Love is like a Petting Zoo

Two friends meet and discuss a relationship

Friend One: Well, I see you are again unattached and back in the dating pool.

Friend Two: Yes. It is a recurring sad state I am in. I thought that finally I had moved from the Mr. Right Now Zone to the Mr. Right Zone. Instead, I feel I am stuck in the Twilight Zone.

Friend One: I thought this match was very promising.

Friend Two: So did I, until last weekend. I can tolerate a couple drifts into the faux pas lane, but this time, there were no lane change signals, or gradual lateral drift, just a head on crash.

Friend One: Was it the name thing again?

Friend Two: In essence, yes. He knows I don’t like my given name, so he keeps trying to find me a nickname.

Friend One: He’s not back to Fluffy is he? Just because you have curly hair and are prone to contented purring post… well, you know.

Friend Two: No, it has become more than that. I think the systemic problem began to emerge when he kept singing, “Let me call you Sweetheart, I forgot your name…”

Friend One: So the animal theme continues? You probably shouldn’t have dated another zookeeper after that python incident, despite your animal advocacy work.

Friend Two: Well, it was a rush to see my likeness on the Times Square Jumbotron for that ad campaign. But the herpetarium should have sent more handlers. I’ve never seen a jealous snake move so fast. One second it was resting gently on my shoulders, and as soon as he got within three feet of me… Well, he survived but our relationship didn’t. Oxygen therapy really does work effectively with judicious application.

Friend One:  Mama Agency does take good care of its own. So let’s get back to Dr. Do-too-little-too-late.

Friend Two: So he was sleeping in and I slipped out of our hotel room for a nibble from the cardboard eggs and wallpaper paste oatmeal free breakfast. Being the kind and generous woman that I am, I brought him back a cream cheese laden bagel 

and placed it beside him on the night stand. I must have awoken him because, as I turned to walk away I heard:

            Him: ‘You fetched me breakfast. Now I know what to call you. Fido. Come here, Fido.’

Then he slapped his leg and snapped his fingers. I suggested that he never again refer to me and anything canine in the same conversation or he would see what Bitch really means. I said I was serious.

Him: ‘Sirius was Orion’s dog and companion, just like you are to me: loyal, obedient, adoring, and you keep me warm at night.’

Friend One: So what did you next?

Friend Two: I said I was ready for the fantasy he had talked about so much: Skritching. But not quite the way he probably imagined it. I ‘fetched’ the leashes and muzzle from his play suitcase, trussed him to the bed, and let’s just say that his tail won’t be wagging in quite the same direction for a while.

Friend One: I hope his tetanus booster is up to date.

Friend Two: I already filed an order of protection against him. Judge Ta-Da is very sympathetic when granting certain motions. He won’t be leaving the zoo grounds for a long time.

Friend One: So your last fond memory of him is…

Friend Two: Imagining the housekeeping staff finding him with bagel and cream cheese earmuffs, and leashed to the bed in a compromising position dressed as a pink flamingo. It may have taken them a while to figure out the standing on one leg thing.

Friend One: It does give new meaning to Naked and Afraid.

Commuting: Problem Solving Strategies that Really Work

Two friends meet and discuss weekday woes.

Friend One: I was pleased to hear you had resumed dating. It’s about time.

Friend Two: After several months and thousands of dollars of therapy related expenses, I finally decided to stick my toe in the pond again.

Friend One: And how is it going?

Friend Two: Much the same as always. The masculine side of the dating pool remains quite shallow and is almost exclusively populated by clods, deviants, sadists, and used car salesmen. I have no desire to “check under the hood” on a first date, nor have phone sex with someone whose communication skills are limited to grunts, squeals and flatulence. 

I do not want to see someone’s "genuine" Picasso hanging on his bedroom wall that is authenticated because, “I checked and the signature is spelled correctly.”

Friend One: But have you managed to have any successful dates?

Friend Two: Successful? No. Satisfying- eventually One.

Friend One: Ah... that must have been Mr. Light Bulb.

Friend Two: Yes. I don’t even know why I opened the door when he knocked. My Xanax must not have kicked in yet. He was from the local power company offering free energy saving light bulbs, power strips, low flow shower heads and other grant provided grab bag items guaranteed to reduce energy consumption costs.

Friend One: And how did that lead to a date?

Friend Two: He seemed nice at the time. Now I realize the prongs at the end of his cord were pretty corroded. Of course he had my contact information and called the next day.  On a whim I said yes, why not? He wanted to come to my place “and take it from there.”

I said I would meet him at a public location.

Friend One: And…

Friend Two: I repacked my Ready Bag. I wanted to make sure I had my updated “Carry, Concealed” permit and spare ammo in it. I needed to clean my Glock anyhow. I added new pepper spray and charged the Tazer.

Friend One: You always are the most prepared woman I know. The penultimate Girl Scout.

Friend Two: Well, it was a colossal waste of two hours. At first all he talked about was his ex girlfriend. He said it took him reading 25 self-help books to get over her. I believe he needs to purchase books 26, 27, and 28.  

Finally I turned the conversation to work. That unleashed a soliloquy on the woes of commuting.  The usual: road rage, wasted time, nothing stimulating, etc. I suggested he purchase the complete CD set:  Rosetta Stone-  Languages of the Prehensile Primates.

Friend One: How did you explain that?

Friend Two: I told him it was an archipelago in the South China Sea.  He profusely thanked me for the wonderful idea. As I walked away he gave me a gift bag to open when I got home. He said it was something to keep me happy until our next date.

