Just a quick update on my “situation.” We talked and took a step in the right direction. Together. We’ll see where this takes us, but it feels like progress. Thanks to all of you who took the time to offer advice and encouragement.
So, as is the custom around here, we did our weekly Decay Dance to sweeten the lives of the children in San Isidro.
Before I get to the photos, let me share this interaction I just had with my AI proofreader. I’d sent the sentence above for review, and there were no suggested changes. That’s a rare event for someone like me. Here’s how it went down:
Me: No changes? You mean, I finally got it write?
AI: Yes—you got it right this time. The sentence is grammatically sound and reads naturally as written.
Me: Yeah, the “write” was wrong on purpose. Just testing your sense of humor.
AI: You got me. “Write” was wrong on purpose—and I walked straight past the joke while congratulating you on getting it “right.” Point to you.
Anyway, I thought it was funny. On with the Dance then:
I did a video of the SECOND section of the Decay Dance, but for some reason, during the narration, I called it the third. Well, assuming two follows one, it is indeed the second part. Told you my brain was mush.
After the Decay Dance, we had our talk and left five days of discomfort mostly behind us. At beer o’clock, I asked Swan where she wanted to start, and she said, “Palm Tree.” That was a bit surprising. She used to work in reception there, and her deceased former love managed the bar. I assumed the memories had made it a no-go. I had been a semi-regular there in the past and always enjoyed it, so I was fine with making it our first stop.
Swan had a chat with the owner during our visit, and they want to host a Hash on the beach downstairs. I passed that information along to the Hash powers that be, and it looks like we may be there next month.
Our next stop was Wet Spot. I ordered some food from Sit-n-Bull—pulled pork for me and some Filipino soup for the gals—and that seemed to hit the spot. I had a coupon that gave me a free beer when I bought a lady drink, so that was a good deal. (I would have bought the two lady drinks regardless.) The bar was pretty quiet for a Saturday, but it was still early—around 7:30.
Next, we headed to Cyclone Bar for our nightcap. I’m liking the vibe in this bar more and more: good music, friendly staff, and just a comfortable place to sit back and enjoy your beer. We were entertained watching the pool players; a couple of them were amazingly good.
I really don’t like having a bunch of gals join our table. One or two that I know is fine, but four or five—not so much. I’m down for buying a couple of lady drinks, but not for everyone, and I wasn’t going to pick two gals and exclude the rest, so I didn’t offer any drinks. Then this group of guys came in, sat at the booth next to ours, and suddenly, most of the girls with us disappeared.
Swan did wind up buying two lady drinks—well, she bought them, and I paid. That’s what a 50–50 relationship is all about, right?—for the waitress and the gal she was chatting with. We made it to almost 9 p.m., and then I was ready for a smoothie at home and a good night’s sleep.
And things are pretty much back to normal today.
I traveled back in time via Facebook memories today:
Continuing with the February 2023 LTG archives, I finally met Mary in person. What a difference fifty years makes! Well, I think I knew from the start that there was no overcoming that age gap, but it was fun while it lasted. I still support her continuing education, hoping she’ll escape the cycle of poverty and make a positive difference in life. The deal we made was that when she’s successful, she’ll pay it forward.
For today’s YouTube video, let me share one of those ten-minute short films I came across. This one is called “The Old Man at the Bar,” so how could I not watch it? It takes place in Paris, and the old man is an American. Hey, it’s only ten minutes—give it a watch. Or don’t. Up to you.
I just can’t seem to help myself:
And with that, we’ll bring this post to a close.
It’s 1968, the year I became a teenager. The song “Young Girl” was a top-ten hit. It didn’t seem so creepy at the time, but then, it wasn’t about a fifty-year age gap. Damn, what was I thinking?