, the place where Janis Joplin sang “down on me” to remind hippies that they worth more than their hairy pits. 

This old lady and her dog/wolf/Canis lupus — she just lets him transform right there in the main dining area! What the fuck? Why do I even pay taxes? 

I _immediately_called Animal Control which is part of the Monterey Police and I can’t imagine if they are from Seaside or where police live. I have never checked. I’m on with the local dispatch, “911” and tell that operator “Get me the police at once!” They want to know if I am harmed , causing harm, on a cell phone without an address. I listen to their crap for like twenty-seven seconds and blare back: SOME BITCH BROUGHT HER DOG to 1852!

Obviously, this means much more than I could convey in short words. Every second counts because Ryan Reynolds made it legal to defile food if the customer is difficult. I hate that guy but this wolf transforming 2 tables away is the immediate problem. If Ryan is actually back there crapping in the friole then I am going to take some food ‘to go’ and bring it to the USDA in Salinas and that bastard is done being Ironman or whatever stupid character he plays besides Mint Mobile. I hate that guy. 

No time to explain to the cops. “Get over here. People are going to die.” 

That might not be entirely correct with emotional support werewolves but in this case, I didn’t want the cops putting us in the last priority of the queue. They actually show up in force if a person is dying of a stroke in their home, you get police/fire/ambulance. Not sure what the police and fire are going to do for a stroke victim. 

So I did my job. I’m paying. This wolf is all standing upright, like ten feet tall and I try to change the conversation for my date who is a dental receptionist/hygienist. Don’t want her to lose the mood with the big ugly wolf ten feet away because that’s not important, the night is young and the moon is full. We can make beautiful music all night and hop on a small plane to Hawaii if it works right (which is less than the cost of the meal to get to the big island). 

And I’m still hopeful, trying to refill her glass and pat off the ten waiters who all want tips but get absolutely NOTHING if she can’t stay in the mood. I think her name was “Sheila” like Sheila E from the 80s except she had really short hair while the singer had huge hair. 

It’s embarrassing but I am trying not to notice how the wolf has completely transformed into the violent version, he ate the head of his owner, and he’s snacking on half the waiters. Might she consider some dessert? A port wine to wash down the flavors?

This is why you always pay with a credit card to complain later. I was feeling absolutely used and like I had to get a new dentist and start over. It was revolting to think that I would be older in 2 years when I recovered from this night. I’d probably be so jaded that I couldn’t even pick up drunk tourists in a Porsche. 

My lady, my Sheila — she must have felt my pain though I said nothing at all. Even when the police, the SWAT, the emergency firetruck with the big hose, and the fat butted ambulance showed up (obviously not able to revive the old woman or the waiters but they had hope) … my date just sips her wine and keeps a straight face. What a lady! I didn’t even recognize the situation when she told me to check out the schooner history on the wall and I turn around and she has taken out these fangs and ripped the throat of the canibus lupus and told the first responders to FUCK OFF in that cool Slavik way. Everybody is searching for somebody. 

I had no idea that she was like the last of the royal Dracul line and a total PHD in her home country with multiple advanced degrees in electronics and biotechnology. Holy shit. We spoke about if Elon would get us to Mars for hours. 

Wow. 

I would have never known that the most interesting woman/vampire/slavik PHD was right across the table from me hankering for some knish and avoiding the plate of salmon because they couldn’t grill the fish without a clove of garlic.