Ali Baba | DirtyandThirty

by Liz Culley

“Check your coolant level.. ding..ding,” said the shiny navy Range Rover I believed to be a 2011 make.

How the fuck is this my Monday morning?

A sunny gorgeous and unproductive Friday, I luckily got called off from my restaurant gig having had a two bottle of wine- lunch with the ladies. I decided to put on a gorgeous dress I got in Paris, with a drop neck, meaning drop to the belly button.

My girl and I got a little thirsty, every spot was dead, we had no dollars in our expensive purses and I began to feel like a prostitute. We went to the only place that ever does right by us: Kokkari.

Greeks have a hard time resisting women with curves.

We were OK with that.

We were having our drinks, having a good time, and then one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen walks in and before I could really take it in, he was asking my name.

Now Soph was two Ouzos in and slightly rambling, bless her heart, and I was knee deep in conversation about the best restaurants in San Francisco.

Half Greek. Half Turkish. Already mentioned his mother three times within the first conversation; I was ready to disregard his “Mama and Yaya” issues for a dinner date.

We planned sushi for Sunday.

After Ali Baba left, 40 Thieves from the other side of the bar decided to poach on us and send us over some drinks. Being polite, I walked across to the bar to thank the men for the drinks. Before I could even say “Thank you,” a disgusting Greek pig licked the side of my face as if sign language or even some incoherent Greek wasn’t going to do the “you are welcome,” justice.

Five years ago I would have thrown my lovely Italian Pinot all over his hairy face, but being a lady, I slowly walked over to Sophia and told her to put the full glass of free booze down. She did and we left, but right before we left, Ali Baba had already texted me that he was glad to meet me.

A quick trip to the Mission, we plus a few friends went off to a nightclub where I swiftly pulled a sluttly blonde girl from Castro Valley away from her vato boyfriend and probably ended their relationship.

Somehow I got home the next morning. I pulled my shit together and headed off to work, hungover as a motherfucker. I received another text from Baba talking about a burrito and his excitement for our date. I was excited too.

I didn’t know what the fuck to wear. I never do. I told him to meet me for drinks and he said he’d meet me there, which I wasn’t exactly feeling. I lied and said I took a cab when really I wore flip flops and walked it, my broke ass in no condition for frivolous taxi rides, hid behind a corner, threw on stilettos and walked my ass into Aziza. I waited.

When he walked in his was as terrifyingly gorgeous as ever.

Good- looking people make me uncomfortable.

I feel as if there has to be something extremely shady about them to have had such a perfect outcome during conception.

We talked about our day, there is something slightly not so perfect about his personality, while he is sweet and means well, and is extremely intelligent; he is a tad cheesy. I mean, I don’t really know any other way to describe it.

We decided to go and get pizza and hopped in a navy blue Range Rover and listened to some Bouzouki music.

I was nervous in the car. I had no idea what the hell to say, my mind all over the place, liking him, not wanting to like him, bored, intrigued, guilty and scared that since I hadn’t eaten gluten or cheese in a month I was going to throw up all over the place.

Dinner was fun, and I ate all the shit I have been dreaming of for a month. He went to feed me, which was cute, but being that I am a complete fool I ended up with pizza all over my goddamned face. We found out that we had friends in common, I loosened up, I thought we were going to a bar, we went back to his apartment.

I told myself in the car I was going to have two glasses of wine, make out for a while and then high tail my fat ass home.

Almost two hours later a bottle of wine deep and a few Barry White songs, this Turkish thieve hadn’t even leaned in for a kiss.

I was suspicious.

He basically gave me three options: “Take my car and go home. Stay the night and leave tomorrow. Take my car in the morning.”

So I combined options two and three and he gave me a white shirt to slip into. I wasn’t drunk, relaxed, but part of me wanted to rummage through his liquor cabinet and down a shot of scotch.

I held it together, ate some toothpaste and did a couple of squats while pretending I was peeing so that my thighs felt toned.

We slipped into bed.

Still no kiss.

I stroked his hair, and finally, finally this fool manned up and kissed me.

It was passionate and we didn’t have sex.

I think it would have ruined it.

I woke up, we kissed, I felt ugly and he left the keys to the Rover.

I almost shit myself.

I have an expired license, $500 dollars in outstanding tickets and I had no idea how to get the emergency brake off that bitch.

With a little encouragement I smashed the Rover to Oakland, got the homies, who quickly looked through the glove box and disappointed me by pointing out that we were pushing an ’06, not a 2011.

I returned the car late, pocket called him while I was talking shit, to which he said he didn’t hear and when I arrived about two hours late (thank you Sophia) he was shirtless in crisp white boxers eating chocolate and reading a report.

I sat on the edge of my bed with my coat on.

Apparently he “assumed” I would be sleeping there, which of course in some way I wanted to, he laughed and said, “What are you going to take the car again?!” I smiled thinking “Yes motherfucker, give me back the smart key.” He called me a cab.

When he walked me out we both didn’t say, “ let’s talk… “ Or “I’ll see you.” I just smiled and left.

My broke ass hid behind a bush when I saw the cab and walked fifteen minutes to Market to catch the Muni.

He texted me “ Sweet Dreams,” and I just replied “ You too.”