The Knight of Years Past

You know how sometimes you get a phone call or text that is unexpected and out of the blue from someone you haven't seen in a long while. . .

Perhaps you had worked together in the past, or maybe you had just known each other as friends of friends.  Then, out of no where, that person reaches out to you and you are happy to hear from them because you had a positive experience with them, and enjoyed their company.

This is exactly what happened to me.

I was knee deep into my dating experiences. I had enjoyed (?) a conga line of Knights but was fairly thread bare from doing the 'what do you do for work,' and  'what are your hobbies' convo. I had decided for a short break from dating so that I could re-focus on some of my relationships with friends I had not seen in a while due to this Death March of dating.   I longed for a break from the getting to know you conversation and having to try to muddle through a challenging evening that was otherwise not working out.

Nearly as soon as I had wished for it, wa-la, I got a text from someone from my past.  He and I had worked together nearly a decade ago, and I had always thought of him fondly as a good friend, and generally all-around good person.

His text warm and friendly as he had always been.  It was a "Hey you! How you doin?!?"

I happily returned a text of "hey, what's up man!"

He was always such a great guy. . .it was such a pleasure to hear from him!

I had been at his wedding, we shared mutual friends, and I thought that this was a call to report in about a new job or some other of wildly successful occasion that he was reaching out to share. He asked if we could meet up for a drink and I agreed.  This man had a great life, great wife and a beautiful new baby from what I had heard from friends.  I wanted to hear all about his successes. I looked forward to meeting for a drink.

We decided to grab a drink at the Shannon Rose on a Tuesday evening.  I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, wrapped my hair up into a bun and slid into my Converse sneakers.  I felt that this was proper friend attire.  Generally in the past we had met for lunch, but I imagined he had a full plate these days, and a quick drink after work was probably all he could fit in.

I headed down to the Shannon Rose and parked myself at the bar. I ordered up a Strongbow and patiently awaited my friend's arrival.

A few minutes after my arrival, he blew into the restaurant.  He looked a bit harried, with a phone to his ear and struggling to loosen his tie while walking towards the bar.

He saw me from a few feet away, smiled, waved, pointed to his phone and put up the 'just one minute' finger. I smiled back and nodded in agreement.

He had barely aged. He looked like the same 20 year old kid I had known way back when.  He was sharply dressed in a blue pinstripe suit, white shirt and navy tie. He had always been very fashion forward, and I recalled busting his balls about his keen fashion sense when we would see each other.

'Still a great dresser,' I thought to myself.

He hung up his call and then dashed over to join me at one of the only empty seats left at the bar. He gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.  He grabbed me by the shoulders and held me back to take a look at me.

"My God, you don't age do you?" he proclaimed.

"And this coming from a man who doesn't seem to age either!" I responded.

"How the hell have you been?"he asked,  "You look great!"

"Well I find that the Diet Coke and vodka have been the key to preserving my youthful glow," I giggled.

I hailed the bartender over for him and he ordered a Heineken Light.

He made fun of his own order. "You know we're aging when we can't have the regular beer anymore and light is the only option that doesn't make you all gross the following day."

I smiled warmly and toasted a cheers to old friends getting together.

"Seriously though," he asked. "How's life treating you?"

"Awe. I can't complain. Work is good, been traveling a ton over the last few years and well, no matter how far I move away. I just keep coming back to Jersey."

He shared that through mutual friends that he had heard about my travels and moving over seas from time to time.

We talked about where we used to work together, and shared stories of the fun we had had at happy hours and past occasions together.  He inquired as to how my ex was, having heard that we were no longer together.  I shared that he was now married, and doing well as far as I knew.  We ordered a second beer and some light bites to eat.

He asked if I had ever gotten married. To try to make light of the situation I shared that in my 20s all the wrong ones "kept asking and I kept saying 'no', and now into my 30s, no one seemed to be asking anymore."

Just slow your row there mister. . .

This made him laugh.  He asked if anyone new was in the picture, and I told him that I had had zero success on the dating front to this point.

I guess he could kind of read my disappointment with my perpetual single-hood and seemed to switch gears with the conversation.  I appreciated this.

"Still throwing 'bows?" he asked as he gestured with his elbows poking me in the side. He shared that he had seen me in the newspaper for roller derby a number of times, and had wanted to come and see me play.

