Jason has a Girlfriend

I was shocked, shocked I tell you! I came home from work last night to a dark house. Which is not all that unusual. As often as not my housemates are off to bed before I arrive home. I opened the door to the kitchen, got a beer out of the fridge and walked toward the living room. I was planning on channel surfing a bit before heading off to bed. But as I walked into the living room I was faced with a posterior. A woman’s posterior. A woman’s naked posterior. The front half of the woman was under a large blanket which was spread out on the floor. The top half of my housemate, Jason, was poking out the far side of the blanket. They were engaged in some, ah, amorous activity. Use your imagination.

I was shocked. Not at seeing the naked bottom half of a woman. I actually kinda liked that – it was rather shapely. I was shocked that Jason had gotten so far with a girl. It’s not that Jason is a bad guy or anything. But you need to understand, this is a house inhabited by three programmers (OK, nerds). So far, since I moved in about a year ago, there has been only one girlfriend that any of us had and I only had her for a few weeks. Way to go Jason. Judging from what little I saw of her, she was quite a catch.

I quietly retreated to my bedroom.

-------------------

This morning I got up early, as has been my habit and went paddling on the bay. When I got home to take a shower before work I met the top half of Amanda – which was every bit as attractive as the bottom half. She was in the dining room reading the paper. I knew that Jason had been going out with her for a while, but I didn’t know they were so serious (OK, perhaps they’re not serious – but their relationship has seriously advanced). I made a pot of coffee and poured us both a cup.

We chatted about nothing much in particular. I learned that she was living in an apartment in Sunnyvale, she likes country western music, and she is the receptionist at a computer company in Cupertino (no, not the really famous one). She has two cats named Ginger and Mary Anne. That was all of her life story that I got before Jason came out of his bedroom all dressed up and (sniff sniff) smelling good – in a masculine sort of way. They greeted each other with the silliest grins – OK, at some level I’m jealous - and then they headed off for work.

I want a girlfriend, too. Not just any girlfriend – I want my Lynn back. Damn it.

Lunch

“Oh, Rich, you look like shit” Lynn said. I met her today for lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Campbell. OK. I know. Bad idea (yet again). So what?

I’m still cranky and unhappy with the breakup. Yes, I know – it’s too soon to see her. But after this weekend, I’m feeling a bit better. Steve is a good friend, and he really helps me get a good perspective on things.

“You need to take care of yourself.’ She said with genuine concern.

“You look beautiful, too.” I said with only a little sarcasm.

“Sorry. You’re just looking so thin. Your cheeks are getting hollow.” She reached up to touch my face – the effect was electric. I resigned myself to another month of clinical depression. For her touch it was worth it (man, am I sick or what?) Except for my weekend with Helen, I have not really been eating well. My new clothes – from my recent makeover - don’t even fit anymore. I need a belt for the pants. I was thin before – now I’m just plain boney. I am 6 foot 1 and now weight in at 131 lbs. - it ain't pretty. I kinda look like a heroin addict.

“Tim still treating you well?”

“Rich, you don’t wanna go there.” OK, I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes.

“Sorry.” I stared at the menu, not reading. I swear, I’m not going to see her again until I am over her. Sadly, that may be forever.

I gave it my best effort at being cheerful. We made idle conversation about work, the weather, mutual friends, etc. She told me about a party at Tom and Liz’s last weekend that she and Tim went to – Hmmm they seem to have forgotten to invite me. I guess in the break up we divide the friends, too. Doesn’t matter - I had fun this weekend, too.

“I went up to Seattle this weekend” I told her. “Saw my old college buddy, Steve”

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

“Well, we ended up dancing at this gay bar.”

She looked shocked, and once again concerned “I made you turn gay? Oh, Rich, I’m so sorry.” It took me a little too long to realize that she was joking.

“No,” I protested loudly. “We took our own girls there.”

“Women.” Lynn corrected me. “Can you do that? I mean do they allow you to bring your own women?”

“The guys at the bar didn’t seem to care. And heck, we didn’t have to worry about anyone putting the moves on our girls, uh, women.” I corrected myself before she did. I explained the evening to her. I told her how we committed gross and disgusting heterosexual acts right in front of them, like dancing together, holding hands, and kissing. She found the whole thing rather amusing. She was probably most amused that Steve ended up at a gay bar – she’s never met him, but I have regaled her with stories about him over the years. So she knows that he’s a bit of a homophobe.

“So how does it end?” I asked her.

“How does what end?”

“You, your mid-life crisis? I mean, you flipped over the game board of life – as it were. You dumped Jim, dumped me. Now you’re with Tim. Where do you end up?”

“I don’t know. I’m not planning it. Life happens, I live it.”

“So if you get over it all, and you’re still with Tim – it’s happily ever after?”

“Maybe him, maybe the next one. Who knows. Maybe we’ll get back together.” She smiled. Just what I need, some false hope. “Rich, I have to do this for me. I’m going through a selfish phase. Let’s talk about something else.”

I managed to finish my meal. Perhaps I’m getting better. God, this is so painful. OK enough whining.

