Once...

I saw him...
and I saw him looking at me...
smiling.
I smiled back.
I wanted to kiss him.
Instead we hugged...
and then,
we introduced ourselves to one another.

Nana would have shunned me with a hushing 'Just kiss the boy...'

'The Kiss' by Sister Singleton

It was a long, long time ago.
We were all the same, but we were all different.
He hated women, all of them....mothers, sisters, lovers... but he liked me.
Peace was foreign to him and love was a four letter word only to be dropped in fits of rage.
Ironically, looking back, I realize 'I love you' was one of the first things he ever said to me.
But really, he loved his resentment.
He loved his anger.
He loved to push buttons.
And if he couldn't push yours, he would search for new buttons & push even harder.
He loved his rage.

He thought...
it was his gift and it gave him power....
it saved him from heart-ache...
it gave him a liberation most men would never know...

I thought he lied to himself...
I saw burden, a weight, a curse which only weakened...
I saw a lonesome, fragmented heart...
held hostage like most men would never know....

Then, I realized that by simply listening...
by trying to understand...
by continuing to support...
I wasn't helping him help himself ...
In fact, I too was being held hostage.

'I don't lie to myself. You just don't like what I say. If you don't like it, just walk on...like every other woman has in my life. Hell, even at two weeks, my own mom didn't even like me, I don't know why I expected anything else from you.'

So, I listened some more...
in agreement that I did not like what he said,
but more so...that I didn't believe it.
'Say what you mean & mean what you say.'

A lover of anger, a button pusher and a dependent
he belted out at me, over nothing, one morning...
'Why don't you just go? Just effing leave, like every other effing woman?'
'Say what you mean...'
'I hate you! Just effing go!'

Within ten minutes, I was out the door.
Never to return.

Years and years later...
we're all still the same, but we are all different.

(Artwork, of course by Sister Singleton...JustGiveMePeace)

Falling, Flying & Fast Cars

"Faster, faster! We want a new Master!'
The kids voices chimed out like they belonged on a Pink Floyd album or something.
They were on the Merry-Go-Round and an older boy was running Sambo circles around and around, pushing them as fast as he could.
His legs looked like a blur to those of us on-looking. I thought they might turn to butter.
Still, the spinning children just wanted to go faster and faster.

I think, every town has a road called Dead Mans Road, or maybe it's just a bend in the road and they call it Dead Man's Curve. Passerbys may notice it by the small white crosses popping out of the ground.

This town had one on the outskirts heading out towards the mountains. It was two lanes, curvaceous and hilly. I never saw any white crosses, but I had heard the stories.

There was one super hill and it was known for sending fast moving vehicles air born at the crest. Problem, according to the lore I had heard, was that shortly beyond the crest of the super-hill was a relatively sharp curve... and it was a favorite strip for the youth to race down.

Tommy had an old black BMW that he was constantly tinkering with. I don't recall what the shut off number was on his speedometer, but I can remember laughing and telling him that I had never had a car that went as fast as this one. He laughed and said with a childlike gleam ...'Silly thang. The speedometer only tells you half the story'

Booking down the road...before I knew the lore, we caught the wind under that BMW cresting the super-hill. I lost my stomach for a split second ...'Woo-Hoo! That was fun!'
'That's Dead Man's Hill, Dead Mans Curve or whatever you want to call it.'

The next day, headed to the shoals, Tommy smiled over his shoulder at me and asked if I was up for the ride of a lifetime.

I smiled, 'Whatchoo tawkin' bout? Ah, never mind...I am along for the ride'

'Buckle up baby.'

I watched the speedomoter rise higher and higher, shaking. 110..120...130...140. Then it stopped shaking and it leveled out beyond the point of reading & still we gained speed.

The engine hunkered down and I could feel the tires barely skimming the paved road like the furthest flung skipping stone across steady waters.

AS we neared the crest of Dead Man's curve, I did something perhaps the dumbest thing I could have ever done in such an 'along-for-the-ride' moment.

I unsnapped my seatbelt.

'Mark was hollering out at the top of his lungs...We're gonna do it Man! Donnie, this one's for you brother! We're gonna do it.'
Tommy pressed on...
and we flew...
to the top of that hill...
and into the air...
the tires free of all friction...
the air, our only fiction...
silence...
my palms pressed firmly to the roof of the car...
no revving of the engine...
flying...
free...
for the moment...
and when we kissed the earth again, we all breathed again
and then we hooted and we hollered.

