I can not believe we did it. Four kids, eight hours in the car until we hit the base of Yosemite, California. Thank the heavens for the Chevy Traverse that was so kindly lent–it was like driving in a hotel, full of noisy children running down the hallways, yelling and throwing food at each other. It was our first trip with The Babster, and the DVD player just might have spared her life.
The vacation was great… thanks for asking.
While in the deep, deep woods far, far away from Starbucks and Trader Joes, I sat in the commons at Curry Village in a rocking chair after the kids went to sleep and after I slipped them a Micky—er–after I sung sweet lullabies in their ears. There I was, surrounded by black bears, squirrels too dang friendly for my comfort, and…rainbeaus…OMG lots and LOTS of them. Brown, Red, Black, Yellow, White the FULL SPECTRUM all around me like a boufett of my favorite foods I’m not allowed to eat or the 300-pound cook will rap my knuckles with her sturdy wooden spoon. If you sorted through the gay guys, there were some FIONNE ones. The REALLY fine ones were mostly gay, because what guy keeps their hair that neat in the dusty woods? Plus the nearest big city is San Francisco.
So I’m in the rocking chair in the commons for the wifi access because I’m an e-crack addict. To my left is an obnoxious group of Orange County drunkards (the worst kind) who loudly insult every minority, including the nice Indians who were sitting close enough to hear the lot compare the smell of their food to baby diapers.
I facebooked it.
Once the farts cleared, I sat alone rocking on the chair getting my fix. There were LOTS of open chairs on the huge porch, but a tall, cute professorial-type with brown hair and a Roman nose sits right next to me, starts to read, and doesn’t say a word. I recognize him in the lodge because of the book he was reading, The Resurrection of Jesus, is the same as the night before when me and Maxi-Me came together.
Before he showed up, the two Indian men I was talking about eariler were sitting in my proximity while I was writing The Hottie of the Week Who Never Was, and commented on the guy’s picture I featured, and of course I had to explain. You can thank them for the pithy idea for a comment , “What would Mohammad do?” We had a good laugh, they got up to leave after a while, but not before telling me they didn’t blame the guy for trying.
So now it’s me with Mr. Professor. But then there’s ANOTHER open rocking chair right next to me, and ANOTHER guy, more outgoing, at least six feet tall, bald, piercing blue eyes and a blonde mustashe, decides that THAT chair HAS to be HIS. I saw him just minutes before with the mouth-farters were there, and walked up to me to ask, “There’s wifi here?!” I guess he has the sickness too.
Now picture this: It’s after 9PM and the porch of the lodge has tons of empty rocking chairs just looking for a rump to call their own, and the two rumps pick the chairs nearest me. Alpha Guy tries hard to strike conversation, Mr. Professor occasionally peeks over the rim of his book when I think he’s not looking. Two very, very different types of men, but both had the same goal…despite the two rings prominently shown on my finger. In their defense, they probably didn’t see it until they sat down because my opne laptop covered my hands.
They didn’t score, but the example brings home a point we’ve thrown around on this blog a lot: how non-black men show they’re interested. One’s voice was so strong and firm that it bounced off the pines with gusto, and he made subtle remarks about his status (he was a millionaire), while the other quiet guy just sat reading and peeping right next to me, when there were plenty of other spots to sit. Were both interested? Probably. We tied up the night talking about religion, which devolved into a cluster-cuss. As the saying goes, no talk or politics or religion.
Just kidding about the last part. It was a healthy debate and we kept it classy.