Rants & ramblings of the disaffected

Archive for the tag “love”

On the Banks of the River of Passion

It all had happened innocently enough.

We had first stood on the bank of the river enjoying the view. It was a scenic view of its virgin territories untouched and undisturbed. At first we just stood and looked and admired, gawking at the beauty at which we gazed upon. Neither of us spoke.

The view was a breathtaking.

The longer we looked, the more we desired to abandon our reservations and dive into the tempting waters together. It was a long time before one of us made the first move, hesitant to exceed our partners’ inhibitions. We cautiously waded into the inviting stream, probing carefully lest we get in too deep, waiting for the other to respond, to take that next step. The waters caressed our skin, invigorating our senses. It was a new experience for both of us. We resolved to not go too far.

And yet each step only enticed us to take another. Before we knew it we had cast caution to the wind, discarding our hesitations as rapidly as our clothing. The beauty we beheld, the sensations the river we are immersed in only enticed and seduced us to go farther that we both intended. How far? To the edge of the forbidden, beyond the safety of restraint. Without realizing it we had both waded out too far from the shore, perhaps too far to go back. The current tugged at us, pulling us out deeper into the turbulent unknown. Knowing that each of us had gone farther than we should, only added to the thrill. It stimulated us. The fearfulness of our precarious situation heightened the exhilaration that was sweeping us away.

Now the current dictates our actions as we’re no longer able to direct ourselves. Groping and thrashing with flailing arms and legs, yet clinging tightly to each other. It’s just the two of us out here, together alone in the river. Now we are in too deep and it’s too late to turn back, to return to where we were. Gasping for our breaths before we succumb, no longer able to resist the inevitable. All is silence as we give in. The struggle ceases, we become still, motionless.

Sometime later, I’m not sure when, we regain consciousness. Laying side by side on the bank, unmoving. We waken, slowly. Raising ourselves simultaneously to our elbows to stare into each others eye with panic. At first we struggle to remember, or perhaps to forget, what happened. How did we get here? The events come flooding back into our consciousness. Did we …?

How easy it was to get swept away in the current., there on the banks of the river of passion.

Soul Stare

Their eyes met. No words were exchanged but it’s not what they said; it’s what they didn’t have to say. It seems words are too often less a means of communication than objects which we mask our true feelings.

Two souls lost in a crowd, each searching for the other, neither acknowledging their bond. They mingle about aimlessly, milling amongst the throng. He searches for her. She scans to see him. They pass in their orbits yet never intercept. Their paths cross yet neither speaks. Their apparent indifference is a complete fabrication driven by desperation.

– – – – – – – –

As we pass in close proximity to the other, we both feel it, some inexplicable force of attraction drawing us together. Neither of us turn our heads to look but we both cut our eyes as we pass straining to see if the other is looking.

We pass by indifferent to the other, painfully aware of how others might portray it if they were to recognize the raw affection we feel; afraid to look into each others eyes lest or expressions give us away. both afraid the others reaction if they should suspect the amorous interest, preferring to sulk under the cloak of denial, hidden in the shadows of anonymity.

But our souls know. They kiss. In one fleeting glance they connect. clutching, grasping, clinging desperately to the fleeting moment. Some seminal seed that passed between them in the moment, making each the unexpressed compliment of the other, conjoined yet incomplete. Barely perceptible, they pass from him to her. He propositions, she accepting, receiving, forever mated after. Something has conceived within her, growing until the time to arrive.

It was an absurd experience should one think about, one that never transpired except in our imagination …or was it?

It was an experience neither dared yet both yearned for. Logic and reason denies what their hearts affirm. Our minds tell us it won’t work; we can’t be together but our souls know differently. On some subliminal level we both know we are destined to be satisfied together or miserable apart. Lovers, intimates, partners -two separates merged into one; at the moment bound only by their mutual hope.

Me: I saw her about, too many times for coincidence, here and there about as we both flitted about from one group to the next. Roaming, wandering yet not belonging. She seemed ill-fitted and out of place wherever I saw her. She seemed an unattached peripheral among the crowd, a non-participant. It seemed to me as if she were looking for someone. Could that someone be me, I wondered?