"Ah, well it was a good run," I shared. "I am retired now. Got tired of the politics, and my body got tired of the regular beatings. It was lovely while it lasted, but retirement has been good to me."

"Well you look no worse for the wear," he shared.  "I had always thought you had a great figure."  This made me a bit uncomfortable coming from a married man. . .wasn't like him to come off as creepy. Odd.

"Looks like you have been staying fit," I mentioned pointing at him. "Chasing the babe is keeping you in shape I imagine? Still playing hockey?"

"Well," he began. "I barely have time for anything other than work and my kid. They moved me up in the company and I have had an insane schedule for the past three years. It's nuts."

"Oh man," I began. "You're wife must miss you terribly.  How is she? She is such a great woman! Is she still working for the same company?"

His demeanor changed. He shifted in his seat a bit.

"You didn't hear I guess. . ." He seemed confused.

"I didn't hear what?" I asked. Oh God, what had happened to his wife.

"She and I divorced about 18 months ago," he began.  "I don't know. I guess we just grew apart.  I was never around, she changed after we had the baby, and I guess it just fell apart from there."

"Oh, geez. I am so sorry," I said, feeling awful. I really didn't mean to bring up a painful situation for him. How could I have not known. I can't recall any of our mutual friends mentioning this to me.  Based upon the time frame, I must have been living in Australia at the time of his split.  I guess everyone figured that I knew??

"Oh don't be sorry," he continued.  She's getting re-married and he's actually a really good guy.  No bad feelings between us, we just grew apart.  It happens some times,  I guess.  I really thought you knew. . ."

Call me naive.  I had no idea.

To try to switch gears to make HIM feel less awkward, I asked about his kid. He was overjoyed to share stories about his child, and he pulled out his phone to show me pictures.  A LOT of pictures. He told me that every waking moment that he had available was spent with his child.  He spoke of his home now looking like a Toys'R'Us, and how his fridge was stocked full of kid snacks.  His idea of a great weekend was taking his child to Chuck E Cheese, and then to the zoo or the park, and crashing at 8pm.

His idea of a great weekend sounded like the ninth ring of hell for me.

He asked how I felt about not having kids, and if I thought that they were in my future.  I said "never say never," but as of right now, children were the furthest thing from my mind.  I still loved my evenings out, weekend trips away and mornings off reading in bed.  I told him I had a ton of respect for those who had children, because at this point of my life, knowing what I knew about the investment of time and energy a child takes, I didn't feel I was a good candidate. . .

"So you really don't have any interest in kids?" he asked seemingly befuddled.

"Honestly, I'm still a big kid myself. There is a lot that I would want to do with a partner before having children, and just think that jumping into having kids in the super near future with someone I just met, might not be the best idea."

He looked nearly disappointed.  Why did he look disappointed?

Wait, no way. . . I am such an idiot.

Oh God.  This wasn't a friendly drink/get-together. . . this was a date.  I just had no idea going into it that it was a date because I had no idea he was single! The questions about kids didn't have to do with my personal preferences per se; it had to do with whether or not I would be a good candidate to date HIM who had a child already.  Now I felt like a jerk. . . .How do I save this from being the awkward silence that it could possibly be.  OK make this less of a date. . .

"So have you been dating since your divorce?" I inquired.

He divulged that he had been on a few dates, but hadn't really connected with the women because of his hectic schedule with his work and trying to spend as much time as possible with his child.  I offered up perhaps trying to meet single Moms through the day care or in his neighborhood. I was trying to sound cheerful and helpful, and just was failing terribly.  Who was I to play dating counselor??

I think at this point in the evening the bubble had been burst for both of us.  I wasn't ready to date someone with a small child, that had very limited time, and he got the picture that I wasn't the best candidate for him.  We shared a few more stories of times past, finished our drinks and wished each other well on our quest for love.

I ran into him a few months later. He had met a great single Mom, and she and he were doing fantastic. I was so happy for him! In a lot of ways, it gave me hope to keep on going with this dating endeavor.  And so I did. . .

The Fastest Knight Ever

I would like to start this by stating that I blame this Knight on my sitting around watching Celebrity Rehab.  

