Somewhere in America, Part I

Meeting bloggers is always fun, but lately my bloggers I've met were local to me in Chicago, and one in DC.

I've talked about my world travels that occur often, and a blogger who I chat off-and-on with asked if my next trip would land me anywhere near where she lives, somewhere south of Mexico and north of Argentina. I like to make fun of her when she calls the U.S. "America" because where she is from is ALSO America. North America, Central America, South America, we're ALL Americans.

As luck would have it, I had a trip planned to HER America region. And not just to her country but to her home town. I dropped her a note when we chatted, and a possible coffee "date" was planned at some time in the future.

My client kept moving his schedule, so I booked 5 different flights for 4 different date segments. The blogger was also busy here and there with life, but I did want to meet her. I'd seen her picture and even some video she shared with me, and she was gorgeous, slim, curvy and fun to chat with. Just like with Delecta and AFCBs #1-3, my goal was to make friends.

Finally my client said "Come on this day" and I told the blogger to see if she was still interested in that coffee. She confirmed her interest, so we made plans to meet on one of the days I'd be there when she was free.

I hopped a bunch of flights, landed in said random country, and texted my client and her as I walked out of the plane just shy of lunch time. My client decided to be too busy, so I checked into a VERY nice hotel, turned on my laptop and found the blogger online.

We'll call her Sandra, not her real name. Sandra told me she was free in the afternoon around 3pm, and that we could meet at the mall that was 1 block from my hotel and just a half mile from where she lives. Bonus. She asked me where we should meet, and I quickly picked a coffee shop at the mall.

The mall is awesome, but wasn't very busy. The coffee shop was in a rotunda part of the mall, all glass -- I could see people entering the mall, and I seated myself so I could see her coming up the escalator. She's tall, loves to show off her body, has an ass that one should worship, and is completely out of my league. Oh, and she hasn't hit 21 -- yet. Umm, yeah, that's as safe as it can get.

At 2:30 she chats me that she'll be there early. ARGH, no time for a shower, a shave, or a change of clothes even. I haul into the elevator, walk over to the mall, find the coffee shop and situate myself so I could see her before she sees me. A few minutes late, as the latin women prefer, and I see her coming up the escalator. Holy crap, I need to bail.

I became nervous, which is very rare for me. As she walks around the windowed second floor of the rotunda (the coffee shop wraps around about 40 degrees of it), I stand and she beams a smile. I throw back my toothy, crooked, broken smile and we embrace, hard. Nice boobs. TIGHT, muscular body. Amazing skin and her face is just lit up.

We talk, my nervousness obvious. A cute waitress brings us menus, and we order our drinks: espresso doble for Sane, some sort of strawberry smoothie for Sandra. We continue our conversation, just feeling the other out for comfort and comedy. We smiled, we laughed, we made eye contact. We drank our drinks, fast.

At one point, she turned her head and her neck cracked, causing her hand to shoot up to rub it. "Ow, that hurt," she told me, sitting across from me as I watched her unsuccessfully rub her own back.

As I paid for the drinks, we decided to walk the mall since my belt was so loose it was falling off my ass. We wandered in and out of various stores, me pointing at cute gals clothing and her nodding her head NO. She knows I like to buy pretty gals gorgeous clothes so I can be seen with them, but she already looked gorgeous in her red A-shirt, tight jeans and red fuck-me-heels. Oh, and the bitch wore glasses. Grr.

We checked out a bunch of NICE stores (high fashion labels), which is surprising since the minimum wage in the country is around $1 per hour, maybe less. I found TWO suits that I am buying before I leave, but no belts. I needed a belt in the color I was wearing. Tomorrow I'll find a leather shop that can poke holes.

We wandered a bit more, neither of us hungry, but I needed toothpaste and lip balm, so she took me to the local pharmacy, which is more drugs than consumer goods like Walgreens back home. Found the toothpaste and the lipbalm, I paid, and we left.

She had plans with friends in the evening, and I had a fresh carton or two of cigarettes, plus I had to drop off my purchases at the hotel barely 2 blocks away, so I asked if she wanted a pack of smokes in exchange for showing me around the area. She agreed, so we headed up to my hotel.