Our path crossed, our eyes met but neither spoke a word. We were frequently adjacent and never connecting. And then it happened. Inadvertently our eyes met. And if the eyes are indeed the windows of the soul, then in that moment our souls communicated. What we both felt but were afraid to express, our souls lacked no such restraint, straight to the point with no guile or secrecy. Suddenly these two lonely souls impatient on their keepers to bridle their hesitations, cast aside the restraints and and acted without fear. in a moment they transacted their business. No negotiations or compromise but a raw naked exchange between them. No terms given, none required. Two lost souls in a sea of people, floating about in the crowd.

Our souls met. Our eyes fastened on each other. In one single imperceptible glance we expressed our latent desires. No words exchanged but none were needed. Nothing was said. Words weren’t needed. In that brief glance lasting less than a millisecond, our souls connected. The conversation you could not hear…

Suddenly time slows. The moment is frozen as the crowd stills. The background fades away revealing two souls to linger.

“I’ve been missing you.”
“Me too. Do you still love me?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I want us to be together.”
“Yes. I too. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“One day you will be mine; we will be together.”
“I know. I can’t wait…” A pause.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve been watching you.”

They talk and touch and laugh. clutching, grasping, clinging together tightly.

She: “I’m so tired of the charades, hiding behind a facade. When can we tell each other how we feel?”
He: “I wish I knew. One day.”
“Do you think they will ever figure it out?”
They kiss.
“One day surely they will figure it out and no logic or reason will be able to keep us apart any longer. I feel it.”
“I feel it, too.”
“One they will discover what our hearts already know.” Embracing. “Won’t they be surprised?”
“To say the least. All those who would laugh at the prospect of us together; aren’t they in for a shock!”
“Maybe not as much as we will be,” she says!

They laugh

“I think on some level of consciousness we both know it…our minds tell us we can’t be together. Too many reasons, too many obstacles; the difference between our ages, our families, our own fear of rejection.
As they start to look away, “Don’t leave me again,” she pleads.
“I can never leave you. You’re in all my waking thoughts.”
“One millisecond,” she complains. “Is that all they can give us? Look at them! Are they so afraid to admit to themselves how they feel?”
“I guess so,” he smiles.
“See you around.”

One last embrace, one last lingering kiss. And then they separate. Time resumes. The surroundings begin to fade back in.

We break the glance, our eyes look away. We both part company, pretending nothing happened between us.

Dejected, I turn away resisting the urge to stare back at her. As I walk away, I can’t resist the urge to reach out and tug at her purse as she stands there with her back to me. Not looking back I keep going, reaching up to wave my hand back at her; as she turns to see who nudged her.

“Hey.” She calls my name.

“Hey,” I reply over my shoulder without looking back.
She smiles at me. I smile back at her without turning as I walk away. Suddenly she’s taken with a capricious urge to run after me and chat like an eight year old girl. She stops herself. “What would he think?” She hesitates, then looks down realizing the moment is lost.

It’s not enough …but it’s enough for now.

I sigh loudly to myself. She hears me. And that’s the end of that …until our eyes meet again.

I UNDO: Love & Second Thoughts

Since this was about time travel, why not travel back in time to read it? NO? Then, whatever you do…don’t push that button. NO! Not that button!!! Oh great. Fasten your seat belts, you just sent us back in time.


Have you ever wondered, knowing what you know now, would you do it all over again? …or would you run?! What if you could go back in time, what, if anything, would you change? What if you could press the UNDO button on your marriage?

After twenty years of an unhappy marriage, a disgruntled husband goes back in time to undo their relationship…and despite his best efforts and against his best judgement, finds himself falling in love all over again with his contentious spouse-to-be.

“I guess it’s her disposition that I find most irritable about her. I can’t find fault with her looks. But if beauty is skin deep, ‘grouchy’ goes all the way to the bone. We used to be close, be affectionate, now it seems we just drift farther apart. The only spark that remains in our marriage is the friction when we’re together.”

