Night of the Pilots

I am changing names to protect the guilty.

Sally hasn't been out in years and damned if she didn't decide hanging out with me at Fort Myers Beach bars could be fun that particular Saturday night.

She was sipping wine in a low cut sundress telling me about her ex when a drunk guy crawled into the Cottage Bar on hands and knees.

Noting designer sandals and painted toenails at 10 o clock, he lifted his head to find his nose nearly in her cleavage.

Apparently it was lust at first sight. The night was young and so was he.

Drunk ... bright blue eyes, sort of short with big muscles, bigger ego and close cropped blondish hair. Said he was from Minnesota. I asked if he was Finnish and he was like "how'd you know that?" Like I was psychic or something.

In Minnesota or northern Michigan, you just KNOW that with anyone who crawls into a bar.

He was babbling on ad nauseam about being a pilot and wanting us to go to Jimmie B's with him and I was getting really bored. Sally was starting to look irritated, despite the fact that it had been years since she had experienced bad attention. Which is always better than no attention at all.

I was wondering if our pilot had any supervision when the movie star walked in. Holy crap, tall with dark hair, sweet cheeks and kind blue eyes. Yes, they were pilots, yes, they flew a private jet, I won't say which executives they fly for.

Cash and American Express cards were at the ready ... and no, thank God, they weren't scheduled to fly out anytime soon.

He liked me, but that's just ridiculous. The words of rough, grizzled Uncle Buck from VSI ring in my ears ... "I like screwing older women. They're grateful." UB carried photos of nieces and nephews so he could hit on vulerable women at Parents without Partners meetings.

Uncle Buck was a truck expert at the automotive marketing company we worked for. A total piece of work; and a hoot to work with.

So I excused myself from the movie star, tore Sally away from Short Pilot and we headed off to Lani Kai. Deb and the Dynamics were there. So was ... I'll call her Marie.

Marie hasn't had sex in ten years. Every weekend she dances her libido into the sandy floors of the beach bars, where she knows every band and every band member by name. Every bartender, waitress, bouncer ... you name it.

She has a thing for a local guy who's about 10 years younger. He is GORGEOUS. Cougar jokes have been flying, but he has been oblivious to her advances; if you remain silent, you can hear her confidence grinding down the tubes.

Sally sat in a corner and drank at Lani Kai ... Marie danced and I hung between the dance floor and the bar trying to avoid eye contact with two HOTTTTT younger guys. I am not even attracted.

Despite the fact that they were straight out of True Blood ... dark and a little dangerous looking. Like Hungarian gypsies with long hair and brooding eyes.

We shall call them Ponytail and The Lurker.

The Lurker walked up and asked me "who do you worship?" It was a creepy venue for a spiritual question so I ignored him, thinking he must be high.

Ponytail - like Tall Pilot - was ALSO movie star handsome. He had beautiful eyes and a kind face, but he kept violating my space. I got vibes ... sure enough, pony tail is Buddhist. I said "you're light and he's dark" (talking about his brother) and he nodded. The Lurker just stared from the shadows.

I didn't want to get into anything spiritual or talk about psychic phenomenon since that's clearly what they were about; I kept fantasizing about going home to watch Psychic Kids with my dogs. I asked Marie and Sally if they were ready for Jimmy B's and they said YEAH.

So we were off again.

Jimmy B's was humbling after the adventure we had just left. There were maybe two available men - one was our age - tall with giant schnoz and a baseball cap. The other was older and kept touching our arms for attention, like Bodhi when she wants a scrap.

Like Grandma's buddies in the Dementia Ward.

Old Guy was getting on our nerves when I spotted the pilots. I waved them in - and hilarity ensued. Holy crap - drinking and dancing and laughter.

So many times guys our age will blow off women our age in favor of young babes. It was VERY WEIRD to be on the other end of that scenario.

Short Pilot was a wildman, so danced by himself when no one would dance with him. Tall Pilot was still hitting on me but I made it clear I was going home; alone.

Marie was happy to take over. Sally was having a great time ... my friends were safe and happy so I left.

I heard from Marie late the next morning. She told me how many bars Tall Pilot had on his uniform. She said she was afraid to get room service for fear it would be delivered by someone she knew and was terrified driving past her church for fear someone would recognize her car.

It's two weeks later and she still has that smile on her face.

