I’m Sexy and I’m Guido

View Comments
male gym exercise muscles

(credit: shutterstock.com)

Vicki Briganti – WWJ-TV Writer / Producer / Editor

I keep hearing a song on the radio by LMFAO with the lyrics “I’m Sexy and I Know It.” My favorite part is when he sings, “I work out!” This song makes me laugh. It also makes me cringe a little because it reminds me of Guido.

Once upon a time, I met a guy named Guido* on match.com. Guido loved his gym and working out. There was a ten-year age difference between us. I was the elder. After talking on the phone, I agreed to meet him because it was convenient. We both lived in Royal Oak. He’d moved into a new loft, and I was curious to see it. Curiosity killed the cat; write that down.

Royal Oak is popular for creatively designed spaces. I’ve tried to figure out what the difference is between a condo and a loft. ‘Loft’ sounds so…lofty. If you call it a loft, you can charge an extra $100,000. With the drop in housing prices, maybe now it’s only $50,000.

Anyway, I gussied up and met Guido at his loft to begin our “date.” Since it’s such a hassle to find parking in Royal Oak on the weekend, the plan was for me to park in his parking lot near downtown. After a tour of his place, we would walk into town and have a drink.

Of course, Guido had other motives. If we drank at his place, we’d save money on drinks at the bar. We played a card game. I think it was Go Fish. When I told him he reminded me of my cousin (a compliment), I should have known he’d take that the wrong way.

Welcome to the Stairwell

After several drinks and Guido trying to convince me we didn’t need to go anywhere else, I insisted we walk into downtown, perhaps for a snack. We put on our coats and headed toward the stairwell. After climbing down three flights of stairs, my hand on the door that opens onto the sidewalk, Guido realized he’d forgotten his ID. He ran back up the steps to grab it. I waited there for him, in the stairwell.

And waited.

And waited.

Yes, it did occur to me he was ditching me in a stairwell. I was puzzled why anyone would need to do such a thing. Couldn’t you just say “I don’t feel well?” or “We aren’t a match?” or “You suck at Go Fish?”

I was too insulted to walk back up the stairs right away, so I waited some more. I thought about ordering a pizza. “Hi, is this Hungry Howie’s? Can you deliver a pizza to a stairwell?” I thought it would be hilarious if come Monday morning I was in the stairwell, half asleep, with my empty pizza box. Maybe Guido would see me there, still waiting.

Eventually, I did walk back up the stairs and knock on his door. I remember standing in his hallway, in shock, laughing. Really, dude? Naturally, he didn’t open the door. So I left. I headed over to the KFC drive-thru and used a coupon to buy a value meal. It included two pieces of original recipe dark meat, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a biscuit for $2.11. Incredible. I don’t know how they made any money. I was so excited to go home, put on my sweatpants and enjoy my value.

Guido: Noun Or Verb?

Wanna know the best part of this true story? Guido’s online screen name was “classyg.” Someone ought to inform him leaving girls in stairwells ain’t so classy. He told me during our almost-date, “I don’t like younger girls because I’m not into games and immaturity.” I guess he has enough of his own to offer the older ladies. Lucky us.

I told my friends what happened. We started using the word “guido” as a noun, verb, and adjective, e.g., “If you don’t like your next date, pull a ‘guido’” or “I ‘guidoed’ him” or “That guy is such a ‘guido.’”

Guido never called to apologize. I saw him two years later at the bar and found the courage to approach him. “Remember me? The girl from the stairwell?” I’d recently completed a nine-day intensive training in non-violent communication. I used every skill they taught in the workshop. He claimed he didn’t remember the incident. Oh, well. It was a victory to let him know how I’d felt.

Sometimes, you’re better off staying home in your pajamas and ordering a pizza.

*Name changed to protect the guilty.

>> More Motor City Musing With Vicki Briganti

View Comments
blog comments powered by Disqus
Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,057 other followers