“Oh, cheer up Rich.” Lynn said. “Do you remember Heidi?”

The total babe you work with? Hell, yes! “Uhm, yeah, I think so. She works with you and Tim right?”

“Yeah. You interviewed with her?”

“Uh yeah, I think so, that’s right.” Of course I remember – that’s the only part of the interview I remembered. I wasn’t sure why I was feigning ignorance. At an intellectual level it seemed silly.

“So Tim told me that she voted to have you hired. It seems that she wanted to interview you sitting on your lap.” Lynn laughed. I was a bit offended. It’s not so absurd that someone finds me attractive, I thought. “Tim says that she interviews with her glands.”

“I’m guessing that Tim tried to get you hired.”

“Yeah.”

I signed and looked down. Lynn has a unique way of making me feel like shit.

Maybe I should give Heidi a call. She’s a real cutie.

Seattle

Steve picked me up at the airport on Friday night in his small red sports car. He played his CD of the theme song from “Magnum P.I.” as we drove away from the airport. We went to a dive bar on the south side of town - a blue collar place, the kind favored by Steve. He eschews the yuppie type places. We had a few beers and caught up with each other's lives.

The next morning we headed out to Pike's Place Market and we got a salmon and a few other things to barbecue. I wanted to get a whole salmon (guts and all), but we compromised. Steve insisted on having them gut the thing, but we left the head on. A quick stop at the market for some good Northwest Microbrews and we were set for the party.

Steve had some teriyaki chicken marinating, sticky rice, and a bunch of Hawaiian food. Steve lives in a 2 bedroom condo in Bellevue. We rearranged the furniture to make room for folks to sit. Steve was explaining to me how having a live plant in your house makes the girls think you’re sensitive (must be reading the same stuff as Maurizio). He grabbed his small tree by the trunk and started to move it across the living room. The rootball came out of the pot, leaving a trail of potting soil across the carpet. “Well, maybe I’m not all that sensitive after all” he said.

I set up the barbecue on the balcony and set about cooking. Steve put on some C and K and Olomana CDs – along with some Hawaiian slack key guitar. We sat there on the balcony on a partly cloudy day sipping a cold beer and I could feel the pain start to fade to the strains of the Hawaiian music of my youth. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all.

It was a great party. About 25 people showed up over the course of the afternoon and evening. Most were folks from Hawaii – so we all played “what high school you went?” (It’s a Hawaii thing) The salmon, which was probably swimming that morning, was wonderfully cooked – if I don’t say so myself.

At about 10:00 the party was winding down, there were about 10 of us left and we decided to go out dancing. We piled into two big SUVs (everyone seems to drive them in Seattle) and drove downtown. We parked in a garage in what must be near the club district, as there were a bunch of places all close together. As we were walking to the first club Steve pointed down a street and said “Don’t go down that way.” I thought he might be warning me about a high crime area, “Mahus li’ dat” (which is Hawaiian for “Those are the gay clubs.”) That's OK. I’ve never had any luck with lesbians.

We all danced together at this awesome club, which I can’t remember the name of – in fact from here out the details become a bit fuzzy. There was lots of tequila and rum involved. Due to some inane liquor control law all drinking establishments in Washington must close at 2:00 a.m. And they consider themselves civilized? (Although I was later told there was some kind of “after hours” exceptions some places have – but this place shut down.)

It was too early to go home. Walking back to the car, some of the folks of the party started pointing down “that street”. It turns out that some of the gay dance clubs never got liquor permits – so they are open until 5:00 a.m. They only serve soft drinks, but this is probably a good thing at this point. One of the girls snuck up behind me and said “Let commit disgusting gross heterosexual acts, right in front of them.” I laughed. Hey, I’m up for that.

We ended up in this really cool gay dance club. They played 80’s type electronic dance music (think New Order, Erasure, Depeche Mode, the Cure). The songs were expertly mixed together. There was a guy dancing on one of the tables, wearing (and I swear I’m not making this up) whitey tighties, mirrored sunglasses and a policeman’s cap. It was so “Village People”. He was really well muscled and could dance well, too. He really added character to the place.

We got back to Steve’s place at about 5:30. The sky was beginning to turn gray in the east. All the girls took off quickly. I sat down on his couch and he brought a couple of beers. This could qualify as my earliest morning beer ever. I finished telling him the tale of Lynn. I had been giving him bits and pieces over the day. Now he had the whole story. (for new readers, start at about Christmas of last year – it’s a long story.)

“Man, how do you sleep?”

“Actually, I can’t.” I was surprised that he asked this. I didn’t think he was paying attention that well. “Alcohol helps.”

“I’ve got scotch.”

“After my beer.”

“Rich,” he sighed and shook his head “she’s a jerk, of the worst kind. She held on to you until someone better came along. Heck, she even knew about him and was going after him while she was sleeping with you. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let you do that. You shouldn’t have anything to do with her.”

“I still love her.”

“You don’t need her as a lover. You don’t need her as a friend. You don’t even need her as an enemy. Forget her. Walk away – don’t look back. Just walk away.”