Later, at the shoals, when our adrenaline rush was all but forgotten about...
Tommy spoke softly 'Paige, you scared me earlier. Why did you undo your seatbelt?'
Sigh.
'Because life is for living Tommy. '
'Huh! Yes, and if we did man, you didn't have your damn belt on!'
'I know.'
Mark chimed in ...'If we had landed just an inch to the left or the right...girl, you just don't know! We could have wrecked and you, well crap, you would have probably have been killed...WTH were you thinking?!'
'Guys, come on. I was along for the ride & you said it was the ride of a lifetime...'

Brother-love, the Train Ride & Strangers

An empty checking account and a crisp one hundred dollar bill in my Levi's.
She drove me to the gravel lot in the woods by the tracks.
I wondered out loud 'Is this right? Is this where I am supposed to be?'
"I'm telling you....This IS the station."
'It's weird. No-one is here. There's not even a building...hahahaha, the lot isn't even paved. Hell, there's not even a light out here.'
"Welp, there's the moon.'
So we played eye-spy man-in-the-moon until dark-forty-five, when a barreling train suddenly came to a standstill in the middle of the woods.... for me.
It was dark and quiet and an usher escorted me to my dank little seat, where I remained for maybe five minutes.
I tugged my backpack over my shoulders and cruised the ill-lit cars until I came into the club car. It was nearly empty so I just scooched into a four-top that had chairs on 3 sides and a car-long bench on the fourth side. I lit a cigarette and pulled out my book, but found myself shaking one foot and staring into the smear of darkness out the windows.
I put the book up and went to the lonely tender of the club car where I got myself a can of Budweiser...two bucks plus a dollar tip. Three bucks would hopefully serve as a sedative for me.
Then, I slid out a frayed deck of cards....tttttthhhhhhhumpppppp.
Thirteen.
A solitaire game taught to me by my mother as a kid.
A pyramind of hearts and diamonds, batons and spades.
"One is the lonliest number that you'll ever do"
'Excuse me, do you mind if I play cards with you?'
'Um, sure!'
'Great! Next beer is on me!'
'Hey! That sound great!'
We began with a simple and silly game of Go Fish and two cold beers.
"So, tell me your story..."
"Two can be as bad as one It's the loneliest number since the number one"
Before long, another transient asked if we would mind if he joined in and my original partner was quick to respond 'No problem...it'll cost you one round of beer and you will have to tell us your story'
So now there were three of us, three cold beers, and we moved onto the game of BlackJack.
"Three is a magic number...The past, the present, the future...Faith, and hope, and charity ... The heart, the brain, the body... Ya it is, its a magic number"
Oh, but it didn't take long for our table to swell and with each additional soul came one round of cold beers and a fresh round of 'Tell me your story.'
After the club car quit serving, the attendant said he left one door open and he pointed to a small fridge with hooks and a swiveled padlock, unlocked. I smiled. 'Now, just don't get caught back here, okay?'
Behind that small door was six cold beers, a bowl of creamer, a single packet of coffee.
We made that last six pack last as long as we could and somebody asked for the story of me about the same time we broke into the java.
Yeah, I was drunk and silly by then. I was all mushy.
"I am loaded, I have the love of my life and I am still totally free..."
"What do you do?"
"I live. I laugh, I learn and I love..."
"Wait a minute...your'e loaded? What do you do for money? Does your old man have money?"
"Hahaha, no....I'm loaded, as in I am drunk but I have discovered I love you guys, all of you... so different, so special, so gifted in your own ways, and right here, right now you are the love of my life. I'm free to say that, to feel that way, right?"
"Yeah" "So True" "Wow, I feel the same way" "Damn, you got a point"




At about a quarter to five in the morning, the train came to a standstill at my destination... I hugged the fireman from NY and the cop from Tampa, the comedian from Atlanta, the accountant from Boca and the transvestite from Miami...and well, anyone else who wanted to hug.
My brother stood waiting in well-lit landing.
I greeted him with a big ole hug and he laughed, as the guys back on the train were all hollering out to me...
"What's that all about?"
"Hmmm...I think its all about the love."
hic-cup
'Love?!'
"Yeah, well, strangers and the love"
"Are you drunk?!"
hic-cup
"Yup"
It took us about thirty minutes to get back to his place and he told me how he would blaze on to work and I could sleep all day, but he would be home by four.
He pulled his truck into a space facing the tennis courts. At the courts, I saw two guys playing tennis in the rising sun.
Getting out of the truck, I raised my arm and waved "Good Morning Strangers!"
"Good Morning" echoed right back to me.
Brother-love went into work & I brewed more coffee, breaking out my Crayola markers.

