I had no plans for Saturday evening, but I got a last minute invite to go to an art gallery opening by my yoga instructor and her boyfriend. It sounds like urban life channeled through "Sex and the City", but the reality is far more facial hair in strange parts, patches of tattoos on the border of shirts, and cranberry juice for beverages than the HBO show has. If you aren't wearing a black t shirt then at least you have to have dark rim glasses that if Clark Kent owned he would never take off to lose his cool - speeding train be damned. The art is closer to the "heavy metal" school of design - girls with boobs spray painted on felt - than the renaissance and would be more appropriate on the ceiling than the walls. Then again Michelangelo did do the Sistine chapel.
My friends picked me up in an SUV battleship and told me that they have to make a quick stop to pick up the yoga instructors friend, Jessie. It feels like a set up. I have nothing really against these (I do need help at some level), but it is always a little disheartening to find out where your friends place you.
I *always* get the perky side kick (a bat girl to somebody's cat woman). And when Jessie hops in the car she seems just the type. She is a little larger than average from a clear lack of exercise, but at least is busty. She is a few years younger (which is a huge plus), but is powered only by cigarettes. Normally this is a deal breaker, but I have gone sort of past absolute eliminations at 34.9 and am left with tough compromises. Great girl when medicated - that kind of thing. I would love to find a girl who was born in the 70's, laughs occasionally at my jokes, and is basically normal. Where can I find a woman like that?
She bounced with the conversation and I played along with the charade. The four of us wandered through the art exhibit and then go look for a place to eat. At the restaurant which only serves warm Portuguese beer the talk drifted to how I should where tighter clothes at yoga class. I explained that might help with the yoga, but with my little belly it would not help with the fashion department. Somehow the conversation drifted how the yoga instructor could excite gay men and I babbled about how much fun it was to talk to lesbians.
This is when Jessie chimed in "Well you are talking to one right now." Either this is a great date cut off maneuver, or Jessie has a girl. And like most guys I would want to make her mine. You, know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute. I want to say "try a nice guy", but the point is probably mute. No point going through life chasing Amy.
I guess love is more like Shakespeare than hallmark cards - not the part where everyone dies in act five in Romeo and Juliet, but more like when girls are pretending to be men pretending to be interested in the duke. My whole set up bias was much ado about nothing.
If I were to compare love to a summer's day, I would have to pick a San Francisco one.