Originally I had a penthouse suite, but they were doing construction in the hallway and it was NOISY, so I requested a lower floor to avoid the noise. No big deal for them, and I was lucky to still keep a smoking room ($20 tip lucky). The majority of the hotel is non-smoking, so the rooms are hard to come by.

I showed her my room and then sat on the large, red couch while she sat on the king size bed, her feet dangling off. We talked some more, her flirtatiously making eye contact with me while her legs kept dangling off the bed, swinging, inviting, teasing. Argh.

I stood up, for whatever reason, adjusted my ponytail, and sat down next to her on the bed. Why? Because it was safe. We were fully clothed, there wasn't any touchy-touchy beyond some accidental glances (uh huh) and she had plans with friends so there wasn't really that much time to do anything but talk.

So there we are, talking, making eye contact, laughing, obviously enjoying each other's company. For background purposes, the gal doesn't have a lot of sexual experience. Less than anyone I've met in a LONG time. That means that Sane has to be a total gentleman, and I stick to it.

And then she fucking seduced ME. Her hand was on her neck a few times, obviously hurting. At one point, she laid down on the bed (it's comfortable), so I did, too, staring at the ceiling as we talked. Then she rolled over to her side facing away from me, continuing to talk but also putting her hand on her neck, her entire back north of her bra-strap exposed with tan skin. Uhhhh, yeah.

I asked her if she needed help, and her hand was replaced by one of my hands as I rolled to my side to get a better angle. I used my (very) soft fingers with some force to detect what muscles were tight and found that her left neck muscles were extremely tight, and her right neck muscles were needed some attention but not as much.

I proceeded to find the pressure amount between healing and pain, not pleasure and pain. As I used my thumbs and fingers into her neck and shoulder, I could see her body loosen up. She even let a gasp fall from her lips. Just a few minutes of that and she was feeling looser in the neck and shoulders, and her body's posture took on a different angle -- more relaxed, rehabilitated.

Her body slid back a bit, her back touching my best, her ass pushed up against my cock which was already starting to get happy from the body touching, from her scent, from her gasps and moans from my simple back rub.

In order to find a comfortable position, I put my arm on her arm, my fingers on her shoulder and my other hand that I was laying on rested on her back.

To be continued in Part II.

Upcoming trips, upcoming schedule

I took July off to deal with family needs, household makeovers, visits with friends and just a recharge from what was a fairly hectic late spring.

Alas, with all good long breaks comes my internal drive to accomplish something. I may have the world's most exciting job, but not finishing something for a client regularly can bring on the doldrums quickly. So off I go to international territories to visit with clients, get some work done, make some money, and maybe make new friends along the way.

So far, I have 3 trips planned: Venezuela (South America), Paris (Europe) and possibly Turkey (Asia). I have plans to meet some new bloggers that I read, one in Venezuela, one in Paris. We'll see how it goes, and you all are sure to hear about it first.

Towards the end of August, I think I'm going to hop over to Las Vegas for a 1 day shopping spree. Even though I haven't been working hard, some money is coming in from other jobs I did earlier in the spring. I've lost some weight since winter (10#) and really need some new pants, dress shirts, and a suit or four. We'll see how it goes, maybe I'll videoblog the shopping spree.

I'm really riled up lately. I've had the company of nothing less than some of the best looking gals around, but alas the chemistry just isn't right with any of them. Yes, I'm picky. Yes, I'm superficial. Yes, I love physical attention from women I date to see how much they desire my body. At the moment, my prospects are almost zero, so I know what I have to do: I have to go out on dates.

In other news, August is also new recipe month. I am working on a Bacon, Gouda, Apple and Sage soup recipe with almost no starch. It will be to-die-for and you'll get it here first. Also, I decided to try to push forward with a new low-starch bread that isn't all flax and soy. I won't say what I'm using, but initial test batches have proven it to be the gooiest, tastiest, crispiest bread I've ever had. Sadly, the shelf life is about 3 days, but it's amazing.