One night when I had very little to do, (this never happens) so I decided I would sack out and watch some crap TV.  As I sailed through the channels, I came to Bravo, which I feel always has some offering of interesting lifestyle stories. (That was the most politically correct way I could phrase that.) 

As I began to investigate the show I realized I recognized one of the women on the program. I couldn't quite place her face, but I recalled her as one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen when I was younger.  I was now hooked.  I wanted to find out what show this was and why she was on it.  

As I listened intently, I gathered that she was 1. On Celebrity Rehab, 2. had some sort of addiction and 3. it had something to do with her crumby choices in men that she was so horribly amiss. 

As I watched her story unfold she told a sorrowful tale of having it all; beauty, brains and fame, but never enjoying it all because of her addictions and her challenges with men.  

"Jesus Christ," I thought! This woman had it all. She supposed to be the champion of single girls everywhere.  Amber Smith, as she came to be,  had been a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, named one of the top 50 sexiest women in the world by Maxim Magazine, and made her mark on the world of film and TV with her fame before she was 25. Here she was broken and desperate to be someone else on a TV show for those who were so troubled with life.  How could this have happened? 

She told tales of terrible relationships that were doomed from the start, men who mistreated her and her ever depleting self esteem from all these experiences.  All of this accounted for the fact that now that she was 36 was still desperate for love and trying to pull her life together.  

All I could think to myself was "MY GOD. She's a beautiful woman, clearly bright, articulate,  with the world at her feet, and she can't find a fulfilling relationship? WTF?" 

The hope I had for my dating adventures was waning by the second.  If this chick can't find love, well, there's no hope for me. I'm a mere mortal. 

A wave of despair shot like lightening through my body as I laid there on there on the couch.   It was like that moment when you realize that some day, you are going to die. I was nearly paralyzed with fear. This was not how I had intended to experience my Sunday night off.

Right around this moment my phone went off with a text message.  I eyeballed the phone to see who was reaching out to me at this moment of despair.  Had one of my amazing girlfriends felt a pang of heartache across the miles? Did they know that this was my moment of need and comforting? Nope.   No such luck. As I looked at the phone I realized that it wasn't one of them.  The name on the phone rang up "Terribly Tony."

Tony was a guy that had emailed me multiple times on the dating site.  He had decent pictures, what seemed to be a stable 9 - 5 job in sales and an average description on his "About" section.  I don't know what it was that caused me to stop texting back to Tony at some point. I think I just really wasn't feeling this dude.  In addition there had been a number of other Knights around this time that were monopolizing my nights out.  For whatever reason, after our few text messages and emails back and forth, I kind of dropped off the face of the Earth to this guy. And I was OK with this.

I give him credit for periodically text messaging me, and sticking with trying to see me, but truthfully, there must have been some reason why I wasn't responding to his messages.  Just couldn't put my finger on it. . .

So here he was, texting me at my moment of weakness.  I had saved him as "Terrible Tony" so I would alert myself to the fact that, hanging out with him, could, in fact, prove to be terrible.

"Hey, what are you up to?" Terrible Tony flashed on my text message.

I sat there for a minute.  I couldn't tell him that I was sitting here on my uncomfortable couch, contemplating my single hood with a sense of horror and despair. That after watching a thirty minute reality TV show about my "Miss. I Wish I Was Her" had now plunged me head long into an emotional quandary of epic proportions. 

"Nothing," was all I could muster.  Lest I spare him from the truth.  

"I was in the Morristown area and thought maybe you might want to meet up for a drink," he inquired.  

My mind raced. Maybe this was just the distraction that I needed to get myself out of my own head and away from this God damned TV show. 

"Sure," I responded, but not really sure why. 

"Oh great," he replied, "Where would you like to grab a drink?"

"How about the Blackthorn?" 

He said that he could be there in 20 minutes. I told him I would be there in 30. 

As soon as everything was set and in place, I wondered why I had even agreed to this.  I quickly dashed over to my computer to log onto the dating site to take a quick refresher course on this guy. I eyeballed the pictures and the profile.  There was something just off about this dude I couldn't put my finger on.  I just really wasn't into him: at all. Now what.  

I thought about not going. My distraction now turned into this crumby sense of "let's get this over with." Crap. This was gonna be over before it even began. At least it was another date towards the 30 for the blog? 

Great. Now my writing is determining who I go on dates with. Awesome. 

