Illustration by Cécile Mancion
Since I have been staying with Séb during my transition of finding a new home, and sorting out my paper work, we've been getting a taste of what domestic life would be like together. I forgot what it's like to live with a man, and am thankful that every night is not date night. I'm free to do my nerdy single girl things like watching bad American television in the other room with while I instant message Kitty who is six hours behind in New York at work. If I really wanted to go all out, I'd whip up one of my homemade masks but we're not at sugar scrub egg white status yet. Maybe in another year.
Last night, wanting in on some of my American bliss, Séb requested to watch an episode the Golden Girls, to see what all the fuss was about. Yes, I do make a fuss about it. Feeling festive by his interest in my customs, I poured ourselves two large glasses of rosé, filled up a bowl of terrible French tortilla chips, lit the sparkling mint candles that Ginger gave us in April, cracked open the windows to let in the spring air, and launched into season three of my four my favorite old ladies. I was so excited. If this went well, the opportunities would be endless! We could move onto Hot in Cleveland, Chelsea Lately or even Housewives New Jersey. I'm fanning myself from how worked up I'm getting.
Nestled on his couch, we started an episode that I've seen over a thousand times, but focused a bit more than usual in order to be prepared for potential translation questions, as my illegal GG download never gives me the option of French subtitles. At one point during an episode where the girls are at a restaurant, Séb who pays attention to detail, made a comment about the waiter's 80s haircut. I agreed that his haircut was a bit dated, but before I could finish my sentence, I took another look at the guy. What had I seen him in before? He looked so familiar. I love figuring the who's who, the who's been in what, and who's become who when watching old shows. Like when we discovered George Clooney was the cop in the undercover episode, so satisfying.
The waiter on the other hand, seemed more familiar than George, perhaps someone I have met, and then it hit me. I let out a very noticeable gasp. How could I have completely forgotten about this? I guess somewhere between leaving LA, moving to Brooklyn, changing jobs, learning French, moving to Paris, planning a wedding and then not planning a wedding, and everything else that has happened since 2003, it somehow slipped my mind that I've more than just seen this guy before, I have carnal knowledge of him. If I didn't feel old before, seeing a guy you slept with in a rerun of the Golden Girls certainly seals the deal.
Combing through my memory, going back over ten years, I remembered a conversation we had over dinner at The Spanish Kitchen on La Cienega where he had told me that he was in an episode of the Golden Girls, but I swear I thought he was kidding! How could I not?! What guy in his 20s was in an episode of the Golden Girls?!
In muted hysteria, not wanting Séb to think that his girlfriend is a total whore, I quietly grabbed my laptop to confirm that it was in fact him. His updated IMDB page revealed that he wasn't 29 like he had told me at the time, but rather he was 39, which is just living proof that dating in LA is a nightmare. On top of his GG gig as "Annoyed Waiter", there was also an episode of Weeds that I actually once saw with MF, who would have had a heart attack if he knew, and an episode of Entourage that I watched with my brother, who would be less than thrilled thinking about his sister with this dude. Hey, at least the guy is still working. Good for him.
Being pulled out of my self-inflicted implosion by the intense stare of Séb, who clearly wanted to know what the hell I was doing, brought up an internal debate. How much do you share with your partner about your past? Things like the number of guys you've been with, a history of any recreational drug use, have you slept with an extra on an 80s sitcom, if you've ever cheated on your taxes, how much is too much information? Me, I'm honest to a fault where in the past, offering too much information has led to misunderstandings. Where do you draw the line between over-sharing and being shady and secretive?
