Probable Cause

17 July 2013

Metro signs told me the train was only three minutes away. I almost didn’t take the seat on the platform bench. I looked at the two women on opposite ends of the of the concrete seat and all of the space between them, felt my aching knee and decided I would sit. I sat in the middle and continued reading the Washington Post on my iPad. Both women had purses sitting next to them toward the middle of the bench. The woman to my left suddenly felt her purse would be more secure in her lap. The woman to my right had a new inclination to wrap her arm through the loop of hers.

I noticed both actions via peripheral vision while I continued to read an op-ed about Trayvon Martin being profiled.

From an Actual Exchange on a Dating Site

29 May 2013

Her: Your profile is terrific. Your passion for your work (in specific) and life generally really comes through and that is very charming. I leave for grad school in late July. If dating a short timer isn’t a problem for you, I’d love to have a drink sometime. If that’s not what you’re looking for, I will totally understand.

RR: You’re leaving in 6-8 weeks, and I think that’s fanfuckingtastic. As it happens, that is just about the amount of time it usually takes for the mutual falling, lots of great dates, and then my seemingly inevitable but subconscious desire to fade away / screw things up because a woman has gotten too close to me. Another thing that typically occurs round that mark: the charms of dating a chef (the exquisite food, the random left-over sweets brought to her office, etc.) begin to fade in the face of late night hours, lack of weekend availability, and the like.

I think our caveats are different in nature but equal in measure. Now that you know mine, still wanna grab that drink?

Her: are you always so candid about your failings, or is this the dating equivalent of it being easier to tell strangers your deepest & darkest?

RR: I would like to think that it’s equal parts from each column, but the truth is more the later than the former… though I generally have no problems talking about my short-comings. That admission about the 6-8 week thing is a new one though.

What about you? Are you always so cynically realistic as your profile seems to suggest?

Her: I’ve already gave you one for free, you gotta buy me whiskey to hear more… but I swear if you even mention frequent-flyer miles, I’m out the door.

A Poem in Search of a Muse

2 May 2013

Her notes demand to be read aloud

Words beg to linger on the palate

Like soft syrah – Lush, ripe, full 

Something Crossing My Mind Today

1 May 2013

When I first wrote a list of what I wanted in a woman, I was 21, inspired by some movie I cannot recall. It was two pages long.

When I next wrote that list, I was 30, inspired by a failed marriage and finding the impossibly shallow first list while unpacking in a new place. The second list was one page long.

Now I am just past 40, inspired by a question in a tweet and my list can fit on post-it note.

Odds Are It Ain’t the Last, But…

22 March 2013

Every kiss is its own dance, has its own rhythms… hell, kisses are goddamn snowflakes in their infinite uniqueness… and any smart man would want a wide swath of them even if he only wants them from one partner.  However, were I forced to choose just one for the rest of my life, I would choose our first.

Call me Crazy, but…

6 October 2012

I don’t know if she wanted to take me home because she was lonely, horny, mad at her ex, or didn’t have cab fare… but I know it wasn’t because she liked me.

Sometimes maturity = making the right choice even when it’s a bad one. I thought about that the whole ride home.

Don’t Reenact Scenes from Platoon and Other Mistakes

9 April 2012

Unless you live under a rock that does not offer television coverage, surely you have seen the DirectTV commercial that is a funny “When you do this, then you do that” exercise, you know: When your cable goes out a bunch of things happen that conclude with reenacting scenes from Platoon with Charlie Sheen.

Admittedly, they’re only funny the first time you see it. By the third viewing, they’re horrifically annoying. But still, I liked it so much that I decided to write my own… based on a true an entirely true story.

Don’t spend gorgeous Sunday evenings drinking at bars that don’t take credit cards and ask for your ID to start a tab.

When you go to those kind a bars, on those kinda nights, you might have several lovely drinks.

When you have several lovely drinks on a patio you might think it a good idea to call an, *ahem*, old partner of mutual convenience who now lives in a hoity-toity party of town.

When you settle your tab at the bar that doesn’t take credit cards to go see that convenient woman, the bartender might forget to give you your ID back.

When the bartender forgets to give you your ID, and you have a buzz (but not in the same neighborhood as drunk) before heading to see a woman in a hoity-toity part of town, you might have written the wrong address and passed such to the taxi driver.

When you give the taxi driver the wrong address, you might have to walk a few blocks in that hoity-toity neighborhood.

When walking-while-black in that hoity toity part of town, you might draw the attention of the local police.

When drawing the attention of the local police for walking-while-black and not having your ID because the bar that doesn’t take credit cards forgot to give it back to you, you might get “detained” by the local police.

When you get detained – not arrested but it sure felt like it – because the local police “can’t confirm your identity” despite all of your credit cards, and other identifying information, you still spend hours in a police station for no good reason.

Don’t go to bars that don’t take credit cards because you’ll eventually be detained by police… since not walking/driving/breathing-while-black is not an option for me.


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