Fast forward to the…

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Politics, like love. . .

Politics, like love, has often been the retreat of fools. Love and politics. Politics and love. Both have been a frequent resort of the desperate and haven of the unstable. The electorate, like jilted lovers, seldom learn. It’s that time of year, when we the electorate are about to be wined and dined by a long line of smooth-talking prospective suitors. Here we go again.  Same song, different dance.

Politics has always formed alliances and coalitions composed of dissimilar parts. These can be a grotesquely distorted chimera of sorts forged from mutually exclusive incompatablities; or at best a tentative marriage of convenience. Forming these alliances is as time-honored a tradition as prostitution. These affairs, arranged for convenience where the collective whole, usurps the competing distinctions of it’s composite parts. They often exist with the half-life of a synthetic radionuclide, spontaneously disintegrating, like particles of antimatter colliding with matter.

Back to the current political process of elections, which has all the inherent integrity of an on-line dating service. I compare the process to getting drunk and wondering who you’re going to wind up in bed with the for the next four years. To me it seems the selection process is more befitting to an episode of American Idol than the mechanisms of a sane electorate.  One of my favorite George Barnard Shaw quotes is that of Democracy being a form of government that exchanges election by the incompetent many for appointment by the corrupt few.

Back to the incompetent many.

My view is that the whole sordid affair is a lot like a first date between a candidate and the electorate. They take you out window shopping at the diamond counter and give you all these promises with no collateral. After a romantic dinner where they say all the right things, if they get elected, they skip out and leave you holding the tab.

Politics, like love, is full of jilted lovers.

I UNDO! Love & Second Thoughts

Have you ever wondered, knowing what you know now, would you do it all over again? …or would you run?! What if you could go back in time, what, if anything, would you change? What if you could press the UNDO button on your marriage?

After twenty years of an unhappy marriage, a disgruntled husband goes back in time to undo their relationship…and despite his best efforts and against his best judgement, finds himself falling in love all over again with his contentious spouse-to-be.

“I guess it’s her disposition that I find most irritable about her. I can’t find fault with her looks. But if beauty is skin deep, ‘grouchy’ goes all the way to the bone. We used to be close, be affectionate, now it seems we just drift farther apart. The only spark that remains in our marriage is the friction when we’re together.”

Fast forward to the past, before we met.

– – – – – – – – – – – – –

Oh no! It’s her! I can’t let her see me.” The rules are plain. I duck behind a corner and press myself against the wall as I scan frantically for a place to hide. It’s a dead-end and there’s no where to…wait! There! A large trash can along the wall, it’s only half-full…can I fit inside? Uh, it reeks…but I’m desperate! Coffee grounds, a banana peel, this is so disgusting but there’s no time for hesitation. I dive in, holding my breath, settling amongst the sundry items of refuse. Not a moment too late! I can hear the staccato of her heels clicking on the tile floor as she approaches, then…slowing her step as she nears. “Did she see me? Does she know I’m inside here?” I panic! “Uh! What’s that …in my hair? Gross! She just tossed her gum on top of my head!” I raise slowly out of the can still wearing that banana peel on my head and stealthily watch her as she walks away... “Whoa!” I mutter to myself. “She looks …incredible! No wonder I fell for her.” A big silly grin wraps itself around my face. “Wait! What’s wrong with me? How can I forget all the grief she’s caused me …I mean …going to cause me down the road?” Yes, we do have a few good times together, punctuated by long periods of her sullen, moody demeanor, trying to placate the implacable, those endless mind games, the psychological arm-twisting…”What was I thinking?”

Now…I know what you’re thinking! What’s the problem?  I don’t usually go to this much trouble to avoid a good-looking brunette…but that sexy young thing sauntering away down the hall is going to be my ex-wife one day in the not-so-distant future. A moment later, I climb out of my awkward refuge-in-refuse, several pairs of gawking eyes staring me in disbelief. So maybe you think my reaction is a bit extreme?

