5. Meet Mr. Right at a Sporting Event

            There are times when I surprise myself and agree to activities I normally would not.  On Valentine’s Day weekend (2016), I was asked by some sportier friends if I wanted to attend a  N.A.G.A.A. (North American Gay Athletic Association) softball tournament in Palm Springs.   While I am almost never a participant in sports, I can sometimes be convinced to observe, based mostly on the quality of items at the snack and peripherally on the attractiveness of the athletes.  Softball is reasonably un-boring and this particular location had an air-conditioned restaurant with great views and a menu filled with all things fried.  I acquiesced. 

                Unsure of how to dress for such an occasion, I decided to wear my sportiest article of clothing – a V-neck (tennis) sweater vest in aqua blue.  I paired this with a white polo, navy chinos with a very subtle, tone-on-tone micro-dot and my white leather Coach tennis shoes.  The literal topper was a jaunty baseball cap I received as a gift from the US Senate.  And by gift I mean I bought it at the Hart Senate Office Building Gift Shop. 

                We arrived and I found the snack bar very much to my liking and most of the players were attractive and talented.  Quelle surprise!  We watched one game while I savored my basket(s) of fried things (pickles, potatoes (both fry and tot), chicken).  After the feast those who actually wanted to watch the games wanted to move outside.  I acquiesced again as I had agreed to this activity and apparently you have to watch sports from a seat near the field. 

                After a bit, my multiple iced teas came full circle and I had to get up and find the restroom.  On my way back to the snack bar (the location of the restrooms, not to eat more food) I noticed an attractive gentleman of Asian descent wearing a softball uniform, looking at me and smiling.  Unused to being “checked out”, I returned the smile but felt I needed the input of my more worldly friends before I actually instigated a conversation.  When I returned to my seat I was delighted to know my friends were as delightfully nosey as necessary and had witnessed the events.  They assured me I was indeed being checked out.  I love me some nosey gays, y’all; in context, of course.

                Normally I am disinclined to believe someone is interested in me but before I could talk myself out of it, I walked over to this gentleman all bold and whatnot and said, “Hi”.  He smiled and introduced himself.  He complimented me on my aqua blue sweater vest, stating, “I noticed you as soon as you walked in.”  This is the reason I am dressed well no matter what I’m doing.  It gets you noticed, people; a little tip from your Uncle Dusty.

                We talked for a bit and he told me he was “into 420”.  I didn’t know if this meant his team was doing well in the tournament or some other athletic thing so I said, “Oh, that’s good.  I’m not a huge 420 fan, but you should do what makes you happy.” 

                We had our first date later that night at Starbucks and had the most wonderful conversation.  Initially he wanted to meet at a bar but, you can’t talk at a bar, especially after an athletic tournament.  There are far too many people yelling, singing, Woo-Hooing.  Have you ever witnessed a quietly chatty intoxicated athlete?  I didn’t think so.

                I discovered he lived in Las Vegas and our second date was planned for the following weekend.  As I am 45 years old, I thought it would be a great adventure, plus it’s only a quick flight from Long Beach.  I had never spent the weekend with someone but since I was at least 4 inches taller and had about 40 pounds on him, I felt I could protect myself should he decide to try to murder me.  However, I left all his info with my friend Jamie just in case I disappeared.  I mean, it is Vegas.  Why do you think they based the original CSI there?  It’s not because of their awesome police force.

                The weekend was very revealing, to say the least.  As I am not a fan of gambling or buffet eating, I find little reason to go to Vegas, but I actually enjoyed myself.  To my dismay, I discovered 420 meant marijuana.  As you know I am fiercely anti-drug, even marijuana.  Don’t worry, he has a prescription but apparently under Nevada law a prescription for medical marijuana allows you to grow your own marijuana…in your garage.   

I’m sorry, but dating a marijuana farmer is not the narrative I have written for my life.  Sadly, I had to bid him adieu and we said goodbye forever, at the airport, standing beside a slot machine, in a cloudy haze emanating from a nearby elderly gambler squandering his Social Security check and exhaling smoke from the hole left by his tracheotomy.  Ah, romance.

                On to #6 – Meeting Mr. Right through Brunch with Friends.