From: cunning625@aol.com (Cunning625)
Subject: ASSC: AFTSD, Post 56

OK, so I'm anal retentive.  I saved them all, so I counted them.  

I have reflected on my success, or lack thereof, at Strip Clubs (at last
count, counting two cross country trips in the last 4 years, I've visited
36 states), and have traced my failings to a blind date in 1966.  As a
freshman at the University of Detroit, my best friend dated a wonderful
brunette named Margie at nearby Mercy College for Women......he
arranged for a friend and I to accompany them on a triple date......and
he warned us ahead of time that one of the girls was knock down
gorgeous and the other was, while nice, not much to look at.  Therefore,
to avoid embarrassment at the scene, he made us pre-pick our date......
I picked the one named Carol and the third guy picked the one named
Pam.  Of course, he picked the winner.  The date was fun.....I actually
dated mine for a year and a half, and the other guy dated Pam only once.

Two years later, having transferred to the University of San Francisco, I 
was sitting in the lobby of the co-ed dorm which was full of people watching
the Miss America Pageant.  As Miss Michigan paraded across the stage
as the broadcast began, I chucked aloud.....there she was, in all her glory....
Pamela Ann Elred.  The girl I could have had a blind date with (I had first
pick of the names).  My fellow Pageant watchers were amused by the story.
Of course, it grew worse as the evening went on and Miss Michigan kept
advancing.  By the time she was crowned Miss America, my audience was
howling at me, as I cursed Bert Parks.  Thereafter, I was known as the
guy who blew a chance to date Miss America.

Flash forward to the summer of 1997, Deja Vu, Kalamazoo, Michigan.
Re-fried and I managed to duck my step-mother and escape for an evening
there.  Lots of charming young Western Michigan co-eds, a couple of whom
ask about the San Francisco scene, which they are planning to visit over
the 4th of July weekend.  We give them our sage advice.  Over walks 
a guy my age, who tells me that he'd remember me anywhere.....and
did.  The guy who set up the triple date, thirty years later. 

He takes re-fried and I backstage to introduce us to the feature performer.  A
gorgeous blonde whose beauty was exceeded only by my ATF, Michelle,
late of Chez Paree.  We share a drink, and I start to think "maybe
this time."  Finally, he can contain himself no longer.  "Hands off my
step-daughter," he announces.  "But you're welcome to join my wife and
I, and the young lady for breakfast after closing.  You'll remember her......
you turned down a chance to go out with her thirty years ago."  The
fucking Miss America curse has struck again.  But I have to tell you that
there can be no better looking Miss America, 30 years after her title,
than this one.  

I hestitate to ask about my date from that ill-fated evening, but, since
she was from Kalamazoo, I ask about Carol anyway.  My friend grins.....
"She's doing well.  Her significant other is our featured performer next week."
I pick Re-fried up from the floor and we head out, to wait for breakfast.

The Boston Red Sox have not won a World Series since they traded
Babe Ruth.  I have been a day late and a dollar short with beautiful
women ever since that ill-fated night in 1966.  The curse of Miss America.

Ray