Posts Tagged 'singletons'

JANUARY 24, 2010

(This was originally posted as A DRUNKEN POST, on January 24, 2010)

Seems that a drunken post is a rite of passage for bloggers–at least those who drink.  So here’s mine.  I don’t drink daily, nor do I ever drink alone.  So when I drink, I make up for lost time.  I missed my singles group’s dinner last night, because of my still-twisted sleep cycle.  But tonight I called Delbert–my only friend in Singletons, and we went to Millers Ale House.  It was my choice–I’ve been pursuing a twenty-something gal there named Tara, a hostess, for over two years.

Tonight I asked that she stop by our table.  She did, and I was amazed–she was cute, though not nearly as gorgeous as I remembered.  But isn’t this typical of guys–to put gals on a ridiculously high pedestal?  Anyway, we went ahead and ate–and then stayed till after 2 a.m., just talking.  Delbert doesn’t drink, but I just put down one Foster’s (Australia) after another–I must have had at least ten, good thing he was driving.

Delbert is the only member of my singles group who’s an intellectual, like me–who enjoys deep discussions, and very intelligent conversation.  Only difference is that he is primarily left-brained, while I’m primarily right-brained.  His best subjects in school were math and science–while mine were English and history. Still, we get along well–it’s so damned good to have someone with whom I can really talk.  I even told him once that I wished I could find a woman like him. Maybe I have.  Cathy, the woman I mentioned in a previous post, has agreed to meet me for another lunchdate, on February 3rd.  And she is primarily left-brained (most men are primarily left-brained, most women are primarily right-brained–so she is an exception, like me).

I did most of the talking–centering mainly on politics and religion.  Yes, Delbert is the only person with whom I can discuss the most taboo subjects.  He claims he’s not intellectual, because he doesn’t read as much as I.  But he listens, and learns–and this is every bit as intellectual.  In fact, one’s desire to learn is far more important than his or her level of intelligence.  Intelligence is just a prerequisite–the desire to learn is the key to gaining knowledge.  And he enjoys learning, just as I do.

Anyway, I just sent an email to Tara, once again asking for her phone number. Odds are she won’t respond, but that will be nothing new.  Still, I remain undaunted.  That’s one area in which I wish women were a little more like men, if I may be politically incorrect.  Most women get rejected by men once or twice, and distrust men the rest of their lives–while most men get rejected by women, over and over, and still keep trying.  Reminds me of My Fair Lady, and Higgins’ song, Why Can’t a Woman Be More Like a Man?  In fairness, however, I’m sure women often wish a man could be more like a woman.

The fact is that, even though men and women differ genetically by only three percent, they are quite different from one another.  My friend Joseph, who (though somewhat shallow) brought me out of my shell, as a teenager, once said, “Girls want us because we have something they don’t have, we want girls because they have something we don’t have.”  And that’s one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard in my life.

Still, I often wish we weren’t so profoundly different.  And the Creator might laugh, and reply, “No, you don’t–the amount of difference is precisely what you want!”

Well I’ve got a headache, of course (the Janie Fricke song, Jose Cuervo, You Are a Friend of Mine is going through my mind)–and must cease writing, and sleep this off.

I may decide to delete this post, but probably not–since a blog is about the real blogger, naked, without pretense.  And if I’ve misspelled anything, gimme a break.

P.S.–If you want to Google Singletons and/or Millers Ale House, feel free–I’m not bothering to conceal them.  U.S. Singletons is an interesting group, and Millers Ale House an outstanding restaurant, so you can tell either entity Scott recommended it.

DECEMBER 8, 2012

(This was originally posted as DRUNKEN POST #24, on December 8, 2012.)

The Singletons ate at an Italian place tonight.  Delbert was back (he’d gone home to Oregon for a couple weeks), so it was good to talk to him again.  And even John joined us after dinner to talk a bit.  But Carl wasn’t there.  He died of a heart attack last week.  It was so surreal.  I’d just spoken with him at dinner last Friday.  Now he was gone–just like that.  I couldn’t help but wonder if he would suddenly show up this evening–if his death had just been a dream.  But it wasn’t. This is the first time a member of Singletons has died, since I’ve been a member. And I’m still the youngest member.

