Exchange of the left items

“So you’re flower guy?” asked the receptionist at Heidi’s office. I had let her know that I was here to drop off some things for Heidi and pick up a box that she left for me. My flight for Tokyo leaves at 11:30. I asked for the Limo to pick me up at 9:30. I stopped by Heidi’s office a bit before 9 to exchange stuff. Once done I needed to race back home and get driven to SFO. As long as traffic cooperates I might not be late.

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s me.”

“What’d you do?”

“I was bad.” I made a face.

“No really, what’d you do? No one ever sent that many flowers. I mean guys have ended up divorced and not put in that much of an effort.” I was kinda shocked that Ms. Receptionist was being so nosey. But I’m neither a customer nor an employee – or anyone else of note. I’m just someone’s ex-boyfriend – and the subject of some office gossip.

“It was…” I shook my head, “nothing.”

“Word is you cheated on her.” Receptionists rule the rumor mill. She was baiting me. I know I should have taken the high road and walked away. But I hated the thought of leaving my good name undefended.

“I had dinner with an old girlfriend.”

“That’s it?” She was disappointed.

“That’s it.” I shrugged.

She looked at me sideways. “So why all the drama?”

“’Cause I really didn’t want to let Heidi get away. But it wasn’t meant to be. Let me get out of your way.” I motioned for the box with my name on it. I left a Crate and Barrel bag with all the things that Heidi had left at my house – there wasn’t much. I did need to get home soon, but I needed to ask. I knew I shouldn’t – but I had to. “What happened between Lynn and Tim? How did it end?” She had to know.

She perked up. “Well,” she looked both ways – but it was early and no one was around. “Tim started dating (office-slut) about 2 weeks before they broke up. (Office-slut) works in marketing for (manager-dude). Anyway, Lynn’s friend (snoopy) was in the women’s locker room taking a shower after her jog at lunchtime. There’s one other shower stall occupied, but there are two sets of feet – and one has hairy ankles – if you know what I mean. Anyway, after a few minutes, (office-slut) is calling out ‘Oh, Tim, Oh, Tim.’ It happens.” She tried to look nonchalant – but it was clear that she lived for this stuff. “So, (snoopy) tells Lynn what she heard. Lynn goes ballistic. She runs all over campus looking for him. She confronts him in the cafeteria. (Cookie), the cafeteria manager almost called security. Folks thought that she was going to Bobbitize him right there.” She paused, “Why the smirk?”

WTF I thought. I’ll throw her a bone, she may come in useful someday. “Lynn was the old girlfriend I had dinner with.” Her eyes went wide with surprise and delight. “Have a nice day.” I said and walked out to my car.

Heidi Update

I’ve been obsessively trying to get back into Heidi’s good graces. Extravagant floral arrangements delivered to her office. Out to her favorite restaurants. Even a drinking session with her Dad – it seems to please her that I get along with him. His approval wins me some brownie points somehow. However, I can’t stand her mother, but that’s a different story. And I don't think its a problem.

I’m not sure why I am so afraid of losing her. It’s just irrational. I fear that subconsciously I think losing her might hurt just as much as losing Lynn. Maybe if I lose her I won’t have a reason not to go back to Lynn – and that thought both thrills and terrifies me.

Anyway, on Friday night we went out for a ridiculously expensive dinner in San Francisco. We ended the night at her place, where I was invited to spend the night, but just for cuddling purposes.

She seems to be forgiving me.

Sunday Paddle

So today I did an early paddle in Santa Cruz – same as last week, and yup there she was, paddle girl (we’ll see if she needs a pseudonym for the blog). This time she wanted to go east, towards Aptos. And she wanted to go faster, and farther. It’s actually really nice to have someone to paddle with. I’ve been going solo for the past 8 months or so and that is both dangerous and stupid. Seems paddle girl has been doing the same for a shorter period of time. Except she trains during the week in the afternoons with a coach.

She was on the dock next to her boat doing some stretching exercises. Waiting for me? I pulled down my boat and dragged it over to the dock. “hey”

“Morning. Looks like a good day for a paddle.”

“Where you headed?”

“East, Aptos. Maybe 4 miles out.”

“Looks like a good breeze today, don’t you want a downwind return”

“Nope. I need a challenge. You coming?”

“Yeah. Can’t let you paddle alone.”

“Better stretch.”

I set up my boat and did some stretching exercises. Then we set off. The seas were getting pretty rough. She was in front of me heading out of the harbor where we go past some breakers. She got caught by a wave, and went over. “Oh, shit” I thought to myself. I pulled a few hard strokes to catch up to her so I could do a rescue, and she pops out of the water, in her boat, laughing. She executed a perfect Eskimo roll. If I went down like that I would need a rescue. Wow.

We did 8 miles in less than an hour and a half. It took everything I had to keep up with her. I am going to be a hurtin puppy for a few days.

Once we were back in the harbor she set a slow pace. We leisurely paddled back to the dock. Even with a cool down, I was still out of breath. We threw our boats up on the dock. I took off my dry top and lay down on the dock with my feet in the water. She sat down next to me. “You OK?”

“Yeah, fine, no problem” gasp, gasp.

“You’re a pretty good sport. I’m impressed you can keep up with me. I’ll go easy on you next time.”

I guess there’s going to be a next time. Looks like I have a new paddle buddy. “You know, when you spilled on the way out of the harbor I thought we were done.”

“Don’t know where that wave came from. But I got a bomb-proof roll. You think I’d go out in these conditions with out it? Can’t you roll?” Maybe she’s not as suicidal as I thought. If you have an expert Eskimo roll these conditions are not nearly as dangerous.

“In good conditions.” I replied

“Oh. I didn’t know. I’ll keep a better eye on you.”

OK, I’m humbled. This 17 year old school girl is a way better athlete than I am.

