Deuces

The guy next to me was sitting alone. I was sitting alone. So as I tapped on my computer during a lunch date for one at an Islands off the 805 I wondered what he did for a living. I continued on in my work, concentrating but wildly inhaling the afternoon golden ale. It is a Tuesday afternoon. But already by 11:53 a.m. I was feeling like an ice cold one was exactly what I needed to continue in with a long and successful work day. 3/4 of the way through my mid-day pick-me-up I saw the men in uniform come my way. I wasn't in trouble. Was I? They greeted the lone man, them in their blues, he in an unassuming dapper shirt and trousers that said "golfer" more than "law enforcement". The 3 late comers sat with their colleague and in that moment I second guessed my wild enthusiasm when the server had offered me samples of beers to try when I had first sat. Back when I thought he was a lonely man coming from the golf course. Damn my gluttony

The Spartan has no name, apparently, because everyone just calls him 'The Spartan'.   But looks can be deceiving and I don't think I could possibly roll my eyes any more circularly than when I see the Spartan.   He wears those fitted workout pants.  The ones that are likely designed to give aero-dynamic advantage to well-trained athletes.  They are usually shiny and so, so, so tight I wonder sometimes if I shouldn't make it rain when he walks my way.   By all appearances he is the best-trained and most fit contemporary in our boot camp class.   He brings his weights and they are the expensive ones that click and tick and tock and lock and look like they belong to someone that could cause some cerious damage to someone's serebral.  (My weights, btw, are the colorful ones from Target).   And usually when he enters the class he lines up his equipment and more often than not he brings all of his gear in a piece of weight luggage.  I didn't know

Javier, I have thought about you. Not like, thought thought about you, But like, started to muse over what an attractive hunk you are. And finally I told my husband about you. It was late last night, as we meandered through the darks streets after a much-needed shop at the grocery store. I confessed. "You know how I have always had a celebrity crush on Clive Owen?" I quizzed. My husband acknowledged my deep and long-lasting crush with a swift nod. "There's another"... "You know Javier Bardem..."? Lloyd seemed somewhat amused by my choice, chuckling "That guy looks like a bear..." My response was immediate, and like a hushed, whispered exhalation of agreement. "Exactly..., ...., ...."I Love Bears..." "Bears that maul?", he bemused. We carried on with our drive. Me thinking about Javier and bears that maul, my husband likely moving on in thought the way men do. And just to clarify, I do