At about ten am, there was a knock at the door.
It was the two strangers playing tennis at daybreak...
They were headed to the shoals at the river...
They are only strangers until you get to know them...

Five days of planned vacation with my brother turned into five and a half weeks with brother-love and an ever-expansive circle of friends, strangers and loves...

Board Days and Imaginary Friends

Big Daddo sat on the edge of his seat. A large outdoor Glad trash bag hung from his knees.
Balls of silver and gold, red and green, candy canes stripes, poinsettia and Santa Claus flew through the air. Bows and ribbons still attached to some of these balls and some bows and ribbons laid upon the floor in neat little stacks or got stuck atop of someone's head.
Twenty-some-odd people. A family tree. Generations. Of Love, not blood.
I watched her, in her burgundy velvet dress and her little bare feet.
She silently slipped away, dragging her baby doll with her. Not the baby doll she had just unwrapped, but the baby doll she had always dragged around.
Without looking back, she crept up the stairs and then down the hall. I Indian-footed behind her. She went into my bedroom and climbed up my bed.
Just beyond the doorway I watched as she climbed up on my bed and sat her baby doll 'just so.' She was murmuring & I couldn't make out what she was saying so I listened with my eyes.
Pinky finger sticking out, placing imaginary things here and there, I realized she was having a tea party with her baby doll and imaginary friend.
She began to sing and this is what I heard.
'Happy Board Day To You. Happy Board To You.
Happy Board Day Baby Jeeeeeezus. Happy Board Day To You.
Now! Make a wush & bow out ya candles!''

Artwork by Sister Singleton

Momma's First Date and the Music that Followed

"Sooooze-aye-en! Now, we have all heard this cock-eyed story of yours 100 times... now just stop."

"Well, I don't think everyone has heard it and it's not cock-eyed...it's true."

"Jeezy-mah-neezy... I don't believe a damn bit of it. You have worn it out. And how is it that after 50 years I have never met, nor heard of this man, except from you? A band named after your first date?!?"





After 54 years of marriage, my parents have heard each others tales, stories and recollections a thousand times over. Each, having to grin and bear it, or not, anytime anyone new gets into the mix while they each re-hash their own distinct recollections of yesteryear.

Flash back to the late 1940's.
A beautiful young woman on her first date ...
with an older boy, at that!
A big occassion.
Big enough for her grandmother to relinquish the window coverings to make a special dress, form fitted just for her.
Big enough for her to wear a coursage, freshly picked by her mother.
Big enough for everyone to forget that she might need shoes to go with that new dress.
Big enough for her mom to give her two special rings to wear on her toes, so that when she danced there would be a tippity-tap upon the hardwood floors.
Big enough for her father to look the other way as she trapsed out the door.
Big enough for her to never forget his name.

So, years later when her children started bring vinyl home with a name so similar home, she had to wonder...

Nearly fifty years after that date, Momma and Pops were perched on the fifty yard line of an FSU game... hooting, hollering, reveling and cheering.
A man three rows down looked over shoulder and Mother caught a glimpse of him as he turned back to the fields. He spun back around and bellowed out...
'Suzanne?!?'
'Leonard?!?'
'Yes! Oh My! It has been years!!!'
'Yes...this is my husband, he has heard stories...'


And my Father never questioned Mother's story again...

A Road Less Traveled...

I don't know why I am compelled to write about this particular memory, as it is not the best memory to have.. I especially don't know why I am writing about this just a couple hours before I find myself flying high in the sky for a weeks' worth of business meetings, workshops, training and such.

'It is what it is...'