I arrived at the Blackthorn at my estimated time. The bar was a total oasis. There were probably three people sitting there so I immediately recognized my Knight.  He too immediately recognized me and stood up.  

Now I was really sorry that I had agreed to this. I was stuck having to go through with this. Dang.

As he came over to introduce himself, I shook his hand.  He and I then sat down at the bar where he was already drinking a Bud.  The bartender came by to ask if I wanted a drink so  I told him that I would take a glass of water. 

The Knight looked like his pictures; blond haired with intense blue eyes. I thought perhaps it was just an intense blue in color, but now that I was up close and personal with this guy, they seemed to me more crazy than beautiful.  

He was shorter than his stated height, but then again, that seems to be everyone on that stupid site. He was in a red plaid shirt, jeans and running sneakers.  

"What the hell was it with the dudes on this site and red plaid shirts?" I thought to myself.

My Knight and I sat down and immediately it started.  The Spanish Inquisition had now kicked off.  Over the next five minutes this man asked me about twenty questions in rapid succession.  I couldn't tell if he was nervous, or had a job as an interrogator he just couldn't check at the end of the day.  

By question five I found myself lying because I really didn't want this guy knowing ANYTHING about me.  In order to break the barrage of questions I figured I would ask him about his job. He then went into a whole diatribe about his work in sales for something like Amway, and began to inquire about my knowledge of  vitamin supplements. 

Huh? Was this a date or a sales pitch? 

As he went on and on about he importance of supplements and how it had been life changing for him, I was now having a dialogue inside my head.  

"Why am I sitting here, " I thought to myself.  "The little voice inside you said that this guy wasn't someone worth meeting, and there you go, ignoring it YET AGAIN. Serves you right."

I was now pissed at myself.  I had let my own fears of loneliness, worry and an apolacyptic, loveless existence get the best of me. Why? Because I had watched some stupid TV show.  

I snapped back to reality to find my Knight still droning on about his workouts, supplement regime and who knows what else. 

I think that he turned to ask me a question. Another question. . .

As if I had become possessed by someone with sense, words fell out of my mouth without really much thought. 

"Hey, I'm exhausted from a long day and I thought that perhaps this was a good idea, but I don't really think that this is going to work." I began to stand up and get my handbag and coat together. 

This was totally unlike me.  I didn't provide any explanation.  I didn't feel bad.  I wasn't going to subject myself to another prolonged crumby date just because I felt it was the polite thing to do.  Perhaps my supermodel idol had stuck with dates like this and that is exactly what had plummeted her into the place she was now. 

I wasn't going to let that be me.  I was going to put the kabash on this right out the gate. Part of me actually liked the way this felt and I loved how easily the words rolled off my tongue. 

He looked a bit dazed and confused by the immediacy of my statement. I think that he was expecting me to answer another of his umpteenth questions.  He definitely wasn't expecting this.  He was sort of slack jawed sitting there starring at me.  

"Um, Ok," he stammered.

"I'm going to be going now. Thanks for coming out.  Good luck with everything."

I stood up and walked out the front door half wondering if I should be running to my car for fear of him chasing me down in angst and aggravation.  Nope.  No sign of him anywhere.

I then scoffed at myself and laughed for the egocentricity that it took to even think that. 

There was a certain sense of peace and calm I felt I had ascertained walking out of that date.  I had begun to have a sense of self, a sense of, "this isn't what I wanted, so why compromise."  It was like in that very moment I had rediscovered me and everything was going to be OK.

The "Cougar" Knight

So I am bartending on a Thursday night, surprise surprise.  

Let me start by saying where I bartend has the lowest rate of attractive men after a Star Trek festival.  In the two years that I have worked there, I have probably seen six men that I would want to ask me out; if I was forced at gunpoint to want that. 

I don’t understand what the deal is. How can one place be such an abysmal showing of the male species . . .

This particular night we had been dead all night and then had this massive surge of college students around 11pm.  I jump off tending tables and begin helping out the bartenders with the throngs of students drinking Fireball shots and downing Miller Lites.

 

I think this is an actual a place in Australia. . .

As I am slinging shots I happen to notice an attractive man at the bar. I do a double-take.  This is a first. 