“You never met her did you? She was at UH the same time we were, but she was an undergrad”

“No I don’t think so. Is she cute?”

“Cuter than Carrie.”

“Ho, no way.” Carrie was the sweet heart of the dorm and known as the cutest girl around. He paused and was contemplating this. Once Carrie had left a note on my dorm room door. Steve added a “Hugs and Kisses” to her signature – and he did a pretty good forgery. Other folks added more crudely done (and crudely worded) P.S.s to her note. By the time I saw it, it was pretty X-Rated.

“Yeah, she’s really beautiful.” I remarked of Lynn.

He was clearly conflicted by this (hey, we’re guys, we think with our dicks), but reaffirmed “You don’t need her. Walk away. What ever happened to Sarah? She was great.”

Steve was going to be my best man. Sarah and I were engaged, and almost got married. “I heard that she moved back to Hawaii. She stopped answering my e-mail and phone calls. She didn’t even want to be friends.”

“That’s too bad. She was a really nice girl. You haven't had much luck with the ladies for a while.” He stated the obvious.

"Hell no. Bad Karma I guess."

We finished the beers, reminiscing about other girls from college. Before turning in I slammed down a couple shots of scotch.

----------------------

Nursing hangovers Sunday morning (well really afternoon, but it seemed like morning), we had brunch at a funky restaurant on Green Lake. The food was good, the coffee hot, but the waitress way too perky. It was gray and drizzling outside.

Flying home that evening – once again sleep deprived and hungover I realized how lucky I was to have friends like Maurizio and Steve.

I'm Hungry

It's a feeling I haven't felt in ages. Not just a gnawing in my gut, but salivating, anticipating - actually wanting to eat.

Sadly, it's probably more from this morning's huge calorie burn than from getting better - but maybe it's both.

This morning I was tossing and turning in my usual insomnia. I got up around 5 and made myself some coffee and had some fruit and a granola bar for breakfast. As is my usual custom these days I went for a paddle. I was aiming to go about 10 miles out on the bay. I don't know any other paddlers that want to get up at stupid o'clock in the morning, so I usually go solo on the weekdays.

About 7 miles into the workout, I was hit by a wave - and I was not paying attention, or I don't know what. But over I went - and I dropped my paddle. No paddle means no eskimo roll. I had to do what is called a "wet exit" - and swim for my paddle. Getting you boat righted when you have a paddle buddy takes a few minutes - when you're solo it takes a lot longer. I was in the water for about 1/2 an hour (gross!). It's been really hot in the bay area lately, so while I had a dry top on, I didn't have my usual winter insulation layers underneath. The water in the bay is near 50 degrees.

The 10 mile paddle burns about 1200 calories - the cold water likely drained another 1200. So, around lunch time - sitting in my cubicle - I was getting hungry. I started to drive for my local burger king - I have a real weakness for their double cheese burgers (guilty pleasure). And then I thought, this is first time in a couple of months that I'm going to really enjoy some food. Let's make it worth it. I headed for a restaurant called "Arcadia" in downtown San Jose. This place makes a kobe beef cheeseburger with white vermont cheddar that is to die for. And they serve it with duck fat fries - yes, potatoes deep fried in rendered duck fat. They are sooo good.

I had a great lunch, for the first time in a long time.

In other news, Kristen is trying to buy Paul a Cayenne - the Porsche SUV thing. Turns out that even in this down economy, there's a waiting list (a lot shorter than before) to buy them. I recommended a subaru - 4 wheel drive (the best kayaking sites are not at the end of paved roads), low roof height (you need to lift your kayak on top of it), easily cleaned inside (salt water does nasty things to leather seats) - and the hatch lifts up giving you a dry place to change in and out of your paddling clothes when its raining.

I'm off the Seattle for the weekend.

SWM ISO Travel Partner

I spent way to much of the day on hold with American Airlines, trying to get my money and frequent flyer miles back from a trip that I planned oh so long ago. Turns out, you can't get there from here. The best I could do was to get Lynn's name removed from one of the tickets and the chance to reschedule the flights to another day. I need to use them within the next 330 days - or I lose them. So, I still have 2 tickets to paradise - first class. Hmrph. I was able to cancel the hotels and get back my deposits.

I have exactly 11 months to find a travel partner who wants to go to Tortola.

While on hold, I composed this craigslist ad (well, I probably won't post it, but it was fun to think about it):

• Angry, embittered man seeks like minded woman for week in the British Virgin Islands. Days to be spent with sun, surf and sand. Nights will involve fine dining and alcohol abuse. You must have passport, bikini, and adventurous disposition. Must not have aversion to rum or sunscreen. My planned travel companion has made alternate sleeping arrangements. Send picture (not necessarily of yourself, just send a picture - you will be graded on originality, content, and creativity) and dates available for travel.

I did manage to use up the last of my Alaska Airlines miles and got a flight up to Seattle this weekend. Looks like it will be cloudy and cool up there. I'm looking forward to it.

