Looks like we're naked

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.

I am not a smoker. But I did share a cigarette late Sunday afternoon. What better way to cap the cinematic epic that just unfolded in a Mid-Wilshire high rise than a cancer stick? After all, I was sharing a bed with a beautiful woman 25-years my senior.


How it unraveled
It unfolded just like I expected, unplanned and natural. Seems, this weekend was a bachelor party for a friend in the Bay area. Actually, it was one of those things where he was told it would be the following weekend , but we would kidnap him off guard the weekend before. Unfortunately, that plan took me by surprise as well. Thank God, for Southwest airlines.

So, I booked a last minute ticket for Saturday morning (couldn't get a Friday flight). I grabbed my clubs, hopped in my car and was off to the races. The weekend was fun, but uneventful for the purposes of this post. However, the return flight was another story.

Now Calling Section "A"
When you fly Southwest, don't expect seating assignments. They divide you up by A, B or C. I was in the A line and looked over at an older woman near the beginning of the B line. We shot glances back at each other, and there was a pretty obvious mutual attraction. Game on.

Mile High Clubbin'
I got on the plane, and saw Madame X following about 15 people behind me. I tried to look as menacing as possible to the other passengers to avoid them parking their ass on the seat next to me. Sheer will worked a while, but eventually someone found my seat to be inviting. I dropped my bag and told him my mother was coming on board in a moment. I flipped my ipod back on and I see Madame X standing hovering over the seat with a large and oddly shaped case in her hand.

Huh?
All I saw was lip movement and eye contact. I took my earphones off and asked her to repeat what she said. This time, it was crystal clear, "Your mother, huh?" came out as she pointed to the seat next to me. My smile was answer enough, and she sat down. General note: if you ever need to say something in relative secrecy, take off the earbuds. Apparantly, the entire plane knew I was holding the seat for my "mom."

The large case she was carrying held a violin. She was playing in San Francisco with some symphony this weekend. We talked a bit about our weekends, our lives. She was divorced and lived by herself. Had a daughter at UCLA. The conversation flowed smooth and delicate. It was like old friends catching up at a reunion, five minutes of awkward theatrics followed by a world of meaningful reflection. It was like nothing I had ever experienced.

And the look of this women. She was beautiful. And not beautiful like a 25-or 35-year-old, but beautiful as a woman in her fifties. Theres a certain natural courage, a vibrant zest for life that made me look at her differently than the woman last week. It reshaped how I thought of beauty, and how age can be irrelevant. I was changing, and we were only 15 minutes into the flight.

Delivery for Mr. Lowe
Her name was Amanda, and the flirtiness of our interaction must have caused a stir for the passengers within earshot of hearing she was my "mom." I felt like oedipus in a baseball hat.

I knew that I was given the gift of her being placed next to me. I also knew that I would not be foolish enough to leave the rest up to fate. I think that's where many people (including myself) go wrong. We assume fate brought someone here, fate will deliver to the end. I think that's kind of farcical. Maybe fate delivered her in the hope that I would have the sense to close the deal. Thankfully, I had a little Barry Manilow on the mind and remembered the lyrics from Mandy, Oh Mandy well, you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away. This Mandy was not going to be sent away.

The flight from Oakland to LAX was a short one. I asked her how she was getting home, and she said Supershuttle. I offered to take her home, but then I stopped. I told her I forgot I had my golf clubs and my car is a two-seater. With that giant violin, I wasn't sure if it could fit. But I thought, screw it, if it didn't fit, I would take a cab with her and come back to get my car. I couldn't lose this opportunity.

Luckily, everything fit and we hopped on the 405 with the top down and two giant bags sticking out the top. Me and my "mom," the golfer and the violinist, on our way to an incestual rendevous.

We arrived at her place and she invited me in. If not, my backup plan was to help with her bags (even though she had a door man). We went up to the 17th floor and she poured me a drink. From that point on, the life-changing moment was in full swing. Sunsets, whiskey, floor-to-ceiling views of the Pacific, Billie Holiday-- and the romantic attention of a beautiful woman as old as my mother.

In the end, we knew it was a one-time thing, but we both had enough class not to actually say it. I just gathered my belongings and rode off into the sunset. A better man than celebrity Rob lowe will ever be. A better man than I have ever been.

Epilogue
This profound moment generated two useful stats that came into my head as I drove on Sunset with a post-coital glow:

1. I am now in the double digits for hook ups. (10 lucky ladies have fallen under my spell).

2. I have 2 weeks to bed a 21-year-old. Liz thinks that part will be easy, since younger chicks are sluttier. Sweet.

3. I have not only trumped Celeb Rob lowe in this task, but also Colin Farel. It seemed he unsuccessfully tried to Seduce a 70-year old. Maybe he should fly Southwest air?