We sat there on the dock talking amiably for about 20 minutes. And then she said “He got me pregnant.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa, you are not telling me this. “I’m really sorry to hear that – but, you know, you should not be sharing this with a 30 something guy you met at a dock.”

“You seem pretty cool.”

“Yeah, I am, but this is getting into an inappropriate area.”

“So were you married?”

“No.”

“Commitment phobic?”

“I was engaged.”

“You got cold feet?”

“Nope - she did. 2 days before the wedding. She just disappeared.” I knew I shouldn’t go on, but it was so easy to talk to her. “We had the church booked, the reception paid for, flowers, non refundable plane tickets, the works, and she ran away.”

“Wow, that’s cold.”

“Yeah. I call her the runaway bride. Now I think all women are scum.”

“Hey!”

“But paddlers are cool. And you, next time, birth control. They have pills for that kind of thing.” I stood up. Damn, I’m not getting involved with a teenager. My life is f*cked up enough as it is.

“God, you sound like my mother.”

“Yeah, well your mother sounds pretty smart. And I’m your paddle buddy, not your relationship coach. You want to talk about boys pick on someone your own age. OK?”

She shook her head.

“Next Sunday?” She asked.

“I’ll be here.”

Sunday Drive

It was about 11 at night. I was driving up highway 85 with the top down. It was surprisingly warm for October in the bay area. The phone rang and I answered it. It was Heidi. She’s up in Ashland Oregon where they do some kind of Shakespeare thing. Heidi and her friends make an annual event of it. So I was on my own for the weekend. Normally I would work, but we just finished a large project, and the next one hasn’t started. I slowed the car a bit to reduce the wind noise. “Hey how were the plays?”

“Great.” She regaled me with some highlights. “You driving?” she asked.

“Yeah, headed home.”

“Where’d you go?”

Ooh. I got a knot in my stomach. I have been really honest with Heidi, and now was not the time to start hiding things from her. “I was over at Lynn’s” I said as nonchalantly as possible.

“Oh.” She said, disappointed, but not surprised. There was silence for a moment. “It’s late.” She said, stating the obvious, but her accusation was clear.

Shit. I should have sent this to voicemail. “Nothing happened.” I tried not to sound defensive. Hey, you’re the one who went away for the weekend – with guys tagging along, I might add. I left this unsaid. I have no claim at all on her. I’m lucky she talks to me. “How dumb do you think I am?”

“When it comes to her…” she didn’t finish her sentence.

“I had dinner with an old friend. That’s all it was.”

“Should I come over tomorrow? You have time?”

“Yeah, things are slow at work.”

The Friday before this conversation, I had gone home early and continued to be in a foul mood. I decided to go for a long paddle on Saturday and headed out early in the morning to Sausilido. Maybe a change of venue would cheer me up. There’s a nice yacht harbor there and still enough wind and waves to get a good workout. I needed to go either early or late to avoid the tides. I paddled angry for a good 3 hours and exhausted myself.

I hosed my boat and myself off and then had lunch in the park near the waterfront. Watched the people go by.

Went home and made myself a bowl of risotto – my favorite comfort food. Downed it with a bottle of chianti, and still had a hard time falling asleep.

Sunday morning, I called her. (Lynn for you new readers, the woman who put my heart through a meat grinder, now dumped by the guy she left me for.)

It was about 10 a.m. “Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been better. It’s been a while.”

I didn’t know what to say – you threw me out. “yeah” I lamely replied. I’d let her steer the conversation.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been better, too.”

Now I was wondering why I called. This was awkward. We had talked after our break-up, but not since she got dumped by Tim. “I hear you and Heidi are quite the item now.”

“Oh?”

“Well the office gossip is all about a weekend in Monterrey.”

“Mmm”

“She asked me about you.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“I told her you were a great date. You really know how to take good care of a woman. And to be kind to you, cause you’ve been through a lot lately.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t give her any details.”

“I did.”

“You what?”

“Yeah, well…” I explained how things happened with Heidi. And there it was – we were back in our groove. It was not awkward. We were talking about our love lives. And then I did remember why I called. I just really needed to hear her say “Rich, I’m sorry.” Don’t know why. I just needed to hear it.

We talked some more. We both laughed at something. “I’ll buy you a beer.” I said.

“Crows nest?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Well, come get me.”

I drove over to her apartment. I walked her out to my car. “Where’s the truck?” she asked.

“I bough this, it’s more fun.”

“This is yours? Oh my god, Rich, you bought this?” She knew in an instant.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t suppress a grin.

She looked at me and took my hand. “You were really in love – weren’t you?”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

“Yeah.” She looked away “And it scared me. I really wasn’t ready for that.”

I waited for it “I’m sorry, Rich”, but it never came. I opened the car door for her.

“This is crazy, Rich!” She called out as I got in.

Yeah, this is crazy, I thought.

We had a nice lunch at the crows nest and had a couple of drinks while watching the boats go in and out of the harbor. Driving home, we took the car up highway 1 then over 84 – winding through the Santa Cruz mountains. It was a wonderful day for the drive.

As we got towards Los Gatos she asked what we should do for dinner. I volunteered to make a fettuccini alfreado with chicken. She put her arm on my shoulder in an affectionate gesture. “That would be so nice. I am so tired of cooking for guys.” I almost smacked her. For Tim you cook, for me you lounge on the couch and watch!?!? WTF, that’s not right.

Guys, do not be the one that cooks. Be the one that is cooked for.

There’s a lesson to be learned here, but I’m too thick to pick it up. We stop to get ingredients for dinner. And a bottle of wine.

I cook her dinner, and we eat sitting on the floor of her breakfast nook. She still has no furniture but what we extracted from her home with Jim (and the bed).

Late in the evening, lingering over the last of the wine, she asks “So where does that leave us?”

“Well, I don’t trust you any further than I can throw you.”

“And you can’t throw me very far.” She's probably all of 95 pounds, I could get some good distance on her, I thought, not that I would.

