Off Track
Dear Diary:
Well, I think I finally found the perfect place to meet eligible men, Diary. I mean, the guys at the Crazy Horse are okay, I guess, but they lack a certain refinement. And the desk seargent at the county jail won't let me in to see the guys I pull up on the inmate admission website anymore, so I'll have to wait until he gets switched back out onto road patrol before I go back there. But I think I finally found a great pond to fish in.
Dorothea suggested it. You remember Dorothea, don't you Diary? The bartender at Crazy Horse. I guess she got tired of seeing me bang my head against the wall. Or, I guess, more like Tommy banging my head against the bar. She told me that she met her second husband, Max, at the off-track betting parlour at the racetrack the next town over. She couldn't speak more highly of him, really, Diary. Randy agreed with her, saying they still have him over to dinner all the time, when Max isn't down at the mission. Randy is Dorothea's fifth husband. He's been on disability for so long, Diary--it is really sad. But at least it clears up his time so he can sit at Dorothea's bar while she works.
Anyway, so I went...alone...down to the track. I don't want to take Tammi down there yet until I establish that it is my turf. You know how she poaches my men.
It is a pretty big place. Lots of tvs, a big bar, tables. It was pretty quiet, Diary, for a Friday, although there were a lot of people there. But I have to say, men outnumbered women about four to one. And the men! They're mostly so distinguished--a bit of grey, nice jewelry, Le Tigre golf shirts. And no one seems to be married! At least, none of them are wearing wedding rings.
So I sat at the bar a while by myself, waiting for someone to come over. A few guys sidled up to buy drinks, but none of them really talked to me. They just looked down my shirt. I talked a bit to Dave, the bartender, about betting on horses, but I only brought enough money to buy a few Pink Squirrels, so I decided to hold off on that for now. It is so complicated, with all the races and horses and numbers. I just kept asking Dave if it was the fourth down, yet, so I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. It was hard to catch anyone's eye to talk to, since they all kept watching the televisions above the bar, the light flickering on their faces. I never thought it would be so had to meet someone in such a "target-rich environment", as Maverick would say. Or was it Goose? Hee, I love that movie.
I finally got up the nerve to go talk to one of the gentlemen at the other side of the bar. Oh, Diary, he was dreamy. Older, with a nice ring on his pinky and a navy blue sportcoat. And he had a briefcase. A briefcase! Like a professional type guy. And all these racing forms and paper and a calculator. At the bar! He was very impressive. And smart. When I finally got him to talk, he wouldn't stop--just kept trying to explain trifectas and odds and the weights of the jockeys. I didn't get much of it, but he sure was good at math.
And money! Wow, Diary, this one's a catch. He kept going up to the window to place bets. He had a whole roll of ones--just like I used to when I worked at the Pussycat. Hee. I didn't mention that to him. I thought maybe he'd buy me a drink, but I ended up just getting water after my second Pink Squirrel. So, yeah, a lot of money and not afraid to spend it on things he likes. Like betting. I think things are looking up for me, Diary, don't you?
Gary (that's his name, Diary--I read it on his driver's license when he went up to place a bet on the Northwoods ninth) is very passionate, too. In a loving way. He really tried to encourage those horses through those races. He talked to them constantly. He only raised his voice...well, a couple of times. I could really feel the bond he shared with the horses. It was like he was sending mind messages to them through the television. Too bad they didn't seem to be listening much, I don't think. He didn't seem to happy with them, anyway, by the end. But I think that would be a great way to deal with the kids we're going to have, me and Gary. He'll really be able to motivate them, like he was motivating those horses last night. Gentle, but tough. That's Gary.
Turns out, Gary's car was out of gas, so I drove him home. He complimented the teal color on my Cavalier. I hope he didn't see the big dent from when Tommy...well, you remember, Diary. We even stopped at Taco Bell and split a chicken soft taco--I saved the wrapper as a momento. Then, I took him to his house and dropped him off and, well, I have to tell you, Diary, it is beautiful. And he's so wonderful, because he lets his mom and dad live with him and have the whole upstairs, while he lives in the basement. Isn't that sweet?!?! I told Tammi about him and she thinks it is weird that a guy that old would still live with his parents, but he's really just looking after their health. This one is a keeper, Diary.
He even already asked me out, kinda, for next week. Gary told me he needed a ride to his GA meeting on Tuesday, so I offered to pick him up. Maybe we could go to Taco Bell again. So we're doing that. I just don't really get why he thinks Grey's Anatomy is on Tuesday.
Gotta run, Diary. Wish me luck!