Twenty-five years ago....I was sixteen.
I lived at home with my parents and I had my drivers license.
On a Sunday night, a friend and I ventured out to get some ice cream.
Baskin Robbins was closed...so we decided to go to a Dairy Queen a little bit further away.
We went through the drive through & got ourselves some wonderful delectables.
Pulling out the rear entrance, as opposed to the front where we had come in at, I found myself forced to take a right.
This one turn ended up throwing for a loop & ultimately throwing me into territory I had not chartered before.
I came upon a four-way stop and strained to see the names of the streets, hoping to orient myself as to which way to go.
Suddenly, two young men who had been standing at the intersection popped open the rear doors of my vehicle.
I turned around 'What the hell?!' and threw my purse to the floorboard.
Before you know it, I found myself in the position of being, what is known today as 'carjacked.'
These guys were armed with a variety of tools and weapons, none of which scared me as much as their callous, detached and self-spirited demeanor's.... as they held a razor to the side of my neck and barked orders at me.
They had me drive them around, here and there... I didn't know where I was anymore.
At one point, one fellow got out of the car and retrieved something from someone he obviously knew.
My friend recognized one of the young men as being the brother of a fellow who had just been arrested for killing their father.
He was called on it and really, didn't seem to give two hoots.... about his brother or his father. They told me to give them my purse. I told them to hold on, it was under my seat. I slid my license and one of my two fives into my sock and I gave them my purse.
They were talking about splitting us up...me and my friend.
My friend was actually trying to negotiate our way out this...entertaining the notion of him getting out and leaving on foot with one of the young men...trying to get them to agree to leave me alone.
I started cussing like a lunatic...nope, no effing way, we were not going to be separated, all for one and one for all...
I had awful visions of my friend being stabbed in the woods and of lord knows what happening to me, should I be left alone with one of these idiots.
I could see the road before me ending into another street with houses on it.
I saw a cinder block house just beyond the stop sign, right in the middle of the paved T-bone.
I remembered my brother accidentally spinning this vehicle in a 180 by slamming on the brakes.
I remembered the Bazaar brothers.
Profanities raced from my mouth and my parents little station wagon began to race even faster.
I thought I could do it.
I thought I could pull a one eighty.
I thought I could slam the back end into the cinder block porch.
I thought about the people inside.
Sleeping or gone, their house was one of the few with no lights on & no folks on the porch.
I thought I could stop this train wreck with injury only to us.
I thought it sounded better than the possible alternatives.
I thought about my friend.
My foot stayed pressed to the floor.
Everyone in the car was now screaming.
I crouched closer to the steering wheel.
My head was being pulled backwards by my hair.
The interior car light came on.
Porch lights flickered out in my peripheral.
A back door was open....then, two.
I slammed on the brakes.
The two guys jumped.
I sat there, shaking....looking...
As the last of the porch lights went out...

We made it home safely enough, minus a pocketbook, some sanity, some peace and some naivete. The next day, I got a perm to disguise the area of my head where I had my cut to an inch or two of my scalp. I never told my parents....and now, I always lock my car doors.

I still don't really know if what I did was right or wrong.

But at least, I'm still here to talk about it.

A skinny little blonde from the south & an irish-italian redhead from Brooklyn.
A quaint, elite little bistro with white linens & cummerbunds.
We crossed our legs and sat up straight...
This was an indulgence, a treat, a break from 'Tony's Famous One Dollar Slice'
Armed with twenty-two dollars and a good attitude, we aimed to live large....at least for the night.
Opening the menu and seeing twenty-seven dollar plates and fourteen dollar appetizers...
We lost our appetites for dinner.
Okay.
Reality check & giggles.
Two espressos.
One slice of fresh new york cheesecake.
Mmmmm....
We savored it.....
We made each moment, each sip of thick, rich, chalky coffee & each dip of the fork last as long as we possibly could.
We giggled & chatted.
The cheesecake was so rich & the espresso so delectable that we found ourselves sitting with an inch or two of cheesecake left & two mini, empty coffee cups.
No one noticed.
We chatted & giggled some more.
We wanted more espresso.
Finally, we flipped our cups.
A cummerbund passed and took a step back, aiming to fetch our cups & saucers.
'That's okay....you can leave them.'
More giggles, more chatter, another sliver of cheesecake down.

