Happy Birthday!

First, I want to say Happy Birthday to Cindy from Victorville. I don't want to blast it out to the world, but at the same time I wanted her to know that I knew and thought about her today.

It just so happens her birthday falls on the same day as someone else I once knew.

As many of my friends and readers know, Pete was a big part of my life for several years. I didn't do anything that didn't somehow relate directly to or about Pete. Well, today is Pete's birthday, and in a moment of clarity and peace, my way of celebrating a wonderful 3 years of my life is to celebrate Pete on his day.

I've not seen or heard from Pete in over a year now. I don't know if he still lives in the old house or drives the same car, and though I wish him well, these are details I care very little about. I don't know if he or his family read my blogs. That's not what this is about. This is about a part of my life that will always be a part of my history, through all the good and bad. This isn't a 'last ditch' effort to get his attention or the attention of his family or friends. This is just simply what it is - remembering Pete and the years we spent together.

The day I had the date with my ex at the Donald Trump Country Club and I wore nothing but lingerie and a trench coat, I took the long way around the Palos Verdes Peninsula. As I pulled up to a stop light, I couldn't help but notice a couple of very nice Harley Davidson motorcycles in front of me a few car lengths ahead. On them sat two fairly young, fairly good looking men from what I could tell under the heavy leathers and black helmets. I knew the two lane road ahead merged into one around the land slide area in about a mile, so if I wanted to get adventurous and flirt with two guys on motorcycles, I had to step on it and get around the cars in front of me. Luckily, one of the guys looked like he hadn't been riding for very long and both were taking it easy.

I dropped the top on my Miata while I sat there waiting for the light to change. As soon as it did I goosed the gas when the cars in front of me moved. Within a half a mile I managed to scoot around the other cars and catch up to the bikes. I had to drive a bit more like a maniac than usual, but I had taken racing classes at Willow Springs the year before. I knew my car very well and could handle it like a pro. When I got next to the bikes, I slowed down. I smiled at the guy in the rear, and then scooted up a bit and smiled at the one in the front. It worked.

(The stretch of road known as the

Portuguese Bend Land Slide area)

I goosed it a bit and shot on past them both before the lanes merged. Driving at least 20 miles an hour over the 35 mph speed limit, I took turns and dips at such a rate of speed my car threatened to leave the road like a car chase scene in a movie filmed on the streets of San Francisco. I had barely cleared the treacherous area when one of the bikes pulled up beside me.

"Don't make us chase you," the lead rider shouted to me through the open top of my car. "Pull over."

I drove about another 100 yards before I found the perfect spot to pull off. It was at the entrance to a gated community, and as I pulled in the security guard in the booth out front looked at me funny. The two motorcycles pulled in beside me.

"Hi," the lead rider said to me. "I'm Bryan."

"Amanda," I replied. "Nice to meet you."

"This is my buddy Pete," he introduced the guy on the other side of him. Pete nodded in my direction. "You'd never know it from the bikes, but we're cops."

Oh great, I thought. Now I'm gonna hear it. I was driving like a maniac.

"Great," I said. My mouth let fly with the words I had been thinking. "Now you're going to give me a ration of $hit for the way I was driving." I grimaced. My eyes have always been my best physical feature, and to ease the coming lecture, I removed my sun glasses at that moment. It worked.

"No," he said, "not at all." he smiled. "Actually we were pretty impressed. Usually girls cant handle cars that well." Somewhere deep inside a part of me burst out laughing at the idiotic comment as I thought about Danika Patrick. "So how about giving me your phone number," he said point blank.

Skip to a scene of me prancing about in lingerie in the middle of the dark night on the cliffs of Palos Verdes... (see previous blogs for the story here - titled Trump This).

(Bryan's bike)

The next day Bryan met me over by my apartment in Gardena. Yes, this is Bryan I'm talking about, not Pete. From my place we hoped on his bike and rode off over the same road on which we first met.

Within the hour he had decided that he was hungry. Bryan and I went back to his house where he cooked two plain chicken breasts on the grill. While he was outside, Pete came in and we struck up a conversation.

Give that a week and a second date with Bryan before the two had a long, sit down conversation about me.

So there it is, the sordid details about how I met Pete.

(Pete's bike with Pete)

I once heard the story that he had asked me out when he pulled me over. He told me that he couldn't ask for my number because it wasn't professional. He then stated clearly and calmly that he just happened to be getting off work in an hour and that he might just happen to go by the Starbucks at Sepulveda and Vermont. If I happened to be there, he might just happen to sit down and talk with me for a minute. But it was a big might. Then, he handed me back my drivers license and walked away. He didn't even give me the ticket for driving 95 on the freeway.

The story goes that he walked into Starbucks, saw me sitting at the table and walked up with a very serious look on his face. Standing before me, he slapped his hand on the table and bellowed "NOW," and he dropped his voice as he sat down with me, "can I have your phone number?"

I ask you - which story is better, the true or the false?

Anyway - Happy Birthday Pete and Cindy.

Many happy returns of the day.