Welcome to the dream date series, where I hypothesize what would happen if I went out on a date with a celebrity. Already I have dated both Tom Hardy and Justin Bieber. Today, in honor of John Carter's opening tomorrow, I am going out on a Texan date with the überhot Taylor Kitsch. 

4:30PM: I get a call from an unknown number. I usually don't pick these phone calls up because it's AT&T trying to tell me that I need to pay my bill. Psh. Screw that. I only get three f*cking bars half the time. 

4:32PM: Voicemail from Taylor. I mean, I assume it's Taylor. There's a lot of mumbling and the only words I can make out are "car" "transmission" and "come by." Immediately play the voicemail for my girlfriend. We debate.

4:45PM: Debate over, we decide that the voicemail was code for "my car's messed up, come on over to my place whenever." Two extra sprays of Faith Hill's "True" perfume into my cleavage and I'm ready to go.

5:15PM: I narrowly avoid a rogue bull that's in the middle of the road, but I make it to Taylor's house. I make sure he can't hear the fact that I've been listening to "Devil Town" by Tony Lucca on full blast/repeat. 

5:17PM: The house seems deserted, several (but not to an excessive amount) red solo cups scatter on the porch and the screen door is slightly ajar. Maybe I got the voicemail wrong, maybe I was supposed to meet him somewhere else?

5:18PM: I hear the radio and some movement out behind the house. Walking through the dusty path to the back I'm instantly gratified for wearing subtle/closed toe shoes.

5:20PM: As the sun starts to set I see him, working on his pick up. His head is buried in the engine, but my eyes go right to the hankerchief tucked in his back pocket. I wonder if he channels Bruce Springsteen or it was an accident. Either way, I have no problem staring at his ass in his Wranglers. 

5:21PM: I manage to unhypnotize myself for a moment to say hello and he almost bangs his head on the hood. He stands up...he's shirtless. Sweat glistens off his abs. I don't know if it's the sun glare that's blinding me or the fact that Taylor is shirtless in front of me. I'm really glad our plan was to get Tex Mex tonight because I want to grate cheese off his abs and put it in a quesadilla.

5:23PM: I realize that he's been staring at me for a while as I gape. Finally he laughs and says that he's having some problems with his truck's transmission, but it should only be a few more minutes. Then he has to shower. 

5:25PM: This is all fine, I think to myself as I sit down, because who doesn't love a guy that can fix up your car and then you can fantasize about him in the shower later. I start to wonder if he uses Irish Spring or Old Spice. Perhaps nothing at all. Perhaps he can use my spit...wait that's gross.

6:15PM: So I've been sitting in the back yard for almost an hour now, listening to a mixture of Garth Brooks, Lynard Skynard, Andy Williams and other country music. It's not that bad but then Toby Keith comes around and I want to roll my eyes and scoff about him. I restrain myself. The point is, after a while limited conversation ("Nice weather today." "Yup.") is starting to get annoying. I had to stop fantasizing about him because I was getting way too horny and a lady in Texas must keep a certain amount of decorum.

6:20PM: Finally! The car rumbles and he seems pleased. I offer him sincere congratulations and flatter him with compliments. He just nods and smiles (F*CKING SWOON) and goes to take a shower.

6:22PM: Jeez, boys shower fast. Anyway, we're in the car. Turns out the answer was Irish Spring.

6:23PM: Luckily we listen to classic rock in the car and we start to get talking about things. He's really relieved to be on break from making movies, the whole celebrity thing just isn't his scene. I tell him about growing up in Viriginia and he seems amused by my 4H stories. We get quiet for a moment, reminiscing over sheep and pigs that we've lost.

6:30PM: We pull up to the local bar/restaurant and I basically loose my mind when he opens the door for me. Why don't guys do that anymore? Chances of me making the "first date mistake" are increasing and I haven't had any booze yet. 

6:32PM: Everyone greets him when we walk in and I instantly feel like a daughter in the state of Texas. I mustn't say y'all too much with my East Coast diction lest they think I'm making fun of them. We're seated and beers and shots appear. Even though I don't do brown liquor, I hungrily pour a whisky shot down my throat to show him that I'm in fact one of those cool girls.

6:45PM: Good lord he's attractive when he drinks beer. He's attractive when he furrows his brow at the menu. He seems to be furrowing his brow a lot, actually, looking at the menu with some duress. It's so hot. We order wings and quesadillas. I'm so going to have heartburn. Worth it to watch him get buffalo sauce on his mouth and then imagine licking it off.

7:00PM: In order to cool myself down, I ask him about his family. He starts to talk about how he wants to open up a shop with his brothers and father and I try to hold back the almost automatic reaction of "Texas Forever." He looks confused. 

7:20PM: Twenty minutes into his shop plan (it would be "tables and stuff") I realize that he has no idea what he's talking about. His business plan is flawed and I try not to bring it too much to his attention. I can't help but continue to raise a skeptical eyebrow. He doesn't notice it which makes me a little upset. More shots are needed.

7:40PM: Now he's talking about the different cars he likes. I also don't have the heart to tell him that he's said the Ford F150 several times.

