Sunday, March 30, 2003 - 12:46 p.m.

11:10 a.m. I’m lucky because I not only live in a condo that has a pool inset in the large courtyard of the building but I live in one of those Spelling "Melrose Place" type buildings where people actually use the pool. On any given 80 degree plus day you can find a variety of good looking uber fit 20 or 30 something’s lathered up in the latest fad sun crème, sprawled out, arms and legs akimbo, atop of the dozen or so lounge chairs pointed toward the sun and reclined to optimize the tanning process. Not unlike a visit to my childhood community pool the place is abuzz with a variety of music leaking from headsets placed upon towels while their owners make the rounds mingling and flirtatiously exchanging condo gossip of who’s who and what’s what and who’s doing what to who. Barely clad in the newest of skimpy beachwear a couple of the Adonis’s cannonball into the pool. However, in a flash, all eyes are on me as I trip over a garden hose while self consciously making my way from the parking garage to my unit. Luckily, if there is such a thing, I didn’t hit the ground ungracefully. Within an instant, amongst the stonehearted giggles and sympathetic oohs and ahs, M-Man was there with extended hand lifting me up from my humiliation.

11:14 a.m. M-Man, M-Man, M-Man. How can I possible use only words to describe him? M-Man’s the guy that gay men hope they look like on a good day but settle for lucky that that’s the gay man who lives next door. A personal trainer, 6’3", smart and built. But all that hunkiness of twisted steel and sex appeal is second to the fact that he’s the nicest guy you’d be lucky to meet.

11:16 a.m. Having collected the majority of my strewn belongings I being searching for one missing sandal.

11:17 a.m. Maybe I should just pretend I only had the one and wonder if anyone would notice.

11:18 a.m. For some bizarre reason M-Man walked me to my front door perhaps to be there to witness another tumble or maybe just to ensure I don’t.

11:19 a.m.

M-Man asks: You coming down to the pool?

Garloo thinks: Say what? Me get three-quarters naked in front of a bunch of people who know me? What would I wear? Where would I sit? Would I apply my Coppertone SPF 8 inside the privacy of my own bathroom or slather it on poolside? Do I have to go in the water? Will I be the palest one there? What if no one talks to me or wants to gossip with me? What if I burn? Do I even own a beach towel? What CD’s would I listen to? Do I remember anyone’s name? Do people ask other people they live with to put lotion on their back?

Garloo says: Maybe.

M-Man responds: If not, I’ll see you later.

Garloo thinks: What does that mean? Is he going to pop by later? What for? For what? Is there some condo party tonight that I don’t know about, haven’t been invited to, purposely been excluded from? Does he wanna grab dinner? Is he asking me out? Am I even his type? What would I wear?

Garloo says: You got it.

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