Death is a reality.  Of course it is.  But Carl was only in his 60’s (I think).  My parents are almost in their 80’s, and though they’re constantly bothering me with nonsense like, “We’re not going to be around forever, you need to learn to do things for yourself,” I know damned well that I will die before they do.

That Billy Joel song, “Only the Good Die Young”–that’s really true, for the most part.  The bad just keep on living.  My Grandpa Mayo, the greatest grandfather a boy could ever have, died in 1974, when I was only eight–and I still suffer from that early loss.  Then my Grandma Mayo died in 1999, after having Alzheimer’s for two years.  She was good too (though not as good as Grandpa).  Yet my Grandmother Pyle–a prudish woman–lived on into the 21st Century.  And my Granddaddy Pyle–a dry drunk, and cantankerous man–died last–in his 90’s.

It’s not fair.  Granddaddy Pyle should have died in 1974, and Grandpa Mayo should have died last.  But that’s how it goes.  The best people die first–the worst people die last.  I know of only one exception (not a family member).

There’s a song called “Sweet Mystery of Life”–but there’s no song called “Bitter Mystery of Death”.  I wonder why.

Speaking of songs, there was one that played several times at this Italian place tonight (background music).  I’d heard it before.  It’s a jazz piece, probably from the 1930s or ’40s.  But I couldn’t make out the words.  I want that song–I want to order a CD with that song on it.  I love it–at least the melody.  Before leaving, I whistled it to the waiter, but he didn’t recognize it.  Then I whistled it to the owner, but he didn’t recognize it either.  He mentioned that the CD he was playing was new–I really should have pressed him for the name of the CD, yet I didn’t want to seem too pushy.  After I’d got home, after I’d had several servings of Irish coffee, I called the local public radio station, and left a message.  For the message, I hummed the melody, and asked them to give me a call if they recognized the song.  They play a lot of jazz, so they may recognize it.  I hope they do–and return my call if they do.

In the meantime, I finished listening to the filmscore of “The Fly” (1986) again–love that filmscore–then Aziz Mian’s “Tere Ishq Nachaya” again–then the filmscore of “Splice”–and finally the first half of an Ali Jihad Racy CD called “Mystical Legacies”.  Told you I was eclectic!

I blank-out my last name, for now.  Because I’ve probably made a hell of a lot of enemies from this blog!  But borrowing from a country song called “Bakersfield” (I think), “See, you don’t know me if you don’t like me!”

My left nostril bleeds a bit.  It’s more because I’ve recently changed my medication regimen–then had to change it back–than because I’ve consumed both alcohol and caffeine.  But I’m drinking as much water as I can.  And it’s so strange because last Friday evening–after ordering an extra two helpings of rice because (as I explained) I’d read that a lot of carbs helps prevent a hangover–Carl said the best thing is plain water.  And now he’s dead.  It’s just so strange–so surreal.

I haven’t been so personally affected by the death of another since Donald’s (a very kind second-cousin of mine) daughter committed suicide–just down the street from me.  Before that it was the wreck of the Amtrak Sunset Limited near Mobile, where I lived at the time.  I didn’t know those people at all.  But it happened so close–over Bayou Canot–probably not far from where my dad and I had fished.  I really thought about my own mortality the day after that.  Now I really think again about my own mortality.  If I could have one wish fulfilled, it would be for immortality, invincibility.  Nothing could harm me, nothing.  I would live for thousands of years, maybe millions, even billions.  Imagine the power I’d have.  I could fix the world’s problems–make this planet as close to a utopia as possible.  And I’d have more women than I knew what to do with.

If you consider this an evil fancy, consider yourself.  No one would turn down a chance at immortality, invincibility.  Everyone has had (or will have) this fantasy. No, it’s not evil.  Just impractical.  Because everyone would prefer a dictatorship–provided he or she would be the dictator!

I’m tempted to end this post in the usual way–with a spread of a gorgeous gal. Yet the following would be more appropriate.