'nother Party

“You need a party.” It was Steve calling from Seattle. “It will take your mind off everything. Can you be here on Saturday night? I can round up a bunch of Hawaii folks and we can have a good barbecue.” Steve is an all around good guy that I met while living in the dorms at the University of Hawaii. He is originally from Hilo and now lives in Seattle. Kinda reminds me of the scene from “Animal House”. When everything falls apart, go on a road trip.

“Barbecue? Isn't it too early in the season?”

“Just think deep deep deep Manoa Valley" - a place in Hawaii where it rains a lot; the deeper in the valley, the more it rains. "Actually, it’s been pretty sunny up here lately. Most of the rain has been going north this year.” Steve informed me.

I'm not sure how he knew I needed a party (I suspect Maurizio). But, frankly, I've kinda gotten to the place where I'm not going to bother trying to cheer myself up. Nothing seems to work, and the attempts feel - in a way - pathetic. Anyway, it is very nice of him to offer, and it will be great to see him again.

So, this week I'll be canceling the trip to the BVI, and trying to get my frequent flyer miles back from American Airlines so I can get a free trip to Seattle.

Also, I'm going to get all "Martha Stewart" on my garden. I've neglected it for weeks and it is over grown with weeds and bugs. Someday, I'll probably want to eat again, and when I do I'll need the fresh tomatoes and herbs from the garden.

I'm Tired

I am so tired. I have not had a good night's sleep for almost 8 weeks.

I'm tired of being tired. I'm tired of thinking of her, of him, of them together. And I can't stop thinking of them. I... just... can't... STOP.

Last night I tried to go to sleep with out drugs (over the counter sleep aids - don't worry I don't do the illegal stuff) or alcohol - I failed miserably.

I want to be done with this. I want to be over the pain. I want a switch that will turn it off.

I am so fucking tired of this. When is this going to be over?

I'm tired.

I just want it to end.

Santa Cruz

Sunday, Paul and I went kayaking in Santa Cruz. It was foggy until about noon, forcing us to stay in the yacht harbor. After the fog lifted, the sky remained gray and slightly overcast. But this is actually good, as the dry top is really hot – especially when you get moving. I don’t think the air temperature got over 55. Paul did pretty well, for a beginner. He did capsize once near the breakers on the way out of the harbor, but was able to right his boat and climb back in. He tried to roll, but the waves were a little high for him. There were gale warnings for the open ocean outside Monterrey bay, so the waves were pretty high, even though the winds were calm near shore.

After a couple of hours of paddling we drove back to his house, where we hosed off the kayaks and gear in the front yard. After everything was cleaned up, I went inside for a shower. Kristen had a bottle of chardonnay chilled and gave us each a glass and we sat in front of the fireplace and talked. It reminded me of when I used to go windsurfing with Jim.

It was late in the afternoon and I offered to make dinner. “You can cook?” Kristen asked incredulously.

“Well,” I said slowly, “I can heat things up.”

“No, let Paul cook.”

“No, I want to. How about Jambalaya?” I asked.

“Aagh. No way. There is no way that you can cook Jambalaya.” Kristen almost yelled at me and then laughed.

I ran down to the Safeway a couple of blocks away and picked up some Italian sausage, shrimp, and chicken breasts, along with some bell peppers, celery, and onions. Paul had the rest of the ingredients. I also got a 12 pack of Mirror Pond – a micro brew from Bend, Oregon. Really good beer, if you can get it in your neighborhood.

I make a pretty mean jambalaya. I was explaining the deglazing process to Paul as Kristen walked in the kitchen. “Oh my god” she exclaimed “two good looking men who know how to deglaze.” Paul kissed her and got her a beer. “This is great beer, Rich” she said.

This was the first time I had cooked anything more challenging than a cup of instant oatmeal since the ugliness. I used to like to cook a lot – in fact it was how I would cheer myself up when I was feeling down. It was nice to cook again – and have someone appreciate the effort.

Kristen loved the Jambalaya. Paul was taking careful notes – unobtrusively – as I cooked. I’m guessing that he will be able to make a pretty good batch on his own. He asked a lot of questions as I was making it. Paul told me more about his trip to Vancouver Island. “So where is your dream trip?” he asked me.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to windsurf the British Virgin Islands.”

“Not paddle them?”

“A paddling trip would be to Puget sound, Vancouver Island, or the coast of Norway. For windsurfing, you want and need a place with warm tradewinds.”

“What about Oregon? The Columbia gorge?”

“Too cold. And the winds are too fierce there. I’m a Hawaii boy.”

“So when are you going to the Virgin Islands?” Kristen asked.

“No plans. You know, the new job and all.”

“Oh, [the CEO] will let you go. Just tell him it’s for windsurfing. He’ll understand.”

“Yeah, right. I was planning a trip with Lynn, but that didn’t pan out.”

“Go anyway.” She said. “Find a girl at the mall and tell her you can make Jambalaya and ask her to go with you.”

“I wish it was that easy.”

“Rich, you won’t get many ‘no’s.”

“It wouldn’t be the trip I want.”

