The Way Things Are



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I took some pants
2005-06-24, 10:21 a.m.

I took some pants to the cleaners yesterday, and I had to point out the very suspicious stain.

“It’s dog spit. My dog captured these pants and paraded around the house with them. I know it looks bad, but it’s just dog spit.”

The cleaner and I giggled together at the schmutz on my pants that looked like I had been on a date with a former President. Dogs do have super-industrial strength spit so they can digest things like rocks, aluminum foil, and chicken bones.

Later in the day, I participated in this conversation with Romeo, a member of our board of directors for our management group.

“Laura, I just came back here to tell you that you have ruined my life.”

”That sounds like something I would do.”

“It’s that internet dating that you got me into.”

“Women problems, huh?”

“They won’t leave me alone! What is wrong with women?”

“Do you have a stalker?”

”YES!”

You see, Romeo is a nice-looking man. He looks like a country boy, rather rugged, very muscular. He’s 41, twice divorced, 2 kids, steady job, drives a truck, and is a laid-back, down to earth guy. Confidentially, between you and me, I’d be all over that shit if I wasn’t married myself.

Apparently, men of Romeo’s caliber are in very short supply in this town. Well, I know that for sure, because that how I got involved in internet dating, because it was so freaking hard to meet men my age. So when Romeo’s second divorce (from a woman I never met, but I understand she has some problems with alcohol and is not very stable or, um, nice) was final, I told him that meeting people online is the best way to go in this town.

Women are flinging themselves at him. Clinging, declaring love after 2 dates, breaking into his house…honestly, he said he made the mistake of swinging by his house on a first date with a seemingly nice woman to get something (oops, now she knows where he lives), and then one day he comes home, and she’s in his house. He hadn’t been calling or emailing her – not all that interested – but she knew better, and just knew that if she could just break into his house and reason with him, he’d regain his interest. He kicked her out.

A few days later, he came home, bummed around the house for about an hour, got into bed, and HOLY SHIT – there she is, sleeping in his bed. He called the police this time. He said he hasn’t gone the route of a restraining order, but did speak to this woman’s father and has placed request for the man to rein in his unstable, scary daughter.

One woman he’s dating right now is a former Lakers Girl. She lives here, and works in the fashion industry and travels to LA frequently, rubbing elbows with celebrities. And she’s insecure and neurotic, and Romeo said that in the 2 days she’s been in LA this week, she has text messaged him 40 times. 40 TIMES, my people. They have been out 4 or 5 times, and she has already told him she loves him.

He also gets declarations of love, along with tit shots, from women around the world, who look at his profile and want to move to America and make him a very happy man.

The man looked miserable, perplexed, absolutely flummoxed. Not quite believing his apparent good fortune. Just kept shaking his head. Said he’d never really had a problem getting a date, but had never experienced desperate, needy, clingy women in a frenzy over him.

It’s like I threw some chum out in the gulf and the sharks just converged.

He said the best date he’s had was a weekend spent in Atlanta with a woman, who reminded him of me. Awwww, isn’t that nice? I asked him “She’s kinda mean?”

I mean, there are men who like mean women. Just ask my Beloved DishWasher.

So ladies, y’all back off. I’d give you all the information you need to hook up with ol’ Romeo, except that’s not his real name, and he’s got all he can handle.

And finally, so how about the Spurs? We didn’t watch the game, because I can’t stand how back-n-forth and close the games are. It drives me crazy and gives me little heart attacks.

I woke up about 1:00 this morning to pee, and I noticed that our neighborhood was uncharacteristically quiet. Too quiet. Our partying neighbors, who party all the time, party all the time, were already asleep. So that’s how I knew, I just knew, that the Spurs had lost.

So imagine my surprise when I got up and saw the newspaper, and it said ‘CHAMPIONS”. I called DW, who had already left for work at 6:00, and said “No WAY!” He said way, of course, and I told him that I knew we lost because the neighbors were quiet.

Turns out, he had the same experience. “I figured we’d lost because the Mexicans weren’t partying.”

Wow! No, we aren’t racists. However, we have been conditioned to expect certain things from our neighbors regardless of their race or ethnicity, and these neighbors all live on a very narrow side street, and we can hear everything going on over there because most of it takes place outside. So we’re befuddled by the deviant behavior of everyone being quiet over there.

And last, I leave you with this:

STILL NEVER RAIDED BY THE FBI!

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