Craig signed my book, well, actually, his book, for which I paid. He even had a conversation with me. Either he’s very good at what he does ~ you know, interviewing/responding to inane people ~ or he’s actually for real. Now, here’s my theory… he’s Scottish and the Scots are the most stoic fools on the planet. They’ll cut off their noses to spite their faces faster than a highlander approaching a sheep’s zipper (think about it). So, I think he’s real. Looking into his eyes and shaking his hand, hearing him say, “Thanks darlin’” was real enough to send me out the door on a puff of Pheromone. Five minutes later, I’ve been asked out to the movies and dinner by two strangers independent of each other ~ all the while I’m on the phone deliberating with Mr. ? over the logistics of hooking up for a drink ~ and the strangers both look hot. Uh. I gave them my number.
And then, Mr. ? looked hot. Nice hug, in fact. Ten minutes later, I commented that I missed my favorite bartender, Deb. He said, “you know Deb?”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in my old stomping grounds, from this time last year when I was at film school having the time of my life, to find that Deb and her gooooooorgeous man, Brodus (sp?) have taken over the old SubLounge, given it a fab face lift and renamed themselves Retox (how cool is that?). I love this town. Meanwhile, Mr. ?, who has asked that his moniker be upgraded to Loki, had very Roman hands… kiss, kiss, bye bye.
I made it home in time to hear Craig’s monologue, and it made me happy to think that he was sleeping a mere three miles away from me. Maybe someday the distance will be shorter… sigh.