We are not amused....part 1

I was escaping the OC!...Flying down the highway to Palm Springs, just me and about 2ooo other people on the highway with me at the exact same time. You'd think I'd have planned this better? Inching along in traffic through Anaheim Hills, Riverside, Beaumont . . . egads! Is this where old republicans go to die after too many intelligent people move to Orange County? It really wasn't so bad, I had the Ipod cranked up - A&W icing up in the cooler - and a roast beef and brie sandwich to keep me sated until PS (It might have been a road trip, but I'm not a barbarian!).

At some points along the journey, it was awe inspiring to see our tax dollars at work. Freeway enhancements, bridges, flyovers, cloverleafs, entrances and exits, signage, CHP Officers pulled over taking naps, and did I mention the traffic? With a brand new 'updated' map that I printed off the Internet I was expecting clear sailing. Imagine my chagrin when portions of the highway that were well marked on the map, turned out to be figments of an engineers imagination at this point . . . THEY HADN'T EVEN BEEN BUILT YET! Instead, we had lovely detours a plenty. You'd think that this type of thing would have been taken into consideration and been clearly marked on the map? But OH NO! . . . much better to experience on your own and fly by the seat of your pants through the uncharted wilderness known as the Inland Empire.

I'm heading to a 'Men's Weekend' in Palm Springs. It's supposed to be a big event with a lot of different guys coming in from all over. I was tempted to stay on site/property but the little voice in the back of my mind that has served me so well, advised to think that over. So I'm 'borrowing' a house belonging to 2 of my very dear friends. 'Danny', who I raised from a pup, and his partner 'David', who is witty and kind and has more money than god.
Just a few moments about this house, let's just say that if I save every penny and retire with good health or if I win the Lotto tomorrow, this is the house I want to live in. It's not huge, but it's perfect. It's designed for desert living and gracious entertaining. A 'casita', guestrooms, a hedonistic master suite, a terrific pool, and close to everything. Who could ask for anything more. Well, maybe a staff of buff frat boys, but you can't have everything, right?

So, I'm staying off property and commuting to the event. Now, I had researched everything pretty well and knew what I wanted to do in my off hours when I wasn't at the event. And since I wasn't planning on hooking up during the event I didn't have to worry about making reservations for 2 or wondering what my true love of the hour wanted to do. I did make some tentative plans with some PS residents for coffee and such, but it was all pretty much 'play it by ear' depending on what happened during the day.

I've only bought a 2 day pass for the event, so I call one of the PS guys to see if he wants to meet up for dinner and a walk around Downtown. He says "yeah" so we meet up at one of the little bistros downtown for dinner. Conversation is good and he seems to have more between hi s ears than most. We talk about life in SoCal, what we both do for a living, growing up . . . but I'm beginning to get the 'bedroom vibe' from this guy because the conversation is taking some very strange turns. I excuse myself to run to the restroom so i can figure out what I want to do. While I'm washing my hands, this total A&F-CK poster boy leans over in my direction and whispers in my ear "be careful". I whip around and ask what he means by that, and he explains that the guy I'm with is notorious for going out on a date with guys, giving them the date of a lifetime, steering it back to the bedroom, fucking your brains out, and then blocking your phone number the next morning. "He plays mind games" my sexy new guardian angel says. "You're too cute and cool to get involved with that" he says. He pulls out a business a business card, tucks it into my front pocket, and says "I'd love to have breakfast with you tomorrow morning, please call me to confirm a time". With that, he turns his gym toned body on heel and strides out the door. What's a boy to do?

I head back to the table, advise my less that scrupulous friend that the headache I've been fighting all day is back with a vengeance and I'll forgo the walk over to the gelato stand and just head home . . . alone. Of course this was met than less than an enthusiastic response, but since we had gone dutch on dinner- he didn't have any of the usual 'male empowerment' excuses to use on me to get his way into my borrowed bed. I shook his hand and thanked him for a lovely time and sent him on his merry way. As i was sure that he was out of visual range by this point, I sauntered over to the Gelato Cart, flirted with the Gelato Boi, and bought a triple scoop of 'berry orgasm' to celebrate my flirting with disaster. . . now what pocket did i put that business card in?