Unlike most of my friends who are single now, I really don't mind being single at most times. I have tons of female friends for social interactions with the opposite sex, and if I need a little more there is always the strong right hand. The first time that I actually hated being single for the past couple of months was when I decided to paint my living room walls.
If I was dating someone, I'm sure I would have had that special someone help with the painting chore, and it would have taken no more than a weekend to get the job done. Instead I spent most of the past two weekends stuck in my house getting a wicked huffer-esque high from the paint fumes. I'll definitely open up the windows and use a fan the next time I paint. I swear everything I ate and drank for the past two weeks tasted like it had been coated with Burnished Copper lacquer paint.
I was sitting on my couch early Saturday afternoon admiring my newly painted walls when Cathy called and invited me to go rollerblading with her and her 10-year-old mentee, Z, down on Sawyer Point.
I can't remember the last time it was in the mid-60s this late in November, and I was stunned that the three of us had the roller skating rink near the Montgomery Inn Boathouse to ourselves for an hour. It was such a nice day that we decided to skate past Montgomery Inn to the new International Park of Friendship.
I did not even know the IPF even existed until that day.
It was a really nice trail that had two paths that intersected each other like a strand of DNA with large green spaces in the middle. There's a super-cool, large art structure in the center of the trail that had seven large wooden pillars arranged in a circle in such a way that on the winter and summer solstice and the fall and spring equinox the sun does something really cool at sunrise and sunset.
Z was starved after rollerblading for nearly two hours, so Cathy suggested that we walk across what she called the "Purple People Bridge" to go to Newport on the Levee for lunch. I quickly went into my "Purple People Bridge" rant.
In my opinion, if people are going to call the I-471 bridge that goes across the Ohio River the "Big Mac Bridge," then everyone should start calling the walking bridge the "Hamburger Mary Bridge".
When Cathy asked me where I wanted to go for lunch on the Levee, I suggested Bar Louie. Cathy was happy to go because it was someplace where she hadn't been to before. I just wanted to go and drool over the hot waitresses that work there and our waitress Amy did not disappoint me. I think I audibly sighed when she came over to our table to take our orders.
I am a notoriously slow eater, mostly because I tend to talk non-stop. Z, it turned out, could not only out-talk me, but she also ate slower than me. Cathy just sat there for most of the lunch listening to Z talk about her cousins and school in her left ear, and me babbling on and on about the cool scooters I just saw at Soho Scooters.
I had a very interesting moment as we were walking back across the Hamburger Mary Bridge to get back to the car. Three guys wearing tight jeans, see-thru spandex t-shirts, silver chains and short spiky blonde highlighted hair were walking towards us. I looked at Cathy and just smiled. If Z hadn't been with us I would've bet Cathy $20 that those three guys were gay.
As the three guys were walking by us, I smiled and said hello to the first guy that passed us. He looked me in the eyes, smiled, and said hello back. Then his eyes went from mine to my crotch and just stayed there until we walked past. As soon as the three guys were far enough away that they couldn't hear us, Cathy smiled, "I guess this is the Hamburger Mary Bridge after all."
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