Yes, she is gorgeous, long dark hair, a wry smile on her the corner of her mouth…so why am I running the other way? Because I know how it all turns out!

– – – – – – – – –

“Oh no! There I am! I’m about to meet her for the first time…am I too late?” That’s me racing down the hallway, bumping into several suddenly inverted pedestrians in the mad dash to beat me to the point-of-no-return, the time and place when we…

Oh, sorry about that. Maybe I should explain. Freeze frame. Sorry, I had to hit the pause button so I can bring you up to speed about what’s going on. [ people lay chaotically sprawled out across the floor in random disorder; one or two still suspended up-side-down in mid-air ike a cartoon ] You see, twenty years ago to the day, we met for the first time…and fell in love. she was beautiful…I was desperate. I’m in my mid-twenties by this time and by now, I’ve worked myself up to a frenzied state of panic. I’m afraid that I’m going to be single for the rest of my life and the thought of being alone terrifies me. Turns out that I do meet a gorgeous girl and we get married in a couple of years…but that’s about the best our marriage will ever get…and it goes downhill, the longer we stay married. We both hang in there, I’m not sure if to see if we can make it work or just to torture each other as long as possible, which brings me to why I’m here today, back in past. If I just knew then what I know now…which is why I’m sprinting down the corridor. Don’t get me wrong; she’s a great girl, probably would have made some other guy a great wife. Everybody says she’s so much fun…all my friends love her. All her friends like me. But I’ve come to the conclusion we’re just wrong for each other, only I figured it out about twenty years too late. The chemistry’s all wrong now and we clash like a cheap suit.

That’s why I waited in line for that stupid device you might call a time machine. Some disgruntled attendant standing behind a formica counter scans my molecules into some energy canister. A push of the button sends me hurtling through some worm-hole until I make some quantum leap through a time portal …don’t ask me to explain how it all works, I just get confused…which is why I just pay the ticket and let someone else operate the transdirectional metaportation devices. Ha! I can see by the look on your face you don’t believe me! Precisely why I didn’t tell you sooner! Unfortunately for me, the Brotherhood of United Metaportation Operators has gone on strike, leaving me stranded in your backward technologically deficient moment of time. Maybe I should have just bought the “Time Travel For Dummies, guide?

“Time?!! Oh no! The time. I’ve got to hurry.” Time to hit the Resume button.

If I could just get there in time, I could warn myself… This is where it gets complicated, not the technology stuff. No, it’s all that emotional stuff between a man and a woman that still leaves modern man scratching his ‘ba-hooty’ wondering what happened. You see, time travel is pretty much common place now with no more than a raised eyebrow than faxing a document was in the early twenty-first century. but we still don’t understand women!

Want to know how a relationship works out? Most of us just try it on for a few years…if it gets messy, just go back in time and make the whole thing un-happen! Sounds great? But there are…rules about this sort of thing.

Rule Number 1: You can’t disturb the past, like, you can’t tell yourself that it’s really is you, back from the future. We have to be…ah…discrete! And there are a few…accidents that happen from time to time but most can be covered up, erasing the memory of the incident or if too many people witness it, then the “agency’ can always pass it off as a UFO or some paranormal disturbance. The pulp magazines at the check-out aisle love these stories. Those are the two most common excuses when there’s a ‘glitch’. And of course, you can’t slip yourself a hot stock tip to yourself in your previous life, the IRS enforces that one pretty close. Most people who do go back in time, go to straighten up some big mistake they made in the past that seems to screw up their future, and most of those are…related to that strange thing we call love. You can go back and UNDO your love-life, sort of like a “retroactive pre-nuptial extraction.” Some prefer the term, “pre-crises post-espousal intervention.” I tend to think of it more as a “pre-connubial utero-inversion” or un-birthing a marriage.