Well, I think I finally found the perfect place to meet eligible men, Diary. I mean, the guys at the Crazy Horse are okay, I guess, but they lack a certain refinement. And the desk seargent at the county jail won't let me in to see the guys I pull up on the inmate admission website anymore, so I'll have to wait until he gets switched back out onto road patrol before I go back there. But I think I finally found a great pond to fish in.
Dorothea suggested it. You remember Dorothea, don't you Diary? The bartender at Crazy Horse. I guess she got tired of seeing me bang my head against the wall. Or, I guess, more like Tommy banging my head against the bar. She told me that she met her second husband, Max, at the off-track betting parlour at the racetrack the next town over. She couldn't speak more highly of him, really, Diary. Randy agreed with her, saying they still have him over to dinner all the time, when Max isn't down at the mission. Randy is Dorothea's fifth husband. He's been on disability for so long, Diary--it is really sad. But at least it clears up his time so he can sit at Dorothea's bar while she works.
Anyway, so I went...alone...down to the track. I don't want to take Tammi down there yet until I establish that it is my turf. You know how she poaches my men.
It is a pretty big place. Lots of tvs, a big bar, tables. It was pretty quiet, Diary, for a Friday, although there were a lot of people there. But I have to say, men outnumbered women about four to one. And the men! They're mostly so distinguished--a bit of grey, nice jewelry, Le Tigre golf shirts. And no one seems to be married! At least, none of them are wearing wedding rings.
So I sat at the bar a while by myself, waiting for someone to come over. A few guys sidled up to buy drinks, but none of them really talked to me. They just looked down my shirt. I talked a bit to Dave, the bartender, about betting on horses, but I only brought enough money to buy a few Pink Squirrels, so I decided to hold off on that for now. It is so complicated, with all the races and horses and numbers. I just kept asking Dave if it was the fourth down, yet, so I sounded like I knew what I was talking about. It was hard to catch anyone's eye to talk to, since they all kept watching the televisions above the bar, the light flickering on their faces. I never thought it would be so had to meet someone in such a "target-rich environment", as Maverick would say. Or was it Goose? Hee, I love that movie.
I finally got up the nerve to go talk to one of the gentlemen at the other side of the bar. Oh, Diary, he was dreamy. Older, with a nice ring on his pinky and a navy blue sportcoat. And he had a briefcase. A briefcase! Like a professional type guy. And all these racing forms and paper and a calculator. At the bar! He was very impressive. And smart. When I finally got him to talk, he wouldn't stop--just kept trying to explain trifectas and odds and the weights of the jockeys. I didn't get much of it, but he sure was good at math.
And money! Wow, Diary, this one's a catch. He kept going up to the window to place bets. He had a whole roll of ones--just like I used to when I worked at the Pussycat. Hee. I didn't mention that to him. I thought maybe he'd buy me a drink, but I ended up just getting water after my second Pink Squirrel. So, yeah, a lot of money and not afraid to spend it on things he likes. Like betting. I think things are looking up for me, Diary, don't you?
Gary (that's his name, Diary--I read it on his driver's license when he went up to place a bet on the Northwoods ninth) is very passionate, too. In a loving way. He really tried to encourage those horses through those races. He talked to them constantly. He only raised his voice...well, a couple of times. I could really feel the bond he shared with the horses. It was like he was sending mind messages to them through the television. Too bad they didn't seem to be listening much, I don't think. He didn't seem to happy with them, anyway, by the end. But I think that would be a great way to deal with the kids we're going to have, me and Gary. He'll really be able to motivate them, like he was motivating those horses last night. Gentle, but tough. That's Gary.
Turns out, Gary's car was out of gas, so I drove him home. He complimented the teal color on my Cavalier. I hope he didn't see the big dent from when Tommy...well, you remember, Diary. We even stopped at Taco Bell and split a chicken soft taco--I saved the wrapper as a momento. Then, I took him to his house and dropped him off and, well, I have to tell you, Diary, it is beautiful. And he's so wonderful, because he lets his mom and dad live with him and have the whole upstairs, while he lives in the basement. Isn't that sweet?!?! I told Tammi about him and she thinks it is weird that a guy that old would still live with his parents, but he's really just looking after their health. This one is a keeper, Diary.
He even already asked me out, kinda, for next week. Gary told me he needed a ride to his GA meeting on Tuesday, so I offered to pick him up. Maybe we could go to Taco Bell again. So we're doing that. I just don't really get why he thinks Grey's Anatomy is on Tuesday.
Gotta run, Diary. Wish me luck!
posted by Miss Head at
7:58 AM
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