A girl can dream...of a house.

Awhile back, I was browsing for a set of chairs, on Craigslist. I ended up coming across these two posts, after much debate, I began to daydream that the chairs on the right (fondly nicknamed cognac chairs) were the ones for me. So I wrote the seller, and we scheduled a time for the next day for me to pick them up.


The next day rolls around, and an hour before me going to pick them up the seller decides to tell me that he has decided to give them to his cousin. Now flakiness runs rampant on sites like Craiglist, but of course I decided to tell the seller that these chairs were the key to me having a house straight out of the pages from Dwell magazine (the magazine that makes most designers depressed because no one can afford to have a home that looks that good).  After said angst email, ensue one of the strangest engagements I have ever encountered online.


First it starts:


Seller: Oh you like cool design?
Me: I am an architect by trade...
Seller: Oh really, I love architecture, my house is actually a famous architectural piece in LA!
Me: do tell...


And before I know it, I am getting images of one of the most beautiful 1960s houses I have ever seen, and to top it off, my architectural coworkers know the house, and to triple top it off, this guy has put a modern flare to it. I am drooling with envy, and obviously hooked. I didn't think I was easy, in fact muscle cars don't even do it for me (well ok, unless its a 1969 gun metal gray mustang or VW fast back, and then you might as well just tell me to not wear panties that day), but beautiful 1950/60 homes will get me every time. Especially when people update the kitchens to either a bulthaup, henry built (or the like). This guy's kitchen had a hidden range that was exposed when the top counter slid to the right. It was a sexy beast of a home.  I was, for the first time, superficially intrigued.


Of course, the logical part of me, screamed bullshit that someone with this kind of an amazing abode would be selling chairs on craigslist. It seemed like absolute malarkey, and it actually seemed like he was trolling for women with the guise of cool chairs.  But after many google stalks, and many many photos of the home later (in its process of being reconstructed), it became apparent that no in fact, this was for real.


I am not going to lie, I caved, and the flirting started. I imagined myself sitting in that amazing house, painting amazing pieces of artwork in its living spaces, sipping expensive wine, and laughing at insanely rich people and their stupid jokes. I was in. Give me the piece of paper and I will sign the dotted line. But before I could go any further, I had to actually meet the guy...oh yeah...the guy...here I am drooling over a home, and I know nothing really of the guy. His stats (or what he told me before we met):
Good looking
Tall
Successful (lawyer turned plastic surgeon)
Educated (ivy league)


...ding ding ding and ding...


He invited me over to his home to cook me dinner (in order to make up for the loss of cognac chairs), but I knew that would not be smart. Not only because I didn't know this guy and I wasn't about to go to his home for the first meet and greet, but because I would probably end up making out with that damn range, and that would just set a bad precedent on the first date. So instead we settled on meeting at a local wine bar.  God, my road to snobbery was well on its way. I spent two hours getting ready (so not me); The curls, the red dress, the eyeliner...the nines were making a play, because god dammit I wanted that house, and i didn't care how superficial I had to be to get it.  Push up bra (that resides in the darkest corner of my drawer) you are coming out tonight! I think Los Angeles cried a little tear of momma joy over these shallow shenanigans. 


Of course, as I rounded the corner of the bar, none of those above mentioned traits met me. No, what met me was a short fat Egyptian man wearing a striped business shirt with a duck on it.


This was the exact moment that I realized two things: Yes, it makes me incredibly superficial to not have been instantaneously attracted to his physique (but I challenge anyone to have rounded that corner and to not have had the same reaction), and two, no matter how amazing a persons house is, no matter what car they drive, no matter how rich they are, if I am not attracted to them, I don't give a shit about the rest of it. Which led me to know for one hundred percent certainty that I will never be a gold digger. So props to me. Of course, with these realizations, dreams of living in that house died.


It goes without saying, I was very civil, we had wine and cheese, talked about art, but it was rather obvious that the baby had been thrown out with the bath water. After a couple of more civil emails back and forth, we slowly pitter-pattered back to our normal routine. Well I should say I pitter-pattered back to my normal routine, he continued to try and get me to come to his home (e.g. wanting to use a piece of my art for a photo shoot, but not allowing me to talk directly to the magazine about my art; telling me he had been robbed twice and that he didn't like to be alone, needing advice on what paint to choose for his walls, inviting me over for dinner with my friends...etc..etc). Regardless, the illusion was up. And eventually the emails stopped. Or so I thought...


Some time later, in a last ditch effort, he sent a farewell image/email to me.

"Hi E,

I thought you'd like to see the attached picture taken of my house and a model during a photo shoot last week. 

Hope you're doing well.

M"

Yes M. I am doing well, and no I am still not interested. No matter how hot the model and that house are.