The Wild West Heats Up
"Well, I met a man out in Hollywood
And I ain’t namin’ names
But he really worked me over good
Just like Jesse James
Yes, he really worked me over good
He was a credit to his gender
He put me through some changes, Lord
Sorta like a waring blender
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord have mercy on me!
Woe, woe is me!
Well, I met a boy in the vieux-carres
Down in yokahoma
He picked me up and he threw me down
Sayin’, please don’t hurt me, mama!
Poor, poor, poor me!
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord have mercy on me!
Woe, woe is me!"
Lyrics by Warren Zevon, and Terri Clark, Poor, Poor Pitiful Me
Day 1
Monday, after a long day of training, I begged-off from having dinner with my co-workers and instead went my own way. Unfortunately, this conference was not as populated as the one in D.C. and the participants seemed kinda stodgy, bland and a little too subdued for my tastes. So, it was off to the Daiquiri Zone that I went-solo. I had been told that Bricktown was hopp'in after a basketball game let out. Normally, it is not in my nature to: #1 go to bars, and #2 to go to bars by myself, but I wasn’t going to stay for long, and I wanted to see as much of the OK attractions as I could for the short time I was there. Anyway, I had to eat somewhere, so why not venture down there? I just adopted the mindset that I had when I Eurailed across Europe for a year-hoping that it would be the same kind of great adventure. It was. I spent the first part of the night sitting at the bar, chatting with the bar mistress- Carole, (not her real name) a real sweet heart.
The Daiquiri Zone is a really cool spot, and very sporty in its décor. It is laid back, and I felt at ease. It also has a plethora of Daiquiri flavors to choose from-go figure. If you happen by there, I recommend the Bellini, as it has a uniquely flavorful taste (there is also a restaurant called Bellini’s, but I will get to that later).
I was sitting there enjoying my drink and chatting with Carole, when the wildest thing happened to kick-off the second part of my evening. Two gentlemen (one of them absolutely Hot!), sitting to the side of me engaged me in conversation. “So, what’s your name Sweetheart?”, the Hot One asked. I told him, and he and Ken introduced themselves. No, that is not what was wild-I’m getting to that. Ken was traveling from Sacramento to Atlanta by bus, because he had a fear of flying.
He had stopped in Oklahoma for a brief layover, and popped into the DZ as well. He was telling me about some of his bus adventures and the cities he had been through. He mentioned that had stopped in a particular city en route, which I was familiar with. I told him that I had family in that city. “I know it is kind of ridiculous to think that you might know of them, but it’s a large family in a small town so you might.” I said. I told him the last name, and immediately he said, “Charles?!” “OMG! Yes!” I said excitedly. “I know your people.” He said. “Charles is an excellent speaker, very motivating. I don’t know him personally, but I heard him speak once. Wow, so that’s your family?!” He asked incredulously. I said, “Yeah man, 6-degrees of separation, I guess.” That is what was wild. Wasn’t it?
Shortly after speaking with Travelling Man, I had to leave, as it was getting late, the Hot One was leaving too. He wanted to walk me to my cab. We were waiting for it outside, when he asked me if he could see me again. I responded by asking him how old he was. A common problem I have is that either men much older than me are attracted to me, (I guess because they think they are talking to a PYT), or, conversely younger men are attracted to me, because they think they are talking to someone their age. Very rarely do I meet someone my age. I have to get the age thing straight up front, because age differentiations do matter to me-if the numbers go too low. As it turns out, the Hot One is a bit into his 30’s, making us within the same age bracket. Although I prefer older men, it was an acceptable age difference. Besides, the way he calls me “Sweetheart and Darlin” makes me melt, and he looked and acted like a fully-grown man. He asked how old I was, and I told him. Ok, here it goes.
“No way! You can’t be ___. You’re kidding me right?” “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” I said. “There is no way I would have figured you for__!” “Wow, __!” He went on. And on. “Ok, if you persist down this line of disbelief, I am no longer going to consider it a compliment!.” I told him laughing. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. ___ is not old anyway. It’s just that you don’t look ___.” “Ok, I get it!” Jeesh! We exchanged numbers and my cab arrived.
He opened the door for me just in time, as it took a great deal of restraint for us to pull away from each other as we hugged goodbye. So, the next night, I had a ticket to see Cirque Du Soleil, and a date with the Hot One as well.
To be continued…
Copyright 2006
And I ain’t namin’ names
But he really worked me over good
Just like Jesse James
Yes, he really worked me over good
He was a credit to his gender
He put me through some changes, Lord
Sorta like a waring blender
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord have mercy on me!
