it was all I hoped it would be

Monday, Monday and I was California Dreamin'.

Julius and I went to eat that night. 1940's grace and all-American, he was so classic, so perfect. He took me to a chain restaurant, somewhere typical, I could have guessed. Yes, Julius COULD be a romantic, but my kind of romantic, we'll see. I wanted to be swept off my boots and twirled in my dress and taken somewhere I'd never seen, never heard of, somewhere hidden that only He and I would know about it.

We went to BJ's.

I had this thing against largely owned chain restaurants ever since I got fired from T.G.I.Fridays (THANK GOD is right. It "wasn't my fault my phone didn't get service at the beach", and "oh yeah sorry Maria, I forgot to tell you I'm moving to Fullerton and am there now looking for apartments. My bad."). There is such a difference between the restaurants you see advertised in the yellows and those praiseworthy hole in the walls. Give me a place where I can meet the founder, or at least learn his story. Let me share your childhood and taste that ice cream that for a while only you and your cousins knew. Grandma's secret recipe and pass down that tradition. I don't want this company that was bought out, and "yes we serve this same dessert around the country for the same damned price and it's recipe and yes, in fact was created by the same guys who granted you the McFlurry."

I still enjoyed a margherita pizza, don't worry Janice, it was all I ate that day, and the company of Julius. We sat and chatted for hours, and I actually started to like this fella.

Eyes traced our every move so closely as we were led to our table it was as if we were walking for Mr. Marc Jacobs himself down that lit up runway. We were more than aware of the gazes, we basked in it for a minute and just gleamed back. Finally seated and Julius asked me why girls always stare each other down. "Because we're always competing," I shortly stated. This was a subject my girlfriends and I studied for years. I hated to admit it, but it was true. Constantly wondering what Her life's like, comparing it to our own. Boyfriend? Girlfriend? What did she eat today? Is she prettier, better or more interesting than me? It's a disgusting part of those of us vaginally blessed that we all deal with. Some hide it better than others, but we all must face, come to terms with and get over it. No one knows exactly what that girl, person, whatever is going through, or has gone through, as will no one ever fully know that about you. So why judge? Why compare? I find it best to just accept and listen to what Paul sang and, Let It Be.

Julius and I were big on people watching. We laughed at fatties eating and drinking, skinnies being fatties, pretties eating their ugliness and uglies well, just being ugly. He was funny. I laughed at his strange comments, (okay and maybe at him too for trying a tad too hard) that were so absurd. I was genuinely entertained. He had stories and I had stories, maybe we could create a story. Maybe.

Julius dropped me off in his dirt covered Wrangler and he let me listen to whatever I wanted. Dials and broadbands didn't matter right now. I had other stations streaming through my mind, and as quality as my time was with this gent, American Spirit was on hold and waiting in the rain.

Monday Monday, so good to me...

and about to get so much better.