I have a bunch of minor hops around the country planned for August and September, mostly to seek out good restaurants that I can call my own. Kansas City, St. Louis, Portland, Seattle, Phoenix, Miami, and more. My goal is to find really nice places that are out of the usual tourist-trap areas, meet with the owners, and start visiting more often. I am on track to be traveling 60,000 miles less than I did last year, and I think I need to make that up in droves in the second half of 2009.

So that's my plan, nothing too exciting, but still fun. And I do promise to write more, I had a big of an Internet mental failure the last week. Now I'm back, with coffee in one hand, cigarettes in the other, and my laptop on my lap, where it should be living more often.

Truth Vomit

I'm sitting in an airport in the midwest, the bar has closed. I leave on a red-eye flight for one of the coasts in a short period of time.

At first, I arrived at the airport fully expecting to slide into the private airline lounge (a perk if you fly a bazillion miles a year like I do), take a nap, and get escorted to my business or preferably first class seat. That didn't happen.

Instead, a bar was surprisingly open. They're never open late on a Thursday, but there were 8 people in a bar and they stayed open. God bless those who take the red-eye.

Red-eye flights are interesting. MOST search engines don't list them, including Expedia and Orbitz. Even the main websites of airlines don't always have them in their default. Who wants to fly at 3am?

So I wander to the bar, sit down, and the cute old man bartender walks up. "Mr. Sane, it's been awhile." Umm, who the hell are you, bucko? "We met in a bar in Atlanta. Wait." He flips through his wallet and producing a business card of mine.

It says Chicago Sane, Man on a Mission. Holy crap, I haven't had that card in 8 years. How does this man remember me? "It's my job to remember names and faces. Why do you think a guy in his 50s would work in an airport?" Win. I'll have a... "Tequila on the rocks?" GEEZUS. "$7." I leave him a $20 and tell him to keep the change.

As my drink is poured, a lady 2 seats over to me slides over to the seat to my right. "He didn't know me, but I had met him once before." In Georgia? "Denver." Oh. "I'm flying early, figured I may as well get drunk before boarding the flight." I'm staying sober.

We chat. She's really attractive, maybe late 20s. I'll call her Xena, because she's gargantuan tall but probably a size 2. We end up discovering we have 3 mutual friends on various coasts, we may have met at a party just 3 years ago. She was drunk, and after 2 hours I was drunk. Her hands were all over my body, something I haven't gotten properly with the last few gals I took out. Damn it, mile high club here I come. Again.

She's also flying to the same destination I am. Alas, she's flying cattle class. Too bad, because she's a trip, and she knows all the punch lines to every bar joke imaginable. Still, we had a good talk, and it's always nice when a gorgeous Amazon woman gives you her number, her business card, her email address and all that without you prompting her for it. I promised to call her the next time I visited her home town.

So here I am, completely shitfaced, using whatever WiFi one of my cell phone companies provides free of charge. It's OK, I needed this. I board shortly anyway, and I was pleasantly placed in the last remaining first class seat on the plane.

So I'm heading to a coast, allegedly to meet to friends of mine who were miniature rock stars in their previous lives. In reality, of course, I received a phone call from a client who is in quite a bind and needs superior assistance with whatever it is he's gotten himself into.

I wasn't going to go, in fact I was going to go visit another friend in another town and drink mass quantities of vodka and put my face on hers and see where it landed us. But then he pitched a price, and I couldn't say no. Imagine that you own a crappy microwave oven made in 1995 and someone you know calls you and says they'll pay $1000 cash for it if you can deliver it. Even without a car, you're going to schlep that bastard on the bus and the train to make $1000 for a microwave work $20 or less. So here I am.

I love the coasts -- New York and Los Angeles, Miami and Seattle. The first two have a disgusting amount of gorgeous women, and in this economy, beauty gets you jack shit. So you have gorgeous women who can't get jobs as baristas because they're too pretty and the fat dyke who manages won't hire them. It means that "actress" gigs are gone, and even the good bar jobs are hard to come by. I love recessions, personally, because I make a shit-ton of money when things are supposedly slow, so I can conserve it until things pick up financially for the Joe Six Pack, which means more vacation time for me.

