Destination: Love

     Oh well... I guess it always come down to this.  No matter how much you try to avoid it or how hard you fight it, for some reason, for some unknown external endowment, we always have to try out that inner Publicist in ourselves when it comes to dating and even love.    It's not a secret that “we guys” often lie or exaggerate a little when we start meeting someone new, and, Why not?   They also do it.  Unfortunately for our misfortune, they are way better than us.  The art of marketing yourself -do not be deceived- is perhaps a bit more arduous and less simple than it sounds.  The entire dating-new-people “jeu de l'amour“ goes around a very selective,  well planned and interesting façade.  After all, you have to sell yourself, and as a good Publicist, you need to make sure to cover it all in order to sell the product, yourself.   To cover it all simply means:  To make sure that all aspects of your life, every little thing that goes around that package –which in this particular situation would be you- is shining and rolling, inside-out. Every single detail about your existence, it doesn’t matter how insignificant you think it might be, it must be cleaned up, polished and brightened, and, just when you thing you’re done and ready, then it becomes imperative for you to enhance and accentuate your little make-over before you go out and sell yourself. And, before you do, take some extra time for reexamination, wipe your dirty nose, keep your murky little secrets in the safe and for heaven’s sake, don’t spray cologne between your legs.

     I must admit, that even when I had my share of “close encounters of the third kind”, I never quite learned my lesson, and, when I thought I knew, I simply turned my head away.

     The things that some men are capable of doing out of crude horniness!

     I have a good friend who had even completed an Instructional Manual and Pre-Date Checklist or IMPDC,  a little something that could’ve definitely come in handy a few weeks ago. But how should I’ve know?   It covers one by one.  I was amazed how well his Instructional Manual contains all the topics that in his opinion, are critical to review before you go on a date.  I had the precious opportunity to get my hands around one of his IMPDC and they look like this, well, sort of:

A)     Transportation        

Make sure your vehicle or motorcycle is functioning well,  thoroughly clean and that the  ex's belongings are not visible.  Old stains must be removed from your seats, mostly if they are white, glossy and sticky.   Important:  make sure to empty the glove compartment.   Do not pick your date on a bicycle or even imagine that walking would be a creative option, not unless you live in Europe or some shit like that.

B)       Music and Environment

CD Inventory is crucial. IPOD is a must.   Make sure to have good music for every mood swing:  Ex.  The Ramones: in case she gets rough.  U2: If she pretends to be drunk after a few drinks and wants to cuddle.  Bob Marley: If for some magnificent reason you end up at the beach, hopefully skinny-dipping.  Usher & Lady Gaga: If she gets  on a sudden spring break mood and Madonna's hit Erotica if she begins acting erratically or gets slutty and you know for sure that you will “get some” by the end of the date.

C)       Attitude / Personality  and Coolness 

You must be detail-oriented. You must act relaxed but not laid back at all times.  You must have a proactive personality, be funny, but not too much.  Avoid stupidity and long periods of silence, shake hands, look in the eye, do not chew your nails or smell your fingers.   Don’t you dare mentioning your ex or your mother, no one really cares, walk slow, be respectful and take it easy on the compliments. Pull out your vegetarian card and pretend you love animals; it works like a charm. If you need to cry because she decides to share a sad video on Youtube, cough gently, rub your eyes but keep the tears inside, where they belong. Open the door for her once or twice, more than that would give out the fact that you never miss Sex and The City. Try European beer if good wine is not available and DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT STARE AT HER SIZE C’s.   

     And there you are, after a long shower you find yourself half dressed looking at the mirror, moving your face from side to side, you turn side-ways and then turn down to your beer gut, you breath in and hold it until you find a good way to hide the cheeseburger that became your mid-section,  you take a quick gaze inside your nose and practice for several minutes that initial and ice-braking  "Hello" avoiding to sound rehearsed.   You get dressed making sure that again, no incriminating stains are visible.  You open the top drawer for cologne, wallet and two condoms.   You pass once again in front of the mirror and you smile, smile again, maybe one more time and Bingo!

     Ready!  You have accomplished perfection.  The best balance that any guy could archive before a date.  You look as cool as Tom Cruise on Top Gun but not as fixed as Pierce Brosnan on James Bond, now, Destination Love. 

     You've met this girl at a friend's house.  It was just for a couple of minutes but the spark was there.  You exchanged numbers and talked briefly about an upcoming concert in town while she smiled at you, lowering her sweet face.  She was rather shy but very interesting.  

Are those size C? 

     You asked yourself but acted cool, she seemed to be a very introverted girl after all. 

