Don't Walk Away

I leaned over to 710 and asked "is that woman boring holes into me?"


She was at the next table, and granted I was not dressed up at all, but this is a beach town (did I mention we were back in Maine?) and it was 90 degrees. I mean, the guy behind her had a tshirt of cartoon dogs sniffing each other's butts.

710 though she was staring at him, not me.

I think we were both correct.

She had a poorly done Anna Wintour 'do and was a little gaunt in the face. She appeared to be alone.

Since her table was to my side, I wasn't always paying attention and she was majorly creeping me out as she watched me eat my so-so parmesan encrusted scallops.

I had also noticed a man walking up and down the way to the restaurant but never paid him much any mind. I certainly didn't notice him take a seat at her table.

While she was by herself, I did notice, but not pay attention, to her asking the waitress questions and ordering something. Then there was a time I heard her ask where the restrooms were, but I was paying far too much attention to the gaggle of gays in the corner of the bar and how all the homos seemed to know each other except for us.

Then there was a slight commotion from the faux Wintour, which is when I noticed the male with her. "Awful" I heard her say. Then she and her "husband" got up and left.

As I was not fully paying attention, I did ask 710 if they had paid, and we agreed they dined and dashed. Or considering they were in their '60s, they walked away, as "dash" probably isn't in their vocabulary let alone exercise routine. We alerted the waitress, who alerted the hostess / manager. By then, these two had disappeared into the crowd of the foot traffic on the street.

Looking around, others clearly had noticed too, but said nothing. In my mind, I back-storied that they go from place to place getting free meals by eating part and leaving before the check arrived after feigning disgust with the food or service.

After our meal, we walked around town and hit Bread & Roses, for what turned out to be a disappointing single-serving chocolate silk tart, we were approached on the street by the woman who dashed - no husband.

Assuming we had some connection, she begins to prattle on about her 'awful' meal (though she thought my scallops looked good - ick!) and I think thought we'd be on board with her not paying and just fleeing.  She was wrong - and I let her know it.

I told her she had 'dined and dashed' and she did not disagreed, because it was a bad meal, she tried to justify. Others would have mentioned it to the owner or server - she did not.

I said she was wrong and rude. Apparently I said it strong and loud enough to get more than a few heads to turn our way. We walked away and she yelled after me, "well then why don't you go pay for it!" with folks still looking on.

I went and told the hostess where she and her husband were sitting if she wanted to do anything about it.

I hope she did.


Song by: Toni Childs

Cruisin' Love

Facebook is a funny thing. You get invites from friends of friends whom you have never met. Clearly I'm not accepting them just to build my numbers. I'm ok having the lowest number of "friends" within my closest circle.

The other day I got a message (not an invite) from someone who said: It looks like we have some friends in common. I used to live in columbus 83-96 and you look very familiar!

Never a really good sign, is it? Normally it is a recipe for pseudo-disaster. I saw his name - nothing registered. I saw his picture - ditto. I looked at our mutual friends and nothing seemed out of place. Two from Columbus and one from Cleveburgh. Stupidly, or not, I confirmed I had lived in Columbus roughly the same time as he. I was a social being (i.e. drunk most of the time) so it is possible he saw me out.........a lot!

But it gets a little worse: i think we used to "play" on campus. LOL!

This was quite a possibility - back in the day.

Then something clicked in for me: his first name and one of our mutual friends: Morty.

"Dale" was his name. "Dale" was the name of one of Mort's roommates back before we knew each other. I asked Dale if that is how he and Mort knew each other. It was confirmed. At the same time Dale asked if I used to live in a certain place off-campus years later.

Ugh - another hook-up years later. I'm pathetic.

So I have known Morty for about 23 years. Morty has known Dale a little less (I think). I have "known" Dale longer - though I don't know who the fuck he is or remember him from Adam, at least via one FB pic.

Just because I'm me, I did say something to Dale, via email, that I'm not sure how or if we should tell Morty any of this. I hit 'send' and then immediately called Morty - and set the story up WAY better than I did here. He had no idea where I was going with it, and why should he? 15 minutes before, I didn't even have a story.

We were laughing so hard, I was crying.

I sent Morty an email message after the call that was vague enough as a follow-up, but I sent to the wrong person. A good friend, but still the wrong person. Ooops.

The second I realized it was sent, I emailed Mort telling him what I had done - all very funny btw. Enough so that I got an email back from Mort that said, "Oh now I'M crying!!!" .....and then my phone rings - from said accidental email friend.

"Are you talking about Dale XYZ?"

WTF? Does everyone know Dale?? "Oh, Dale's ex boyfriend used to cut so and so's hair".
Screw Kevin Bacon - it can now be Six Degrees of Blobby. Or more accurately, Six Degrees of Dale.

Oh the tangled webs we weave. And by "we", I am only talking about myself.

I can't take all credit/blame for some stuff that goes on within FB. Get this - and this one kills me:

I have two friends, in two different states (not even cities!), who have never met. I get an email from one, saying, "so what's the deal with your friend "Jim"?"

Yes, it turns out one had seen the other in my FB friend listing and contacted the other - basically on-line cruising via the largest social networking site in history. And apparently, I'm their unwilling and unwitting pimp.

I haven't figured out who made the first contact or what the intro was - but don't think for a second I'm not gonna find out. I don't have discreet bone in my body when it comes to this shit. If they are going to use me (well, ok, not really) that way, I at least get the goods on the 'how, when and why' stuff. I want all the dirt.

When I joined Facebook, Morty's partner, George, who might have been my first message when he said "welcome to the vortex". I had no idea how bad it was or how deep it goes.

I'm not even sure if I took the red pill or the blue one.


Song by: Rachel Sweet