I hate the coasts, though, because people are blind to reality. My friend on one coast owns a $2 million condo that is about 2000 square feet. Idiot. It's filled with another million work of junk that I would scoff at for 1/100 of the price. Then there is me, Mr. Opposite. I drive an old car, I live in a tiny apartment in the ghetto, I tell women I meet that I'm an unemployed writer. Why? Because I can hide my wealth so simply, and no one has to know I'm taking them out for $6 burgers and then taking myself out for a $100 steak alone the next night.

It's a love-hate relationship, me and the coasts. I'm a Midwest guy, hell I AM CHICAGO. There is no doubt in my mind that I am more Chicago than Mayor Daley, Chicago-style pizza or a "drag it through the garden" hot dog. They all came after me, at least that's how I'll rewrite the history books.

I need the break, but I think I need to makeout with some random stranger and run before she can give me her spare hotel room key. Chances are, I won't do it. The girls on the coasts are DIRTY, and I'm clean. Sane and clean, that's me. Sane and clean and discrete and mysterious, etc.

So here I am, sitting in an airport, drunk. Xena is sleeping in a chair about 10 feet way from me, the last thing I noticed was her lips mouthing "call me" or possibly "caw eemee." Probably the first. She's passed out, though. My flight leaves eventually, and I'm in no rush to take off. But that's my life.

Sometimes people I know say they wish they could disappear for a day or two, maybe a week, tops. For me, that's part of the job. I fly on big planes to big cities with big hotels. I do a big job that I finish in less time than it takes a woman to get a manicure and pedicure. I get my payment, haul ass back to the Midwest, and resume my path to being known as an author and an entrepreneur.

And I love life. I really, really do. I feel bad for those who are duped into thinking life is about HUGE houses with 2 $80,000 BMWs parked out front. Maybe for most it is, but I could never let life pass me by that fast. Instead, life feels slow, like I can feel it, the palpable heartbeat of life. In an airport, drunk, hopping a flight to the edge of the border of the U.S., that's where I want to be. That brings me sanity.

Staying Sane is the most important activity in my life. It's what I do for others, it is who I have become.

Busy season ahead

So this next week or two is CRAZY for me. Consider this:

1. LA
2. Boston
3. New Jersey
4. Rio de Janeiro
5. London
6. Atlanta

Yes, in about 14-16 days. OUCH.

But don't fear. Thanks to a new muse in my life, I have written about 30 true-stories about yours truly that will auto-post daily each morning or so. 12 of them are about previous relationships/lovers, 8 are about business and money matters, 5 are about dating from my perspective, and 5 are things I want to accomplish this summer.

I love to travel. It's extremely exciting for me to get on a plane, I don't care where. I dream, dream, DREAM for a fuck buddy who can take 1-2 days off (or their already off-days) to hop on a plane (my treat) and visit me where I am. This is why distance means NOTHING to me for relationships. (A) I can afford to send people over, and (2) it's always a grand time.

Things that get in the way, though:

1. Dogs. I can't have a girlfriend with a dog. I wish I could, honestly. I love dogs. Women with dogs are relegated to fuck buddy or friends with benefits or sugar baby status. Imagine if I was in NYC, staying in a 5-star hotel suite, with a $500 per diem stipend from my client and the woman can't leave her dog at home? Forget it. Cats are fine. Give em water, food and a clean litter box and get in the fucking limo to the airport 15 minutes later.

2. On-call jobs. I hate this one. I had a friend-with-benefits who had to fly home on $1000 last-minute fare from visiting me because they were called in to their shit jobs. No thanks.

3. Too many guys they're dating. When I'm with someone but it's not at a point of monogamy or dating commitment, I fully expect them to be dating/seeing others. It doesn't bother me, I'm not the jealous type. I guarantee I'm at the top of their list for so many reasons. But if they have a bunch o' boys or men, and they cancel on me after I booked airfare and limo, fuck them in the ear. I don't want to ever do that again. Canceling on me more than once is a deal breaker.

4. People who hate to travel. This one gets to me quickly. You don't want to come to Portland to see me because you hate travel? Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot?