Oh what fun it is to write on a one-byte open slate (sorry)!  If I keep this up you’re not going to believe I’m drunk!  But I assure you I am.

To update you, the male Great Dane was too difficult to manage (continuous urination in the house, in particular).  So I had to return him to his foster family.  But I contributed $150 toward his future well-being, and I was assured that he would be taken care of the rest of his life, even if they could not find another person to adopt him.  And honestly, when his foster mom came to get him, he was delighted to return to her (and her husband)–I was happy to see that.  Now I’ve taken on an eight-year-old female Great Dane (on a trial basis, of course), and she is doing very well here.  She’s lying on the carpet next to me at my desk, as I write this.  She is much calmer than the other dog, much more relaxed.  And she is every bit as sweet as he is, yet is satisfied with my companionship–not demanding my undivided attention at all times.  The main reason is that she gets along better without other dogs around, while he gets along better with other dogs around.  And I can only care for one dog.

The Chinese waitress mentioned in last week’s drunken post never called or emailed me.  But I’m not surprised.  I want a girlfriend, but have resigned myself to the possibility that I may never have another girlfriend, let alone a wife.  I also realize that I don’t need a significant other–not like I need food or water or shelter.  I just want one.  And I realize that having a significant other, I would have some problems I wouldn’t have otherwise.  There is a bumper sticker that reads:  “I think, therefore I’m single.”  And though that is meant to be humorous, there is some truth to it.  After all, love is not logical–as my childhood television-idol Mr. Spock would say.

I ate with the Singletons at an Italian place this evening–quite enjoyable, and not far from where I live.  I conversed with Margie, a much older woman, and thought about possibly asking her out sometime.  But I’ll need to wait till I’m sober–I wouldn’t want to take advantage of someone in my drunken state. 

I had a dream last night (technically yesterday) about Karen, another member.  She has a beautiful face, but her body shows her age–she’s probably in her seventies.  She used to date a man who was handsome but very unfriendly, and I’m glad to hear she’s broken up with him.  Last night, I dreamed I’d died, and was not quite in Heaven, but not in Hell–a sort of purgatory.  In the dream Karen’s unfriendly boyfriend was about to marry her, and I interrupted–claiming that if she’d marry me, she would be young again.  She accepted, much to his chagrin, and married me.  Surely enough, the rest of her body became as young as her face–in fact she became younger than I.

After dinner, Delbert dropped by, and met my new dog.  She was very shy, but that’s her temperament.  She did allow him to pet her however.  We had a good conversation–I let him sit in my recliner, and I sat on my wooden desk chair.  This is how I treat all visitors, for I have so few.  And I’m quite a hoarder (of things, like old computers, papers, etc.) so my couch is covered with stuff all the time.  Still this works out well.  I always let my dad sit in my recliner whenever he comes over, and my mom sit wherever she wants. 

We had quite an enjoyable conversation about everything from women to the Creator.  He even had some Irish coffee this time.  I of course drank far more, as usual.  But I’m careful with alcohol.  I only drink Irish coffee after drinking beer at a restaurant–not on a daily basis.  I’d be far better off if I drank regular coffee so infrequently–for that is my addiction, what causes me so much trouble.  I would smoke instead, but simply cannot endure the agonizing cough.  So my daily addiction is caffeine.

I was thinking of Marcia Cross the other day, and decided I might post some pictures of her tonight.  I understand that Desperate Housewives is ending (I’d thought it ended a long while ago), and she’s the one actress in the show most attractive to me.  I did watch some of one episode once, but found the politically-correct propaganda too damned annoying.  Yet now that it’s over, who cares?  That’s one really difficult thing about television these days, especially comedy–everything has to be so damned politically correct.  Censorship is as obvious as it ever was–only in a different direction.  It’s just like discrimination in the U.S.–it’s as serious as it ever was, only toward different groups of people.  I’m getting philosopical aren’t I?  I had a poetry professor who once told us he got philosophical whenever he got drunk–and I’m the same way!  Well, enough philosophy–let’s see how many photos of Marcia Cross I can display without overloading my computer!