By nature, I’m a socially sullen person. By that, I mean that when I’m out and about in public, I put on my “don’t talk to me” face so that I can get in and out with the least amount of interaction with others. Grocery store baggers, bank tellers and cheery hair stylists are my Kryptonite and I am the mild mannered, if perhaps slightly less-musculared, Superman.
After my recent trip up to TrishaTruly’s, thanks to her man’s assistance in locating some of the best online sources of “free from somewhere” movie and television programming, I’ve been catching up on episodes of “Dr. Who,” “Dexter” and I’ve even now watched all two seasons of “Californication.” David Duchovny is one cool dude–always has been. Ever since his X-Files days, I’ve admired his lazy delivery and seemingly casual demeanor, and it’s evident in every role he plays, including the sex-addicted writer on Californication. I’m drawn to this show for a number of reasons: his job (cuz, it’s kinda like mine), Duchovny as an actor, lots of breasts, and some amazing cameo appearances from people who must owe either Duchovny or the other producer on the show, some serious favors (e.g., Tom Cruise did a quickie).
If you’ve never watched the show, Duchovny plays a writer (Hank Moody) in L.A. who is living the party life. He drinks like a fish, smokes a boat-load of ‘the pot’ and he picks up girls like nobody’s business. It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, or where he is, the whole show is one big hottie-fest.
Definitely NOT like my life. Don’t get me wrong, I may only be 5′ 8″ tall, but I’ve done OK. I once dated a girl who ended up getting implants and then becoming an Atlanta Falcons Cheerleader. I pulled a Hootie and the Blowfish and had one come knocking on my door after she left her husband. But still, I don’t just walk down the aisle in the grocery store with a bottle of Jim Bean in my hand and have the ladies give me ‘the eye.’
Until last week.
I picked the boys up from Daycare a tad early and headed over to the local mega-mart shopping center. First we picked up some dog food and treats at the pet store and then we headed over to the grocery store where the boys wedged themselves into one of those buggies that has a big plastic race-car on the front. I mean, it’s cool for them, but it makes navigating those tiny store aisles something of a challenge.
Looking back on it, the next thirty minutes seem a bit surreal. The boys were being cute-crazy and I’m sure that, more than anything I was doing, attributed to the smiles, chit-chat and looks I received from all the female shoppers. But something was happening out of the ordinary. Women smiled at me. They looked me in the eye. And as I turned the corner once, an achingly attractive, late-20’s-something blonde girl in heels and black ankle-length pants stopped, looked demurely over at me and said something in a self-deprecating fashion as she lowered her eyes (oooh, that’s HOT!) before flashing a brilliant smile and heading left. Honestly, I felt like Hank Moody walking around the store. And the weird thing was, I was happy. I was smiling. I was having a GOOD TIME!
Out in public no less!
I’m now starting to wonder how many single years I wasted acting unapproachable. Sure, I have always been able to turn on the charm when necessary, but most of the time I didn’t bother. Looking back…man, what a waste. It was a Zen-like moment that I’m sure will not happen again. But for just a few minute there, I knew what it must feel like to be a PLAYA! It felt good. It was fun.
It could get a guy in a LOT of trouble–married or otherwise.