“And I’m not sure I want to be your second choice.”

“Yeah,” she said “I can understand that.”

And again, I waited for it. “I’m sorry, Rich” but it never came.

I seriously wish she had not gotten dumped by Tim. This is hard, in so many ways. But, I am not going to get entangled as long as I am with Heidi. And with that thought I got up and walked out the door. 10 minutes later, Heidi called.

Embarassed

Sunday afternoon I was out paddling in the Santa Cruz yacht harbor - warming up to go out on the bay. (And working off the hangover that was induced by Heidi's father.) I noticed this cute blonde dressed in a tiny tank top and an even tinier turquoise bikini bottom. She was in a laser. She was rigging her sails, making her way out of the harbor. She looked up and saw me. I smiled at her. I puffed out my chest and picked up my pace a bit. I really try to be an intelligent man of the new millennium - but like a cave man, I needed to show off my muscle power. Why do I do that? Gotta be a hormonal problem.

Anyway, I couldn't take my eyes off her.

And then...

Crash!

I crashed into the dock, not a glancing blow. I plowed into it hard. If I had a fiberglass boat, I would have broken it. Fortunately I have a cheap plastic boat, and it just bounced off the dock. Everything intact, but my ego. But it made a huge noise. People turned to look. I'm pretty sure I turned beet red.

Sailor girl held her hand over her mouth and laughed, then shook her head. Then she went back to her rigging.

Yoshi's

Last night I went to Yoshi's and saw Herb Alpert - legendary Jazz trumpet player (and the "A" in "A & M records" you might have heard of them). I bought 2 tickets a couple of weeks ago - really wanting to see the show and believing that I'd have someone to drag along with me. Yeah, the hopefulness that I'd be able to get a date.

I went alone. Determined to live my life as I want to - regardless of the girlfriend situation.

Damn, it was depressing. I felt pathetic.

The music was great. Ambiance wonderful. It was amazing to see Herb play live. But I really missed sharing it with someone.

Not even Maurizio was available.

Next time I'll just download some iTunes.

Heavenly Beauty

The wind played with her long brown hair as it gently swayed in the breeze coming off the ocean. The firelight gently lit up her face with a warm flickering glow. Her eyes were smiling brightly as she laughed at something. She was wearing black jeans and an oversized white pullover sweater - she wore it well - it had a very designer look to it and was elegantly accessorized. She was drinking something unnaturally red from a martini glass and it was almost gone.

I was once again in love, and I didn’t even know her name.

“What’s that red martini drink?” I asked Steve, the bar tender on duty at my favorite watering hole – Half Moon Bay Brewing Company. Maurizio and I were sitting at the bar looking out at the patio. After seeing Lynn and Tim together this weekend, I needed company and some 80 proof therapy. My new found love was a bonus. She sitting outside at the fire pit. There was an empty chair next to her.

“That’s a cosmo.” Steve replied to my query. You'd think I'd know that, given how much time I spend in bars.

“Give me one.” I asked “No, two, please.”

Steve proceeded to mix the drinks. It really didn’t look appetizing to me. It was a rather slow night, even for a Monday. There was no entertainment tonight.

I took the drinks outside and sat down next to her. Glancing back in the bar, it became apparent that I was now the entertainment for Steve, Maurizio and some of the regulars as they all peered out the window to see how well I would do.

“Hello, you seem to be getting a little low there, I thought I’d bring you a fresh one.” I handed her the drink.

“Thank you,” she said with enthusiasm.

“Hi, I’m Rich.”

“I’m Jill, and this is my friend Cara.”

I nodded at Cara. “Oh, fresh drinks.” She declared and held out her hand toward me. She seemed a bit tipsy. I was planning to keep the drink for myself. But it seemed like the right thing to do was to give her the drink, so I handed it over with a smile and said. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks” Cara said “Rich, that’s just short for Richard?”

“Yeah, just.” I said. Cara seemed a bit disappointed, but Jill laughed. Would anyone really go around introducing themselves with their financial status? Cara's not so bright. I like that. I looked inside and gestured to Steve for a drink. He nodded and grabbed a pint glass and filled it with the IPA – good man.

After the waitress brought out the beer I complimented Jill on her shoes - a trick that was taught to me in college. Women usually take a great deal of interest in footwear. They really appreciate it when guys notice their nice shoes. It often works wonders. Frankly, I can't tell the difference between a mule and a slingback - and I have no clue what Jimmy Choo does to leather that makes it worth $12,000 per square foot - but women seem to be really into them. Next I complimented her hair, which was stunning. I brushed a strand behind her ear – just to see her reaction. She was starting to get leery as if I was there to pick her up (which I was). I chatted about the weather and other innocuous subjects, then I decided to rush things. Girls usually make up their mind in the first minute how far they are going to let you go. Yeah, you can spend months trying to change their mind – but in this case I decided it would be better to know sooner rather than later. So I dived in.

“Ah... Rich, ah... I’m kind of in this... thing with, ah... a guy.” She said.

Crash and burn. “Well, you can’t fault a guy for trying. But I’m sure someone as beautiful as you has this happen all the time.”

She tilted her head down and laughed dismissively. “No, not really.” She was flattered – which was my goal.

“You’re just trying to make me feel better, huh? Anyway, enjoy the cosmo. And make sure that, 'ah... guy' takes good care of you. It was nice to meet you Jill, and Cara.” I then took the walk of shame back to the bar.

“Oooh, Rich, I thought you had that one.” Steve said. “Here’s one on the house.” He passed me another IPA. Maurizio patted me on the back.

"I need a girlfriend.” I lamented.

“Why?” Maurizio asked. “They don’t seem to bring you a lot of joy lately.”

“Yeah they do. It’s the lack of a girlfriend that’s pissing me off. It’s when they stop being girlfriends that’s the problem.” We talked for a while, and I noticed a girl at the corner of the bar that kept making eye contact. “Hey Steve,” I called out, “Can I get one of what she’s drinking?” She was finishing a pint of beer, probably the lager.

