Max and The Return of the Dragon Kamasutra

Before you continue reading this I must warn you.  What you are about to lay your eyes into is not a short story by any means, it is not a fable, an anecdote or a tale by any standards, and neither the genuine account of any great feat by any common man.  What you are about to witness, if you decide to continue reading, is not a testimony and I’m actually not sure if it actually happened or if I just imagined it. The only thing I know for certain is that the following, my friends, is a confession and nothing else.  I have been around a little too long and I have seen enough to know precisely what you might be thinking, but hey, believe me when I tell you that this time you are wrong, and unfortunately, once again.  After all, I never said that it was my confession right?

I will tell you about a man who had the rare ability of getting anything he wanted; a handsome man with great charm, admirable character and a dignified presence.  A man with great wit, perfect smile and a nice suit that he used to cover, like any man of his kind, an ego of colossal proportions.  A man who had it all, and I mean all. He was so special and so talented that could get anything he wanted by just offering a smile in return.  I even witnessed several people losing their sanity and eventually collapsing after just a glance of his glorious stare. There was nothing in the world that he couldn’t get his hands into, and neither his lower waist.  Almost unbreakable; he only had one weakness: Women.

So, I did warn you right?  Now, if you are still reading this, it means that I have your attention, or he does, through me.  It is imperative to emphasize that I am not responsible for anything that happens to you while reading this, if redness develops on your lower neck or if your legs unwittingly open.  His power and its reach are unimaginable, and before I begin, I highly encourage you to remove your fingers from where they are (and where they shouldn’t be) and wipe the sweat from your forehead.  With that being clarified, my dear friends, I give you: Max…

New York City, 2001

In the first days of summer of 2001, a week or so after I graduated from college, I found myself waking up naked in a small apartment in New York City.  After many years of long days and nights studying full time, working full time and learning my way through excessive quantities of wine and casual love, I was numb and exhausted.  My eyes were not fully opened when I heard someone knocking on my door.  While walking to the door, still shivering, I noticed a message written in red ink on the wall calendar that read:       Moving day!  At first, I didn’t pay too much attention to it, not until the young man at the other side of my door handed me a piece of paper and a special reminder, while I was still completely naked.  For some reason, I’d forgotten that I had to be out of that apartment by then and that someone else was moving in. I’m sure that the three bottles of red wine I had the night before had something to do with it.  My immediate reaction was to cover my chest (and I’m not sure why) with my left arm and my genitals with my right hand when I said, attempting to look confident:  “Everything is almost ready, I just need a few more minutes to complete packing and I’ll be out in a moment”.  But even before I finished, he was inside, looking around like a little kid on a candy store, with his thick European accent and an indelible smile underneath his long hairy nose.

I don’t think that is necessary to describe in detail what happened after I hurried and packed my entire life in one backpack and a suitcase.  I was out in the street, wearing dirty laundry, hungry like a carnival monkey, without a plan and with nowhere to go.  Café Lalo was my favorite place in New York City to grab an early bite, to have a glass of French wine and to put my thoughts back into place; so I walked there as usual, the only difference was that I had a little excess baggage combined with a higher alcohol percentage in my blood stream.  Sunk in an oversize tea cup, trying to come up with a plan, my world was spinning faster and faster with every passing minute.  I couldn’t afford to return home, not financially, but emotionally.  I was desperate and I needed an idea, a revelation, a vision, or perhaps what actually came through the door while I was finishing the last drop of tea; inspiration.  

No, I’m not referring to the beautiful woman who walked in, and neither to the other two that followed, but to the man who came between them.  With his dark hair slicked back and a leisurely walk he entered Café Lalo surrounded by three elegant women and a godly like aura.  He was wearing a nicely tailored gray suit over a pink shirt that showed through his jacket, which was lightly open, a large letter X.  I must confess that it intrigued me, but a little less than what I saw immediately after he turned to me and while looking straight to my eyes, he smiled and opened his jacket with a triumphant gesture, showing the rest of it:  Max!  …and believe it or not, his name was delicately printed with an exclamation symbol at the end of it.

-buongiorno!

That was the only thing he said before everything went quiet and all eyes turned at him. A moment later, when he finally asked for “acqua minerale”, all three of his companions hurried their hands inside their purses in a neurotic race to pay for his bottled wish, followed by their disappointment when the cashier refused to charge him for it.

-You look like shit my friend, he said with elegance and a thick Italian accent.  -You should stop drinking caffeine; I heard it could be bad for you and also for your “little friend”.

