the right place

At this very moment, I'm in a Starbucks, and the most beautiful boy I have ever seen walked in. He ordered a small coffee and is sitting there, reading a book.


I've seen him many times, but I don't actually know him... I just know who he is-- as does every gay guy in Dallas. He's almost a monument-- like the massive statue of Sam Houston just outside of Huntsville. A tourist attraction for the gays--


You can't help but think he's gorgeous. His attractiveness is not a matter of opinion but fact. Like a fat kid in the cookie aisle, there's no way around it. He is tall, dark and handsome. He's got muscles for days, the bone structure of a statue (well, if statues had bones). And, on top of all that, he reads-- or at least does a very believable imitation of one reading.... moving eyes side to side and occasionally turning a page. He appears to be the perfect package.


Granted, one may deduct points for him trying too hard. He's wearing an extremely nice black down jacket that probably costs way too much. He has pulled out his iPhone more frequently then necessary. And, he is wearing his baseball cap backwards as if he is about to umpire a gay softball game or bust into some gangsta rap.

I only notice those things because they are gimmicks even I have tried. On him, they just stand out as being unnecessary and distracting-- like an overly decorated Christmas tree.


Still, he's one of those people. He's one of those people I hate, but at the same time, want to be -- or, more so, be with. I resent him for his abundance of natural beauty. Something he did nothing to earn or deserve but was freely given to him for his whole life, I'm sure. He has no idea what it is to be average.

For one day, I just want a Freaky Friday moment. I want to switch bodies with someone that beautiful... Not for me. I can imagine what it's like for them. I have had plenty of gorgeous friends. I know what it's like to walk behind them in a crowd. I see the head turns. I see guys nudge the person next to them and "discreetly" point. It's like riding in an inter-tube being pulled by a speed boat... I ride in its wake.

I don't want to switch bodies with them so I can see what it's like to be them; I want them to get a taste of normalcy-- for them to see what it's like to be me. What is it like when people don't hold the door for you... when you don't get immediate service... when the refills don't come as quickly... when the waiters aren't as attentive... when finding a sales person it a little more difficult... when you do get the speeding ticket... when guys say no to an invitation... when you do get stood up... when a nod goes unreturned... when a date gets broken... when you go unnoticed.

Gorgeous people like this don't know what the world is really like. They have a bird's eye view.

And, lo and behold, who is he meeting? A model. An actual model. Again, not someone I know, but someone that I have lots of friends in common with. Birds of a feather...

But, it's probably better that way. Let them duke it out. Being friends with them would be like me trying to get in the ring with Muhammad Ali at his prime. I wouldn't stand a chance... not even with their rejects and castaways. I would bring the disappointment viewers used to feel when they would watch One Life to Live and at the beginning of the episode, they would hear the voice over that said, "The part of Victoria Lord normally played by Erika Slezak today will be played by (fill in the name of some unknown actress)." Viewers immediately lose interest in the plot lines, even if it is at the height of her battle with her split personality Niki Smith; they change the channel. If I did run in the circles of beauty, I could hear a similar voice over the speakers at the bars-- "Instead of hooking up with a tall, dark, handsome part time model/part time Greek god, tonight you will sleep with a short, pale, middle-aged marketing director of a mortgage company." I hear the groans and the clicks of remotes changing the channels.

Wait a minute-- there's something wrong. The-Gorgeous-Guy-I-Know-But-Don't-Know didn't even acknowledge The-Model-I-Know-But-Don't-Know. That doesn't seem to be right. I know for a fact that I saw them in pictures next to each other from New Year's Eve (thank you, facebook)... which was 4 days ago. And, yet, today, not so much as a "hi." Perhaps under the Laws of the Aesthetically Gifted, both of their enhanced beauties in this small Starbucks calls for the powers not to combine for fear of an explosion--

OR, they slept together and now there is the awkward after period... which, let's face it, is more likely.

I mean, do they even have to play the game? It seems that if you are that pretty and you see someone else that pretty, all the small talk, games and flirting would be pointless. I would imagine a nod and simple directions back to your place is all that it would take.

Maybe this is why I was not gifted with being exceptionally pretty.

I imagine beauty to be a bell curve and those that are extraordinarily beautiful have an easier time finding each other because they so easily stand out. Likewise, those on the other end of the bell curve, the less visually appealing, shall we say, always seem to be able to find a mate as well. It's the Neiman's/Gap/Wal-Mart Rule... You'll always find happy couples at Neiman's and Wal-Mart. All the single people are at the Gap.

As I watch these beauties interact-- or avoid interaction, I feel like I'm on the Discovery Channel observing the behavior of lions in the wild.

And, now, I'm trying to type as my sweaty palms hover over the keyboard. The-Model-I-Know-But-Do-Not-Know has asked to sit across the table from me. Granted, it's because I'm sitting next to one of the only available electrical outlets (let this to be a lesson to us ALL). Still, people walking in will never know.

This is prime real estate all of a sudden. Fuck Park Place. Sitting at this table at this moment in the Starbucks has upped my property value considerably. People will think there is some reason we're both sitting here... "Maybe they know each other," "Maybe their friends," "Maybe they're dating," "Oh, they make such a cute couple." Oh, let the rumors spread!

I'm going to talk to him. After all, I work with his cousin, I know one of his friends from LA, I know his brother, I've looked at his facebook page... we're practically dating as it is.------

Okay, so that didn't go quite as far as I had hoped. Yes-- I totally gave away the fact that I knew his name and listed the 4 people we have in common... to which he responded politely, cordially and briefly. Still, it sadly went better than half of the guys I claim to have dated.

Ugh. My damn watch tells me it's time. I need to go-- but even though this moment means nothing, I don't want it to end.

I have to eat dinner before rehearsal at 6... but I don't want to leave. What if he's trying to build up the courage to talk to me? What if he's intimidated by my averageness? What if he's always wanted a short, pale, middle-aged marketing director of a mortgage company to grow old with? What if the moment we connect is destined to happen ten minutes from now? I'd be eating my salad in some diner by myself missing it!

Is it a little crazy to want to propose to someone that only sat with you for an electrical outlet?

If we have a similar need for power, does that mean we have enough in common to build a life together?

I'd like to think so.

But, it's no matter what I think. I need to go. So, I'll risk it. I'll pack up my computer, say goodbye and leave for dinner before rehearsal. If The-Model-I-Know-But-Do-Not-Know is my destiny, I'll let this be just the first part of the story... like in a romantic comedy. "When The-Model-I-Know-But-Do-Not-Know Met Chad..."

All I know for sure is that from now on, everywhere I go, I'm sitting next to an available electrical outlet.