Pizza delivery, a few ice cold Sams and a Netflix marathon. I’m pretty sure there may have been a time when this kind of Saturday night itinerary would have been considered lame-o . But hell if I can remember it.
My cell phone starts shimmying as I’m tossing between onion rings or calamari. This better be good, cause my deliberation is . . yanno, important stuff.
It’s my girlfriend. Okay.
“Hey, Kevin can’t make it. Would you be up for some Xanadu?” She asks. So sweetly, in fact, that I forget all about my hot date with a veggie supreme.
“What happened to Kevin?” I ask.
Kevin is an old friend of hers. He’s funny, compassionate, good looking. None of which fazes me in the least since . . .
“He’s head over heels for the new guy. Sooo, Kev completely forgot about tonight . . He’s still in Maryland!” My girlfriend tells me.
“Didn’t you call to remind him?” I ask.
“He had his phone off until a few minutes ago. Didn’t want to be disturbed.” She laughs.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that this Kevin is a pretty smart guy.
“So? Can you make it?” She asks.
“Well, seeing as how the only thing keeping me here are pizza delivery plans, sure. But I need to eat.”
“We’ll stop at Zia’s on the way, they’ve got the best calzones.” She says.
“Vegetable,” I insist.
“Of course.” She giggles, so sweetly in fact, that I completely forget I was once in love with the idea of pizza for dinner.
Love is a lot like pizza nights. Your ability to navigate the changing currents is tantamount to success. Us modern romantics, we must abide.
There’s a sanguine vibe happening in local theater- borne out of accessibility- that Broadway cannot touch. These thespians are dreamers and lovers in the most amazing sense of such definitions. I dig that, lots. So we’re at the playhouse, six chicas and this guy. My presence elicits a few shushed up jokes about feelings and potpourri from the perfumed up circle. Predictable stuff. “You know, most of this crowd is going to be gals and gay guys.”
“Yeah, you might get hit on.” Comes another voice.
“Well, be it the former or the latter, a compliment is a compliment.” I reply.
A couple hours later, and my review was short and sweet. The production was sappy. But I happen to think the world’s supply of sap has been seriously depleted, so I liked it. Stories about never giving up on your dreams and love conquering all . . well, keep ’em coming is what I say.
Love is all about getting lost inside the pair of eyes sitting across the table from you. It’s a blind jump into the craziest of chances, odds be damned. Gay, straight, black or white or chartreuse? Matters not.
Love is love.
As far as Xanadu goes, now I want to see the movie. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.