I took her a fresh beer. She smiled at me and thanked me. I was quickly shoved from behind. “Hey, she’s with me.” I turned to see a guy who was about twice my size. And he was kinda angry. I really hadn’t noticed that anyone was with her.

“Sorry, I was just bringing her a beer.”

“Yeah, well I can get her all the beer she needs. Now get out of here.” He stuck out his chest and stood between me and her.

“OK, ok, I’m sorry” I held up my hands and backed off. Glen (the manager) was there ready to break up the possibly impending bar fight. He’s a small guy, but he knows how to handle himself. I was not going to fight this guy, he could have squashed me like a bug.

I sat back down with Maurizio. “That’d be 0 for 2” he said. The girl mouthed “thank you” and “sorry” at me across the bar when her date wasn’t looking.

I went 0 for 3 last night, and had a few too many - which was kinda the plan. There is a decent motel about a block away on highway 1 that’s pretty inexpensive. I spent the night there.

HMB Brewing is a small bar and not really a meet market. It caters to tourists and the occasional yuppie surfer. Of course, I’m just saying that to make myself feel better. Nothing like a few good crash and burns to keep me humble.

The Rebound Guy

I was the rebound guy, once before. It wasn't that bad.

October 30, 1993 (cue harp music and blurry video).

He was the big man on campus. His dad was a local celebrity, and he was rich. Tall, good looking, charismatic, had something to do with sports. Not the quarterback on the football team, but something - I don't recall. He was wildly popular. Everybody loved him. He lived in the same dorm as I did. He always had really cute girlfriends. Case in point was sitting right in front of me.

It was a toga party. Everyone dressed in sheets, loud music, lots of beer. It was held in the cafeteria of the residence hall. $5 got you in, and $1 bought a bad beer. She was sitting down, leaning on him - one elbow on his shoulder. He was turned away from her, talking to one of his friends. She said something to me. With all the noise I couldn't make it out. I bent down so I could hear her better.

"He doesn't appreciate me." She said - almost yelling - and nodding her head toward her boyfriend. It was loud enough for him to hear. She was still leaning on him.

"That" I replied, "is criminal."

She gave me a look that said "Are you going to do anything about it?" I looked at him. I'm sure he heard the exchange. He was still looking away, talking with some guy. He showed no reaction at all.

I knew her. She ate at the same cafeteria. I had seen her around on campus. We had chatted a few time. She was know as "his girl" from the start of the semester.

I held out my hand, "Dance?"

She took my hand, and smiled broadly. We walked out to the dance floor. The next song up was Oingo Boingo's "Dead Man's Party" (It was Halloween, after all). I really like that song now.

After a couple of dances I bought her a beer and we went outside. We chatted. She complained about her boyfriend, went on about what a jerk he was. I would counter from time to time with, "Oh, he can't be that bad" to which she would respond with even more examples of horrible things he had done.

He came outside with a group of his friends. She saw him. She grabbed me, kissed me and put her tongue down my throat. I was being used. And I liked it.

She eventually suggested going back to her room and getting out of these sheets. I agreed. It was a Saturday night and her roommate was out for the weekend. She made love to me, angry. I showed an amazing amount of appreciation. I told her how wonderful she was. I told her how stupid her old boyfriend was.

I must have done something right, because she kept me around for another 6 months. I regularly sent flowers to her dorm room. I left her silly notes (this was before the age of IM and texting - man, I'm getting old!) I bought her chocolates, learned her favorite things, showered her with affection and attention. She loved it. Mostly, she loved showing off her attentive boyfriend to her friends. Flowers were best if delivered to the front desk of the dorm, at a time when they would not be picked up for a while - so everyone could see them. The best gifts were things she could show off. She was still using me, and I still liked it.

Eventually, we drifted apart. She was high maintenance. Finals near the end of the spring term distracted me - and her - enough for us to lose interest. It was one of my easiest break ups. Sitting in her dorm and splitting a bottle of champagne after finals were over, she sighed "I'm weary, way beyond tired." She was looking outside, avoiding my eyes.

"It's not working, is it?" I asked.

"No" she replied.

"You were awesome."

"Yeah, I know" she joked - at least I think it was a joke.

"I'm gonna remember you forever."

"Yeah, I know" she said again, finally looking into my eyes - she gave me a crooked grin.

We finished the champagne. I kissed her and said good bye.

"You're sweet, Rich" she said as I walked out the door. I've hated that expression ever since.

I replied "Yeah, I know." We were steady friends through the end of college.

I still can remember her phone number, her dorm room number, her favorite flower, her favorite food, 15 years later.

Drinking with Maurizio

“So what’s the problem?” I asked. We were at the bar at the top of the Marriott hotel in San Francisco - appropriately called "The View". It’s close to Maurizio’s apartment, and I don’t think he’ll be in any shape to drive tonight. It’s not where I would have picked to drown some sorrows; this is more of a businessman’s expense report place. But it is Maurizio’s treat so I am game.

Maurizio was staring out the window. There was a slow and steady mist falling on the huge glass panes that made up the windows of the atrium like bar. This place is very Gotham city. Lots of art deco, dimly lit and furnished with dark wood and leather. It is easy to imagine Bruce Wayne brooding in here – especially tonight with the gray swirling fog outside.

Maurizio took a deep swallow of his scotch and signed. “I’m going to lose him.”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s what you always said. What’s different this time?”

“I think I’m in love. I mean really in love”

“That is obvious.”

“Love sucks. Did you ever need to hear it?” he asked, turning to face me. “I mean, really need to hear it?”

“No, honestly.” I paused. “There was a girl in college that needed to hear it from me, and I couldn’t lead her on. It ended badly.” I thought back to my days in the dorms and Ira (perhaps more on that later – she was wonderful and it is quite a story.) “You’ve not asked him to say ‘I love you’, have you?”