     The plan was to pick her up at her best friend's house.  You’re driving and you check for the third time your left pocket for the condoms, a quick look at the IPOD playlists,  air conditioner is working fine and there you are.  You call her and a few minutes later, there she is, and you shake your head in disbelief trying to digest the idea that is true, that a big breasted girl with great wit,  who was shy and sweet,  was about to go out with you.  A few last seconds of rehearsal of the winning  smile and the initial "hello"  before she gets in.   

     After driving for a few minutes, confusion.  I looked at her, trying to decipher her mood, a mistake so early on a date could be fatal.  On our way to our destination, she talked about her best friend, about life, her dog and some nonsense about school, so I discretely turn the music on Paolo Conte.  The girl was a dream, smart, fun, beautiful and above all, next to me.   

Am I fucking dreaming? 

     At the Bar, valet parking.  A young man with a fake smile and a wrinkled shirt opened her door first.  Another man, this one at the main entrance and way bigger than the first one, opened the door for us and tried unsuccessfully not to stare much at my date's tits.  Table for two, white wine and I was doing great on acting natural, not rushed.  A moment later the menu, appetizers and more wine, and, after the mandatory "life goals" nonsense we got down to business: Relations, ex's and broken hearts. An occasional joke to ease the mood, a light compliment, more wine and it was getting harder every minute not to stare at her boobs. 

     When you are on a first date, you and only you know about the secret plan.  You sell yourself so well you don't even notice it.  You believe your own lies and your exaggerations, you are in control.  You had higher grades at school, you suddenly earn way more money than you actually do or just landed a promotion at the office and of course, it's been a while since your last date.  You are committed, you inspire strength and security, you play your game right, you play it safe.  You are marketing yourself; you are the promoter and star of this two way show.  You are in control.  She inspires kindness and honesty, she has being hurt and broken hearted but still have faith in true love.  She’s a good student, dedicated at work, never cheated before and even mentioned a couple of times how cute I was.   After a few more drinks, she starts laughing more and is beyond the bounds of possibility for me not to stare at her size C’s.

I must be fucking dreaming?

Biological break.  After several glasses of wine she excused herself. 

-Where is the bathroom?,  she asked the waiter.

     A moment later, there I was, simmered down, rested and in love.  I looked around to confirm that she wasn't near and checked my pockets once again.   Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty and   her phone started ringing.  It rang once, twice, five times.  One after another and she was nowhere to be found.  Girls!  I thought.  Suddenly a discrete beeping sound came out of her phone. 

Incoming Text Message:

     A quick glimpse at the screen showed a little red envelope, marked as urgent,  

Sender:  Marco.  (A little heart icon next to the name)

     I looked around again and still she was nowhere to be found.

<<The little red envelope, the beeping, the URGENT?>>  

     I scratched my forehead, once, twice, five times.   I'm not sure what moved me or how but I slipped my pinky finger across the table and with the tip, I pressed the OK button.  

Oh... if I just had a time machine! 

[Hey sweetie, I decided not to go to the game with Ray.  I'm home and brought you Ice Cream.  Call me on your way home, say hi to Angela.  Love, Marco]

<<Angela?  Marco?>>

     A rush of blood to the head invaded me.  I gave it a thought for a while; I smiled and shook my head in complete disbelief.  I smiled, and, for the first time during that night, it was an honest smile.  I got up and walked out.  The “fake smile” valet parking guy rapidly went for my car.  Three minutes and a five dollar tip later I was on it, driving slow, not believing what had just happened.  I suddenly realized that I had forgot to pay the bill at the bar and a devilish smile showed up on my lips.   A beeping now broke the silence inside my car. 

Incoming Message  (red little envelope). 

Sender:  Vivian.  

A sad smiley was the last and only thing I got from her.     

     Driving…  Condoms are all accounted for.  While heading back home I noticed something I had never pay attention before, the glare of the city, the skyscrapers and the Brooklyn Bridge; the City Of Blinding Lights I thought.  I threw the IPOD out the window and went through my CD collection and grabbed one.   An electric guitar broke the silence inside my car.

Speed meter marks 90. 

(The more you see the less you know.   The less you find out as you go.  I knew much more then, than I do now…)

     As I listened to the first few lines of the song, I couldn't hold it.  I shook my head and my phone rang once again.  I turned up the volume, lowered the windows and reduced the speed.  And as the cold air was slowly coming in, I thought:

     Why we can't just put everything aside for a minute, lower our windows, turn up the volume, leave all the bullshit behind and enjoy the ride?

I smiled...