Trophy hunting.

After several hours of traveling on a plane, a train and an automobile I found myself in the fog-shrouded part of San Francisco known as Inner Richmond. A friend of mine, originally from the Emerald City, has recently finished Nursing School; her sister is scheduled to fly down and meet us we are all driving back together with her belongings. It was shortly after midnight when we rendezvoused and I was thirsty, (the beer on my flight having long since worn off.) Fortunately, my friend lives walking distance to a number of bars, I chose the one with sexiest name: The Buckshot.

The place was packed, much like any dive bar on a Saturday night at midnight. I ordered a shot of Fernet and a pair of PBRs (hey, "when in Rome...") My friend and I found a little spot between the shuffleboard table and the skee ball machines, where we could indulge our curiosity and observe the crowd. Underneath the gaze of countless mounted hunting trophies (so many and so varied Linda D., herself, would drool at this collection,) we took note of the various cliques, each group of drunkards easily distinguished by the uniform attire they wore, whether it be of an athletic jock-like variety, urban gangsta', or bridge 'n' tunnel mini dresses with heels too high to gracefully strut in paired with obnoxiously monogrammed Coach bags (sorry, at that price point there are a lot more labels to choose from and not all of them are made in China.)

I suggested we migrate towards the dance floor for better viewing of the various weekend courtship and mating rituals occurring all around us. We wove through the boisterous mass and were able to find a pair of stools to perch upon and continued our analysis of the crowd. (And quite honestly, we were also checking out the boys.) Apparently I got caught checking out a tall, dark and handsome guy, with a great build and chiseled jaw line, his eyes locked on mine and immediately he came over and sat next to me on a vacant stool asking me what my name was (Gush!)

Beside my newly befriended hunk-of-a-friend, I was completely beside myself. I could scarcely believe he was talking to me! He kept reaching down to adjust his socks and every time he would press his leg closer to mine (Gush!) We shared more about each other, where we came from, he himself being from San Diego. He was surprised I was 31. I was surprised he was 22. (Cougar! I know.) He did preface our conversation with saying his girlfriend just left (Really? Was that some sort of invitation? I can never tell.) He kept asking me why I wasn't out on the floor dancing, I tried to play coy and mumbled something about wanting to wait until a song I really liked to come on before hitting the floor. So we kept talking, he told me he worked at a retail store downtown and that he's used to being around a lot of gay people because of it, all the while he kept getting closer, our arms touching, our shoulders touching. I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome to SF (Gush!)

He finally went out onto the dance floor and a flock of girls surrounded him. My friend kept encouraging me to get out there and after a few songs, I went. He was happy to see me, but I made sure I maintained a distance from him, (I didn't want him to think I was making assumptions, but sometimes it's hard not too, especially when cheap beer is involved.) Before leaving, being obliged to meet up with some other friends, he made a point to say goodbye to me and I ended the night gushing and glowing.

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A few days later, while downtown looking for a sweater to ward off the ever-present San Francisco chill, I decided to do a little "drive-by" where my hunk-of-a-friend works and as I walked by, sure enough, there he was in all his glory. It took him a moment to register how he knew me, then he smiled and opened his arms to give me a hug (Gush!) He introduced me to a co-worker of his, a slight, coiffed and well manicured Asian boy, who graciously complimented me on my leather jacket (BR.)

"So did you have fun the other night?" My hunk-of-a-friend asked me, three times. (Isn't it true, when nervous, people tend to repeat themselves? Just sayin'...) He asked if I were going out again this weekend. I told him I'd like to, but wasn't sure, just playing it all by ear. I asked him if he ever goes out during the week. He suggested I take his number and maybe we could go out together sometime (Honestly, it was his idea, not mine!) So I entered his number into my phone and shot him a text and took my leave, after another tight hug, of course (Gush!)

Quite the souvenir to come home with, if you ask me (Gush!)

A highlight* *from SFO

One evening in March, at a schmoozy networking event for men who enjoy the company of men (homosexuals,) on the terrace of a somewhat pretentious (for the Emerald City) hotel, I met a bright, charming young (my age) man, who was up visiting his brother (a fellow socialite.) Having gone to a few of these events in the past one tends to recognize (at least I do) faces (and outfits, and accessories.) I find it amusing whenever a new face appears (fresh meat) and witnessing the crowd's reaction to someone new. (Curious? I'll take you out for a little social experimentation sometime. Contact me.)

As the event wound down, me, my socialite friend and his brother went to eat and drink. My friend's husband (yes, apparently in this day and age men can marry men-yipee!) is the general manager of a restaurant in one of the Emerald City's livelier and more colorful hotels. The three of us decided to hop over (more like climb or hike--the Emerald City and all it's hills) and pay him a visit. 'Twas such awhile ago I can not recall what it is we tasted and enjoyed. I do remember, my friend's brother, is a smoker and I would accompany him on his breaks for fresh air. Outside I eagerly shared with him what I knew of Emerald City's skyline and it's history.

No tour of the Emerald City is complete without a stop at Vessel, my home away from home, (a home I regard with much pride and joy.) The delight upon my new found friend's face was quite evident. I did not realize until then he had the palate and passion for cocktails (and good food) as I do. Needless to say, we imbibed.

The next morning the comment he left on my Facebook page read: "those last words haven't finished talking. so glad we made it to vessel though."

It is now August and I am visiting in his city of residence, San Francisco. He is a DJ and was at a party last night in SOMA. He is no longer single, and I, being the florist that I am, drew out the story of how that came to be.

Shortly after his trip to the Emerald City, he was out doing his DJ thing and saw someone he was compelled to meet. He asked for his name and introductions were made, and they spent the rest of the night chatting, dancing and smiling. At the end of the night contact info was exchanged and a few days later contact was made and a date was set.

Forgive me for not being able to recall the venue or the details of their date as I was two cocktails and two whiskey-gingers deep, but I do remember the subject of singledom was brought up and both boys found them to also share that in common, as well as other hobbies and passions. That seemed to cement their connection even more.

Recently, the two went for a long bike ride and during an abeyant rest for them to catch their breath, my friend's breath was taken away as his beau dropped down on one knee and stated his intention to have him in his life ever more and today they are going ring shopping.

I had the pleasure of meeting the fiancé last night, along with a host of other friends, fellow DJ's and acquaintances of the blissful two. When my friend's beloved arrived, instantly a Japanese quote I am fond of came to mind: "When two hearts are as one, eyes are more eloquent than lips." So intense, yet gentle and full ardor was his gaze for my friend, who returned the look with the brightest smile and a gaze just as earnest and ardent.

I am certain these two will never be at a lost for words, ever, their glances will always speak volumes.