That’s why I’m here. You see, there was this gorgeous young girl I had met and we eventually fell in love…and then we ruined everything. We got married! That little thing they say about love being blind, it’s much worse. “Love’ isn’t blind because you can help the blind but there ‘aint’ much hope for ‘stoo-pid!” I mean we all can look back and see the things we were too willing to overlook when we were dating but somehow managed to switch off that rational part of or brain that said, “Are you sure this is what you want?” Instead we focus so much on how the other makes us feel! Then when it all falls apart, we ask ourselves, “What was I thinking?” But that’s just it; we weren’t thinking at all. We let our hormones and emotions run away with us until…the new wears off, then we take each other for granted. And all those little quirks that used to endear us to the other, now they drive us apart. We make concessions and we compromise, then we make a list of all our pet peeves. Pretty soon, our relationship gets put on life support and then eventually we put up a “Do Not Resuscitate” sign on the heart.

At first, it was illegal to go back to the past and meddle with our former love lives but it got to where there were so many doing it, it was sort of like trying to stop illegal immigration. As long as the technology was there and the money was right, you could undo any relationship. Turns out it’s cheaper than getting a divorce but without all the turmoil. So what does government do? When they can’t stop something they regulate it. They passed laws, they taxed it, but when they put it under some monstrous government beauracracy, that almost killed it right there. Yep, if you want to bury something, bury it under a myriad of convoluted regulations, obscure nomenclature, and mounds of senseless paperwork. It isn’t an offical beauracracy until they gave it some awful acronym. “FBI”, “IRS”, and “FEMA” was already taken so they had to call it FARTT, for Federal Agency of Regulated Time Travel.

If that wasn’t bad enough, things really went south right about the time when the lawyers smelled a buck! Yep, if there’s a way to exploit something, leave it up to the lawyers. There is a special breed, they call them ‘tort’ lawyers! I think they call them that because it’s descriptive of their tactics, like dis’tort’, con’tort’, ex’tort‘, and ‘tort’-ure! They started advertising their services like a snake oil salesman on a Sunday afternoon! “Have you been wronged at love? Let us help you!” Now, let me interpret for you…when a lawyer says they want to ‘help’ you, what they mean is, they want to ‘help themselves’…starting with a huge cut off the top. Seems like lawyers are always the first hogs in the feed trough!

“Well, I’ve got to go and try to talk myself out of making a really big mistake before it’s too late. I’ll let you know how it all turns out.”

True Love & Fleas!

Meet Larry & Steve. Two brainy single guys -nerds suspended in an indefinite stage of post-pubescent juvenile development. They’re both a couple of players; other than the fact neither has had a date since junior-high, nor have they matured much since then. Two single guys with aspirations of dating and making out… But reality can be unkind when it comes to delusional states of mind. Previous dating experiences can only be described as “crash-and-burn” scenes.

Here is a recent conversation that took place.

“I’ve had a girlfriend before.” “No, you haven’t!” “Have to!” “Dude! They don’t count if they don’t consent to being your girlfriend.” “She knew,” he countered. “She didn’t suspect…” “She had a restraining order filed against me!” He said that a bit too triumphantly. Then he sighed loudly. “You’re right. We need therapy”

These guys are losers, a couple of nerdy computer geeks. Two room mates. How bad can they be? Let’s rewind to last week… The set up… hereafter documented as Pathetic Dating Event #11;

He and his date are alone; or at least that’s what they want her to think. The roommate? He’s behind the door, trying to video tape the ‘play by play’ as it goes down so they can analyze their technique. “They do it in football,” he reasoned. “We should be at least as committed.” “We should probably be committed,” he mutters.

The conversation goes downhill as soon as she arrived. She seemed suspicious. “Where’s your …friend?” “Who …my roommate?” “Oh! Is that what you guys call them now?” “Uhm, ‘they’? You mean ‘they’,” …he pauses, as in …?” “Yeah. Isn’t he …you know …?!!” He throws open the door -infuriated. “I am not gay!” She looks down to see the video camera in hand. She smirks. “Drat! She outsmarted us!” He attempts to hide it behind his back with a sheepish grin of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie-jar.

