My date with Cory Kennedy

Yes, I know. There are several reasons why I should not have gone on a date with Cory Kennedy. I’m married. She’s 17. We don’t listen to the same music. We only have a few things in common. Scratch that... we have nothing in common besides drinking. But drinking is the great equalizer and so I thought that by the end of the night, it would all work itself out.

And oddly enough, it did.

I was in LA for business. On a whim, I called my buddy who runs a recording studio. He’s a testicular cancer survivor and swears that his raw food diet has kept him in remission.

(And now for a compelling side story about raw diets and poop.)

When we were recording in the studio, my engineering friend would sit at the board and eat 10 -12 small meals a day. It was uncooked stuff, pureed in a Cuisinart and stored in small Tupperware containers. He’d pull a container out of the refrigerator, open the lid, lick the lid, and either drink or spoon the contents into his mouth, somehow avoiding getting any in his scraggly beard. The uncooked paste was usually green or orange, but I saw a red one and had to assume it was beets or blood. On one occasion, he did have some solid food that looked red like beets. They were cubed and he popped them in his mouth like chocolates. I accused, “Hey, aren’t beets cooked and processed? You are cheating.”

And he followed up with, “No, this is beef.”

“Raw meat?”

“Yeah! I get it from a butcher that I trust. It’s delicious. Would you like to try some?”

I held back a weirded out spasm and I replied, “No thanks. Do you eat raw chicken?”

“No. That’s gross.”

Well, at least we got that all figured out. Another bit of information he shared was that the food he ate was so raw and easily digestible and absorbed by his body, that he rarely had bowel movements. That’s right. No poop. And then I started to think about what that once a month poop would look like… probably like rabbit turds or a small, really black, deflated balloon.

(And now back to my date with Cory Kennedy.)

So I gave my studio buddy a call and he mentioned that he recently had a celebrity in the studio. That celeb knew a guy who dated a bouncer who had a MySpace account. And one of his friends on MySpace was none other than a MySpace friend of Cory Kennedy’s.

Cory Kennedy is an internet fabricated personality. She’s interesting like a pork kite is interesting. You wonder how she got famous and why she is still famous, which makes her more famous by your wondering. But you cannot help yourself. She’s pretty because we are told she is pretty. She is fashionable because we are told she is fashionable. And I was going to go on a date with her because I told myself I was going to go on a date with her. Why not?

I tried to get her to accept me as a MySpace friend. She denied me. So I found one of her MySpace friends’ friend and they blindly added me. I was in her extended network which is almost like being in her Blackberry. I sent the friend of a friend a note to pass on to Cory that we should go out very soon. I didn’t get a response. I assume MySpace was down.

I enrolled as a substitute teacher at her high school. Since I was only in LA for a few days, I didn’t really enroll as a sub, but I did carry a briefcase as I marched around the school’s campus. I narrowed down my search by not looking for anyone wearing matching clothes, or anything with blue, red, yellow or any combinations of those colors. I had it narrowed down to about 218 girls when the cops hauled me off campus by my iPod ear buds.

I was let off with a warning after I mentioned that I had a date with Cory Kennedy planned for that evening. Cop number one said, “I’ve got a color blind daughter of my own at home. Go get her, champ.” Cop number two said, “Isn’t she only sixteen?” but I didn’t hear that as I was all ready running off through Burbank.

That night I had everything planned. I rented a limo and bought a TON of Red Bull and some menthol cigarettes. I waited outside her window for her to sneak out, but it turns out she just walks right out the front door on her way out to the clubs at 11:00pm. I ran back to the Limo and had Asphed follow her to eighteen different clubs: Rants, Jimmy 8, Outré, Sim Sim, Lookie Tick, RED, Front Door, Rex, Symbol, Number Ten, Camel Tent, WOO Tavern, Capitol G, Upstairs Twice Club, Yeast, Juvie Nile, Kliq and Epstine Fillmore and the Rat VooDoo Soul Club. I couldn’t get into any of them. I would sit in the limo and wait for her to leave. Sometimes I would put on my chef costume and try to sneak in the back door, but it turns out most clubs don’t have chefs. As a matter of fact, none of them do.

So at the end of the night or the start of the morning as we call 6:00am here in Ohio, I tracked her down at a Jerry’s Famous Deli. She was with a large group of people and I couldn’t force my way into the corner booth to ask her how she felt the date was going. So I ordered a Yummy (a cream cheese and jelly sandwich, battered and deep fried) and sent it over to her table.

The waiter handed her the plate and pointed in my direction. She pointed to some other guy and the waiter shook his head no and pointed more at me. She pointed again and the waiter shook his head no and came over to my table and held his hand over my head.

She mouthed the words “thank you” or something very similar.

All in all, the date turned out really good. I felt like a gentleman buying her dinner/breakfast and she gave me a lot of space so that I could grow. A very positive experience for both parties.

So in the end, it all worked out.

But, I do not think it is going to work out. She’s way too Hollywood for me. And the restraining order keeps me at 150ft away. Plus her arms are way too hairy.