At the end of the night, we had killed the 12 pack and a couple of bottles of wine. I asked for a place to sleep it off and was offered the guest bedroom. It was not made up. I guess Kristen does not get many impromptu overnight visitors. Paul efficiently prepared the room.

I slept pretty well.

Rich's Jambalaya

2 tbsp olive oil
½ cup diced celery
½ cup diced green bell pepper
1 cup diced onion
2 cloves garlic
2 bay leaves
1 14 ounce can diced tomatoes (fresh is better – but not this time of year)
3 tbsp a.p. flour
3 cups chicken stock
2 hot sausage links (about 1/3 lb)
1 chicken breast, cut up in 1 inch cubes
½ lb shrimp, cleaned and peeled
¼ tsp Cayenne Pepper or more if you like it hot

Salt and pepper to taste

Grind up the celery, onion and bell pepper in a food processor. Cook them in the olive oil over medium heat in a heavy sauce pan until soft and mushy – about 10 minutes, stirring constantly. Next strain the tomatoes and save the juice from the can. Add the tomatoes and garlic to the pan and turn the heat up. You need to caramelize the sugar in the tomatoes. Don’t use a non-stick pan, it just won’t work. With a stainless steel or copper pan you will start to see a brown coating stick to the pan – this is good. Once the pan starts to look like it will never get clean (5 to 10 minutes) take the veggies out of the pan and set them aside in a bowl. In the same sauce pan (this is important for the flavor) brown two sausages – I like hot Italian, but any sausage you like will do. These should also stick to the pan and leave a lot of brown bits. Once the sausage is done take it out and set it aside. Next, brown the chicken breast (cut up in 1 inch chunks). After this is done take out the chicken and deglaze the pan with chicken broth. I usually make my own, but I was in Paul’s kitchen – so canned would have to suffice.

Add 3 tablespoons of flour to the pan and scrape up the brown bits. This should soak up all the oil in the pan. If there is not enough fat, add some olive oil or butter to make a good roux. Then pour in about 3 cups of chicken broth and the tomato juice (that we saved earlier). Crank up the heat to get the liquid boiling and dissolve all of the crusties from the pan. This is the secret to a good sauce. Use a wooden spoon and scrape everything off – this makes it a lot easier to wash the pan, too. Bring the sauce to a boil. If you like, you can add in a can or two of tomato sauce.

Throw the sausage and vegetation back in, add some salt, pepper, and cayenne pepper to taste. Add the bay leaves. Simmer for anywhere from 15 minutes to 5 hours (longer is better). About 15 minutes before serving turn the heat up to medium and add the chicken back in (if you leave it in it to stew it will overcook and be dry). Right before serving, add the shrimp and take off the heat as soon as the shrimp turns pink.

Serve over long grain white rice with a good amber ale. I like Mirror Pond from Deschutes brewing company with this.

I know that most Jambalaya recipes call for cooking the rice in with everything else – but I have never been able to get the chicken, shrimp and rice to all finish at the same time.

Delivery Service

Yesterday, Kristen and I snuck out of work for a long lunch. I drove Kristen up to Oakland and we picked up the kayak that she bought for Paul. You make a lot of friends when you have a truck. The kayak she bought him is really nice. She also bought all accessories to go with it. Spray skirt, paddles, pump, dry suit, dry bags, PFD – everything that Paul will need for his new hobby.

I took the boat and all the gear back to her house and unloaded it in her garage. His new boat weighs only 34 pounds. My kayak is 58 pounds, and 3 feet shorter – heavy, short boats go slower, you need to push more water out of the way. I get a better work-out (yeah, that's one way to look at it).

Neither Paul nor Kristen has a car that can carry a 17 foot long boat - this is going to be a problem for him if he's going to anything with the boat other than stare at it in the garage. He has one of those little nissan Z cars, and she has a convertible. But I agreed to take Paul and his boat down to Santa Cruz tomorrow. I have been paddling solo a lot recently (which is a piss poor idea) - it will be nice to have a paddle buddy for a change.

Save the Leopard

“Oh, please” Kristen was at the door to my cubicle. I had been wearing my new clothes from my recent make-over. Before dropping back to my standard jeans and t-shirts I was transitioning though some medium grungy clothes. I was wearing tan dockers and a long sleeve navy polo. “Those clothes are sooo staid. Pleeease tell me that you have a leopard skin G-string on under those.”

“Actually, I am wearing…”

“Aaah” she interrupted. She has a habit of doing this. “Don’t tell me. I want to preserve the illusion.”

I was going to tell her that I was wearing “a low rise mesh bikini brief” (a line from a Bill Murray movie) but it was probably best not to say anything. I’m embarrassed to say what I was actually wearing.

She sat down and we talked about work stuff for a while (I won’t bore you). It was about 7:30 at night, but the office was buzzing. Long hours are the rule here.

She finished up with the shop talk and said “You look sad”.

I smiled weakly. “Yeah, I recently lost someone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did they.. “ she paused, putting her hand over her mouth, deciding on which euphemism for dead she would use, “pass on?”

