LOVE SCENE INVESTIGATION
Daydreaming. Lusting. Wanting. You have to forgive me because after meeting Justin yesterday at the beach, I’m feeling a little boy-crazy. I was just sitting in the sunshine watching guys skateboard and grind rails against a background of grafitti and waves. Some burnouts I know were giving all us gals free shoulder massage. Word to the wise: not every free masseur is a good masseur. Then Justin sat down next me quietly. After a long while he said: “Hi.” Glorious green-hazel eyes and a calm vibe. Like a pretty puppy you’d want to rub behind his shaggy ears. Amber hair shaved into a mohawk that’s grown out. Cool threads. Tall, lean, angular. He smelled good. But, y’know — it’s the beach & I gotta be on my guard. Chicks get drugged at the beach, ass-kicked at the beach and raped at the beach. The loveliness of the scenery is some straight Deceptacon shiz-nit. Ya gotta keep your eyes open. But scruffy, adorable Justin somehow broke down my defenses. How? He offered to give me a bicycle. I protested, “But you don’t even know me.” He explained he didn’t need it. Purple. A beach cruiser. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than that purple bicycle. And to nuzzle Justin’s tanned neck adorned with coppery curls. I wanna snuggle with him in the tent he sleeps in on the beach. It’s like that simple gesture — the unexpected gift (likely stolen and unneeded) — made me mad with desire for him. Still.
I went to get a spare key made for my Mom’s visit and I fooled around and fell in love. Yeah, I never saw it coming. Sweaty and toting heavy bags, I visited one of those parking lot locksmith kiosks. A plump, swarthy man in overalls gingerly took my keyring and proceeded to tell me about my life based on the keys I had. What kind of office I worked in, what kind of house I lived in, my gym habits and my car. Just by looking at my keys. What an unexpectedly interesting man. I dunno — I had always figured locksmiths to be like maintenance men. Unskilled, illiterate, maybe even former jailbird who went straight after a lifetime of picking locks and hot-wiring cars. Not so. This locksmith is travelled, speaks three languages and is a Navy veteran whose favorite TV show is “The Unit.” Nice hair, nice vibe. I stooped. I slummed. I had coffee with him at Fred Segal. This locksmith nursed his mother through her slow death from cancer. This locksmith gives his diabetic dogie insulin shots everyday. This man is a real man. And now I’m just gaga over him. Not that he can read in English. Not that he can spell or text. I know. But let me have my locksmith!
Sometimes the time between running into the right man and recognizing the right man is the most painful time. But then the unexpected hottie sneaks up on you and life is just like a song. These guys might not be perfect. But the charm and appeal of a nice man is hard to resist. Maybe in the end it’s better to be rational. But darn if it isn’t fun to imagine, feel and toy with the possibility of the greatest love of all.
Connection is powerful. Even if fleeting, it makes you feel so darn good all over. Happy to slog through drudgery and traffic just to see him again. Le sigh. Enjoy it when you find it. Enjoy it while it lasts.