He is sitting by himself, seemingly watching some game behind me. I am craning to see him. As I focus on him, I realize that he is meeting my gaze.  I quickly look away. He’s just watching the bartending show, or the other bartender. He couldn’t possibly be looking at me?

He looks young, but maybe, not terribly younger? I can't tell anymore. Whatever age he is, he's still older than 21 and has enough confidence to come to a bar by himself.  Kudos kid.

"It's my sparkly teeth that attracted you to me."

He looks like he should pitch for a baseball team somewhere. He has one of those twisty fabric necklaces like the ball players wear, he's wearing a cotton A&F or Hollister shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers.  No tattoos, clean shaven; I'd say some military service because his cotton outfit is pressed and his light brown hair is cut short. He looks like he's super fit but I wonder if he and I are the same height. That's a deal breaker, but I am willing to roll the dice. Well, I haven't had any luck with military men yet, why stop now. 

I decide I am going to ask one of the other bartenders what his story is. He's not a regular and I have never seen him in here before. I grab my fellow bartender. . .

“Erin, there is a cute boy at the bar!" I exclaim. "This never happens!” 

“And he’s been checking you out, hard” she responds.

“Really?” I inquire.

“Yeah, he’s definitely been checking you out,” she tells me with 100% assurance. 

"Well shit. I am going to do something about this," I tell her. 

When opportunity comes a knocking, I definitely don't wanna miss the chance. 

The bar has now calmed down enough for me to get out from behind the bar and get back on tables. I begin wandering around wondering how I can get close enough to see this man. Hmmmm. . .

Part of my job is making sure that the chairs are where they should be. I realize that there is a deluge of chairs over where this man is sitting. This is my in.

I go over and ask him if he is using any of the chairs that have piled up next to him. He smiles at me and says, “Sadly, I am here alone. Feel free to take the chairs as you wish. I am not using them.”

I look at him and this just rolls off my tongue: “There’s nothing sad about it. I go out on my own all the time.” I give him a smile and a shrug and proceed to begin to pick up one of the chairs.

He stops me from picking up the chair and says “ How about some we go out some night and sit together.”

Smooth man. Super smooth. 

 

"I'm so smooth, I'm chilling this glass as I drink this martini"

For a guy that looks barely 21, he clearly knows how to pick up a chick. Sweet. He did the asking; I am in. 

I flush red.  “I’d like that,” I respond.

“Good,” he says.  “When are you not working?”

“Umm, this is sort of a wacky week," I share.  "I think I am around on Tuesday night.  Do you want to get my number so we can coordinate?” 

“Nope,” he replies.  

“Tuesday night at 10pm at George and Martha’s work for you? I’ve never been there before,” he shares, “and I’d like to take you out there if that works for you.”

“Um, sure. That sounds awesome,”  I  reply.

I love that he is assertive. I love that he made the plans. I think he’s super cute. 

I’m beaming.

The bar picks back up again and I am back behind the bar.  Now I notice that he is watching my every move. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that says he's into me. 

I’m now excited for my Tuesday tonight.  He pays his tab and I get to see his name.  It occurred to me that I was so excited to be asked out that I totally forgot to ask him his name.  Well at least now I know who the hell I am going out with.

Tuesday night rolls around. I drive myself to the bar. It's been a long time since I have been here.

As I am pulling in I notice he is walking across the lot.

Phew, here is my opportunity to suggest another place to go.

“Hey there! So you still wanna check this place out?” I shout, hoping he is not set on having drinks here.

“Yeah, I have never been here before,” he responds. 

Dang. I’m stuck.

We proceed inside.  We sit down at the bar and then chat for over two and a half hours over our cider beers.  He is pleasant and fun to talk to. The conversation ebbs and flows. There are some pregnant pauses when he talks about high school and his prom. I realize that there probably aren't a ton of years under his dating belt.  It's sweet, but he's a bit novice it would seem. 

He has a youthful charm and innocence but has nearly a Fifty Shades control on his life and destiny. 

We both love the same sports teams, are very into our fitness and local, organic food. He has a dry sense of humor, and pokes me back when I am playfully abusive.  It was a great chat. I am happy that I decided to come, even though I think he's too young.  

He then tells me he is going into the service and that he is departing in the near future. This is kind of a bummer. I appreciate his service to his country, but I don’t want to get into a relationship with someone who is going away for four to eight months. 