“No,” I said almost laughing, “no, nasty break-up. Just heartbroken, that’s all.”

She laughed. “Oh, I don’t mean to make light of it. Were you with her long?”

OK, so here it would sound stupid. Yeah, we were together for 3 weeks and now I’m clinically depressed – I’m psycho! “Uh, I’ve known her since college. We were really close.” That wasn’t technically a lie, but it was misleading.

“Did it just happen?”

“I don’t mind talking about it, but we need to do this over a glass of wine or something.” I was a bit uncomfortable discussing it here at work.

“I know just the place. Let’s go” she said, almost ordering me. We took her Mercedes (top up, it was raining slightly) and went to a wine bar near the office. It was a nice place with a really good selection of wines by the glass. She knew the bartender – we took a table near the bar and she got me a merlot. She had something white.

I started to tell her all about Lynn. After about 15 minutes Paul (her lover) came in. He walked over to Kristen and kissed her. He pulled up a chair close to her, then went to the bartender and got a beer. He hung up Kristen’s coat – which was hanging on the back of her chair. He is incredibly attentive. I know why she calls him her lover. He brought her some crab cakes and then settled in close to her. He seemed completely uninterested in the story of Lynn.

I think Kristen took an instant dislike of Lynn. “Did you ever figure out what she saw in Jim?” she asked me.

“No, but she says she likes older men.” Tim is quite a bit older than her, too – but he is probably shy of 40 by a couple years. “She says they are housebroken – they know not to leave the toilet seat up, they pick up after themselves.”

“Sounds like someone should put a leash on her” Kristen said with some bitterness. I was oddly offended by this - I almost protested.

After we had been there for a couple of hours and had a few glasses of wine and enough appetizers to make a decent dinner Paul started to get restless. “We should go.” Kristen said. Paul grabbed her coat and put it on her. She kissed him and sent him on ahead. “I’ll see you at home in a few minutes” she said to him – almost dismissing him.

“So Rich, can you help me pick-up something large?” Kristen asked when Paul was outside. You make a lot of friends when you have a pickup truck.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I bought Paul a kayak from a shop up in Oakland.”

“What kind?”

She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and read from it “A ‘Boreal Designs Ellesmere Kevlar’ that’s bullet proof, right? In case someone is shooting at him. ‘Kevlar 17-foot touring kayak’”

“Wow, that’s a great boat." (For you non-kayakers, this is a very high-end boat) A bit much for a beginner – but a really nice kayak. "What's the occasion?” This kind of boat needs to be special ordered.

“Nothing, I just wanted to buy him something nice.”

That was amazing. That she would go out and buy him something like that – well she has the money for it. And then I realized it. And I said it, normally I wouldn't but I had a few glasses of wine in me - “He’s a kept man, isn’t he?” I asked. “You… you.. you have a kept man. In your house. Just like a little pet. You just take him out any time you want and, well…”

She looked down and then smiled up at me though a few strands of hair, looking both sheepish and proud at the same time. She actually batted her eyelashes at me.

“I’m impressed” I said. I think she blushed slightly. “I wish I had that.”

“Which?” She asked “To keep someone or be kept?”

“Either.” To have the resources to keep a woman, or to be so sexy as to be wanted to be kept by someone who has achieved so much would be wonderful, I though.

“Really?” She asked.

“Sure.”

“You could be a kept man?”

I thought about it again for a minute. Frankly, if a woman could keep me in the manner in which I would like to become accustomed (like Paul), then, yes, I would really like it. “Yeah, I could.” I said.

She wrinkled her forehead. “Huh.”

I think I lost a few respect points from her. But I was being honest, and besides – she is the one with a kept man.

Lost Weekend

Last week I was feeling particularly sorry for myself. On Friday after work, I took my packed up weekend bag and drove north. I planned to go north to Mendocino. There is a nice motel perched over the harbor there just off California's highway 1. It is a good place for the mind and soul. I found it on my trip up the coast last November.

Instead, I found myself traveling to Napa. The truck just headed that way. Less good for the body and soul, but I needed to get numb, to get the pain out of my mind.

I found a vacancy at the Hilton Garden Inn right in downtown Napa. I’m sure I could get better rates by planning ahead, but this was a bit of a spontaneous change of destination. The traffic was pretty light getting there. I checked in at about 8. I promptly went down to the hotel bar and drank a bottle of wine for dinner. I have no appetite. I sat at the bar and watched folks come and go.

All couples.

I’ve been dumped before. But I’ve never been hurt like this before. God, where did I go wrong? What have I done to deserve this? OK, gentle reader, I won’t go over that again and again. But it keeps playing in my head. I was so close. Why am I the chopped liver boy?

OK. ‘Nuff whining. I know it gets tiresome.

Once the bottle was gone I went up stars to take a shower and go to sleep. After tossing and turning for a couple of hours I went back downstairs and had a couple of whiskeys (no minibar in the room). I don’t know that it helped all that much. I finally got to sleep at about 3:00 a.m. I woke about 7, and stared out the window trying to understand what happened. I spent most of the morning hungover and in a sleep deprivation fog. I ate a small breakfast and then drove north for a while. Up route 29 to Calistoga and then beyond. Driving is a bit calming.