While still drinking his water, he walked towards me and put his heavy hand on my shoulder, bent over and whispered to my ear:

-Rome is the answer to your prayers my friend, he murmured and slowly walked away, leaving an empty water bottle at my table.  When he opened the door on his way out, he turned back again and shared one last smile with the deserted space between us, and his three companions followed him nearby. To my amazement, the cashier and the only waitress, completely dazzled, also joined him to the city outside.  Still apprehensive for what have had happened, it took me several minutes to fully recover.  A little voice inside my head was continuously repeating the same word over and over again.  Rome, Rome, Rome…  I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to snap out of the hypnotic state and it was then when something else caught my attention. A few tables away from mine, I noticed that someone had left a small notebook, and, as I got closer and my vision began to clear, I was able to discern colors and a name.  It was a small colorful journal, too colorful for a man I thought. Could it be?  Suddenly it came to me.  I remembered seeing the young Italian gentleman carrying that journal when he came in. With excessive care, as if handling a sacred book, I lift it up with both hands and I couldn’t believe what I had in front of me.  A thick “Argoman” journal with a name written on its lower right corner:  Max.  How lucky could I be?   Even with a godly presence, the man who seemed to be at the center of the universe had forgotten his cartoonish binnacle. 

Fascinating!

Argoman is not a journal manufacturing brand but a superhero; actually, an Italian superhero from the late 1960’s.  I am not a superhero aficionado and I have never been; but who doesn’t know the amazing Argoman?, the hooded Italian hero with super human powers, master of telekinesis, romance and mind control, and who curiously always lost his faculties for six hours after having sex. Sounds familiar?  His journal was full of what anyone could expect to find in one belonging to a man like him: names, dates, phone numbers, addresses, photos, naked photos, travel arrangements, notes from his random adventures and more naked photos.  I stayed there for a while, contemplating every single page of his “libro dei segreti”.  A pink page divider caught my attention and when I opened it where it was marked, lottery.

There were only two words written and nothing else:  My confessions…

I had just experienced a miracle.  I knew then what to do, it was so clear that Max had saved my life.  With his journal in my backpack I left an empty Café Lalo with a new sense of determination, and before the glass door closed behind me I yelled.  Taxi!

Rome, five days later…

After almost a week in Rome, I finally realized that once again I had acted out of impulse. For the third consecutive night, I found myself walking back to my hotel room carrying a bottle of red wine and an Argoman journal under my arm when something unexpected happened.  I have always reminded myself that life works in mysterious ways and that you never know what could surprise you at the next corner. And so it happened, at the next corner, I saw her.

There I was; walking with my head down through the sidewalk when I saw her several meters in front, singing out loud and walking towards me and I instantly knew I had to stop.  I had to do something to get a little closer and take a better look.  After the iconic architecture, the great food and the historic landmarks, there’s no mystery about the other thing well known in Rome, their women; and I must admit that she was nothing less than breathtaking.  I knew that I had to do something; I needed to immediately come up with an idea or an excuse to stop and still look natural.  It would have been disastrous not to been able to take a closer look.      A moment later, I bent over pretending to tie my shoes when I felt a small hand on my shoulder followed by a sweet voice that asked me:

-Do you need any help with that?

I couldn't believe it. I slowly got back up and there she was in front of me, looking a hundred times better from that distance. What a smile!  Desire took control over me as I took a discreet step forward in order to get closer and to properly introduce myself, but as usual, I couldn’t open my mouth. She stared at me for a second, kept smiling and with a sensual sense of security she offered her hand and introduced herself:

-I'm Laura, nice to meet you.

Immediately after she finished her last word, all traces of desire went down from one hundred to cero in a fraction of a second.  My face wrinkled involuntarily and turned into a giant raisin, my best smile melted instantly and my right eye began twitching uncontrollably; all that while I slowly took a long step backwards and said to myself: “Holy mother of Jesus you stink!” 

-Is everything alright?  she dared to ask me while still smiling.

I’m fine!  I responded trying hard to keep my composure and added that I had been walking for many hours.  I scratched my nose delicately and when she insisted asking a second time how I was, I couldn’t think of anything else and blamed it on dehydration.  I couldn't believe it.  As soon as she opened her mouth a second time I felt like I was being kicked by Maradona on my very face.  What a hideous smell!   She never stopped smiling and I prayed to God to keep her that way, with her mouth close until I either find out an excuse to walk away or simply find some courage and go to my backup plan, which consisted in running my ass out of there in the other direction.  How can this be?  Beautiful women aren't supposed to smell like this!  That wasn’t bad breath or anything like it, it was hell. And while I kept scratching my nose and my head was spinning, trying to understand, God himself send someone to my rescue.

