July 3 and 4

I really didn't know what to expect. We hadn't seen each other in a gazillion years. The emails, postings and brief phone calls appeared to have gone well, but a face to face meeting after all this time was a wild card.

As it turns out, I had nothing to fear as there were only a couple of awkward moments. The first awkward moment occurred in the parking lot of the Red Fox. I pulled up and he came out to meet me. After the long tongue kiss and heavy petting we noticed that the bikers who had come out to see a local band play were not impressed with our public display of affection. They soon settled down when I blew them all a kiss and said in my huskiest voice, "Who's next?"

Seriously though, I think it went quite well, if we can get past my social faux pau of mentioning how hot his mother looked. The true test came on the morning of the 4th when the three of us, Mr. Willoughby, my brother and I, sat down to a not so great meal at a local eatery. The food was bearable only because the hostess was very, very, very young and pretty. I fully intend on asking her out when she graduates high school or gets her learners permit, whichever comes first.

Amazingly, the groove was still there and almost instantly we were bantering and waxing philosophical, almost as if we weren't 40 somethings pissed off about most everything. Things were still going well even while talking politics. I think we all pretty much agreed to disagree about several things because it soon became evident that we all realized that not matter what route any one of us took on a politcal basis it all boiled down to the fact that, we, as a nation, are FUCKED. We also unanimously decided that, for the moment, I, being the only one armed, was the clear winner in any debate. God bless superior firepower. You can beat a man with inteligence but a surer way to come out on top is to threaten him with a public pistol whipping.

Things did take a slight turn for the worst when my dear friend opted to be a little more honest then not when answering one of my brother's questions. In this case a little white lie would have been more appropriate and could have prevented things from going sour, the shitty food not withstanding. Alas, no, when asked if he still had a guitar that my brother had gifted him some years ago, Mr. Willoughby, with very good intentions, indicated that he did not, in fact, have said guitar. For a moment I thought that there was going to be tears or bloodshed, which, if I may be truthful, saddened me just a tad bit because I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

All in all, I think things went swimmingly. We were all the same people we had been so many years ago. Just a little older and a little more willing to go postal, but still sweet and lovable all the same. It was almost, but not quite, enough and I look forward to the next go-round.

As soon as my house is dog-free and I have the ability to travel when I so desire, I will pay him a visit in whatever neck-of-the-woods he calls home.

One last thing. It was Slade you dumbass.

Fat chicks rule!