Sally claims nothing happened ... except for having the most fun she's had in many years.

I'm not sure this means my friends have shape-shifted into real-live cougars, but I think it's quite possible. They're out for more this coming Saturday ... and hammering me into compliance.

I prefer vicarious thrills, so expect an update Sunday or Monday.

Listening Past the "Hot"

This is the Cottage Bar on Fort Myers Beach.

I was dragged out of my condo Saturday by a single girlfriend and we went on one of her marathon tours of beach bars in search of cool guys - no easy task at our age. She made me stop at Parrot Key first, saying she had run into some guys and they were supposed to be there. She said they were "older guys."

I asked "how old". She said "not so old that they wouldn't be fun to dance with."

I said NO!!!!!!

But she whined and got me there anyway. Parrot Key is a wonderful place and they had a dj that night. We found them at a table and the one immediately got up, put her purse on the table and whisked her off to the dance floor. I was left with the drooly loose-lipped guy who had had the stroke.

I remember meeting him at the Estero Singles Dance we refer to as God's Waiting Room. This time I danced one dance ... remembering the horror at Cin Cin just last week with the Beetlegeuse Guy. One dance is polite. More than one is leading them on and personally horrific. He tried to dance couples to fast music and I said I don't do that.

Nobody touches me.

My friend asked if I wanted to stay. NO!! This is a word I am not accustomed to using with such force. I am 57, my friend is 60 - we are both very young for our age, in good health. People in our age group now range from fit and fun to nursing home appropriate.

She asked again. NO!!! I wanted out!!!

My New Years resolution was that I would not suffer idiots. I will also not put myself out and ruin MY evening by being TOO DAMNED NICE.

She dragged me to the Yucatan. It just opened, it's beautiful and has adjacent free parking. If you're not a local, it's not easy knowing where to park. Some pretty young drunk thing with giant fake hooters was singing karaoke -"Baby Got Back". Shaking it.

The fake ones don't shake all that well - they're more hard boiled than over easy. I used to not like mine, but at least they're original equipment. I finally accept them after all these years. Although in this searing heat it's like having four armpits.

We know the woman who runs the karaoke and she looked very unhappy. Apparently Fake Tits was not willing to vacate the stage so someone else could sing. The table of locals behind us was grumbling. It's not easy being local color putting up with drunk tourists.

Finally the local was grudgingly granted space on the stage and the first words out of his mouth were "Baby Got Front Too!" Everyone laughed.

Not me. It wasn't a nice crowd, I couldn't wait to get out.

Lighthouse Tiki Bar was sort of dead. Handcuff Larry was DJ for the night. My friend asked if I wanted to stay and I said NO.

New Kings were blasting rock from the Barking Shark; we walked in and there were two stools at the bar - very rare, precious as diamonds. I wanted to stay. Really hard, loud rock. I love it.

She said NO.

So we went off to the Cottage. This was all getting very old very fast. However - there was a great entertainer at the Cottage! And people at the bar! And two cute single guys our age! One was deeply tanned with blue eyes and a white baseball cap. The other had a shaved head, nice eyes, tasteful tropical shirt and khaki shorts.

I liked the latter. They're from Chicago, were staying at an area hotel and could walk back to their rooms. We joked about one room or two - straight or gay.

The one I liked said he hates faggots. Dealbreaker.

However, he WAS sober. He attempted to soften his remark but it rang in my ears and I focused attentions elsewhere.

My friend went for the other one. I was at the other end of this four-person interaction, being leaned on by a guy (also our age) to my left who was out on a date with a classy younger woman. This guy was HILARIOUS. She looked like she was being patient. I noticed she was drinking water.

I know what it's like to be the patient one drinking the water. Charming and funny when a relationship is new it gets VERY old after some years.

It was a great time. A major hunk directly across from me was flirting and wanted me to come to his side. He was my son's age.

Another guy who I almost had a date with showed up and I felt him behind us waiting for his turn at the bartender. I poked my friend and whispered "the guy behind us is the one I ditched because he got on my nerves."

Weeks ago I explained that I met him at 7 at Lighthouse Tiki Bar and he was hammered and pawing. He violated my personal space. I reminded him I was a local and I have my reputation to think of. He didn't stop.

And he was looming behind me. A giant of a guy. He must have moved into the area, this is like the third sighting.