“No, no” he cleared his throat. “No. Pussy, football!” (our inside joke) he glared at the couple at the next table who were clearly engrossed in his story, “are you getting everything OK?” They turned away, embarrassed. The bar is quiet, like a library – just some gentle background chatter and soft music. It is a good place for a conversation. Perhaps this was a good place to drown your sorrows.

“Is this just because you can’t have him? Is he playing hard to get?”

“No” he said again, with less enthusiasm.

“You’ve slept with him, right?” I had just realized that he had not given me details. Maurizio is the kind of guy that shares a bit too much (TMI!!)– with me anyway.

“Yeah, but, you know, it’s not the sex. I mean, the sex is great and all, but he’s so casual about it.”

“Um, and you aren’t? You’re the king of casual sex. I thought the whole gay thing was about casual sex.”

“No, the gay thing is about what turns me on.” He said, getting cross. He ordered another round of double scotches for both of us.

“Sorry, but you’ve always been so casual in your relationships. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but you seem to have some guys for just a few weeks. Sex is grand and you move on the next one.” I finished the last of my scotch, the next one was on the way. “Seriously, I really admired, or maybe envied, that about you. You can get a new guy in a weekend if you want. I go for months, years, waiting for the girl to show up.”

“Rich, you don’t have to wait. You’re just a big chicken. And you’re looking for the epic romance where you kiss and roll in the waves like in that movie. If you want a roll in the hay you can have it, just ask.” He looked at me and paused. “I mean, take our waitress." he went on "I give you a 50/50 chance, if you would just ask her.”

“I kissed Lynn” I said out of the blue.

Maurizio’s eyes widened. “You horn dog, you. Alright. It’s about time!” He gave me a big smile, perhaps his first for the night, and patted me on the back. (Hmmm, not reading my blog, huh?) “I assume that you mean a serious slobbery wet swapping spit kind of kiss, right?” he asked. Maurizio was back, at least for the moment.

“Yeah, uh, spit swapping.” He made this really sweet thing between Lynn and me seem so gross.

He slapped me on the back again. “Way to go. Isn’t Jim going to be pissed about this?”

“Why do you think she is with him?”

“I’m guessing that he turns her on.”

“But he’s kind of a jerk.”

“Yeah, well, he is kind of a jerk. But, being a turn on and being a jerk aren’t mutually exclusive. In fact, being a huge turn-on can turn some people into jerks. And while you see jerk, she may see dominance and assertiveness – I hear women can find that attractive. A lot of people find jerkiness a turn-off, but maybe his sex appeal is good enough to overcome that. You know her better than I do, but Lynn doesn’t seem to me to be the type that would find jerkiness all that bad.”

“But Jim is old, bald, and fat. And he likes country music and wears cowboy boots. Where’s the turn-on?” I asked this with perhaps a bit too much desperation.

“Rich,” Maurizio looked exasperated. “There is no accounting for taste. Look at you, you find tits and pussies to be attractive. I can’t understand that for the life of me. Some guys like steak, some guys like chicken. She found something in him that excites her. She had to, otherwise she wouldn’t put up with him.”

“I guess” I said dejectedly.

“It’s the sex, the chemistry, the fireworks – call it what you like – but when you find it it’s wonderful. It’s the sizzle that makes life worth living. Who knows, maybe he has a 12 inch cock, or can lick his eyebrows. If he makes her happy it’s a good thing – that is, unless you want to make her happy.” He sighed. “This probably won’t end well. When did this slobbery kiss happen?”

“It was Christmas Eve. And nothings happened since.”

“Have you tried anything since?”

“Well, no. Not really.”

“What do you expect her to do, climb under your desk and blow you? Give her a reason to do something. Grab life by the balls. I can’t believe you are such a wuss.”

“I thought we were here to cheer you up, not bring me down.”

“Wait here.” He walked over to our waitress who was standing by the bar and talked closely to her for a while. She was smiling - she’ll be disappointed I thought. He returned with our scotches and a smile. He lifted his glass and said “To friendship” and clicked my glass. “Rich,” he said “I can never stay down when you are around. I love you.” He downed a hearty swallow. He had never said that to me before. Hmmm.

I truly had gotten him out of his funk. We chatted amiably through two more double scotches. He led me up to the bar on the pretense of a taste of a 30 year old armagnac that the bartender had for “friends of the bar” only. We stood there for a while and chatted with the barkeep. The armagnac was really good. The bar tab for tonight was going to cost us a fortune.

I felt slight pressure and an up and down motion on the left side of my rear end. Someone was playing grab-ass, and they were using my ass. Maurizio was on my right. I looked at him. He was holding a brandy snifter in his left hand – it wasn’t Maurizio. I shouldn’t have suspected him. I turned to my left – and saw our waitress smiling at me. She gave me a brief squeeze and turned away.

Maurizio and the bartender laughed.

“All you need to do is ask.” Maurizio chided me. He may be right.

Maurizio settled up – I protested and offered to pay my share. Maurizio refused.

We stumbled down to the street and hailed a cab – even though Maurizio’s apartment was only about 6 blocks away. I had left my truck at his apartment. Before we got in he asked me if I was OK to drive. I said “Of course not.” I had lost count, but I think I had 6 (or was it 8?) scotches and the brandy.

“Rich, I can’t have you in my house tonight.”

“Why?”

“Rich, I can’t, not tonight. Just… I can’t.” He ran back inside the Marriott. I followed. He was at the front desk, and handed the desk clerk a credit card.

“What?” I asked.

The lady handed him some papers and said “Room 2108”.

Maurizio handed me the key, and said “Stay here tonight.” He sniffed and looked down at the floor. He hugged me and said “Get yourself a room service breakfast.” And then he smiled at me. “And enjoy it with that waitress, if your dick still works. Here's her number" he handed me a card with her number written on it (damn Maurizio, how does he do that?). He turned and walked out briskly.