Out of nowhere and for the second time in less than a week, a second miracle.  A familiar face was approaching with a halo hovering over his dark hair. Is that an angel?  I’m still unsure but in that moment I thanked God for sending him, twice.  He got closer and opened his lips, showing me also for the second time in a week, his white and glorious smile.  It was Max, the holy messenger of God.  In just a couple of minutes, the three of us were having a nice conversation at the sidewalk, and every time he gave a step forward and closer to Laura, I gave two backwards.  Having his superhero journal with me served as the propitious ice breaker.  With confidence and charm, Max talked to her nonstop, I’m sure it was mostly because of how badly he wanted to get inside her pants.  I refused to shut up not because I was enjoying myself but because I was trying my best not to breathe.  In other hand, Laura was beautiful, funny and well educated, so they got along very well.  There was a spark between them and I must confess that I felt so relieved, that I looked up and quietly said:  Oh… I owe you big time!



During their conversation they planned to meet at his flat later that night.  Max invited me and I lied when I said that I had somewhere else to go, but his courtesy was in fact too much to resist.  She gave him the usual two kisses on each cheek and I closed my eyes and held my breath when it was my turn, then she walked away.  Max ended up to be a very complex and a knowledgeable man.  He asked me to go with him to a nearby store to buy several things that he needed for our reunion later that night. And while he remained busy searching for the “perfect” bottle of wine,  I discretely dedicated some time on getting the “perfect” scented candles, mints and air freshener in order to be ready for the inevitable outcome.  Back at the hotel I took a hot shower and never stopped praying, a few minutes passed midnight, when I thought to be too late for a lady to be alone with a relatively strange man, I took a taxi to Max’s flat with my ammunition well hidden on my backpack  just to find out that she was still there.  I tried to knock but the door slowly opened itself allowing a putrid and dense cloud to find its way out and eventually landing in my nostrils.  From there, I heard a sexy moan coming from inside, and as I found my way in through the darkness and got closer to where they were, the moan turned into a wild cry.  There she was; in a sexual position that I have never seen before.  It was mutation between a yoga meditation exercise and dirty dancing.  She had her legs up in the air, her hands were tied with her own stockings and her head was twisted backwards like Linda Blair on the Exorcist.  The entire flat smelled like sulfur and I was sure it wasn't because of the sex.  It was to be expected that the continuous moaning slowly filled the entire room with the smell of rotten demons.  I knew it would be useless; the scented candles, the mints and the industrial air freshener wouldn’t help.  I remembered that I was in Rome, so close to the Vatican, but, where the fuck I was going to be able to find holy water at that hour?

She was wild and I give her credit for that.  She had an incredible ability to change positions without even touching the floor.  That scene reminded me of something you only see in a circus performed by little Chinese guys dressed in colorful Dragon customes.  It was definitely Kamasutra, or so I thought an instant before a fireball came out of her mouth and she spread her wings.  Terrified, I tried to walk out as quiet as I could be and when my hand finally reached the door knob, I heard a demonic voice coming from inside and I almost pee on my pants when she asked:

-Why don't you join us?





I briefly lose my soul when ran out of there, as if I was being chased by Satan himself.  I didn't bother to wait for the elevator, so I hurried myself down the stairs and got lost in the night.   Max kept seeing her for a couple of weeks until he got better from that severe flu he mentioned he had when we first met and recovered his sense of smell.  Max and I became good friends for the remaining time I spent in Rome.  She was gone, and along with her, the sulfur smell.   Being able to breathe clean air once again in Italy was simply intoxicating. 

New York City, 2008

  

-Could I get a glass of water with my sushi please?   I asked the waitress.

I waited for over an hour for an old friend to arrive from Italy and meet me for dinner at my favorite Asian restaurant. He was late, so I decided to order without him.  They were having a live show that night.  Geishas I heard.   A few minutes after I ordered, the sushi arrived and also the sad news of my friend when he called to apologize for canceling, leaving me at the mercy of Asian cuisine and his old journal, which I never returned.  The live show began as I started eating from a super size sushi platter just for one.  I devoured my sushi and the background music captivated me, putting me on a trance when I suddenly felt a small hand on the back of my head followed by a sweet voice, almost a whisper.   All my muscles cramped and went numb at the same time.  I took a deep breath in order to swallow the last bite of sushi but it was useless.   A thin feminine figure passed next to me finding its way to the empty chair right across.  In front of me, a beautiful woman wearing a shirt with a printed dragon smiled back at me.

