Not So Humiliated

Guess who I called Monday morning after Sunday night at The Comedy Club? (read Public Humiliation)  Marlys, of course.

“You won’t believe the mess you got me into last night!” was how the conversation started.

She, of course, found it hugely entertaining.  Had way too much fun laughing at my public humiliation.

Thursday evening she called me.  “Hey, I talked to my friend who works at The Comedy Club.  They loved you!  She said, ‘That woman was your friend?  She was great.  The other guy on stage was a jerk, but your friend was hilarious.  We loved her.  We wanted to bring her back up on stage.  We were so disappointed when she and her date left.’”

Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin

I could go either way. Become a comic like Lily Tomlin, or an actress like Meryl Streep.

 

Public Humiliation

It was all Marlys’ fault.  The idea was hers; a double date, Marlys and her husband Peter, and my date, Bennett, and me at The Comedy Club.  A young friend of hers had just gotten her first acting job as a member of the troupe.  A Sunday evening of improvisational comedy and beer sounded like fun.

Then Marlys and Peter cancelled at the last minute.  Bennett and I went anyway, only to find out that Sunday wasn’t just improv night.  It was also trivia quiz night.   Almost everyone was in teams of four to eight, except for the two of us.

The improvised skits are clever and Bennett and I laugh heartedly.  That is, until the topic for the quiz segment is announced:  Movies and Television, topics about which we know little.  When the questions are read, we know few answers.

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Yes and No

On a perfect Sunday afternoon in June I bike across the city to the park.  Life is good.  The world is full of happy people holding hands, pushing kids in strollers, soaking themselves in the spray from fountains, amusing themselves with the fanciful art.

I have everything to make me content; a comfortable bench to sprawl on, a cold lemonade to sip and popcorn to munch.

My bubble of contentment bursts when I spot him striding across the plaza, headed right in my direction.  Chet, the guy I broke up with months before (Breaking Up is Hard to Do).  Chet, holding hands with a woman, both of them beaming.

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What’s He Thinking?

You’re scanning a shelf at the book store and from the corner of your eye you watch the man standing next to you crouch down to browse the bottom shelf, except that you notice his eyes are drifting more over your legs than they are over the book titles.

You’re practicing your upward facing dog position in yoga class, with your head craning up, but you catch a glimpse in the mirror along the wall in front of you of the guy to your immediate left, and you can see he’s paying much more attention to the form of your ass then he is to his own yoga form.

You’re standing at the grocery store checkout counter and you can feel a pair of eyes boring into your back and you know they belong to the fellow who, on this crowded Saturday, elbowed his way into the line right behind you.

And you’re wondering, “What’s he thinking?”

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Getting Naked Again

Getting Naked Again

This book came to me through my girlfriend network.  Recent divorcee, Darlene, regaled my married friend, Susie, with tales of the contents of the book, Getting Naked Again.  The book gave Darlene the impetus to hop on a plane for a weekend of adventure with a single male acquaintance of hers.  Her goal was to get over her fear of sex with someone other than the man to whom she’d been married for 25 years.

 

 

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Your Naked Body

Memories

By Spector & Cohen
From the album, Death Of A Ladies Man

Frankie Lane, he was singing Jezebel
I pinned an Iron Cross to my lapel
I walked up to the tallest
and the blondest girl
I said, Look, you don’t know me now
but very soon you will
So won’t you let me see
Won’t you let me see
Won’t you let me see
Your naked body?

Listen to Leonard Cohen sing this, with all that boy anguish, desire, impatience pouring from his raspy voice.  I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, eyes closed, listening to the CD and seeing the 16-year-old boy cross the gym floor, struggling to control his body, his throat tight with a thousand inchoate needs and thoughts.  I see the girl, controlling the moment.

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Adventures Happen

“Adventures happen when you’re around, don’t they? Bennett asked.  “Some people, nothing ever happens when you’re with them.  With you, things happen.”

This scene played out over dinner on our second date.  Something amusing did just happen.  Little did either of us know this would be the theme of our relationship.

A beautiful Sunday in early spring.  We headed out in his vintage Jaguar sportster for a drive in the country, ending up at a charming old hotel for dinner.

Jaguar sportster

Great fun driving down country roads in this. Must say, I liked the attention we drew.

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When the Rain Stopped

Time for another male voice in The Diary of the Vixen Divorcee, don’t you think? My divorced friend, Mick, is here to provide it for us, with his tale of online dating. The brave man has gone where I haven’t dared to tread, yet.

After two years I’d moved on. I’d survived a public divorce, in which I had played a costarring role, the person who didn’t want it in the first place. I’d been the cuckolded husband, the last one in town to know, apparently the very last one. But that had been two years ago, and from what I’d eventually learned the extracurricular activities had maybe gone on two or three years before that.

I made a conscious decision not to date within my existing social network. That decision, and the intervening twenty-four months, had taught me bars and clubs weren’t the place to meet women, at least not for me. Maybe it was the sort of bars or clubs I went to, maybe it was the type of woman I was attracted to. I really don’t know, I only knew it wasn’t working.

Enter unsolicited advice from my friend, Wendy. “Give the online dating thingy a shot. You get to see what they look like, they get to check you out. You can explore mutual interests, see if you’d actually enjoy each other’s company beyond a glass of wine. Besides, if she thinks you’re a creep, she can just block your emails and move on. Look on the bright side, you can save whatever money you were spending trying to get women drunk on dollar shots.”

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