Larry cracks under pressure, blurts out. “Can you have a little courtesy here? I’m trying to seduce you… Oh crap! Did I just say that?!!” She smiles. It’s a smug smile full of gloating, a condescending look of a higher intelligence as it toys with inferior forms of intelligence. “Looks like a permanent condition that afflicts the male gender. What we have here boys is a classic case of ‘Testosterone-induced Stupidity’. “You guys have it bad.” And then she left.

Apparently Male Pattern Stupidity is a genetic disorder.

Yes, two stupid guys will do just about anything to impress a girl. Larry has an announcement. “I’ve finally got Melanie to agree to go on a date with me!” “How’d you do that?” “She made me sign a waiver agreeing to never ask her out again, if she said yes” By now you’ve surmised that Larry is a little more than vain. He just wants an excuse to make out with a real ‘hottie’! “She’s bonafide,” he says! “A bodacious babe by any standard. And I’ve got to really impress her if I want to take this to the next level. I’ve got to show her my sensitive side. Chicks dig it!” “Whoa,” Steve interrupts. “Promise me you won’t say ‘chicks’ in front of her! Please Mr. Sensitive?” And then, “So what’s your strategy? “No,” screams Larry. “No ‘strategies’ Steve! That’s how the video camera fiasco came about. He pauses in deep thought.

“I’ve got it. Tonight’s the big night. So here’s my plan! We adopt a dog from the shelter…” “Wait,” interrupted Steve. “I don’t get it? Adopt a dog? That’s your brilliant plan?” “Moron! He thumps his head, I’m gonna’ play the sympathy card. Girls love that kind of stuff.” “So when she sees your ‘sensitive’ side, she going to throw herself at you?” “Precisely! It can’t lose!” “I don’t know. What do you know about taking care of a dog?” “Hello!” He thumps his noggin. “It’s a dog! A dog is no match for an intelligent thinking man. We’re IT systems analysts. How much trouble can one dog be?!!

“To the shelter!”

The guys go to the shelter to shop for a cute little dog. But all they have available is this one over-sized Great Dane. It’s a large, black ten-month old puppy weighing in at a hundred pounds. When he stands up on his hind legs and puts his front paws over Larry’s shoulders, he stands six foot tall.” They’re standing face to face. “Perfect,” exclaims Larry. “This is not a ‘dog’, what we have here is a four-legged, furry ‘chick’ magnet.” Steve thumps his head. “I told you not to call them, ‘chicks’!”

The girl at the shelter is suspicious. She overhears them whispering loudly, stares at them in disbelief. “Do you guys know what you’re getting into? A dog requires a certain level of…” she pauses to look at them both. She was going to say ‘responsibility’ but for some reason unknown to her she finishes her sentence, “…uhm, maturity” It’s a condescending look of pity. They both look at each other and grin. “High fives!”

Day One: Enter the new arrival.

Things quickly go wrong and by the end of the day their pad they once proudly called the ‘Babe Lair’ has been trashed. -Yes. These two losers actually named their apartment the “Babe Lair“. Unbeknownst to our two Don Juans’ the first step in doggie-psychology is inaugurate the home turf. Before they can react, stunned disbelief seizes the squeamish pair of rookies. The new un-named canine domesticate, hereafter referred to as Roommate #3, performs an intestinal bowel function system check on the carpet. “Eww!” “Whoo-ah!! Well, …uhm everything works. Quick! Get a pooper-scooper.” “Dude?!! That’s huge! Get a back hoe!”

The dog has a busy afternoon; he chews up the couch, poops in the front yard. He’s demanding, constantly underfoot, he clings like saran wrap to their every move. Larry’s sitting on the couch. The new canine co-habitant is intruding into his personal space with his head in Larry’s’ face, …drooling.

The rambunctious dog continues to run amok through the house like a four-legged two-year old misbehaving. They stare in disbelief. “Dude? Do you realize you just went from single to being an unwed father of an overgrown two-year old …with no sex in the process?” “Steve. Don’t depress me.”