-Did you know that is illegal to have so much fun by yourself?   I'm so glad to see you again…

I was fucked.  There was no space for me to take a long step backwards and my friend Max was four thousand kilometers away.  Should I pray to Buddha this time?  As she started greeting me, as usual, with her stinky mouth and in complete denial, she asked me about my life and whereabouts.  A moment later, what I feared the most.  She leaned forward, closed her eyes and offered me a kiss. And while a tear rolled down my face she dared to say: 

-I have a confession to make… But first!   Take it easy on the wasabi would you!

__________________________



Filling Out The Blanks

     IT SEEMS AS IF WE HAVE LOST somewhere along the way our natural ability of keeping alive that desire, that passion that allow us to be true to ourselves and to be proud of who we are; and I mean, who we really are.  Unfortunately, is a pity that the older we are, the stupidest we get; and unfortunately, the more we rely on choosing from the overhead menu that life –as we know it–  has prepared for us, the furthest we push away our true nature.  Have you ever wondered; what ever happened to instinct and creativity?  Where have we left that instinct that ignored the easily available options but made us find the best solutions?  Sometimes, the best decisions are those that we dare making ignoring the choices that are conveniently laid out in front of us,  same choices that are often labeled either as the appropriate or favorable ones; and in occasions, even as the only ones at all.  What can I say?, it feels like everything has turned so arranged, so simplistic and so available, that for some reason we keep allowing ourselves to be indulge and fascinated by the vulgarity of it.  We no longer think or even challenge any attainable alternative; did we just quit giving too much thought or consideration on who we are, what we really want and what are we made off before jumping on any given bridge?

     Everything in life -and I mean everything- has turned into a celebrated and glorified contest where there is always, for every problem and every feeling, for every question and even for every query, (which are not the same thing) an arrangement of predisposed and accepted answers or actions.  For some reason we have been forced to believe that there are only two possible ways for a coin to land after been tossed:  Head or tails.  Isn’t it possible for a coin to land on its edge? If you study the Bernoulli process, you will find that it’s even feasible for a coin, after being tossed, to be taken away by a large bird; and mathematically speaking, my friends, the belief that there are only two possible outcomes for a coin flip or most things in life, is a complete travesty.

     Let’s be honest to ourselves, we no longer make decisions, there are made for us and we like it that way, the easy way. The options are all there, sometimes even numbered and we simply chose “from the above”, filling out the blanks and voila. We just pick, like I said, from an overhead menu.  We crave so much to be accepted, to be correct, to please everyone and at the same time, to serve as an example; that we have forgotten that we are just passing through.  There is no ONE chance to make it right or wrong, so don’t flatter yourself if you get lucky from time to time.  Understand that you only have one attempt, only one, to make it right at being yourself. And, if you fail at that, what was the purpose of it all?

     Drive this way, eat that way, wear this, wait, wear that instead, that is not romantic, that’s way too much, that’s too loud, that dress make your ass look fat, you can do better than that, you are poor, you are rich, be careful, don’t get pregnant, don’t get pregnant again, you are the best, you are the worst, you are hired, you are fired, marry, divorce, remarry, that man is not good enough for you, he’s handsome, she’s too crazy, believe in God, but if he is not good enough, become a Muslim.  Right wing, left wing, happy medium, happy ending, turn right, turn left, sideways, you are fat, you are thin, you are smart, you are an idiot, options, decisions, right, wrong, let me think…  Pay the bills, take a shower, drink water, drink milk, organic, satanic, two glasses of wine a day are good for you, one beer a day is also good for you, two ounces of hard liquor, wait, am I fucking drunk?, let me think…  Perhaps I should get back to my senses…

"This is fucking madness!"

     Why do we have to choose from life’s overhead menu?  Is it that we can no longer say No thanks?  And, when everybody seems to have an opinion, a view or recommendation, when the world has turned into a place where everything has a certain order, a classification, a method, a name, a sequence, a plan, procedures, a manager, two managers and a president; How do we live?  Can we just send them to hell and do things our way instead?

     For as long as I can remember, it has always been quite hard for me to become, as they refer to, a familiar face on the usual crowd. But wait; don’t get me wrong, I am no anarchist and surely not an anti-social.  I am just a man who really got tired of pleasing everyone.  I am that guy who wants to do things his way from time to time. 