I found myself way the heck north of Napa. There was a park – I can’t remember the name – but it had a big grassy area overlooking a valley. I sat there for a while and stared off into space. Will I ever get over this? Will I ever be the same? Probably not.

The sun was getting low in the sky. I got back in the truck and drove south. I hadn’t abused any alcohol yet today, and I wanted to start off doing it well. I drove to L’auberge du Soleil, a really great restaurant North of Napa, with a great bar that overlooks the valley. I thought it might do me some good.

I walked in and asked for a seat at the bar. The bartender asked me if I was expecting someone. I said yes, but not for a while and asked for the wine list. I ordered a bottle of the cheapest merlot on the list. Of course, here cheapest isn’t all that cheap. I’m going to run out of money if this goes on for much longer. I don’t even care. I’ll sit under a bridge and drink thunderbird.

After a while I noticed an attractive lady arrive at the bar. Again, in this romantic couples oriented place, the bartender asked her if she was alone. She said she was. She was two seats down from me. I told her, in the most joking voice that I could muster, that sitting alone here was frowned upon.

At this, her chin wrinkled and a tear welled up in her eye her. She quickly regained her composure and asked “Well, what’s your excuse?” Rather hostilely.

“Sorry”, I said, “I’ve had a bad year so far. That was inexcusable of me – quite insensitive.” I continued to apologize profusely. The pain has turned me into a jerk. I offered her a glass of my merlot. The bartender immediately produced a glass. I poured her one.

“Thanks, don’t worry about it. I’m OK. It’s just.. I mean…” she stammered “Oh, hell. It’s my husband.” She downed half the glass. “This”, she paused and her eyes welled up again, “is our 20^th wedding anniversary and he is with his mistress.”

Wow. OK. This was not what I was expecting. At all.

“His company” she said - a tear rolled down her cheek. “It consumes him. It means more to him to spend time running that damn business than to be with me on our 20^th and last anniversary.” She spat out the word “last”

Again, wow. Not what I was expecting. I looked at the bartender. She was wide eyed and rapt. I guess even for a barkeep this is pretty unusual stuff.

I looked back at her and held out my hand and said “Hi, I’m Rich,” giving her the most winning smile that I could manage.

She laughed and sobbed at the same time and held out her hand and said “I’m Helen. I didn’t mean in unload on you like that. ‘Rich’ as in Richard? That’s cute”

“Hi Helen.”

“So what’s your story? Why are you here alone and cranky?”

“Well, it’s a very long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time. And I already dumped on you.”

“Don’t say ‘dumped’, please” I gave her the whole story – from Sarah to Lynn. It felt good to talk it out.

It turned out that she had planned this trip with her husband to Napa from the east coast for their 20^th anniversary. Her husband, a compulsive work-a-holic was in the throes of, well, business, and decided to stay home (and I thought I make stupid decisions when it comes to women). She was so pissed that she decided to go anyway. The kids are old enough to take care of themselves, they have enough money to live well, and this was to be their together time.

In the middle of trading stories we moved to the patio, where 2 heater lamps were immediately lit, fresh water produced and clean wine glasses brought out. This place really has good service. I made a mental note to tip well.

The evening was winding down, we had found that misery loves company and connected in some way. She mentioned that she had a hot tub on her patio, and it seemed a waste not to take advantage of it. I immediately agreed – it was getting cold and I love hot tubs. I decided to get another bottle of the cheapest, well, most inexpensive (nothing is cheap at this place) Merlot to take back to her room. She asked the waiter for an alternate selection – she has really good taste. She picked up my check and signed it to her room. I protested, but was incredibly grateful, as this dinner probably cost more than my hotel room for the weekend.

We giggled and stumbled up to her room – which was a cottage, probably bigger then any apartment I have ever lived in. It was amazing. She went into the bedroom and asked me to get some glasses and pour some wine and meet her on the patio. She came out in a one piece bathing suit, and said “I bet you don’t have trunks” she frowned.

“No, I hadn’t planned on swimming this trip. I’m not really shy – but I don’t want to offend you.” I inhaled expectantly.

“Let me check and see if I have anything. I may have some shorts that will fit you.” She went back into the bedroom. “You are probably a bit skinnier than I am.” She came out with a pair of unisex athletic shorts. “Here, you can wear these.”

I really thought she had lured me up here to sleep with me. Silly me. Overly optimistic, perhaps. What’d I miss? Anyway, the hot tub with some good company and good wine was soothing enough for my broken soul.

I poured the wine and set it outside near the hot tub on the patio. The view and setting were spectacular. This place must be really expensive. I changed into her shorts. (OK, no jokes about getting into her pants – that’s too easy.) The shorts were serviceable but loose. I pulled on the rich terrycloth robe provided by the hotel and went out to hot tub.

