# 63 in a series of the free amusement park I call my slow descent into perdition.
As you all know I have been Up in Perrysburg taking care of my sister and her cats for the last three million weeks. I am not a cat cat person per se, however I do like to connect behavior and look for the proclivities of all life. To say I have too much time on my hands would be an understatement. I spend my day cleaning up after and feeding seven cats. I am having as much trouble keeping up with these puff balls as Tiger Woods did shuffling text messages.
These cut little poopy heads have tried repeated times to but the smack down on me with their odd and sometimes almost brilliant tactics to shake me, bake me, and put me on the canvas. I am addled, confused, mentally off center, but still here. They do though offer my first point of connection to another group of fauna which exhibits similar behavior when offered that rare bit of tasty good eats. Offer the cats their canned food twice a day and they swarm like sharks at a bleeding nudist snorkeling club.
I made this first connection to “some” people when I found myself Friday last watching the weather channel and realizing I needed a drink. I decided to go to a different bar then my usual hangout. I found my self at the Holiday Inn club/restaurant. It was buffet night. All you can eat for $19.95. Let the people watching begin. I had my seat at the bar with a few of my new found closest friends. After a drink or two –Canadian Club- I noticed a certain area of the buffet that attracted much more attention than the rest. People lined up with plates like a depression era soup line. This will forever be known as crab leg corner. This buffet had everything. There was roast beef, salad bar, all the veggies, and lots of other food you would never make at home.
People appeared around the crab legs like they would force themselves like bulimics in a doughnut shop to eat $ 1900.00 worth of crab legs. Like the cats they consumed with frenzy like they would never have another chance to eat ever again. Plates stacked with seafood gold tall enough to get on the good rides at Cedar Point. Connection two had been verified.
The last connection was serendipitous due to my own weakness of “having one more” two or three times. Too my amazement was this not only a club/restaurant but in the evening it became the much sought after holy grail of the suburban single; Club Divorce at it’s best.
I knew I had stumbled upon this anthropological substrata from two observations. When you see groups of 3 to 4 women dressed in clothes not purchased at Wal-Mart, without purses, and hair hard to describe without photos that is the first clue. Safety in numbers, power in numbers, I have to leave with my friends together, call me, text me, check me on Facebook, you got it nailed down as a fact. You look around and see men, single men not in groups even if they came together on a bus. New haircuts if they have hair. New shoes if they don’t have hair. And no rings on the old left finger hair or not.
As you might have guessed by now these single men where swarming around the small groups of women like raccoons on a garbage can with tight lid. They would never have this chance again. This was it.
Whether it is the food bowl, the steam table or a smooth seventies dance floor there are the connections I observed lo that fateful night.
Blackdogsailor reporting from the front.
Black Dog Sailor 