I went up stairs and sat on the bed in the dark and stared at the rain falling on the window. I thought about Sarah, and Lynn, and Jim, and Maurizio. And then I remembered – I have a 5:00 a.m. video conference. Normally on Tuesday night I would not have gone drinking, but Maurizio needed me.

I couldn’t afford to miss this meeting – we skipped it last week because of the holidays. I didn’t want to give Dave any more ammunition. But, crap, it was 1 a.m. I’d still be drunk before I needed to drive down to Sunnyvale. I decided to phone it in, and set the alarm for 4:55.

New Year's Party

We had a new year’s party at Greg’s house.

Greg has a beautiful house in the Los Altos Hills above silicon valley. For those not familiar with silicon valley - Los Altos Hills is where the gazillionares live. Once your company does an IPO or is bought by Google for 9 figures you go buy a house there. Needless to say, these folks no longer have any need for the phrase "how much does that cost?".

A bunch of us from work went. Janet was there, as was Lynn. Lynn (my BFF) came with Jim (her SO), which seemed to me a bit awkward (for new readers, see the earlier post where I stupidly put the moves on her after work). If she was feeling awkward, she wasn’t showing it. There was really good food and wine – there was a particularly good cabernet that Greg was serving from Australia (Barossa Valley) called “The Reward” from a winery called Hallett. I’ll need to see if I can’t get it from K&L wines in Palo Alto. Worth seeking out.

There are a couple of rules when dining with Greg. First, when the food is served you are at the table immediately. The cook, in this case Greg – he fancies himself quite the gourmet – did a lot of work to produce some great food. And to enjoy the food at the peak of flavor - all you need to do is sit down promptly. So, sit down promptly. Second, never season anything before tasting it. Both of these are an insult to the chef. If you want to come back, don’t insult the chef. Actually, I agree with both of these rules – being a foodie myself I can see the logic in this.

Anyway, it was a sit-down affair for about 25. His dining room accommodated all quite nicely. Greg had hired 2 sous chefs and some wait staff for the party. On the 31^st Greg is having a “business meeting” type new year’s party – clients, partners etc. Tonight was for friends.

I sat across from Lynn and Jim. We discussed a number of topics. Jim wants to go windsurfing again. He made a number of rude remarks. I don’t get why Lynn is with him. But this is probably just jealousy.

Dinner wound down and most folks left, including Linda and Lynn. I was talking with Greg about his recent wine acquisition trip to Italy (I'm so jealous). He offered to show me some of his buys. He led me down into his wine cellar – which was amazing. It had to be 40 feet long and 20 wide, under the main house.

“Room for over 15,000 bottles” Greg said.

It was amazing. Did I say that already? We walked through his cellar and he showed me Barolos, Chiantis, and we stopped at some bottles of champagne. He had a case of Dom Perignon sitting on the floor, unopened. I must have looked thirsty or something, because he asked me if I wanted some. I hesitated (I was going to politely decline), he didn't hesitate, he immediately pulled open the case and grabbed two bottles. “I’ll chill them for you” he said. “They’ll be cold in 15 minutes.”

He invited me out to the Jacuzzi. “I didn’t bring any swim trunks” I said.

“That’s OK he replied, we rarely use them here.” He replied. “Don’t be shy”

The Jacuzzi and pool were outside on the downstairs level in back of the house. It was awesome. You could sit in the pool and look over the whole valley. Only the pool lights were on. I walked out to the pool deck and stripped down and sat in the hot tub. There were 4 people there, three girls and one guy. No one that I recognized. Greg came out a minute later with the 2 bottles of Dom Perignon and 6 glasses.

He popped one open and filled the glasses and passed them out. We all toasted the new year. The Dom Perignon was good, but not really – IMHO – worth the $100+ that it costs. I would stack it up against a $30 Mumms any day. But, good wine is wine that you like. (and I like Mumms)

“So,” Greg asked “I wonder what the poor folks are doing tonight?”

That was a bit tacky, I thought.

We talked about a number of topics. I was probably talking about Lynn more that I should have. Greg said, “It sounds like you have a bit of a crush on that girl”

“She’s a sweetheart” I said.

“You know," Greg said, “Jim is a bit of an asshole. I’d be careful hanging with them if I were you.”

“Well, it’s really Lynn who is my friend”

“Did you ever wonder why Lynn is with him?” Greg asked.

“All the time” I replied, staring up at the stars

“You really should consider that, you know” said Greg. "Beautiful young girl... balding, fat, middle aged asshole - who's not rich, I might add... Why?"

“Dunno, why is she with him?” I asked.

“There could be a lot of reasons. You figure it out.”

“You don’t know either?” I asked

“There are some things you need to learn on your own.” He sighed and looked out over the valley. If he knew, (or thought he knew) he wasn’t going to tell me. He ran a wet hand through his hair and inhaled deeply. He sank down under the water. A moment later one of the girls screamed then giggled. How do you do that, put your head underwater in a jacuzzi? That's crazy.

In total, we killed four bottles of Dom Champagne, more being brought by the hired waitstaff. One couple left together, leaving Greg, me and two naked women. I felt a leg slide across my thigh. I looked over at the girl (I can’t remember her name, but she was cute) she smiled at me. Somehow, it just wasn’t right. I don’t know – maybe it was the kiss with Lynn. On any other night this would have been really welcome. Tonight it was just totally wrong.

I did end up staying the night at Greg’s house. He has several guest rooms off the pool deck. The girl stayed, too. In a separate room. We talked in the morning. She did not seem (too) insulted that I did not accept her advance (WAS I CRAZY!?!? Throwing away beautiful women is bad thing to do. One day they may not be so plentiful. WTF was I thinking!?!?! Aaaargh, I regret it already)

I drove home wondering what Greg meant when we had talked about Lynn and Jim. Why was Lynn with Jim? I usually try not to question folk’s taste – good food is food that you like, after all. But I am really starting to wonder about Lynn’s.

