The Ditzy Diaries: Second Chances

As I give my column a second chance, I think about what relationships deserve a second chance too.

I felt like I was cheating on myself. Here I was, going on a date with someone who forgot the respect they had for me, and apparently, themselves. Am I too serious? Too strict? I always disagree with my neighbor, Gabriel, when he says, “believe someone the first time” because people can learn and evolve. And how can I blame someone who’s, like Taylor Swift said, feeling 22?

I met DJ an hour late at The Guesthouse on Mills. He ordered my spicy skinny margarita just before the bar closed, knowing I’d be late. The vibes were immaculate, as a 22 year old would say.

We met at the airport a few years ago. He was a TSA Agent I developed a crush on, but nothing was pursued until earlier this year. (I won’t count last year’s drunk hookup with SpongeBob in the background.)

I’d closed myself off to romance, but was curious to see if DJ could be an exception. I got my answer one night when he came to my apartment. He asked to use my bathroom and after 30 minutes, I thought he jumped out the window after seeing me with no makeup.

I realized he was just having one of those drunk nights because I found him trying to sleep on my bath mat, blocking the door and his jeans neither on or off. I requested a Lyft and rode with him home. A few days later, I let him know he wasn’t the exception.

Back in the present, like a modern-day Cinderella, DJ wanted to leave as the clock struck 2.

“No. When you’re with Darry, you close out the bar. And,” I looked around, “I know they’re technically closed, but it’s not closed until we’re the last people here.”

And so we officially closed out Guesthouse.

I found out his favorite flowers are lillies, and he found mine were sunflowers. Throughout the conversation, I realized how much I missed romance. He was mentally saving every important detail. And somehow, my ditzy and forgetful brain remembered his life.

He works at that hip hotel with the rooftop bar in the non-hip Downtown Orlando. I remembered the security guard who got fired after sleeping with someone from the front desk, the barista who made his daily matcha, and the valet who called out every week.

We walked on Mills after Guesthouse. A few blocks down, a guy had one too many and I accidentally stepped on his vomit. As I moonwalked on the grass, wondering if he’d end up on someone’s bath mat too, DJ and I ended up in front of Lorelei, where I had wanted to dine since I discovered it.

We made reservations for Valentine’s.

I ordered a Lyft for help with the walk back and then DJ drove me home. But I wasn’t ready for the night to end so I told him to stop at Wawa. “I’m hungry.”

I was hungry, but I’d never ask to stop at Wawa. Especially at 3 am, when they stopped making loaded fries. But I did. I ordered a spicy chicken sandwich, a Caesar, and a Diet Cherry Coke. I was hungry.

At home, I said goodbye 10 times. But I still wasn't ready. “Come inside. I don’t want your BLT to get cold.” I knew BLTs were cold.

We went inside and I forgot to light my candles. For dessert, Klondike Bars from Dollar General. I hadn’t had one since I was a kid. Very artificial. But DJ didn’t care about the spicy chicken breath, Voluspa’s Baltic Amber, or GMO-filled ice cream. He just cared about me. All night.

As I walked him out, he said, “Tomorrow I have a reservation for Earl’s at…”

“Yes.”

“…four o’clock. It’s happy hour.”

“Yeah, I was going to Millennia anyways.” It was true. “I have to do Bloomingdales so I’ll do that before. I’ll save the Pottery Barn clearance section for us after.”

He laughed. And then I kissed him.

The next day, I met him at 4:40. I noticed the staff enjoying our foodie fairytale romance. I decided to tell the server this was our first date. Perhaps like an Opentable reservation, I could modify our story.

Our server was watching us leave so I told DJ I had to go to the restroom, and he should join me. I knew they knew what that meant. I had to add some spice. For the plot.

I’m not sure where this will go, or if I’m particularly ready for a true romance, but I’m glad I gave DJ a second chance. And as long as management remains the same, Earl’s Kitchen + Bar will not give us a second chance for a reservation.