Woe, woe is me!
Well, I met a boy in the vieux-carres
Down in yokahoma
He picked me up and he threw me down
Sayin’, please don’t hurt me, mama!
Poor, poor, poor me!
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Oh, these boys won’t let me be
Lord have mercy on me!
Woe, woe is me!"
Lyrics by Warren Zevon, and Terri Clark, Poor, Poor Pitiful Me
Day 1
Monday, after a long day of training, I begged-off from having dinner with my co-workers and instead went my own way. Unfortunately, this conference was not as populated as the one in D.C. and the participants seemed kinda stodgy, bland and a little too subdued for my tastes. So, it was off to the Daiquiri Zone that I went-solo. I had been told that Bricktown was hopp'in after a basketball game let out. Normally, it is not in my nature to: #1 go to bars, and #2 to go to bars by myself, but I wasn’t going to stay for long, and I wanted to see as much of the OK attractions as I could for the short time I was there. Anyway, I had to eat somewhere, so why not venture down there? I just adopted the mindset that I had when I Eurailed across Europe for a year-hoping that it would be the same kind of great adventure. It was. I spent the first part of the night sitting at the bar, chatting with the bar mistress- Carole, (not her real name) a real sweet heart.
The Daiquiri Zone is a really cool spot, and very sporty in its décor. It is laid back, and I felt at ease. It also has a plethora of Daiquiri flavors to choose from-go figure. If you happen by there, I recommend the Bellini, as it has a uniquely flavorful taste (there is also a restaurant called Bellini’s, but I will get to that later).
I was sitting there enjoying my drink and chatting with Carole, when the wildest thing happened to kick-off the second part of my evening. Two gentlemen (one of them absolutely Hot!), sitting to the side of me engaged me in conversation. “So, what’s your name Sweetheart?”, the Hot One asked. I told him, and he and Ken introduced themselves. No, that is not what was wild-I’m getting to that. Ken was traveling from Sacramento to Atlanta by bus, because he had a fear of flying.
He had stopped in Oklahoma for a brief layover, and popped into the DZ as well. He was telling me about some of his bus adventures and the cities he had been through. He mentioned that had stopped in a particular city en route, which I was familiar with. I told him that I had family in that city. “I know it is kind of ridiculous to think that you might know of them, but it’s a large family in a small town so you might.” I said. I told him the last name, and immediately he said, “Charles?!” “OMG! Yes!” I said excitedly. “I know your people.” He said. “Charles is an excellent speaker, very motivating. I don’t know him personally, but I heard him speak once. Wow, so that’s your family?!” He asked incredulously. I said, “Yeah man, 6-degrees of separation, I guess.” That is what was wild. Wasn’t it?
Shortly after speaking with Travelling Man, I had to leave, as it was getting late, the Hot One was leaving too. He wanted to walk me to my cab. We were waiting for it outside, when he asked me if he could see me again. I responded by asking him how old he was. A common problem I have is that either men much older than me are attracted to me, (I guess because they think they are talking to a PYT), or, conversely younger men are attracted to me, because they think they are talking to someone their age. Very rarely do I meet someone my age. I have to get the age thing straight up front, because age differentiations do matter to me-if the numbers go too low. As it turns out, the Hot One is a bit into his 30’s, making us within the same age bracket. Although I prefer older men, it was an acceptable age difference. Besides, the way he calls me “Sweetheart and Darlin” makes me melt, and he looked and acted like a fully-grown man. He asked how old I was, and I told him. Ok, here it goes.
“No way! You can’t be ___. You’re kidding me right?” “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.” I said. “There is no way I would have figured you for__!” “Wow, __!” He went on. And on. “Ok, if you persist down this line of disbelief, I am no longer going to consider it a compliment!.” I told him laughing. “Oh, oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. ___ is not old anyway. It’s just that you don’t look ___.” “Ok, I get it!” Jeesh! We exchanged numbers and my cab arrived.
He opened the door for me just in time, as it took a great deal of restraint for us to pull away from each other as we hugged goodbye. So, the next night, I had a ticket to see Cirque Du Soleil, and a date with the Hot One as well.
To be continued…
Copyright 2006
posted by Naylene at 2:58 PM
2 Comments:
I'm assuming it is a "southern" spoken darlin based on the spelling. If so, then certainly those types of darlins, spoken by some southerners makes even me all gooey inside.
Yes, that kind of "Darlin". So you can understand why I was like melted butter in his hands! It takes a special kind of finesse to do that, and to say "Darlin" that way.
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