I've got a few things brewing business-wise that may turn my life into a constant state of travel. I'm very excited about it. My handler on the East Coast and my handler in Spain both have a ton of amazing clients for me to field. But the 8 hour travel to Europe can suck if it's for 1 day at a time, so I need to stabilize my billable rate to include a mandatory 5X total-travel-time stipend. If it takes me 8 hours to get there plus 2 hours of airport time each way, that's 20 hours. My minimum billable today is 2 days, but for that sort of trip it should be 100 hours or about 4.5 days. I need to fix this, STAT.

Summer is looking amazing, really amazing. I'm fairly certain that I am going to be dressed to the nines daily. I'm really happy with the white hairs popping out of my head (the ladies seem to love it, too). My car drives well, my apartment is CLEAN and organized, I have more confidence and happiness today than I've had in the past 15 years, and I have things squared away entertainment-wise: tons of shows, theater, opera, museum private events, etc.

Now all I need is a regular mouth to come in or on, a pretty face to take with on dinner dates or theater nights, and a bigger bed at my place. I have no furniture since my kitchen and bath are a few weeks from getting torn out, so I'm going to repaint the bedroom, too, and add more storage and lighting.

Oh, I'm so excited.

What do you have that is exciting this summer? Talk.

Gonads and Strife

So Sunday was a day of a plethora of women in sundresses. Cute ones, too. That's always an instant woody for your's truly because a woman's back and neck makes me crave the rest of her. Ack.

And yet, none of it really worked for me. I talked to a few cute gals, but most were WAY beneath my acceptable "I'll let you take me home" age. I'm a prude when I realize I was out of high school before they were born.

I ran into 4 ex-girlfriends (2 serious, 2 friends-with-benefits maybe) that day. 1 was looking outrageously gorgeous, but her fiancé was intimidatingly good looking. Score for her. One of them is still into me, but she's TOO into me. I don't resurrect exes if they were serious. The two FWBs were flirtatious, but I was not too interested in resurrecting those days. The earliest FWB dates back almost 16 years. WOW.

Here's an interesting tidbit: I have never once gotten blue balls. Blue balls are fake, and guys who complain about them are either (a) pushy about getting a girl to sleep with them, (b) not manly enough to go out and get some or (c) idiots. So if I don't get any, I just get a little pent-up frustration.

I started culling my list of friends who I contact to hang out with using a new process: if I don't hear from them in 3 months or so (meaning THEY CONTACT ME to hang out, on occasion), they're gone. I'll still hang out with them in the future on their request, but I'm done being the caller. In most of my friendship relationships, it's generally a pretty equal 50/50 on who calls whom. I figure I'll be in good shape by summer's end, "dumping" those who don't really add value to my life.

Then I started thinking about who I'd like to sleep with if they propositioned me. After an hour of thinking about it, I came up with 2 solid possibilities (sadly, neither have shown an ounce of interest in me), and 1 minor one (who does seem to like me but her head is up her ass as she dates any man that asks her out). So the options are surprisingly limited. The same time last year I was going out on 1-2 dates a week of various levels of desire. I was even busier last year, too. Hmm.

I got laid May 7th I believe (if my calendar is correct). My condom bin is at 21 (did I use 3 on May 7th?) and my overnight bag has a full 12. They expire long from now, so we're golden there. Spring is withering away in Chicago, with a cold blast last night. This means the hot summer is around the corner, and who wants to bump uglies when it's 97 degrees outside and the A/C is cranked but barely working?

I have a ton of travel coming up, a ridiculous amount. I don't screw around on vacation, ever. Even if I am stationed in a top secret city for 3 months, I withdraw from playing the field. The only time I hook up with someone in a foreign land is if I get to know them, and then see them again on a future visit. Since I will be in 16 cities between now and year's end, I am doubtful of that happening.

In terms of foreign relations, there is definitely one incredibly lovely and crazy-sexy lady who is going to get slammed six-ways-from-heaven. I know it, she knows it, but we're both ridiculously busy. The next time I see her, she's going to have trouble walking for a week. I should let her read this as a warning to go horseback riding for a month in preparation. Long distance sex is amazing because you can build up the foreplay weeks in advance, while still being a consummate gentleman in person. I think I already warned her to get a ton of splooge towels and a huge waste bin for the number of condoms that will pile up daily. Lucky, lucky lady.