I am exhausted . I am just cooked from my big week and I realize it is time to go home. I think he's a lovely kid, but he’s goin away for a while. A long while. I wanna date someone who is going to be around, not away, who knows where, for who knows how long.  I kinda feel the universe giggling at me. I suggest since the bar is closing that perhaps we should pay our tabs and head out on our way. Good bartender karma, you know.

He agrees and asks me if I will go out with him again. I nod. I am not sure why. This is going nowhere.  Maybe I choose to nod in compliance because this is just easier.  When he texts or calls, I'll just say I am busy, and it will just fade away.  

I ask him if he has had a good night.

He tells me that he has had an amazing night "with a hot cougar". 

I don't even drink coffee or tea. Oh wait. . .

HUH???

I ask him, "How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know," he stammers. "28?"

I press my smile into a thin grimace. I am seething inside. I don't consider myself a cougar. I looked it up online once and the definition was "a woman 40 years of age or older who exclusively pursues very young men."

 I am not 40. And it's not like he's  young enough to be my son. 

I perceive this term "cougar" as a way for men to poke fun at those of us who are just doing what men have done for eons.  There is no negative connotation for a man who dates women significantly younger than he is, why do I get to bear this scarlet "C"?

I'm not having it.  

I don't respond.

I decide I am not going to say anything further. He doesn’t notice this. Perhaps because he is smitten with this older woman.  Perhaps he is mapping out in his head what he is going to tell his friends about going out with a cougar. Either way, this is over. 

I bid him goodnight and get in my car. 

I can't hardly wait to tell my friends this story. I can't hardly believe the exchange that has just happened. 

Kudos kid on your epic fail with your "cougar".  

The "Dodgy" Knight

dodg·y  (dj)

adj. dodg·i·er, dodg·i·est Chiefly British

1. Evasive; shifty.

2. Unsound, unstable, and unreliable.

3. So risky as to require very deft handling.

During the Giants season I was trying to catch all the games I could while I wasn't working. This is a difficult depending on how my day business was going, and how much I was working during the evening.  

I had the whole season laid out for me on a wallet sized card, but weekly I never knew what was going to come up that I would prevent me from watching my Boys in Blue. I tried to make all of the games I watched, while not standing at work, as enjoyable as possible. I generally went somewhere that had a TV larger than my 13 inch so I could actually see the ball when it was thrown down field. 

There is a place that we "locals" refer to the bar down the street as The Box.  I think that it was supposed to be a sports reference, a dog's age ago, but now we have no idea why it's called that. Judging by the crowd there on any given night, I could sometimes call it the penalty box. 

Truthfully, most of the locals that come here are lovely. However there is another faction of bar goers that laddered up, (as you corporate people would say) to one of two camps.  Either people had been cited for a penalty and were waiting their time given, or were spending their time given in this bar. I liked the fact that no one really came there to watch the hockey games, and usually the football games still had seats available even well into the second quarter. It was a good place to meet your Bail Bondsman, and in hindsight, maybe not a potential boyfriend.

On this day in particular I was there watching a Sunday evening Giants game. I had made my way down to The Box and had watched the Giants lose this particular night. Nights when I come to watch the game, I generally bring my laptop with me as to avoid conversation with some of the patrons which are part of the Box penalty serving crowd. 

I was going to wrap up the work I was doing on my computer, finish my beer and head home in disappointment. I began to collect my various items: pad, pens, laptop.  As I was putting all of my materials back into their respective bags, I noticed that a man had walked in. He waved hello and smiled at the other folks at the bar.

OK, so he must be a local too. He was wearing a knit hat, so I couldn't see him well, but even from this cursory glance, I could tell I had not seen him before. 

As he took off his coat, he was wearing a Giants jersey. I check out the number on the back. Cruz. OK. Interesting.  Popular choice.  Actually a fan though?? Hmmmmm . . .

I continue to watch my version of the Nature Channel here at the Box. The main programming tonight is a roughly six foolish, dark haired, swarthy man. This species looks like he could be Latin or Italian. His jersey, jeans and work boots make it look like he's been working hard somewhere.  Men in work boots = employed? Now I am making all sorts of wild assumptions. 

