Saturday, January 27, 2007


I had a tumultuous relationship with my first wife. We were married three times and divorced three times. Crazy, huh? We always got married in a fever. We were what you might call ‘sexually compatible.’ In other words, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Sometimes we’d live, or at least sleep, together in between marriages. She was perfect for me. I’d be with her still but she chose not to have it that way.

She never bored me because I never knew who she was going to be at any time. You know that Chinese curse, “May your life be interesting?” Well I suppose you could curse someone with, “May you live with an interesting woman.”

During one of our periods of divorce I worked at a civil engineering firm in Orange County running a survey crew. The title for that is Party Chief. One of the other chiefs kept after me to go to a western bar he frequented with his fiancé. “You’ll meet lots of great looking women there,” he assured me.

I drove by the place often. They had famous western entertainers there which they advertised on their billboard.

This other chief and I had never socialized but we had worked together a few times and he seemed okay so I finally decided to give it a shot. What the hell, I might get lucky.

I found him and his girl friend at a table and joined them. Right away I knew I was in trouble. From the way he had been talking, I had the impression that he and his friend were well known there and would bring female type people to our table to meet me. That didn’t happen. There were plenty of great looking women there. Most of them were out on the floor doing this western dance they call the Texas two-step. None came near out table. He didn’t appear to know anyone.

I stared at him. He gestured with his eyes around the room. Trying to tell me, I guess, “There they are, go get ‘em. I did my job. The rest is up to you.” What an asshole! I looked at his girlfriend. She averted her eyes.

Trouble was, everyone there was a cowboy or cowgirl wannabe. It was like a cult and the worship consisted of this dumb dance called the Texas two-step. The size of your dick didn’t matter or whether of not you were good looking. All that mattered was that dumb, primitive dance. If you could do it, you were in, or at least had a chance of getting in. If you couldn’t do it, forget about it.

Well I couldn’t do it. I looked carefully around the room to see if there were any women who might be beginners like me. No luck. I had been sandbagged. What was I supposed to do, go ask some hot chick to teach me to dance? Yeah, right.

I hung around for a couple of drinks to be polite and then split.

Next day I heard that this other chief, my ‘host’ for that evening, told our boss how I couldn’t score despite having all those beautiful girls around. What a creep.

There were some repercussions. His fiancé split with him. It may have had something to do with that evening. I hope it did.

No, I never did learn to do the Texas two-step. But for all you lonely guys out there, it’s a great way to meet good looking chicks. Weird perhaps, but good looking. There’s nothing wrong with weird.


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