So the tropical outfits era is short lived, surprisingly far more so than even the cowboy epoch. We still believe in the viability of the props, though this view has shifted over time. Wearing them out of context clearly works far better. But you can also distill them into a shorthand, and pick apart certain aspects of the ensemble which attain better results. For example, it seems that you may commonly just skip every other piece of most getups, and focus merely upon wearing the most ridiculous hat.
Therefore the Stetsons will rear their head every now and then. Dylan remains fond of his Dr. Moreau straw number. I start to expand my repertoire, including an Ernest Hemingway type fishing cap with the net trailing down the back (it looks mighty sweet, but results are beyond lackluster; apparently this is too ridiculous even for the most jaded of bar sluts to be seen with). We go through a golf visor phase, though the problem with this is that, particularly during happy hour, there are tons of middle aged guys wearing golf visors with non-ironic regularity — we just never noticed this, until adopting the look ourselves. At a thrift store, I finally acquire my favorite go-to piece, this funky, floppy cap made of blue jean material, clearly from the 1970s, which we eventually learn used to be known as an apple jack.
This current favorite rears its head, or rather adorns mine, once Friday night rolls around. By now we are already well into autumn, not always exactly the balmiest of seasons in these parts, which is yet another reason the beachy looks gets chucked aside: nobody to my knowledge has ever developed Hawaiian sweaters, merely the short sleeved, buttoned up shirts. And certainly not Hawaiian coats. So the apple jack flying solo, atop the locks that I’ve also trimmed, the beard stubble at least temporarily eradicated, distancing myself still farther from that beach bum persona. Also, as Joe and company are meeting me here at Triads Lounge, some of the prior, semi-retired concepts are verboten. Shoniqua I fear would blow a fuse if spotting a wedding ring on my finger, finding me not the least bit funny; Joe on the other hand might knock the ten gallon hat right off my head if showing up as a cowboy.
Tonight is Dylan’s first date with Miranda, which has me in somewhat of a weird mood. I’ve still not seen her, but have heard plenty about her physical attributes. And while always maintaining that I am not the least bit competitive — to me, this is just a weak mindset, as I really feel that I’m only ever competing against myself — it’s impossible not to assess the current situation. I have just maybe started kind of messing around with Jenna again, despite her being roughly four months pregnant with someone else’s kid. Which does make me wonder why I chucked Helena aside in such a casual, rash manner, and if Jenna is really any improvement. There was this younger chick I managed to sleep with a few times over about as many months, though that began to…fizzle out, we’ll call it, in late summer, once I realized she was getting attached. In more recent weeks, while wearing the full blown Hawaiian getup, I also picked up this sharp looking cougar, Tina, right here at this bar, and went home with her the same night we met, which is now only the second time I have pulled off that particular stunt in this town. And then we fucked again the next morning before going our separate ways for work.
Tina is obviously somewhat crazy, but still, I wouldn’t mind hitting that again. This is part of the reason I decided against bringing Jenna tonight, though considering it up until the last minute. Jenna can’t drink, but she’s bored out of her skull sitting around the house, I know, and would love the chance to see Joe again, to have me parade her around in front of Shoniqua. The cougar and I did exchange numbers, and yet even though that night/morning was the most fun I’ve had in months, I’ve refrained from calling her, too. Though this is still potentially in play, and I obviously might even bump into her here, I want to keep my options open.
This is part of the problem, though, I’m beginning to suspect: keeping one’s options open frequently leads to no options at all. At some point you have to question if these fantasies, of developing a fully stocked stable, are perhaps delusional. That’s what this really boils down to. I want to keep all these girls going at the same time without committing to any of them. Which is additionally complicated in that, by default, once you begin sleeping with a serious ex-girlfriend again, particularly if it’s more than just an isolated incident, I think it’s all but implied — or at least, she considers it so — that there is a renewed commitment there.
And is this really worth it? Avoiding work appears to become its own separate kind of work. In this light, pondering something like Miranda pretty much chasing down Dylan, and his going out on an actual date with her, it sounds intoxicating, borderline exotic. Wondering what kind of potential this might hold, and the open ended mystery of it. A grass-is-greener factor is often in play, too, to where it commonly doesn’t matter what you’ve got going on, the foreignness of the other side is always so alluring. Even though I feel like our exes consistently look better in photographs than they seemed at the time, and we should know better. In the moment, however, convinced that everyone else is dating someone hotter than you, only to examine this captured evidence years later and conclude, man, I don’t know, it was pretty damn close. I was holding my own here. Or may have even been ahead, and was too stupid to know it.