I Kissed a Girl...

...and I liked it

Cue that overplayed Kate Perry song.

Maurizio always thought it ironic when I hummed that.

Anyway, it’s the day before Christmas Eve. I just got home from work. The last week has been so hectic with the extra assignments at work, last minute Christmas shopping and such. Today, work was very quiet, only a few people were in. I am pretty low on vacation time (I used it all up, and then some, last month on my highway 1 adventure) so I’m in all this week and next. Lynn was in as well.

It was about 6:00 and the office was empty except for Lynn and me. Most of the lights were turned out – not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. I was about to head out. I packed up my bag with the laptop and papers, and walked down to Lynn’s cube.

I smiled at her, “Merry Christmas.” I leaned against the cubicle doorframe.

“You doing anything fun?” She asked

“I’ve been too busy to plan. I think it will be a quiet Christmas. Scott went to visit his folks in Yakima. Jason is spending the next week in San Diego. So I have the run of the house. I need to pick up a roast. I’ll cook it and have a nice dinner.”

“By yourself? Come over to our place. Jim’s having some friends over, but you’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Thanks,” I looked down "I always cook a roast on Christmas, and make a Yorkshire pudding in the fat.”

She wrinkled her nose. I guess that sounded really gross – but actually it is very decadent. It didn’t seem like the time to explain it to her. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the offer. You should head home soon. It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, I have a few things to pick-up. I’m going now.” She threw some things in her bag and stood to leave. She walked over to the door of her cube, but left her bag and purse behind.
She stood in the door facing me. She gently leaned forward. “Kiss her, you fool” I thought to myself. I really wanted to. We were standing under the mistletoe. She had never been more beautiful than right now. I put my arms around her, pulled her close and kissed her like I meant it. I think I surprised myself as much as her.

She kissed me back. She was serious, too.

“I’m tired of playing by the rules” I said. I kissed her again. I came up for air, and wondered what to do next.

The first thing that I could think of was “that was a dumb thing to do”. She is engaged, living with another guy, genuinely unavailable. What do I say now? I probably just screwed everything up with her. And she's my best friend on the whole planet.

OK, so who saw this coming? Was it obvious?

“You have a wonderful Christmas” I said to her, stepping back.

“I was wondering if you’d ever get around to doing that” she said.

“Was it obvious?” I asked.

“I’ve told you before, I can read you like a book.” She smiled coyly “Thanks”

“Any time” I replied – trying to be smart.

She picked up her bag and we walked out to the parking lot. She put her arm around me as we walked - until we were in sight of the security guard at the back door. I walked her to her car. She turned to me and kissed me again.

“You’re sweet, Rich” she said. “Merry Christmas”

She got in her car and drove off - home to Jim.

What ever happened to her...

Did you ever google an old flame, just to see what happened to them?

Yes, it's snoopy and needy, and all kinds of other bad things - and a waste of time. But I did it. The hot girl from college - who was waaaay out of my league. Yes, she dated me a few times. And it was really nice. I knew she wouldn't stay with me, but I enjoyed it while it lasted. She has a pretty unusual name, so she came up on page one of the search, all these years later.

And there she was, in pictures with some guy. Over and over again, the same guy. Pictures taken at charity events, where they clearly were significant donors - enough to be noted in the local papers and websites. It wasn't her father, but he was old enough. Clearly an item - although she still has her maiden name. Married or not, who knows.

Then I googled him. He's wealthy. Not Forbes 500 wealthy, but enough to provide very well for those around him. He's well connected in the community. And 18 years older than her.

She looks happy (and still very sexy) in the pictures. I'm happy for her.

More Camping

Big Sur to Morro Bay - 91 Miles

Spent the last few days camping, and making my way down the coast of Big Sur in central California. I spent the few nights before that in some really nice hotels, and a man can only take so much really good food and luxury - and if I ever get to that point I'll let you know. But, of course, there is the practical matter of being able to afford this trip down the coast. And I got in some good surfing, too.

Yesterday I met up with a nice group of folks surfing near my campsite on the beach. They were kind enough to invite me to their campfire and to dinner. I'm not sure their campfire was legal - there are a bunch of wild-fires going on here in southern California - and there are signs all over the park saying "no camp fires", but this was out on the beach near the water and the wind was blowing off-shore. Which blows any sparks out to sea - and creates great surfing conditions. They broke out a case of really cheap beer and we drank until the early morning. While I'm not a great fan of american beer, I graciously accepted their hospitality.

One of the girls needed to get to San Luis Obispo today and asked me to give her a lift. I kinda thought that maybe she wanted to spend some time with me alone, but while she was a bit tipsy she said, "I hope you're not the kind of perv that's going to ask me to blow you while you drive." mm-kay... Not that I wouldn't like it, but that kind of thing only happens to the guys who live in Penthouse Forum letters - so I won't be asking. "Nope, I'm not that kind of perv" I replied. I left her to wonder what kind of perv I am. She took a ride with me anyway.

It was nice to have some company on the drive. There's great scenery, but it was good to talk with someone. She made fun of almost all the music on my iPod and tried to figure out my life from the receipts in my glove box - gas, truck repairs, dry cleaning and laundry, too many from burger king, and a bunch from K&L wines in palo alto. She told me that I am anal, since I had the oil changed in my truck at almost exactly 5000 mile intervals, I have gay tendencies since I visited the dry cleaners almost every week - that shows that I cared way to much about clothes to be straight, and that I can not handle my money, as I often spent more than $50 on a bottle of wine. "There's lots of wine there for under $15" I protested. At which point she decided I am an alcoholic. Hmm, what do your receipts say about you?

Anyway, I dropped her off at the college in SLO, and then headed back to Morro Bay, where I found a not-too-expensive hotel - with free WiFi.

