This week, I turned 52 and had encounters with 5 different guys. Here’s the highlight reel:
- Pack a Bag Guy
Disturbingly beautiful blue eyes, a voice that made me melt, and from what I could tell, a reformed bad boy. While he’s talking, I’m imaging cuddling on the couch together, having pillow fights and lots of kissing. I snapped myself back and listened to his stories of growing up in LA, like the one about his stint at a roller skating rink that Cher rented out weekly for private parties with celebrities in the 70s (complete with bowls of Quaaludes, of course). He became a hair stylist for the same reason many guys play guitar (the chicks) and moved to Boston to open a salon. To which, predictably, he progressed to becoming a bodyguard and a state deputy, and ultimately, a private investigator. I really had no sense of who this guy was, and didn’t give a shit. I was attracted. We ended the date with a sweet kiss, to which I received a text afterwards indicating that he thought I was “yummy.” I gathered he wasn’t referring to my soul. He followed up by suggesting a date next Friday that would entail dinner and breakfast, and that I would need to “pack a bag.” I countered by suggesting he come to visit me instead of meeting in the middle (we live a few hours away) and that he would NOT need to pack a bag. After a few failed attempts at compromise, my reply was to not reply.
- Update on Concert Guy
Text from me. “Hi. Just checking in. Are we still on for tomorrow?” His reply. “Hey. I’ve got to be honest. I’ve started seeing someone. I guess we waited too long.” I wished him well. Admittedly, my ego was bruised, but, we really weren’t a match. Hopefully she likes “badass” 70s rock bands.
- Not a Motorcycle Guy
Sunday at noon, the Tiki bar scene of two previous dates. We walk in and pass rows of motorcycles, and I ask if he’s into them. He quickly and affirmatively answered “NO.” Soon after we took our places at the bar and exchanged information about ourselves. He lives on Siesta Key, the scene of my mostly lawful adolescence. I enthusiastically shared my experience at the drum circle there a few weekends back. His reply, yeah, the drum circle is “definitely DIFFERENT.” My bohemian alter ego felt slighted. When one of his sentences started with “not to be negative, but…,” I knew this would never work. He must have sensed my unease, so he stopped the conversation, said that obviously it was up to me if I wanted to see him again. I sensed a tinge of resentment, like he was planning for me to choose the alternative option. I did.
- Patch Guy
After a few dates, I had to admit, I didn’t see us being anything more than friends. His response, “oh well, you win some, you lose some.” He is nice, respectful, and we both love going to listen to the same kind of music (his take on the Jason Isbell show, “amazing”). He restores old motorcycles as a second business, is easy to be with, and wears an eyepatch. I’ve made a new friend. Sunday night, we went to a funky live outdoor music venue, where he introduced me to Todd Snider, and we had a great time. He’s definitely, definitely, an Alright Guy.
- Drunk Guy
7:48 pm. I accept the reality that I’ve been stood up. I’m starving, so I pony up to the bar, order food to go, when I receive a text. “You still there?” I tell him I am. A few minutes later, I spot a guy, slowly, slowly, inching his way, Frankenstein style, to the bar. He spots me, stands next to me at the bar, and unintelligibly mumbles something. He looks me over, his eyes linger at my chest, and says, “I fucked up.” “Yup, you did.”
This song is dedicated to my friend Patch Guy, who turned me onto Todd Snider, and is one Alright Guy.