“Dude? Where’s your couch?” “He ate it,” pointing to over-sized dog sprawled out across the remnant of his furniture.

A bit later… Steve is irate. “Give me that pillow,” he scolds and snatches. “You sleep on them, you don’t eat them!” “Dude?” He puts hand on his shoulder. “Were you just lecturing ‘the dog’ ?” Like a child, Steve counters. “He started it! He chewed my pocket pencil protector!”

Finally the pandemonium calms. It’s a brief respite during the melee when the dog is sprawled out across the entire couch …sleeping contentedly. Larry’s sitting on what’s left of his recliner, Steve-on the corner of the end table. Larry philosophizes. “Stupid dog,” he exclaims out loud! “You eat your food out of a can! How lame is that? He glances over to Steve who happens to be eating cold spaghetti-o’s out of a can. He looks up to see him paused, spoon to mouth; looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry man.” “That’s OK.”

Later Larry falls asleep on what’s left of the couch. In anticipation of the big date, he’s having the perfect day dream. He’s dreaming about …Melanie. They’re sitting on the couch together. She’s leaned over licking the side of his face. He’s in ethereal bliss! Suddenly she barks out loud. His eyes spring open to discover he’s been getting a giant dog-slurpee. “Gross!”

Meanwhile, back to the ‘Babe Lair’ his date shows up, looking gorgeous and hesitant. The moment she steps across the threshhold, the dog leaps up from sound asleep off the couch, pouncing like a ninja from across the room; planting two huge paws across her sternum. She gets knocked up and off her feet like a rag doll hurtling backwards down the steps, landing in the hedges. He helps her up, brushes her off, picks the stems and leaves out of disheveled hair…. “I am so sorry.” “Look,” he beams proudly in a feeble attempt to change the subject. “We’ve adopted a dog from the shelter. He’s a rescue!” She immediately starts sneezing. “I’m allergic to dogs. I hate dogs!” “You hate dogs?!!” Sneezing! “I hate dogs!” Another loud shrill sneeze! Things go downhill from there. He sticks his face in her personal space and drools on her leg. “Oooohhhh, yech!!” While they’re frantically wiping slobber off her leg, the dog chews her shoe. Finally she storms out angrily. On the way out, Larry jogs to the door. “Be careful where you step, There’s …” Before he can finish, the ear-piercing sound of an irate debutante, squealing in rage! Steve finishes Larry’ sentence “…doogie-doo everywhere!” They pause. “That …went well” “Better than last time,” See Pathetic Dating Event #11.

So his date is blown. She is not coming back. The house is a disaster zone. No girl will set foot in the house. And now they’re stuck with Kong-zilla. Life gets more miserable. And so ends Day One.

Day Two: Disasters in Dating.

It’s a gorgeous spring day in the afternoon. Steve is walking -the dog in the park, which is just a ruse for his true intent; trolling for prospects. He encounters one. Hello, he thinks to himself! “Hey,” he says. What’s your… “Stop right there,” she holds up her hand. “I can see right through you, you’re so transparent. You’re one of those guys that stoop to any low to pick up girls. So you got a dog just to impress girls while you toss out cheesy pick up lines.” “No …that’s so not true!” “OK …what’s his name?” “What are you a lawyer?!! “Yes. I am and I’ve been hit on too many times by desperate guys like you to fall for this ploy. So what’s his name,” she challenged? “Uh, it’s…. it’s Big …Daddy …Love? So …how did you know? She rolls her eyes and leaves abruptly. I can almost see it. A referee steps out from no-where to blow a whistle. He throws a flag. “Loss of yardage. Fumble. Delay of game.” Meanwhile Steve is booed off the field while fans throw food. I think it’s time to return to the “Babe Lair’ for another can of spaghetti-o’s.