The water was warm and wonderful, and I was quite drunk. I was starting to worry about the sleeping arrangements. I could always sleep in the truck, but I bet the hotel frowns on that sort of thing, probably more than it does for single folks in the bar. I’m betting that security trolls the parking lots more than once a night. I really didn’t want to spend the money that it would cost to get a room here. Maybe she'd let me sleep on her couch.

We drank and talked some more. Another bottle was dead. She asked if I wanted any more. I told her that it was up to her. I was enjoying her company more than I enjoyed anything in the last – it seems like forever, but it was only – four weeks. She proposed some brandy. I got up to get it, but she told me to sit down. She went in to get it.

The lights went out and she returned with two brandy snifters. When she pulled off her robe I saw she had left the bathing suit behind. She gave me a long kiss, and ran her hand down my side. My eyes are pretty good in the dark. I’m not sure what she was so shy about.

We went back to the bedroom and made love. And for the first time since, well, you know, I fell blissfully to sleep - with my arms wrapped around her.

I woke at about 4 in the morning. Still half drunk, but with the pain intruding again. I went to the living room (this place is really huge) to stare out the window. How can this hurt so much? This on top of that the pangs from “Our lady of perpetual guilt” (yeah, I was raised catholic) were starting to sink in. I think I hit 5 of the seven deadlies tonight. Maybe six. I took two whiskey miniatures from the bar (not a mini bar – this was a real bar), poured them into a highball and drained it in two swallows.

Helen came out from the bedroom after about 15 minutes. “Hey, are you OK?” she asked quietly.

“No, but I’m better than I have been in weeks. Thank you. Thank you so much”

She rubbed my back. “No, Thank you. I’m a little better too.”

We made love again, and then I slept to about 10:00 a.m.

----------------------------

I woke when I heard the shower running. I went into the bathroom. She was in the glassed in shower stall. “Aaagh” she screamed. “What are you doing?” She frantically covered herself.

“You are really beautiful.” I said. I wasn’t lying and I wasn’t drunk.

“For an old lady. Out!” She ordered.

I ducked out behind the door. “For anyone” I yelled.

I dressed and went to the truck to retrieve my clean clothes and bathroom stuff.

-----------------------------

After a nice Sunday brunch in the hotel restaurant, we decided to check me out of my hotel and do some wine tasting. I walked her out to my truck. “You drive a truck?” she asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. What did you think?”

“I didn’t think MetroSexuals drove trucks. You listen to Jazz, not country. Your fingernails are manicured, aren’t they?”

“Uh, yeah, but it was a special occasion. They’re not usually.” I think that was the first time I was accused of being a ‘metro-sexual’ – at least to my face.

“I had you pegged for a Lexus, not a BMW – you’re too laid back. You’re young, so maybe the entry model.”

“You’re right, actually, I would like to drive one.” I told her about my hit and run episode and the reason for buying the behemoth truck. I know the luxury cars are probably safer, but mass has significant advantages in a crash.

“Let’s take my car” she said. It turned out to be a rented Jaguar (Hertz, prestige collection). It was really nice. She drove.

We went back to my hotel and I checked out. Then we went to visit a few wineries. We ended at Sterling in Calistoga. I really like that winery – the wines are pretty good (although, they could be better, given their resources) but the tasting room in awesome. Sarah and I used to go there a lot.

After that we went back to her hotel and made love one last time in the late afternoon, and had a room service dinner (which was really good). It was 8 and I needed to leave. “Let’s stay in touch” I said. OK, yeah, I have issues on letting go.

She gave me a crooked smile. “Oh Rich, it would never work out”

Why do people keep telling me this? “Why not?” I asked.

“Beside the fact that you are almost 20 years younger than me, and we live on different coasts?”

OK, if you want to go with the obvious. “It’s closer to ten, and I travel a lot.” She gave me a skeptical look. “It’s not the sex – it’s you.” I said. “We don’t have to have an affair – I just want to hear from you from time to time. You made me laugh at a time when I forgot how to do that”

“Rich, it would be a really bad idea.”

“You’re not leaving him, are you?”

“Well, it’s not like he cheated on me.” Ouch. Pangs of guilt? Perhaps. I didn’t mean to complicate her life. We talk for a bit more and then we kissed and hugged one last time.

I left her my e-mail address and phone numbers. She didn’t reciprocate. I have a sad feeling that I will never hear from her again.

Hey, I think I just got dumped again -- although you really can’t get dumped by a one nighter.

This year sucks.

I really needed Helen – I was lucky to find her.

It was such a long drive home. I was dead tired, but I knew I won’t sleep well that night.

I need to get out of here

I need a vacation. I need to sit on a white sand beach in the south pacific. Feel the warm tradewinds in my hair. Listen to the waves crash on the beach. I need to get right in the head - get back to normal.

(cue scratching record player sound)

But that's not gonna happen. I have a new job and no vacation time. I work most weekends.

I'm going to take the weekend off and go up to Mendocino. The weather has turned nice here in Northern California.

I hope it will be enough.

New Favorite

I used to favor merlots. I think I now have a new favorite - syrah (or shiraz if it's from down under). I was drinking this tonight.

Damn, the bottle's empty.