I wonder what lies ahead. Of the 2 gals I would definitely bend over their washroom vanity, I doubt either will look my way with anything more than "aww, nice guy" eyes. I even bet my gay friend that it won't happen (he's not met either, but he pretty much agrees with me in this case). The one gal who is interested would fall for me in 3 seconds flat, so I have to tread carefully there. When we hang out, it's always in a crowd, and she always manages to pick up a guy with my help.

In her case, I do something great: I go up to the guy she likes in a bar or wherever, talk to him. Then I say "Oh shit, your girlfriend is getting jealous I'm talking to you." If he says he has no girlfriend, I point to my friend and say "She's been checking you out all night. You should go talk to her immediately." Never fails. I am the best wingman ever.

I guess what I need latey is a wingman (wingwoman). The gay guys are NO help, they're too gorgeous and get all the attention. I prefer not to let women pick me up in bars (I go to bars to drink and have fun, not get laid). I'm meeting the bike shop gal tonight, but I'm already sort of bored with her. She emailed me (looked up my email via Mr. Google) and her emails are dreadfully boring. Ugh. FAIL. failFAILfail. Please, ladies, if I ever ask you out, keep online conversations short and sweet. Let's save it for the date.

So here's the plan. You're reading this. You will be my wingman. We will have a righteous good time. I don't care where you live, I travel for a living. Let's make a plan and let's get this sane blogger some face time with a lovely lady. If not, I'll still find you a cute guy, so it's win for you, and possibly win for me.

At the very least, my foreign lover of choice will get ridiculously jealous and horny when I tell her about the dates. And that, as I know, is catnip one can't refuse to grow.

Deal?

My little lover in Madrid

Written on an airplane en route to Chicago today.

When I was 20 years old, I flew to Madrid for a wedding of a Portuguese friend. We had a blast, and I met a nice young bridesmaid at the wedding, Delphina. She was originally from France, but her Andalusian blood meant she had an incredibly textured face full of character. We hit it off immediately.

We spent the rest of the week together in the countryside: riding horses, wrestling in the thorngrass, patching each other's wounds and massaging out the other's back after a tough day of trotting and galloping and falling into one another. Every day was a scene out of a bad romance novel. The day before her and I both left for home, we spent having our first bedroom experience together. It is still memorable today as if it was yesterday.

At 20, I was barely traveling internationally for work. I still didn't have my name in the market, so jobs were tight domestically and internationally. I was lucky to have found a good new customer at that huge wedding, and they invited me to Paris and Toledo twice in the next 6 months. Each time I went, I contacted Delphina, who took the train many hours to see me for just a few. She was lovely, happy, and content with any time we spent together. Sometimes we reached a bedroom, other times we just talked over biscotti and tea. It was hard to leave her, but neither of us were ready for any form of relationship or commitment.

When I passed the age of 21 and she 24, I ended up doing a short summer stint in a town not far from her. The company I worked for provided me a car, so we saw each other at least once a week. Sex with her was passionate and fun. She slowly became my girlfriend in Europe, the one I would call to check in on. How is school? How is work? How is the family farm? We'd talk on the phone (at probably 25 cents per minute) for hours when I was in the States. I'm not a phone talker, usually.

As we aged, we'd see each other less and less but our time together was magnificent. She could call me if she was truly down, and I would hop the next flight to Madrid and the train to her town within a few days. Sometimes I'd travel just to see her for 3 days. Once she came to visit me when I was working in San Francisco.

It was a long distance love affair, and neither of us had any jealousy or frustration over the fact that the other would likely find themselves in the arms of someone closer. I had lovers and girlfriends, she had lovers and boyfriends. She was even engaged once, days after I made love to her on her family farm, itching and scratching from days from the haystack makeshift bed.

As we both fell into serious relationships, we still talked and eventually emailed regularly. If I was in the area, we'd find a way to train to a central town to meet up, eat heavy fatty foods, run around the town like lovebirds on their honeymoon, and share in the passions that were bred from our mutual frustrations in life. I loved her dearly, and she me.

