A Gentleman, Gently

[Since Sean was putting in a rare substitute appearance as a bartender at Martuni's last night, I decided to put in an appearance as well. Happy Hour at the 'Tuni isn't really my thing anymore (except when it is), so going and seeing Dr. Sean for some Cosmopolitan therapy felt like a tremendous throwback to the Hayes Valley of the Dolls days almost ten years ago.]

[(Total sidetrack: ah, jeez, I just realized that we're getting to the ten-year mark with regard to events chronicled on this site. Lemme go check the archives...oh, god. Ohgodohgodohgod. Not THAT entry. No, there's still never been a sign of that particular gift since the initial outbreak. I guess I should be grateful.)]

[ANYWAY, I walked from work down the hill and under the Central Freeway to Market and Valencia. I love walking under that verdigris structure, for some reason: the stale piss smell, the bums, the creaking rivets of hopeful '50s technology; good times. I'd called Allen to come join, and he did for a while. After a little sippy, though, he rushed home, and I found out this morning that he and Carrie and Charlotte raptly watched Donnie and Marie Osmond give Larry King their opinions on, among other things, those southern Utah polygamists. Culture this high rarely crosses our threshholds.]

[Me, I stayed chatting with Donald, this ...well, gentleman is really the only word. He's a friend of Allen's with whom I've also become acquainted. Mid-50s, professorial in both demeanor and actual job, and financially comfortable. If I were so inclined, he'd be the perfect sugar daddy. I'm not so inclined, and for all I could tell, neither is he. He's one of those guys, though, who'd suffer unrequited love in silence, I think. Takes one to know one, except he wouldn't be passive-aggressive about it like I might have been known to be from time to time, maybe.]

[Anyway, he took me to dinner at Destino up the street (Nuevo Peruvian, with lots of good veggie and small-plate options; you should totally go), and gave me good advice when, after a couple of glasses of wine, I let fly with my usual anxiety, viz. "what am I going to do with my life ohmygod I'm almost 37 and time's running out like sands thru the hourglass so are the days of my life argh!"]

[Donald told me ever-so-gently to get off the cross. He was in somewhat the same boat until opportunity knocked at age 39. Opportunity does knock, but one must have the wit to hear it and the presence to open the damn door. In the meantime, panicking doesn't help. After all the similar advice lately (and advice to contrary, i.e. DO SOMETHING, BILL!), his did resonate. Maybe it was the food and the wine, or the fact that it's slightly ridiculous to complain about your age to someone twenty years older than you are. Anyway, it made me feel better.]

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