He puts his belongings on the chair a few down from me, asks the bartender for quarters, and heads to the jukebox.  This is about to get good. All I need is popcorn. I am starting at this man like he's the after school special "New Guy in Town". God help me. This is the best entertainment I have had all night.

The jukebox now goes from silent to the words, "Yeah, this album is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I'd never amount to nothin'," and I realize that this young man is playing Biggie. The Notorious B.I.G is one of my all time favorite artists. I'm just sayin'.

So just to recap for you folks at home, our Nature Channel pic of the week is: a Giant's fan, employed(?), likes good music and I find him attractive. He's smiling as he turns from the jukebox and makes his way around the bar shaking people's hands as he goes and the bar tender buys his drink. OK. So he's well liked by The Box patrons.  Plus or minus column?

The next song comes on. It's TuPac. Old school rap. My favorite. I decide that there is more work to be done with this man and re open my computer, take out my paperwork and decide to continue to work while someone else is playing DJ. A Dr. Dre song later and my eye candy wanders past me. Up close he remains a good looking guy. Probably late 20s? Looks like he's a happy man and he smiles as he passes me. 

As he returns by me a short while later, he stops by and asks me if I liked the music he put on.

I responded, "yes," and that it was rare I ever heard rap coming out of the jukebox here. He asked me what songs I liked that he chose. I told him and he laughed. Apparently, for whatever reason, it doesn't seem like I should be a fan of Gangsta Rap. 

Yea boi! 

He offered to buy me a shot and I decided what the heck. I think the bartender suggested some kind of Three Olives Vodka that tasted like a fruit loop. We decided we would have a shot of it to give it a try. 

Drinks poured, presented and poof. We giggled at how much it did taste like fruit loops and continued chatting about the music. I asked him about his interest in the Giants and shared that I was a huge fan as well. He asked me what sort of work I was doing and he seemed fascinated with the spreadsheet. He just kept staring at my Excel spreadsheet like it has the answers to the universe embedded in it. If only it did.  

He worked outdoors and enjoyed the labor intensive job. He told me how it was challenging but he had a good work environment and liked the hours. 

We talked for a while longer about living in the area and some of the hobbies we had. He showed me some pictures of fish he had caught recently and just seemed like a genuinely nice guy.  I realized it was getting late and that I should probably be heading home to finish up my work. I thanked him for the drink, packed up my belongings and started to leave. He stopped me to ask me if he could get my number. I thought, "why not?" and scribbled my number down on a piece of paper. I'm a dater of the 90s.  I still put my number on a slice of paper, and sometimes, said person and I have a laugh about it as I realize that I CAN just put it in my phone.

If you ever used one of these phones, yes. You are old. 

I pulled my things together and wandered home. I sat and thought about the evening. I didn't think that I was going to spend the rest of my life with this man but, it was another date and I still believed in the power of positive thinking. 

We sent a few texts back and forth over the week and decided we would catch a Giants game at a local pub that Sunday. I had the day available, which seemed to never be happening these days, and was excited to get to see my Men in Blue!! He offered to drive us to Miami Mikes which is a giant sports bar. I had never even been there to see a game but there is a first time for everything right?

He picked me up in his late model Honda. I don't want to that to sound condescending and this is not intended to be.  I think of it as more Lloyd Dobbleresque 

"I can't really work it all out now, I'm just kinda hanging with your daughter."

That, and I choose not to throw stones in a glass house. My Jetta is 13 years old, has had 14 recalls and is literally the 90K dollar Volkswagon from the amount of work that has gone into decoding and attempting to fix her lemon ass. Svetlana, as I have been calling her for the better part of a decade, was a befitting name. She was no different than the Russian girls that used to  dance where I bartended (not the other way around). They were attractive from the outside, took a ton of maintenance to keep happy, cost a small fortune to keep up with and at any given time when they had a meltdown or malfunction, it was epic. I digress. . .

As we headed for Miami Mikes he was asking me about my week. I had mentioned that it had been a particularly busy and he was happy to swap stories about work and the like on the way to the restaurant. 

He was a bit late to pick me up, but I wasn't upset. I was just happy to have  the night off and get to sit and watch a football game.  Part of me didn't even really care how it went. I just wanted to embrace my eight plus hours of not serving the community or the social media sphere.  