Our cummerbund came by 'Are you ladies alright?'
'Yes...may we have two more espressos please?'
He went for our upturned cups & red quickening snapped her hand down upon his.
'Thank you. They can stay.'
He walked away and we giggled some more.
Sliding our cups & saucers from to another, we flipped our cups back over.
'Oh my Skinny! I see a group of people...you are going to go to a concert or a party!'
'Oh Yeah! Look! You have waves on your cup...you will be grounded at the ocean.'
'Hell yes! I'm gonna move right to the beach...look someone in the group is holding a guitar...you are going to meet a musician!'
'Wonderful! We will come see you at the beach...'
We went on & on & on ... loving every minute of it.
The cummerbunds stood by the espresso machine...grinding, whirling and watching.
Finally, our cummerbunds arrived with two more espressos
'Ladies, do you mind if I ask what you are doing?'
'Well, we are reading our espresso spots.'
'Really?'
'Really.'
'Can you really do that?'
'We really can...in fact, we just did.'
More giggles.
About ten minutes later, we asked for our tab and our cummerbund hesitated.
'If you can read my spots, I will comp your last round.'
....giggles
'Okay.'
So we did.
Whatever we saw in those coffee spots we shared.
Imagination ... a beautiful thing.
Dribbles became leashes.
Splatters became feuds.
We saw broken down cars and immaculate spaces,
suffocating situations,burdens lifted, long walks, short trips...
lots of people doing lots of things.
Our cummerbund saw his life spill onto a mini saucer and from our lips.
We giggled. He comped.
We tipped him big & he sent us to the jazz bar around the corner for another round on the house.

If you can imagine it...
if you can believe it...
it can be real.

Oh yeah, I will meet you at the beach anytime...

Tin Can Love ... Love Me, Love Me Not

I hadn't been sick.
There was no new love trying to swoosh me off my feet.
There had been no deaths in the family.
Nobody had stood me up or stayed out all night when they should have been home.
There was no glass vase, nor any tissue paper or ribbon.
There was no delivery van at the curb and There was no business card sized note.
No written words.

There was a tin can. A big old, rusty, coffee can.
And there was green...lots of it, along with all the yellows & golds, red & oranges, blue, purples & periwinkles.
They were bell-shaped and pointy and round...psychedelic tongues lapping out, neon fingers pointing down and up, over and across.
They made me nose crinkle... into a smile.
They were wildflowers or weeds...roadside dusters ... and they were the best flowers I ever got.
Love Me. Love Me Not.
Doesn't matter... I loved those flowers & the tin can they came in.

Flowers from a florist make me think of beginnings and ends & not all the good stuff in between... like rusty old tin cans & wildflowers, peace, love & goodtimes.

Pixies, Post-its & Keeping My Word

I don't know what made me think it was a good idea.
Perhaps it was the mischievous grin the UPS guy & I always shared when he dropped off or picked up packages.
Perhaps it was the reams of paper, stacks of post-its and such that was within those boxes.
What-ever my reasoning, I guess a reasonably intelligent business owner should have known better than have a girl who daydreams about being a Pixie, a Fairy or even BeWitched as his office manager.
'I'm gonna borrow some office supplies, if that's OK. I promise I get 'em back to you in the next week or so.'
Ever-so-trusting...'Sure. Never a problem Skinny.'
'Thanks'
Ten packs of post-its turned into fifteen, then maybe even twenty. I lost count, but I kept them all, knowing that I would have to make good on my word to the boss-man.
In fact, I kept them in a cigar box.
Then, I kept them in two.
Finally, I had them in three.
Three. 3. The magic number.
I fiddled and faddled with those plain, mundane little squares of sticky paper night after night.
Alone sometimes, but usually with good company and sometimes even some not-so-good-company, but company none-the-less.
Armed with permi-markers & cold beer, we would sit around my kitchen table and doodle.
A flower.
A candle.
A sun.
A man.
A peace sign.
A word.
A sentence.
A song.
A thought.
Finally, I gathered the three boxes & took them with me.
First, I covered the white mercedes benz convertible, inside & out.
Then I left a trail, like cookie crumbs from the car across the cold concrete to the door.
In the door the trail led though one room, down a hall and ultimately to the downstairs bathroom.
Why the downstairs bathroom?
Because I never used it.
Happy Birthday to the boss-man.