Friend One: Did you open it? What was in it?

Friend Two: Vibrating panties, Ben Wa balls and butt plugs. I tossed them into the box with all the others.

Friend One: Yes, I have a similar large collection that has been gifted to me also. Goodwill won’t take them and I really would not know how to note them as a line item tax deduction anyhow.

Friend Two: So I called Pussy’s Palace and she couriered over the latest version of the Auto-Suck after Anushka modified a couple of the settings. I added a reverse pronged penis ring and couriered the package to Mr. Light Bulb with a profuse thank you and this little something to take the edge off his commuting woes.

Friend One: And then you called Mavis at OnStar?

Friend Two: You know it. She made all the arrangements for his enhanced commuting experience the next day. She even modified the camera for a wide angle video capture of the driver’s seat area.

Friend One: And I’m sure Anushka outdid herself again.

Friend Two: Yes. She tweaked the settings so it functioned more like those Chinese finger traps- the harder you pull to take them off, the tighter the suction becomes.  She also bypassed the kill switch and added a dye pack.

Friend One: How long before he called OnStar?

Friend Two: About seven minutes. I do respect his perseverance.

Friend One: So where did she send him?

Friend Two: She took over auto control and motored him to Catholic Women’s Hospital. The staff there is 98% female and all the ER techs are nuns. I am sure they took good care of him.

Friend One: What about the video?

Friend Two: Mavis is going to text me. **Twing** Oh there she is now. She just uploaded it to YouTube. 20,000 hits in the first minute. Where’s your iPad??

Spring Trends

Two friends meet and discuss recent news in the business world.

Friend One: Have you been shopping for the new spring fashions?

Friend Two: I have looked. They’re all hideous versions of the unflattering styles designers tried to foist upon us this past winter.

Friend One: Handkerchief hems were bad enough. They make everybody’s thighs look like basketballs the way the fabric bounces around with every step.

Friend Two: Now we have that high-low look with the shorter hem in the front and the longer hem in the back. No woman looks good in them unless she is over six feet tall.

Friend One: Every other woman looks like a mutant Munchkin or a leprechaun whose growth hormone injections failed halfway through treatment.

Friend Two: The designs are all boxy and military inspired with large buttons, useless zippers and epaulets.

Friend One: Who designed them- Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un?

Friend Two: Yes. It’s a new line: Gulag Fashions.

Friend One: Well, what else should one expect from someone who is friends with Dennis Rodman? I believe the line from Men in Black is right- he is from another planet.

Friend Two: The winter hues of mud puddle brown, slush gray, and baby diarrhea mustard yellow were bad enough.

Friend One: Now we are supposed to don harvest gold and aqua plaid. We’ll all look like a 1950’s kitchen.

Friend Two: And the patterns- giant versions of 1960’s sea shell wallpaper and hippie flower child psychedelic flowers.

Friend One: I have fond memories of those days. Not the clothing, just the free love.

Friend Two: Speaking of free love, have things settled down yet over at Mama Network?

Friend One: Pretty much. I can say it was a successful test of the new instant shade windows that were installed in the cafeteria during the building remodel.

Friend Two: The ones that turn instantly from regular glass to any degree of shade with a remote signal?

Friend One: Yup. Apparently Khorkina and the Little Man didn’t realize they were operational. And one must stay current with the latest technological innovations, especially when having a wee hours intimate liaison between the vending machines.

Friend Two: What was she doing there so late, anyhow?

Friend One: You know Mama insists all the wannabe models she signs with Mama Agency serve an internship at the network, so they can learn about the print and runway industry from behind the camera, not just in front of it. Khorkina was just watching some video and stills during less frenetic hours.

Friend Two: So the Little Man convinced her that nobody would ever find out about a quickie, especially if they hid in the cafeteria? He must have been very persuasive despite their differences. After all, he is barely five feet tall. She is 6’5”.  She is 22 and he is 56 and married. 

Friend One: Apparently he didn’t think there were operational cameras in the cafeteria at night or the ones in the parking lot could scan and zone in focus directly on the building.

Friend Two: She may be young but she isn’t that naïve. I heard his wife was in charge of security on her latest photo shoot. They must have consulted about logistics. Hasn’t he been suspected of philandering before?

Friend One: I’m sure they had some girl talk sessions about Little Man’s assets and skills.  Since he is so short, all he did at first was flip her high-low hem over his head. Then as business progressed, he spun her around against the window, climbed up on a cafeteria chair and, well, those useless zippers and buttons didn’t seem to be so useless after all.

Friend Two: So what about the windows? What really happened?

Friend One: I guess he didn’t know the Missus was overseeing Security Central for a few hours since her promotion. With one click, the darkened windows cleared and the audio/video feed pre-empted all the ads and propaganda on the Jumbotrons in Times Square, Hong Kong, Toronto, Sydney, and Beijing. Referees even called an official Time Out at the World Cup game in Rio.

Friend Two: And now?

Friend One: Khorkina is thrilled. Her career has taken off. She has worldwide Fortune 100 Company modeling requests that will keep her booked daily for the next three years at least. And Mama Agency gets a healthy percentage of her newly inflated fees. Plus a commission on the YouTube ad traffic. There were 12 million hits in the first 24 hours alone.  

Friend Two: How about the Little Man?

Friend One: Well, the farm in the Nevada desert could use some help. Apparently Ex Mr. Dog Food is actually showing some beginning signs of a work ethic (http://barb-says.blogspot.com/2014/03/the-xx-business-factor.html).

Friend Two: OOH Rah!