Regarding this Miranda situation, too, there’s the alternate reality dimension, of recognizing that Dylan replaced me on that trip. Here she is, having only moved to town from out of state mere months ago, to wind up working with Millie’s brother and developing a friendship from there. I wouldn’t characterize this as jealousy, because I hope it works out well for him. But it’s impossible not to wonder if the exact same scenario wouldn’t have played out on my behalf, had I occupied that seat instead, and to speculate about its eventual returns.
Also, as far as tonight is concerned, casting my eyes around this packed yet still quite lacking lot of prospects, here at Triads, it’s making the current situation a whole lot less lustrous. The bodily mix of this establishment is forever plotted all over the graph, although herein lies part of its charm, never knowing quite what demographic or vibe to expect from night to night. Tonight, as the first to arrive, it’s already so crowded that our usual row of high tables by the windows is fully occupied, meaning I had to grab one more fully enclosed within the center of action, near the dartboards. Not exactly our first preference, but a little variety never killed anyone and might be just the remedy needed.
By whatever scheduling quirks have led to this, it turns out that each of us is taking his or her own vehicle here, including the established couple. Even in agreeing to meet Joe here, though, I wasn’t exactly sure who else would be involved, or the how and why, therefore am somewhat startled when Maggie appears over my shoulder, sticking her smiling face into my midst as she then giggles and pulls out the chair across from me. Explaining that Shoniqua is right behind her, and therefore waiting until her best chum arrives before ordering anything. Joe, meanwhile, is held over slightly longer than expected at work, and therefore expected the last to join us.
Maggie is a notch or two above average looking, and friendly enough to carry on a conversation with. As is often the case, one suspects that if one were, for example, trapped alone in a remote mountain cabin with this individual, while half in the bag at about three o’clock in the morning, one might be singing a different tune re: doability. But during any waking hour I’ve thus far spent around Maggie, I can safely declare that I have no interest in her. It isn’t just my famous misquote about her being as exciting as hanging out with my mom. A whole host of other considerations are in play, among them that she is way too clingy, and it’s obvious there is a zero percent chance you would just have casual sex with her, without her attempting to glue herself to your hip if not becoming borderline stalkerish. Even though just recently divorced, I consider this point readily apparent, a lone tree standing tall in the middle of a huge field.
As for Shoniqua, when her smirking face soon arrives, and they agree on some brightly colored, overly sweet cocktail to order in unison, I have a new focal point to consider. She says some funny shit from time to time, there’s no doubt about it, although her forte seems to consist solely of ripping on other people. And she’s far more respectable than some of Joe’s other recent candidates, and sensible, and decidedly non-crazy, which are all points in her favor. However, regarding us fellows, Joe’s closest childhood friends, we have definitely crossed over into a territory where snarkiness is free to roam. Also a treacherous enough land that she has begun to circle her wagons to some extent, to protect Joe from our vile influence.
When she asks where Dylan is, I explain that he’s on a first date with some new girl. The reaction here, as commonly occurs whenever a dynamic like this rears its head, makes me consider that not coming out, for any reason whatsoever, almost always looks cooler, and finds you wondering why anybody bothers at all. Yet again, the lesson here maybe is to retreat farther still. Then she asks, with a smarmy little leer, what my excuse is, why I haven’t brought anybody out with me tonight.
“I heard you were pretty non-discriminatory with the ladies,” is her exact quote, at the tail end of this question.
I was about to mention Jenna, my pregnant ex-girlfriend that I’d almost scooped up, or to maybe even throw in an amusing anecdote about going home with Tina one of the last times I came here, neither of which developments I’ve even yet explained to Joe. But then something about that last sentence induces a break slam, an abrupt direction change.
“Uh, no. I don’t know who would have told you that,” I tell her, and then consider a moment longer still before adding, “in fact, I feel like whoever told you that is even more non-discriminatory himself.”
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Thanks and have a great week!