Kiss & Tell ...twenty years later

Buzz-eyed & still going strong, she banters through the crowd of shiny, tanned, rosy-cheeked pretty people with a frothy pitcher in her right hand. Slamming the frothy suds to the table, she calls out over her left shoulder
'Get A Room!' A smirk appears on her lips, eyes roll back in her head...'Sheesh, what a whore!'
'Who?'
'That woman over there ... sucking face with that guy!' 'Yeah? You know her?'
'No! And neither does he! That is why she is a w-h-o-r-e.' 'Well, if you don't know them, then how do you know they're not boyfriend and girlfriend.'
'Trust me, I know. I've been watching them. They just met tonight & now, ugh, just look at them.'
'Hmmm...I don't see what the problem is.'
'You're kidding?! That doesn't make you sick?!'
'No, actually I think it's great.'
'Oh My Gawd! You have got to be kidding me?! What, pray-tell, are you talking about?'
'I think that more people should behave just like them.' 'Oh My Gawd! They don't even know each other! They might as well...' looking over her shoulder once more, voice rising more than our ciggie-smoke, 'Go Get A Room!'
The brunette chic broke from her lip-lock to look our way only to be confronted with the double-sided conscious of a stranger to her and a dear friend to me..
'Yeah! I was talking to you! I'm serious, you need to Get a Room.'
I shuddered in fear of an altercation for a moment, sipped my salty margarita through the straw and giggled when I realized the brunette wasn't the fighting type, 'She coulda been the type to want to brawl over that, thank goodness she's just into sucking face.'
'Smartass. '
'Seriously, why does that bother you?'
'It bothers me because I am a single woman too & how am I, how are you, ever supposed to meet someone worthwhile if we have whores like this setting these men up to think that anytime they go to a bar that's it's all about getting some?'
'Hahaha...I'm with ya, but most folks don't come to places like this looking for soul-mates or life partners, they come looking for fun. That's why we're here, right?'
'True. But our definition of fun is obviously different than hers! It just makes it harder for the rest of us to have fun...the way we define it. It makes for pressure on us to give in to that type of behavior.'
'Hmmm...I dunno. But I do know that if you or I were to meet a guy while drunken at the bar , I would much rather that we suck face in the corner...all night long even, as opposed to going off and getting a room.'
'Oh great Skinny...so everyone would be looking at us off in the corner sucking face, calling us whores....great.'
'Whatever. I'd rather kiss someone in public & be called a whore, than do lord knows what in private & feel like one in the morning.'
Smarts Cars Inc in Acworth GA Georgia was dishonest to me & it cost me thousands of dollars...
This experience comes from my early, early twenties & although I haven't kissed anyone in many, many moons (outside of my diggity-dawgs, that is) nor have I been to a bar, I look back and I have to say ... my perspective is the same. I'd rather kiss 100 frogs in public than slink around with a single snake in private.