When I was 27, she told me she was engaged and set to be married. I flew out a week later and we spent 3 days straight in bed. The maid was never allowed into the bed and breakfast room we rented. She asked for me fully and I obliged. I don't think we were Sane and Delphina those three days. We were lovers who lost touch after a war, with only a few weeks before the next bigger war comes around. Her orgasms were foreign and remarkable. Mine were long and quiet, with my eyes locked into hers.

We taught each other our bodies over years, and we learned each other's souls as well. I was present at her wedding, bringing a girlfriend from back home who fell in love with her face and body and contagious laughter. Her husband was a top notch man, and when she took me aside a few days after the wedding and gave me my last kiss, I felt like I was letting a good one go.

"You're my first true love," she told me. I respected that by admitting the same. "I will never forget you and I hope in time I can call you brother and friend." She could. Today she is like an adopted sister to me. We still speak, and she sends me photos of her children (they look like her) and her happy home and life.

I was lucky to spend those years with her in my arms, in my bed, as my friend and my lover. Our time together is memorable because of the distance separating us. The cost to me was great in terms of money and time expended traveling, but the relationship was solid in every way. If I asked her to marry me, she would have said yes (she told me this years after her marriage). When she said she loved me, it was rare and cherished and real. When I returned those words, they were perfectly timed and never overdone or dramatic.

If you have the chance meeting with someone in a distance city or even country, don't let the spark disappear. Take advantage of the time now. Don't hope for something serious, but hope for something soulful. Cut back a little bit at home so you can see them, or they can come see you. Don't fall in love in a daily sense, but fall in love in the romantic sense. Even if you both have to share the other with their own local lover, you can still have something amazing and special and memorable.

I don't miss Delphina, but my love for her has only grown. She's my pal, my big sister, my ex-lover and one who comforted me with her body and her touch as I went through many changes. With luck, she will read this and smile, knowing I didn't leave anything out.

On to work, on to Houston

A call came in this afternoon from a number I didn't recognize, from an area code I didn't recognize.  I answered.

"Mr. Sane?"  Mmmhmm.  "We got your name and number from PET."  Have work?  "A lot.  Do you have a portfolio?"  No.  "We'd like an example of what you've done recently."  No.  It's all under non-disclosure.  Silence.

"How do people hire you?"  Word of mouth.  My name stands for itself.  "Isn't that a bad idea?"  No.  I don't need the work.  "This is an important project."  All projects are important.

"So how do we do this?"  If you're not in Chicago, Las Vegas, Miami, Los Angeles or New York City, you need to fly me out, put me up in a hotel, show me what you want, and I decide.  "It's a tough market out there, why are you picky?"  It's not tough for me.  "That's what Don at PET said.  You'd be cocky, but worth it."

Pick a day.  "Next week?"  Fine.  "Tuesday?"  Just tell me what time and send me a travel voucher.  Good hotel, too.  "What are your rates?"  I don't have any rates.  I'll tell you what I want, and you can say yes or no.  "No negotiation?"  Never.  "Are you busy?"  Constantly.

"Ok, it was nice talking to you.  We'll send you the details today."  I give them my email address.  I really need an assistant, these phone calls are annoying and not worth my time.

I get an email an hour later for a business class flight out of O'hare to Houston.  Early flight.  Put up in a decent 4-star hotel.  I didn't even ask what company I was visiting, but the email confirmed it: some corporate drone holding company, probably owned by GE or the Bush family or the Clintons.  All these large scale corporations are tied to powerful people or powerful companies.

So off I am to Houston for a day.  I won't spend the night, but I'll use the hotel.

Who wants to come with for a day of fun?  The meeting won't last 30 minutes.  They'll hate my price.  They'll accept it anyway, because they have no time to waste.  Maybe I'll charge more than usual.  I don't need the work, and I definitely don't need someone questioning my talents if they already received a rave review and a stern warning not to piss me off or negotiate with me.

My time is not-negotiable.  My wages are not-negotiable.  I am good at what I do, and they will either pay me and get it done right in 1/4 the time, or they'll hire a cubicle-crawler with no real experience.

That means more money to spend on someone I like.  That means finding someone I like.  That means I do need to get out there.  Maybe I will go out tonight and take my two blog friends here up on their offer.  We'll see.