Wish You Were Here

We met at a Tiki Bar, which is funny to me, since I’ve been out of the Tiki business for quite a while.  As I walked up, he started to walk in my direction to greet me.  I’d say he was decent looking – tall, dressed in that beachy yet conservative Sarasota kind of way.   Recorded music was blasting, and this threw him off, so we grabbed a bench outside with a view of the parking lot in the strip center. Unfortunately for me, a spotlight was aimed directly at my face, which prompted me to confess I had recently had injections on my face and that’s why I was covered with purple bruising.  That’s my MO.  I’m either quiet, or saying weird, personal, embarrassing shit.

Fortunately, the bar guitar guy started playing, so we migrated to the patio and away from the spotlight beaming down on my purple spots.  From then on, my date aka Concert Guy went on a breathless recounting of the countless number of 70s and 80s rock bands he’s seen, gotten autographs from, talked to, even semi-stalked.  Aerosmith.  Rolling Stones.  Pink Floyd.  Led Zeppelin.  Grateful Dead.  Lynyrd Skynyrd (cue the singer at the Tiki Bar to play Sweet Home Alabama).  Apparently the Beatles didn’t fit into his list, because they weren’t “badasses.”

I think he paused once or twice to ask me a question.  “Do you like to cook?”  My answer, “No.”  I felt like I had to salvage some pride so I told him I make jambalaya.  That seemed to work.  We did discover that we both fled Florida to seek greener pastures in Oregon around the same time, and we both agreed we loved it there.  So, there was that.

11pm and I’m done.  He walks me to my car and asks, “well, what do you think?  ya know, sometimes there isn’t a spark right away…”  He asked if I’d see him again, and I said I would.

And, in honor of Concert Guy, one of his favorite songs…

Next up – a first date tonight with Beach Realtor Guy.

One thought on “Wish You Were Here

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