And then I used HIS Name in Vain & Some

(continuation of 'No I did NOT meet Jesus in a bar')
So, with his long legs & my spatula like hips I flipped this fellow to the floor. After apologies, I went on my way, fluttering back to the dance floor.
At quitting time, my girlfriend & I ventured to the door. I could hear feet pattering up behind me & it was him. He wanted us to go to breakfast with him, which we did. He wanted my phone number.
Uh, no way...even if I did think you were Jesus, I'm not giving that out. Thirty minutes later & about thirty minutes before the sun rose, I tucked his phone number into the back pocket of my well-worn, hand-me-down Levi's.
About two weeks later, I called him. We talked on the phone for about a month. Finally we decided to meet one another out. He lived closer to the city & I let him pick the place, I'd be there.
I ventured the 45 miles south to the city & found myself pulling up to a restruant/bar which seemed to be standing room only... about 45 minutes late. I weaved my way through the patrons on the deck & into the bar.
Oh Crud! It's two stories tall inside...wall to wall people, mainly men... mainly men with long hair, many of which, in my current sober eyes I could see as looking like the fellow I'd met a month and a half earlier.
Unsure of what to do, I snaked my way to the bar where a gentleman actually gave up a stool for me. I ordered a beer...it was a dime! What?! A dime?! What is going on?!
The bartender explained.... it was Ladies Night, Progressive. No cover for women, 10 cent beer, oysters & wings for the first hour, 25cents the second hour, fifty cents the third and one dollar til closing.
Great market scheme: bring the girls in free, offer very cheap eats & drinks and the men will follow....lots of them, too! Hmmm.... I ordered a beer & a dozen oysters.
After finishing my dozen & brewsky, I scanned the crowd looking for 'Jesus,' whose actual name was Ricky and whom I called Ricky-Man.
The fellow beside me said you look like you are looking for someone. That I am! I told him the story & explained how I was perplexed as I really couldn't remember what he looked like ... other than the fact that he looked like Jesus.
Great ~ he was going to help me find Ricky-Man! He spotted a fellow with long flowing brown hair & soft looking skin scanning the bar & pointed him out to me. 'He's looking for someone... it might be you & maybe all he can remember is that you were some skinny little blonde.'
OK. I approach this fellow with an 'Excuse me....are you Ricky-Man?' smile.
He smiles right back & quickly replies....'I don't know....should I be?' I laugh & walk away. He follows me.
I end up telling him about my search for Ricky-Man & he decides he'll hang and help me find my date.
Thirty minutes, another dozen and another beer down...I spot Ricky-Man. I point him out then race to greet him 'Hey! You are Ricky-Man, aren't you?'
Quickly he replied, 'Well, if I wasn't before I am now.'
Hmmmm..... this is not my Ricky-Man!
I apologize for the confusion & walk back to the bar.
He follows.
We tell him the story & he decides to join us in the quest to find the guy who looks like Jesus.
Ok, well no Ricky-Man, but I am having fun... these fellows are nice enough so I settle into a night of good-times with new friends when I see someone out of the corner of my eye.
It's him! I spin in my stool & throw my bony arm out, like a stop sign on a school bus & scream "Ricky-man!" Suddenly stopped, this man turns to me & says 'No it's Rick, not Ricky. Do I know you?'
Ummmm, no. You don't, I'm sorry. Have a good time man
Ahhhh, man! I'm having fun...but I am disappointed. I want to see my Ricky-Man!
I'm about to give up, it's 11 o'clock...I've had several beers & lots of good eats & now have a party of three with me when I notice this one fellow sitting there with his friends staring me down. I wonder is this him? Has he just been sitting back in the shadows this whole time, watching me?
Rick, not Ricky, comes up & disturbs this little daydream...' So, who is Ricky-Man & why did you think I was him?'
While I repeat my story one more time, I am ever aware of this long-haired fellow in the corner booth checking out my every move. Hmpft! It's gotta be him.
So I order another beer & confide in my new found co-horts that I believe I found him & that he has been watching me make an ass out of myself all night long.
They say, ' Well then, eff him!'
I agree. For a minute.
Then I get up & march over to this booth. There are several guys sipping on brewskies there, but the one fellows smile grew as I came from the bar towards the table. Yep, that's him alright.
'So, have you been enjoying watching me go on this wild goose chase?'
Laughter bellows out of him, then quietly he says 'Matter of fact, I have.'
'I can't beleive you!'
He laughs again, 'It's all good. Here sit down.'
I tell him, 'No I can't. I have people here with me now...there's not room for all of us.'
And I saunter my way back to my cohorts to tell them that I was right... he was there the whole time, just watching & laughing!
They crack up laughing & ask me what I planned on doing? Nothing.
Then they pointed up that my Ricky-Man was gone.
Bastard.
Only he returned with stacks of chairs under his arms, which he pushed in around his booth full of buddies. He came up to the bar & invited me & all of my cohorts to join them.
How nice! So, we all trapsed over & before you knew it, we were enthralled in a good old fashioned game of quarters...me and about 8 long-haired, Jesus-look-alike Ricky-Mans.
Not long before closing, I looked up & gasped at what I saw. It was Ricky-man...the real Ricky-Mann. One look & I knew.
I turn to the fellow who had hid in the shadows 'You're not Ricky-Man are you?'
He laughed, 'Girl, I am whoever you want me to be, but my real name is Mike.'
OMG! What to do! I was frozen. I watched as Ricky-Man walked through the bar. My table was dying with laughter.
One of them said 'Well, well, well...there he is. Are you going to go get him, like you got all of us?'
Nah.... he's late, very late & I'm having fun! I tuck my head into Mike's shoulder as he walks by our table on his way out.
Jesus leaves the bar.
The guys make a toast... to the best pickup line ever...

'Excuse me... are you Ricky Man?'