I'm a Hottie! (To Children & Losers)

So last month was my concert month, and this month the cosmos are offering up "Love, American Style". I've had two dates in the past two weeks. Both have been in the realm of Hell-to-the-No, but I'm trying to take these as moments I can learn from, and move forward. I suppose I should not give out details in order to protect the innocent....and yet I am compelled to share the burden.

The first "date" was fine, only it was not presented to me in the context of an actual date, because if it had been understood as such there was no way I would have agreed. This guy is so very young that if I had grown up under a different set of circumstances, I could have birthed him myself. (And I'd probably have homemade tattoos, write bad checks, and I would definitely not have all of my original teeth still in my head.) Still and all, it was cute, a flattering gesture, and at least it serves as a good story. These "Cliff's Notes" don't quite do it justice, but it'll do. (Sorry, but one would have to buy me a beer to hear the whole thing.)

The second date was someone my age, a little older -32 to be precise- and he is employed by the same employer as myself. Uhh..well, that may be a bit misleading as this gentleman actually works in a very different capacity than I do, though he too provides a service to the school- service being the opperative word in that sentence. In any event, this gentleman does not own his own a car (strike one), so I had to pick him up. He then proceeded to call me no fewer than 5 (FIVE!) times within the next 3 hours to relay his whereabouts and reconfirm our plans (strike two), and lastly he wore black, tight cut-offs to the restaurant, and a faded t-shirt w/holes in it. (You're outta here, buddy!) I would like to say that it all turned around after those moments, but I would be lying. I was, however, able to wittle down that date to a clean 40 minutes. He was back in his shabby apt, sitting in front of his curiously-stained computer desk before he knew it.

And someday when I look back on all of this and laugh my ass off (probably while at the Wurstfest, with a pitcher of Paulaner in one hand, and some bratwurst in the other), I'll be able to say that I have "played the field"...at the Special Olympics. :-(