He whispered "sorry, I'm just trying to get a drink" and I turned around and looked him in the eye. He said OMIGOD ... I am SO SORRY!!! Just on an on. And he said he was leaving but kept coming back. My friend pointed out he was dancing with every skank at the bar and I said "I guess he's showing ME!" She laughed.

At one point he RESTED HIS CHIN ON MY SHOULDER.

This was very annoying. He asked if he was bothering me and I said YES. Just like last time you IDIOT! (I only thought that part.)

At any rate, the hunky bald guy finally leaned over across empty barstools (as our mutual friends danced) and asked what my story was.

He had really nice eyes. He said he had an incredible ability to read people. Arrogance ... red flag.

I told him about moving from Michigan, about the almost seven year relationship that turned abusive, etc., etc. He asked what about me made me choose abusive men. Which pissed me off. And yeah, I explained that I am attracted to incredibly intelligent, complicated men and sometimes that can backfire.

What am I doing explaining myself to strangers??!

When I asked him about himself he was oddly silent. I said "I can feel your walls" and he said "I don't have walls" and I said "yes you do." Then he explained everyone from Chicago needs walls.

Are you married, are you going with somebody? None of the above.

I said "you're Italian." He said yeah and looked a little surprised. We talked some more. The chemistry was there from the start but we finally started clicking mentally.

I haven't had sex in six months. I haven't had good sex in four years. My libido is in a battle with my head, which is what got me into this emotional mess in the first place.

He said I needed to open up and be myself. Another red flag. My book on emotional abuse says to listen to your body when you meet people. I could feel my entire right side tense up. But other parts ...

I said "I'm Finnish - I'm a better listener than a talker." I am who I am and I'm not changing for anybody. I will adapt to a degree that is comfortable, but I will not change.

They asked us back to their hotel. I said I had to go home and let my dogs out. Bald guy said "oh, the dogs are more important." YEAH, THEY ARE MORE IMPORTANT.

How many red flags does a person need.

I can handle going to a hotel with guys - I can have a drink and conversation and go home. But I don't believe in being even a little buzzed and getting behind a wheel. Besides which, I was getting tired and when I get tired, that IS driving impaired.

I suggested we walk down to the Barking Shark. They had heard New Kings and really liked them. It was a nice compromise.

We walked beachside instead of sidewalk. What a gorgeous night ... it had cooled off, the sky was black with a near-full moon behind a haze. There were slight shimmers of silver marking the edge of the water.

He offered his arm for me to put my arm through as we walked. It was very nice. And we held hands. Even though he annoyed me it was super nice.

But New Kings were closing down. The four of us were walking towards Lighthouse Tiki (and their hotel beyond ... I assumed my friend was going with them) when I counted the flags and told myself I'm not even going to BEGIN thinking about anything like that again.

I said I have to go home, I'm tired.

Bald guy was unhappy; I gave him a hug and a kiss.

Bigots, bare feet and dealbreakers.

I met Shelly about 8 months ago. Her husband died a year ago. He was very sick for a very long time and I think the sex died YEARS before he did. She was chompin' at the bit.

She is tall, blonde, sweet and near perfect; she proceeded to lose another 15 lbs. making her maybe 2% of her age group who are that thin and that beautiful.

Still reeling from the shock of turning 60 a few weeks back, she has been dating anyone who will ask.

We were out on a friend's boat - I call him "Good Randy", as opposed to "Bad Randy" - my ex. It was me, Shelly, another girlfriend and a retired cop. At one point he was telling your classic cop stories and bragged about "running all the niggers out of my town - even the big sports stars."

I gasped.

Good Randy turned from the helm and laughed it off. "He's not bigoted at all."

How would Cop react to my plans to vote for Obama? My inner Buddhist said to keep my yap shut.

Shelly's been out with him a few times. Her biggest concern that afternoon was whether his hair was real. Good Randy told her it was a weave. We weren't sure.

Over the past coupla weeks, Shelly continued to date him. And about four others.

Last night, after week two of brain-crushing radio & tv script deadlines, I found it impossible to stay home. I could have had a date but I can't take the pressure. I don't think I'm over my alcoholic yet. The wounds haven't healed. But I won't stay home alone if I'm lonely!

I decided to break my own rule and head out to the Fort Myers Beach bars with Shelly and our peeps.