I'm going to wash out all the salt and sand out of everything I own.

It's good to back in civilization.

Halloween Party

It was an epic Halloween party – and I had no costume. It was threatening to rain. Nothing more than a mist fell. It was cold, but we built a bon fire on the beach and huddled around it until well past the witching hour.

I’m on a road trip up the California coast – but have spent most of the last week in Eureka. I’m staying with my new surfing buddies and they insisted that I hang around for their Halloween bash. There was lots of booze, and, I’m sure, more.

A stunning beauty in a French maid costume (oh la la!) caught my eye early in the evening. I’ve really got a thing for the French maid, but then what red blooded American boy doesn’t. Despite using every charm that I have, she wanted nothing more than a good night kiss. I think the fact that I’m leaving in a day or two killed the deal. She did spend most of the evening flirting with me – which was very nice. I did give her my jacket, as her costume was way too skimpy for the cold evening.

But in the end, she ruffled my hair, told me I was sweet, gave me a quick kiss goodnight, and walked away.
Oh, well.

Also, no sign of the party girl from the Red Lion lounge. Guess it’s not that small a town.

Monday Night in Eureka

Or, How I almost got lucky in a small northern California town

After days in the wilderness I was looking forward to getting a hot shower and spending some quality time at a laundromat. I checked into the Red Lion hotel off 101. Oooh and they have a hot tub. I love those things. I checked in, took a hot shower and changed into my last set of clean clothes. I found the local laundromat and got the salt, sand, and pine needles out of my clothes.

When I got back to the hotel I sat in the hot tub for a while. It was wonderful to get warm again. Camping on the beach leaves a cold that seeps into my bones.

I went to the hotel lounge for dinner and a glass of wine. It was getting pretty late, but the kitchen was still open. I was on my second micro-brew (the wine selection was a wee bit limited) when I struck up a conversation with a couple of girls that sat down next to me. I guess the entertainment options for Eureka are pretty limited – and the Red Lion lounge has a pool table and some pinball games. Anyway, they were pretty drunk and they insisted on buying me another beer. The blonde that took the barstool next to me put her hand on my thigh and proceeded to flirt with me in a very unsubtle way. I suggested some fresh air,. She asked if I was staying at the hotel. I said I was. She pressed up against me and suggested going back to my room.

Wow. OK this kind of thing does not happen to me very often. And something in the back of my mind was wondering if I was going to be paying for this. And not in a figurative karmic sort of way. I was wondering if she was – well – a professional. OK, so I can’t just go and ask “Hey, by the way, are you a hooker?” If she’s not, then I’m screwed (or not – uh - you know what I mean) I figured if she asked for money I’d beg poverty and let her know I misunderstood – and please leave. I’m not morally opposed to prostitution. It just isn’t what I wanted to spend my pennies on tonight. Actually, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted her tonight. But, then again, she is kinda cute – and I’m kinda weak. Besides - cute, drunk, blonde, and slutty is a very rare and special combination not to be passed up.

We got to my room. We stood by the bed and she kissed me. I excused myself to the bathroom. You’ll see what a bad idea this was in a minute – but I just had 3 pints of beer, nature calls. When I came back, she was lying on the bed. Snoring very loudly. I shook her shoulder, but there was no response. She had passed out. Oh, well – now what? I thought it best to let her sleep it off.

Then she started to wretch. Oh, crap – one of the top ten reasons not to bring a drunk girl back to your hotel room. I rolled her on her side as quickly as I could and tried to hold her head over the side of the bed – and I kinda made it. But there was spew on her shirt – the bedspread – and the floor. She finished and was still blissfully oblivious.

I tried to clean up as best I could. I took off her shirt and rinsed it in the sink. Balled up the bedspread and put it in the bathroom. For the floor, after some lame attempts I went and found the night maintenance guy – it was about midnight. He had a carpet shampooer, which he brought up and we cleaned the carpet. He was pretty unfazed. I’m guessing this has happened before. She slept through it all.

Once the room was clean, I took her shoes, socks, and jeans off and pulled a blanket up over her. I was really looking forward to a good night’s sleep in a big old bed – but… Hmm. It didn’t seem right. I folded myself into the undersized couch in the room and tried to sleep.

At 4:00 a.m. since she hadn’t gotten sick again, and since I was really tired – and not able to sleep in the sofa – I climbed into bed. I usually sleep “au naturale”. But I wore some boxer-briefs (it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do) and a long sleeve tee shirt (to hide the big scar on my left arm - no one wants to wake up to that)

“Oooh,” she moaned (and not in a good way) and woke me up. She rolled over and yelped. She literally yelped when she saw me. But I think that hurt her head. Her eyes opened wide with surprise. She looked under the sheet at herself (I’m guessing to see what her state of dress/undress was) “OK, this never happens to me. Where are my clothes?”

I groaned from being woken. “Your pants are on the chair, your shirt is hanging in the shower – it’s probably still wet.”

“Oh god” she said with real panic in her voice. She wrapped the blanket around herself. She didn’t really need to, she did have a bra and panties on. She grabbed her jeans and shoes and made a beeline for the bathroom. She closed and locked the door. After a few minutes she opened the door and called out “Can I take a shower?”

“Sure” I called out. “Can I join you?” I added too softly for her to hear. She was way more fun when she was drunk. She slammed the bathroom door and locked it again. I needed to pee.

20 minutes later she came out. I was sitting on the bed. She was wearing her shirt – which was very wet. It looked like it was freshly washed. Guess I missed a spot. She moved toward the door without turning her back toward me – as if I might try to attack her or something.

“Can I drive you somewhere? Do you want to go get some breakfast?” I asked her

She snatched her purse off the table and ran out the door.

“I have an extra toothbrush, if you want it” I called out – probably too softly for her to hear.

I never even got her name.

Women. I’ll never understand them.