We may have arrived as the dead last people at the day's festivities. As  I walked in, my enthusiasm was quenched by the throngs of colorful jerseys.  This facility had a number of rooms, ALL OF WHICH were filled.  It was the second quarter and we looked like the Johnny Come Lately's to the party. I was going to make the most of this.  I immediately surveyed my setting.  I was like one of those chefs at a cooking competition. I had foie gras, white chocolate, seaweed and a squirrel to make an amazing meal with. Go. 

Same concept.  

I scoped out a chair which may have been used for a bouncer, and one last chair at a comfortable table of eight I could easily poach. Wa- la VIP seating. . .

I am the missing member of the A team.

As we sat ourselves at my miracle invention we happened to sit right smack in the middle of the stations for two severs. . Manifique! Everyone had pitchers of beer.  I thought that popular convention was the way to go. We got our pitcher of Miller Light and the waitress put in orders for lunch.  I decided on beef brisket and he had a burger. We began some small talk.  The ride over we had gotten in a bit of conversation, but now we really had no way of talking.  

The televisions on multiple walls boomed over us.  He leaned in to ask how things were going. I said great. I noticed that he and I had nearly drank the first pitcher. I having now hit my two glass maximum, was going to head the water route. It was still pretty early in the game, and I wanted to make sure everyone was getting home in one piece. He ended up ordering another pitcher. 

I had not thought about dining when I got our "create your own table" location. Thankfully, the nice men at the table next to us were amenable to our sharing their table. This made for a great way to have a squatters picnic, but kind of made for an awkward first date.  

My Knight would periodically lean in and chat me up about the game.  He had  mentioned  during this time how he really wasn't drinking that much since being out of rehab. Hmmmmm.  I didn't think you were supposed to drink AT ALL when you were out of rehab, but, maybe there are different techniques I am not aware of. 

I didn't really ask about his time in rehab but he offered up that it was instead of doing more jail time. Hmmm. I wasn't really sure why he had done his jail time, but I have this feeling, without even asking he was going to tell me. And of course, he did. It was the blow that jammed him all up.  

Fantastic. 

I've dated people in recovery, people who have been in jail and people who have done drugs. Everyone deserves a second chance. Lord knows the universe helps me out every now and again.  It just seemed that this specific sequence of events didn't bode well for me or honestly even him, seeing as we were a pitcher into his recovery efforts. 

I asked if this was a good idea coming to a sports bar for lunch. He just shrugged at me and said "nah, it's the other stuff I have to stay away from." I am glad to see that the drug community is now distinguishing between class A and class B drugs for rehabilitation purposes? We both leaned back into watching the game and I just wondered to myself "who is this man I am out with?"

It worked out well that we sat where we did.  We have conversations with those around us, hi-fived other Giants fans and heckled the opposing teams' fans. We watched the game to completion. The second pitcher still had quite a bit of beer left when we were getting ready to leave. We hadn't really spoken all that much to each other. He had stepped outside a few times for cigarettes and I had gone to the ladies room a few times to text a friend or two to share the license plate and make and model of the car just in case they heard of a renegade drug cartel shooting up a late model Honda on the news at 6. 

As the check came I politely took out my card with every intention to split the bill with him.  He immediately looked at me holding my card and answered "Oh cool. I'll get the next one." Huh?? I guess I was footing the 70$ plus bill which was way outside my free/I'll pay for myself dating parameters. I just quietly paid the bill and collected my bag and coat to leave. I asked if he was OK to drive and appeared to be.  

On the way home, he shared more stories of his sordid past. The crazy ex-girlfriend, the strung out buddies who made random appearances at his home and the Probation officer he wasn't looking forward to seeing next week. I just sat there wide eyed, nodding, having NO REFERENCE POINT for any of this lifestyle. When we arrived out front my house, I wondered if it had even been a good idea letting him pick me up. There were four choices for what apartment I could live in, but even that made me uncomfortable. 

He said he had a great time and he definitely wanted to take me out again so he could repay me for the afternoon today. I told him it was OK, and thanked him for accompanying me. I wished him well with his probation officer, pending court case and continued success (?) in recovery. 

I walked up to the wrong door and walked into the wrong apartment hallway just to make sure that he wasn't sure where I lived. I think it was safe to say I was NEVER going out with this guy again no matter how great his taste in music was.