We met up with our core group ... Good Randy, Bigot Cop, the girlfriend who's married to a gay guy, etc. Met the gay husband for the first time; gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek and he recoiled.

There was another stiff looking couple present ... the man looked detached and had beautiful eyes. I assumed he was the real partner of my friend's husband. The one I had heard about. He could not stand the place or the people. HIS wife was well-dressed and completely miserable.

The men were obvious in their cautious attempts to maintain a discreet distance from each other.

Gay or not, having two sets of mismatched spousal units made everyone uncomfortable and incredibly dull. Yeah, I know - you'd expect exactly the opposite.

Shelly and I wandered off to the other beach bars. She knows them all.

By the third waterfront bar, Shelly gave me an opportunity to express my opinions about indiscriminate dating. She thought it was odd that I won't date unless there is a huge mental connection - or a lot of whining and guilt. (Them, not me.) I would just rather stay home with my dogs.

We agreed that neither of us respect anyone who would fall in love with us quickly. It was so Rodney Dangerfield ... wouldn't want to join any club that would have us as a member. That was our breakthrough moment that transformed us from acquaintances to friends. We shared a deep, dark secret and a big laugh.

Then we started talking about her guys. I asked if she knew the retired cop was a bigot. She hadn't overheard that particular conversation on the boat. I told her about it and she was appalled.

I suggested she analyze those she's dating - her eyes lit up and she asked "make a list?" And I said "yeah, an Excel spreadsheet if you like! These are the core qualities ...

They should be in good health.
They should CARE about their health. (Good Randy has recovered from lung cancer and continues to smoke.)
They should not be whores.
They should make at least as much as us.
They should OWN at least as much as us.
And most important, they should be someone we could see spending the rest of our lives with. Why waste our time???"

She liked it. Besides which, it caused the instant removal of several from her list, lessening her confusion.

The bar was The Cottage. I loved it. You could see the waves coming in, little shimmering threads of white against the darkness. Guitar music and a happy laid back crowd.

I went to the john and brushed my hair. On the way back I was hit on by a very tall good-looking lunatic wearing a shark's tooth wrapped in leather. It was as big as my head.

He reminded me of Dog the Bounty Hunter and had a nickname ... can't remember for sure. Dave something. All long-time locals have nicknames.

His wasn't quite on a par with "Fuckin' George" - who actually has that printed on his business card.

Dave tried to buy me a drink. I said Diet Coke, he said the bartender would throw him out if he asked for that. I said "come sit with me and my girlfriend" and pointed in the general direction of our table. He said he'd be there in a minute.

I enjoy characters. Shelly does too. As fate would have it, he was too drunk to find us. He was tall enough that I could see him looking, but I wasn't intrigued enough to stand up and wave him in.

Shelly and I walked back to our core group at our core bar. Everyone moved around so we could position ourselves (??)

Good Randy has a habit of trying to pimp us out.

Shelly and I sat next to each other and the cop sat across from us.

Good Randy made a joke about my boobs; that far into the beverages, boob jokes happen. I had grabbed his ass earlier when he said something about giving me his seat, so all is fair.

There were maybe eight other acquaintances at the table when the Cop made a sideways remark that I felt was disrespectful of Shelly. I turned to her and whispered "it's bad enough he's a bigot - did you get a load of the socks?"

She sat up lightly to look and plunked back down. "MY GOD!"

His weave was only noticeable if you looked from behind, the "Bigot" thing was bad, but mid-calf white socks - in Shelly's discerning criteria - were the death blow.

She said "HE IS OFF THE LIST!!"

It made me think of a great date I had last weekend. We went to Sanibel, had brilliant conversation, glorious weather and no shortage of shells. (I customized a mirror frame with them - it turned out great.)

I didn't care that he was a few inches shorter than his profile stated. Didn't care that I was a little taller. My waist is far smaller than his. Good 'nuff. I can still feel sort of girly.

The afternoon held no need for me to remove my shorts and reveal my fluffy white ass. I felt our imperfections were fairly equal.

Until I looked down at our bare feet as we sat on our towels chatting.

Mine are bigger than his. Stompers. Gunboats.

Idiocy knows no age restrictions. I will see him again because I enjoy his conversation, but we can never be anything meaningful because of my own insecurities.

Uma Thurman wears a size 10. I wonder how she deals with guys with smaller feet ...