He’s depressed. Larry: “What’s up? Another crash-and-burn?” “Why do you say that? Am I still flaming? Yes, you could say that!” Larry smiled. That’s the best you could come up with, “Big daddy Love’? He looks at his watch. “Hey? What time is it?” “6:30? Its …6:30 in the afternoon. So?” “So it’s time …to take him for a walk.” “A walk? now?” He looks bewildered. “You know, the jogger! Remember the hot one in the sports bra! She always runs by at 6:30. “Oh yeah. Her! The one we oogle through the window with the binoculars!” And then, “You go, I’ll get the binoculars. I think I’m better off on the fantasy side when it comes to girls.” “So they both leave, one taking the other for a walk.

“There’s she comes. Cute girl jogging by; she’s getting close, …closer.” She smiles weakly at him as she approaches. He smiles back at her. Hey, he thinks! This ‘dog’ sympathy card thing could just work out!” She’s a few steps away. His heart pounds. He’s drunk with the prospect of success for once! Suddenly …the dog jumps up and pushes her into the bushes. ( he’s just being protective, he tells himself )! “Uhm, look …big guy.” Dog is panting proudly. “Just a note. Do NOT rescue me from babes! So much for being a furry cute chick magnet. Tell me the truth, did my mother hire you to make certain I stay celibate?!!”

Day Three: Topsy-turvy.

There is an apparent tear in the fabric of the universe today. Some unexplainable dark event has upset the entire equilibrium; throwing reality, as we know it, up-side down. Steve has met a girl. At the grocery store. She loves dogs and she’s sitting on the couch beside him. They’re sitting close together. “He’s beautiful,” she says rubbing his ears. “What’d you name him?” “Uhm, Spot. we named him Spot! Come here, Spot!” “Spot’ inexplicably runs off. “But he’s a solid black dog,.. why would you name him ‘Spot’?” Normally Steve has struck out by this time but she’s a sweet girl that falls for the pathertic type.  He’s sitting there waiting for an intelligent response to her question when she leans in and gives him a kiss. More kssing follows. Just then you-know-who comes up from behind them as they’re totally engrossed in each other and temporarily locked in lip-to-lip ‘smooch-mode’; ‘Spot’ barks loudly. Startled, they and the couch fall over backward. She gets up off the floor. “You know, I think I’ll go now. Call you later!” He’s still laying flat on his back but manages to weakly raise his hand and wave to her as she bolts for the door. “Man, I am so bummed!” ‘Spot’ returns to give him a consolatory ‘wet-one’. “OK, I get it. I’m sorry I couldn’t think of a better name.”

Day Four: No Refunds.

After much debate they agree to take the dog back to the shelter but Larry hesitates. He turns to leave, then sees the girl from the shelter. “Look, there she is. We can’t admit she’s right. Quick, hide!” “Too late!”

“You’re here to return your dog to the shelter, aren’t you? Well, you managed to last three days… that’s two days longer than I thought you’d make it. Fill out this paperwork. I’ll waive any fees we would normally collect. Don’t feel bad,” she consoled. “That’s the fourth time he’s been …uhm, returned.”

He looks down at the dog, dog looks up at him. He pauses. “I’ve changed my mind.” She: “Are you sure?!!” “Dude?!!” He puts a hand on his shoulder, “Melanie hates the dog. He ate your couch! Bail out!”

He can’t bring himself to do it. “No, he says. I’m keeping him.” He turns to walk away. Mr. Post-pubescent Poster Child suddenly took a huge step towards …maturity. ( I know. Go figure. I didn’t see that coming either! ) A step later… the dog nudges him back toward the girl from the shelter. He says to the dog, “What? Her?!! Are you trying to fix me up? Just stay out of my love life.”

Ironic, he should say that!

And then he turned back. On a complete lark, he asked her, “Would you consider going out some time?” She paused. “OK!” “I understand if you don’t want… Wait? Did you just say, Yes?!!” “I think so. Call me sometime. Here’s my number.” “Dude, as they were walking away! “Did you just get a date?” I’ll set up the video camera…” “Steve?” “Yeah, man?” “You’re not invited this time.” “Maybe she’s got a friend?” As they left with Roommate #3, he asked, “You think you can help me come up with a real name for him, …besides ‘Big Daddy Love’?”

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