A-Kizzle

I met A-Kizzle during a recent 3 week love affair with Bikram Yoga (1.5 hours of yoga in a room heated to over 100 degrees)… the affair is over and I don’t think I’ll ever enter the torture chamber (AKA classroom) so willingly again.

A-Kizzle is an attorney. From California, like me! But he’s not really from California, he’s from Bakersfield. And, if you’re not from California or are otherwise confused, Bakersfield’s probably got more in common with a place like Kansas City, MO than with any place you’d think of when someone says “I’m from California.”

Knowing that I’m from California, and knowing that I’ve lived in the cool parts like Santa Cruz and Los Angeles (which isn’t so much cool as it is iconic), A-Kizzle cautions me to not hold the fact that he’s from Bakersfield “against him.” Uh, OK. I don’t really care… but if it makes A-Kizzle feel better…

We make a date to meet for brunch in Soho.

Surprise, surprise, A-Kizzle does not look like his picture. And by that, I mean A-Kizzle is shorter, wider, and not currently in whatever magical lighting made his face NOT look like he likes tuna salad.

Say what?

It’s a distinct look that is as germane to me as it is difficult to explain to others. Famous people that have the look include Jerry Seinfeld. I don’t know what it is about Seinfeld but if we were at a deli about to order lunch, I’d bet the farm he would order a tuna salad sandwich. I don’t know why, I just would.

Immediately after our brunch, inspired by my feedback, A-Kizzle is going to go to his first ever Bikram Yoga class. Seriously. So, he explains that he’s got to find something on the menu that is “relatively healthy, full of carbs, and quickly digestible because you definitely don’t want some heavy meal in your stomach” before this class.

He didn’t order a tuna salad sandwich. It wasn’t on the menu so I maintain that he didn’t have the choice… Instead, sticking to the meal requirements he set himself, A-Kizzle ordered a yogurt/fruit/granola concoction and a side of sausage. No, two sides of sausage because there are only two links in each side order. I almost involuntarily gagged.

Recovering, I chose an omelette and coffee before handing my menu to the waitress and looking back at A-Kizzle who is staring at my chest with his mouth agape. I look down. Shit. The button struggling to stay closed across my breasts has lost its fight and my shirt is wide open in the exact wrong/ right spot. I’m wearing a camisole underneath, it’s still PG-rated… but I jokingly say something lame like, “wow, sorry about that… button down shirts aren’t always my friend!” as A-Kizzle forces his eyes back to my face…

A-Kizzle is an attorney. But his true calling is in entertainment. He’s 38 years old and only recently got his JD after “not being discovered” up until 5 years ago when he decided to enter law school.

In what part of the entertainment industry would A-Kizzle excel? You name it! Acting, editing, directing, writing, producing, marketing… Hollywood is kicking itself every second that passes without A-Kizzle. He’s got all kinds of ideas in the works, it’s only a matter of time.

But while Hollywood is missing its undiscovered pro, there’s plenty of (*all quotes here are things he actually said; references he actually used*) “legal shit” that “monkeys can do” that pays “bank” so that A-Kizzle will never be “ass out.”

Who would have thought a gangsta from Bakersfield would slam like that, yo?

As it turns out, the “girlie breakfast” A-Kizzle ordered isn’t quite what he expected and he’s PISSED at the waitress for leading him to believe that the yogurt option would be a meal. And he tells her. Loudly. Dramatically. Humorously (to him). Convincingly. We get a new waitress. And, scene!

I ate my entire omelette, drank maybe 8 cups of coffee. I don’t think I spoke at all for about 30 minutes which is an achievement, to be sure. A FEAT. Then, noting my silence, A-Kizzle fires off a slew of questions – what do your parents do? How many siblings do you have? What do you currently do for a living? Is your job lucrative (paraphrasing on that last one because he used some slang word I needed him to define. I don’t remember the word but it means “lucrative”)? Hopped up on caffeine, I shoot back my quick answers like an auctioneer.

I can see my subway entrance across the street and I’ve never wanted to get on the 2 train more. A-Kizzle asked me if I could recommend a “good beverage with electrolytes for Bikram?” No. “Think I should get Gatorade?” I don’t know. “What do you normally drink”? Water. “Ugh, not TAP WATER”? Yes, distilled tap water. “Ugh, how can you drink that shit”? It’s perfectly fine; we live in the fucking United States and have pretty decent water treatment systems. “Why are you so defensive”? Why are YOU forcing ME to defend WATER?

Our new waitress, two busboys, and our old waitress - who is now huddled with the other staff in this mostly empty restaurant - are all waiting for A-Kizzle to put his fork down, signaling that he is finished… Eons pass before that finally, thankfully happens and our new waitress swoops in with the check.

A-Kizzle immediately grabs the check when it hits the table. I appreciate that…

… but then he says, “’cuz this isn’t a non-profit salary kind of place.” I don’t appreciate that. Fuck you, A-Kizzle. You might just make it into a movie… as the guy that never recovered from me giving him a roundhouse kick to the face.

He “enjoyed our date” and wanted to go out again… umm, no.