Name That Tourist

I thought everyone went home already, but I was completely wrong. There was a traffic jam before and on the bridge to Fort Myers Beach yesterday afternoon.

I wanted to watch the Red Wings game from the comfort and craziness of the Lighthouse Tiki Bar.

Watching the Red Wings makes me feel more connected with family and friends in Michigan and being at the Lighthouse keeps me connected to friends here.

I posted the last-minute event to my meetup singles group ... sort of hoping nobody would show. Sometimes spectating alone from a distance is more fun than joining in.

If you sit at the back of the bar, you can see it all ... something like seven TVs and the entire crowd; well, everything but the band. Yesterday it was the Dianne Russell Band and they were in rare form.

Within a few hours everyone was.

Haven't seen ... I'll call him "Jim" ... in a while. He saw I'd actually posted an event and rushed out with bells on. Like me, he works at home. Like me, he has to work hard at not becoming a total hermit.

Into spirituality, yoga, health and wealth, he's an interesting guy to talk to. This to the total annoyance of my friend Donna who ALSO talks nonstop and appreciates a captive audience.

If I'd had one of these on each side, my ears would have fallen off or my brain would have exploded.

Donna finally wandered off to find someone who would give her their full attention.

Normally brilliant and funny, Jim was on fire yesterday. He pointed discreetly to a couple standing 3' away and gave me a knowing look. "Canada."

I looked to see a large couple in heavyweight carpenter's shorts to their knees and really ugly shirts - but nothing else that might give them away. I said "he's prettier than she is ... but how can you tell?"

"Mullet."

How did I miss that? Not only was it a mullet, it was a PROUD mullet, finely layered with care. He paid money for that.

The table across from us was next - a lovely young blonde, obviously scandinavian, with a perfect ski nose; with a drunken asshole. The blonde's mother sat getting increasingly annoyed with her daughter's boyfriend.

"Michigan" Jim says.

I could see how he'd think that. But later he found they're from Buffalo.

I find people from Buffalo very close to Michiganders when it comes to personality and humor, but usually not in looks. Buffalo has more Italians and swarthy types.

Several scantily clad ladies, late twenties to early thirties in cheap fringey tourist-wear coverups from the local grocery store were present, annoying everyone within earshot with their screeching and carrying on.

Jim said "they're homely at home, but here on the beach they think they're cute because they know they can get laid."

A biker Donna and I know walked in with a super hot new girlfriend. He was hoping to find his recent ex-girlfriend who had taken up with a super hot ex-con boyfriend who has "White" tatooed on the back of his bulgey left arm and "Pride" tatooed on the back of his bulgey right arm.

Despite the utter creepiness of the tatoos, he ... I shall call him Parole Dude ... Parole Dude seems sheepish, like a nice guy; ready with a genuine smile and a handshake.

I choose to assume he was pressured into the wildly inappropriate tattoos.

Jim is tall and thin and looks like Peter Coyote. He couldn't understand why the hot bleachy blonde was with the biker guy.

Donna went off on how sexy he is ...

Jim went off on "he has a belly!" ...

Donna went off with "yeah, but he ... (the leather, the Harley, the facial hair, the muscles, blah, blah, blah)

Jim wanted to know what super hot women see in guys like the biker and Parole Dude.

I said "it's the bad boy thing."

He said "where do I get that?"

I said "you grow bonsais ... it's never gonna happen soy boy."

Donna argued that the new girlfriend was NOT hot, not even attractive. Donna is delusional, the woman turns heads; she had bleached white hair and some plastic surgery, but her body was perfect and she was beautiful.

The biker's ex girlfriend is also beautiful, but a different type. More natural, no surgery, with beautiful glowy skin and incredible cheekbones. She showed up later with Parole Dude, long after her ex had left.

Had couple number one run into couple number two, yes - another altercation would have ensued. Rumor has it, there was one the week before. I think the biker was thrown out.

This time my money would have been on Parole Dude pulverizing the ex. Had it been a chick fight, my money would have been on the biker's ex.

The only altercation that occurred yesterday was sissy cocktail throwing that almost turned into full assault. A lot of it landed on Donna. None of that matters, in Florida at this time of the year you're wet from sweat, rain or the misters a lot of the outdoor venues have.

She was drying off when I walked up to her and another biker friend who has a little crush on me. The band had stopped playing music. They were going off on we need a president who will allow torture. Not in those words, of course, but that was the crux of it.

I turned to biker friend and said "they're being haters."

Biker friend said "I was in Nam, I'm all for torture."

I said "I guess we need to take this outside." (Kidding - plus we were already outside.)

He said "In Nam - if I had gooks up in the helicopter with me, I knew how to get them to talk. I'd throw the first one out and the rest of 'em would spill whatever they knew."

Then we changed the subject.

A manly waitress Donna knows from a nearby waterfront bar stopped and hung with us for a bit. She was utterly free range, without shame in words and actions.

The first thing residents ask is if you live here. If you don't, some grant you little worth or credibility. If you do live here, you usually gain instant acceptance.

Manly waitress asked if I live here and I said yeah. Then she asked WHERE I live and I told her near Tanger Outlet and Sanibel. She sneered in my face (not exaggerating) and told me she can see the back of Matanzas from her place.

I notice that once again I am getting nothing but flack from other females. I thought I had reached an age where I am no longer considered competition, but I am suddenly getting SHIT from women of all ages. I got slammed by someone I considered a friend on Friday and there I was getting slammed by a complete stranger.

It is time to go back to the safety and comfort of guy friends.

The music was awesome, the temps were high outside, the breezes refreshing inside and it was an a.d.d. world where there was something to see at every angle, from sports to flesh to humor to drama.

Jim asked "is it always like this on Sundays?"

And I said yeah.

He gets it. Now he knows why I go. He's hooked.

The place is social salvation for hermits.