7:45PM: My stomach starts to kill. Too many buffalo wings and the cheese (that I imagined were grated off his abs) isn't melted thoroughly in the quesadilla. Plus I've had 3 shots too many of brown liquor. Stay through this, Emily, just think about his abs. Those beautiful abs.

7:47PM: Listen I know that he grew up and Canada or whatever but he swears that his best friend's girlfriend got pregnant off of a blow job. I try to explain to him that that's not how things work, but I don't know how I can breach this subject without sounding like I'm an expert. Shots please.

8:00PM: Turns out it's bull riding night at the restaurant and everyone starts to whoop and holler. He seems excited and my temporary doubt melts away. We take just one more shot and dare each other to ride the bull.

8:10PM: The lines of blondes waiting to ride the bull is impossibly long. I assume they wait, like I do, to prove "chill factor" to guys. Being a girl trying to impress a guy is hard. You can't talk too much about blow jobs (AND THE FACT THAT THEY CAN'T GET YOU PREGNANT) but you also have to prove that you're kind of one of the guys. It just doesn't make any sense.

8:11PM: Taylor is blatantly staring at the bountiful breasts of the bimbo on the bull. Two can play at this game, bitch. I unbutton yet another button on my shirt as I get ready to go.

8:14PM: He tells me to "be careful" and assists me on the bull. I suddenly panic, I've never done this before. What was I thinking? How do I do this? WHY DID I DRINK SO MUCH WHISKEY? Vomit is not on the agenda tonight, not after what happened last week.

8:15PM: The bull starts to lurch and the following concerns go through my head: I think my underwear is either riding up or down my ass and either way it's uncomfortable. Speaking of things sticking out of place, I regret unbuttoning my shirt because now half the bar can see a sizable portion of my areola. Try to stay sexy, try to stay sexy, Flip your hair. OW. I think I just heard something snap in my neck. How long have I been on this thing? Do they wipe it down with antiseptic? Oh Jesus, is Toby Keith playing? I specifically asked for Shania Twain's "Who's Bed Has Your Boots Been Under?"

8:16PM: As I fly through the air I start to wonder what choices in my life has led me to this point. Oh right, those abs. He gives me two thumbs up and I have a moment of happiness, despite the fact I'm also very concerned that I'm going to crack my head open.

8:18PM: He picks me up and congratulates my skills. I smile in happiness, but I must keep my mouth closed because I have a good half cup of vomit in my mouth. Swallow, I tell myself. Speaking of swallowing, I'm still really concerned about the blow job thing.

8:19PM: "I wonder if girl bulls kick harder than boy bulls?" He wonders out loud. Are. You. Serious.

8:20PM: Ignoring that comment we start to dance a bit. I love the old school dancing, the doe-si-does, the spins.

8:25PM: I finally touch his abs, a secretive moment during a Blake Shelton song. It is everything I had hoped for and more. His abs are basically the equivalent of when the ark opens in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Face melting tastiness. I'm going to lick them until my taste buds fall off.

8:30PM: All of a sudden the doors bust open and a group of Texan good ol' boys burst through the door. Taylor was in the middle of spinning me but with the appearance of the guys he spins me off onto the dividing fence for the dance floor. Pretty sure I bruised my hip. The boys greet him with slaps on the back and nods of hats. Who are these douche bags ruining my good run with all the touching?

8:35PM: He hasn't introduced me to any of his friends, I have to do it for him. At least three of them are named Buddy. 

8:45PM: I shirk over to the only other girl that came in with the group. She's already drunk and swigging some kind of potion from a water bottle. She calls me Crystal. Do I look like a f*cking Crystal?

9:30PM: Three words have been said to me since his buddies got here: 'Sup, You, and Come'ere. I went to college, he thinks semen in the stomach can result in a pregnancy. Those guys don't appreciate his abs like I do, nor would they paint them like a checkerboard and then play chess on them. I would. I would- Jesus, what am I talking about? This is why I don't drink whiskey.

9:43PM: After a quick splash of water on the face in the bathroom (turns out there are no paper towels, great) I realize that it's probably time for me to leave. I make a plan to make a big huff (everything's big in Texas) as I leave but what's the point? The closest I'm going to get to him now is if I hire him to make a shitty table.

9:45PM: Thankfully he follows me out of the bar when he sees me leave. He stares at me with those brooding eyes and sighs, like it's my fault that I'm having a bad time. I tell him that I don't really appreciate being pushed aside for his buddies, especially if we're on a date. He nods and whispers a sorry but I don't accept it. Not because he doesn't mean it but because it's not really needed. I clearly don't have any other feelings for him other than the desire to rub my face all over his body.

10:00PM: He drives me home. The car ride is silent, but his hand brushes against mine as he shifts gears. It's sweet really, but when we reach our destination I don't wait for him to open the car door. Instead, I wish him luck with all his endeavors. He looks confused for a moment. "That's it?" He says. I reply, "Yeah. But could you do me a favor and just take off your shirt for a minute?" He obviously does so gladly. He ads, "You got a nice rack too."  I smile and nod and walk back up to my house.

10:05PM: I take the world's longest cold shower, making sure that I use the Irish Spring soap that was left in my place ages ago. It doesn't do the trick, but it's good enough.

The next morning I wake up and decide I'd rather not take Texas forever but just for a night? That's just fine.

--

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