For the next couple weeks I have decided to post more excerpts from my book
Don’t Use My Sweater Like A Towel.
Because after I had posted about Gov. Eliot Spitzer and his cheating ways I realized that I had just recently also posted about one night stands.
And, well… In chapter four of my book I had experienced both situations with a man that I had met at a local bar.
Read on however… be forewarned this is not for the faint of heart.
Room #104 and Neighbor Peter
When a Man Buys You Drinks Is He Entitled to More?
Feeling like I had sewn my wild oats, meeting men took a back seat to rest of my life. I was feeling disenchanted with the male of the species; and, still processing the break up with Jason, I was spent and needed a break. I threw myself into my work as a sales rep for my friend’s hemp/eco-friendly clothing company, and made an effort to be even more present and serious in my yoga practice and my volunteer commitments.
At the time, I was volunteering with an organization that provides grief counseling, I was working with teenagers who had lost their parents. It was very heavy stuff and, coupled with the commute to the valley (on the 405 freeway, of course) during rush hour, I was exhausted. I have worked over 20 years with homeless and runaway youth in the shelters, squats and out on the streets. Working with youth that have lost parents was equally difficult, but, ultimately, rewarding, and really helped put things in perspective. All my problems aside, I am blessed with an amazing life. My mom and dad are very much alive, and still together after 48 years of marriage. They were high school sweethearts, and are still happy and very much in love. What a great example to have in my life — seeing what they have, I know I do not have to settle for less.
Twice a month, the grief counselors got together for “supervision” to talk about our clients, and what was happening with us personally and in our group sessions. As counselors, that time was extremely beneficial and reassuring. On my way home one night after supervision, I went to Baja Cantina, a Mexican restaurant and a local-hang out spot — a true fixture in the neighborhood, and, at times, a major meat market. It was a Tuesday evening in September, so I figured it would be quiet and mellow. I was in no mood for the meat market scene, but I left it to fate; if there were a parking spot out front, I would take it as a sign.
My plan was to have dinner, one drink, and, since it is just around the corner from my house, go straight home. It was the end of a long day, and I was feeling somewhat drained from supervision. As I drove up Washington Blvd., there was a spot right in front — I guess fate intervened. With the new issue of Rolling Stone magazine in hand, I took a seat on one of the two open bar stools at the bar, ordered a salad and a 1800 Cuervo tequila neat — the bartender knows me and gives me a double. My only intention was to read the magazine and call it an early night. The very last thing on my mind was meeting men. Famous last words!
Sitting there with my Caesar salad, tequila and Rolling Stone magazine, a very attractive man, about 30 years old, started talking to me. Athletic and toned, in Levis and a t-shirt with a company logo, he had big brown eyes and a red crew cut. I had never heard of company on his shirt, so I asked him about it.
To be continued…