abigail414's diaryland diary
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It's Raining Men
So, last we left our heroine, she was fantasizing about her massage therapist - and has, since then, broken an old surfer dude's heart and fallen for a fancy (most likely married) doctor. Plus, it poured rain in both the desert and the mountains.
This is Paul, whose heart I may have broken in Idyllwild over Labor Day weekend. He is a local character and fun to talk and play with, but he wanted to continue into a relationship. It was hard enough to get beyond the balding long-haired surfer dude thing, but when I found out he was living in a van while building his house? OK, call me a snob, but at this point in my life I�m not interested in anyone who doesn�t have indoor plumbing. We continued to have fascinating conversation, but the next day when I was back home in Palm Springs and he called three times I had to break the news to him � no, I won�t come see him next weekend because, well, he lives in his car.
Gwen and I were sharing a cottage in Idyllwild, and met Paul by hanging out on the deck at the 'cultural epicenter of Idyllwild' - the Caf� Aroma.
Sunday night he joined us for dinner, attracting a few other locals to our table - Gina, the beautiful black-haired photographer; Gino the plumber/musician in a fedora; a greasy-haired guy who looked like an old Kurt Cobain; Seth the tortured Irish artist; a stranded young couple with no place to stay; and a few other people I can�t remember. Here's a multi-generational party scene (I'm on the right, Gwen's in the middle, and the girl on the left was part of the stranded couple).
We closed down the bar, and most of the crowd ended up at our cottage, with the young couple staying overnight in the living room and having noisy sex. Very 70�s California, which was odd for someone who actually lived 70�s California.
Even though I was born here, I was raised by South Dakotans, so never felt quite �at home�. Nor was I at home in South Dakota or Michigan. Perhaps no one really feels at home because we are aliens, or of God, or innately foreign genetically. However, since my return to southern California, I have not had one raised eyebrow or comment about me like in other locales. Perhaps I fit in to this effervescent superficial complicated frenetic faux-enlightened deep shallow transient multifaceted quasi-retro lifestyle. But, unlike the real 70�s, I no longer go for surfer dudes with vans.
Today at work, while tending a Pekingnese in the treatment area, an older version of this man walked in.
He turned and fixed me in his stare, and I felt that helpless flutter that you read about in romantic novels. I may have stopped breathing, and definately stopped thinking. Dr. D is an orthopedic specialist from an affiliate in Orange county, and had that magnetic tall big foreign guy thing that triggers an embarassing flirting reflex on my part. Yes, he reciprocated in a bemused, tasteful, and overly attentive way that caused other staff members to joke with me the rest of the day. And, yes his case was transferred to me so I will have some kind of contact again. However, a little internet research suggests that he may be a ringless married guy and that Hungarian men tend to not care much about fidelity (but I do).
So, I'm starting to get a composite of what I would like in a guy. Sebastian's beauty and sensuality and love of cats; Paul's party fun and creativity and love of black german shepherd dogs; and Dr. D's charisma and professional stature and ownership of show jumping horses. Since I'm working on developing those things in my own life (well, maybe not owning show jumpers, but I love to watch them), I don't think I'm asking for too much, do you? Six months ago I could care less about 'a guy' - but it looks like the hormone replacement therapy is working (perhaps I should back off a little).
P.S. This is what sunset over the L.A. smog looks like from the mountains. Even ugly can be beautiful. (And, don't forget the lunar eclipse of the full moon on September 7th.)
6:30 a.m. - 2006-09-06
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