"Is that too much to ask? "



    A few nights ago I had a revelation.  Actually, I had two.  After a long warm day I found myself in the mood for something sweet, so I went out for a walk and gave chance a second chance to surprise me once again.  And, what happened then, I must admit, opened my eyes.  I saw a sign.  Not exactly the kind of sign that brings you a long awaited message, but the kind that serves Ice cream and also learning experiences.  What moved me to give it a try and to go inside that Ice Cream Parlor was not their fancy neon sign, (which I must confess was very inviting) but what I saw once I looked inside through the glass.  Happy faces, long line and yet another sign that read: 

We make it your way! Guaranteed

     There I was, happy and in line.  At first, everybody looked at me strange and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because I almost break the entrance door while I pushed it ignoring the gigantic PULL  sign;  perhaps because I refused to get a number or because they actually noticed when I tried to jump in line more than once.  When it was my turn to order, I went cold.  I noticed that underneath their gigantic “We make it your way” sign at the far wall, they had some sort of menu.  A menu so gigantic, so full of options and bright colors, glutted with photos and countless ice cream combinations, together with a biblical list of toppings next to their “childish-customer- friendly-names”  that they had for each one of them, that I couldn’t help but to go mute in complete amusement.  A young woman stretched her smile way more than what she should have braking the brief silence between us, asking for a second time:

"Can I take your order please?"

"Yes you may. I would like coconut ice cream with French fries please", I replied.

     I was honestly in the mood for coconut ice cream with French fries; but if I even attempt to write here what actually took place there, I’ll have enough material for a science fiction novel. She called her supervisor, who then called the assistant manager, who eventually referred me to the manager, who immediately called the general manager, who courteously took the unnecessary time to explain the “seriousness” of their business and with a yellow smile and an ink stained shirt, finally asked me to leave.

What exactly happened there? Have I already surrendered and accepted an inevitable fate?

     I did what I thought to be the right thing to do.  I left. I left on a mission. I walked out and immediately started looking for any place where I could find French fries. And so I did.  Several minutes later, once again, I almost break the Ice Cream Parlor’s front door. Like the first time, I went in front of the line and asked for a coconut ice cream with French fries. Luckily, the funny looking general manager was not around, and again, the green eyed young woman with the overworked smile took my order. She took my French fries, smiled in complicity, and while she whispered that the best thing to do was to leave, I swear we had a moment just before I abandoned my desired topping in top of the shelf.  I knew it was useless to argue any longer their business slogan and I left, in relative peace. That was revelation number one.  

     That night I walked.  I walked for many hours, thinking about everything I have previously tried to explain here.  I thought about options and decisions, about chance and even about the beautifully described idea of destiny.  That night I walked.  On my way back home, it was inevitable not to pass nearby the Ice Cream Parlor where I had been a few hours before. That’s where revelation number two surprised me, completely unanticipated.

     While waiting for the signal light to cross the street, it was effortless for me to get annoyed; so I didn’t wait and crossed anyway. Once my right shoe touched the sidewalk at the other side, for some reason I looked back to find a few faces looking back at me in complete disapproval.  My immediate reflex was to share my commonly used “sad puppy face” followed by an evil smile; but there was something else.  There, in that crowd, I found a familiar face.  There she was; the green eyed girl who earlier tried to take my order at the Ice Cream Parlor was also waiting to cross the street.  She was also the only one smiling and the only one carrying an ice cream in one hand and French fries in the other.  From different sides, divided only by fast passing cars and a never changing signal light, we tried to lock our eyes once again but this time my phone rang. It was my mother, so I just couldn’t ignore it.

"When will you get marry, give me grandkids and stop breaking hearts? When will you stop living like a teenager, fall in love and finally commit?"

     That was the only thing I allowed myself to hear from my mother before I lowered my phone. Stupefied, I started crossing the street once again with a red signal but it rapidly changed. Submerged in an ocean of people who were crossing the street I saw her immobile at the other side; looking back at me, looking down at her ice cream, to her French fries and then back at me.   My mother’s words were still sounding loud in the back of my head a moment before I hanged off and reached the other side.  At that corner, in front of her green eyes, I had my second revelation.  Later, walking side by side towards nowhere and simultaneously to a common flavor, I couldn’t stop thinking:

...decisions, decisions, decisions.

     It only took me a moment and a breather to shake it off my head.  

     I guess that my mother was right.

     Once again I found myself in front of an overhead menu, and this time, it only showed two options.  

"What can I say?"

Old habits die hard… 

_______________________________________

Love.com

I’m sure that just about everyone has being dumped at least once.  And I'm not talking about the commonly used “hey honey I need some space” kind, but the one where you get dumped and you are the last one to find out.   Sadly yes, that kind of dumping.  Well, it could be worse, and actually it gets worse. You get dumped without notice, without warning, and as I previously implied, you find out either late or by chance, when your grandmother has died or even worse in some cases, on a holiday.   A close friend of mine (to avoid admitting that in fact it happened to myself) got dumped in one of the top 3 holidays that I consider that it should be illegal to get dumped.  Let’s face it; it should be severely punished to break up with someone on:  

1)      Christmas day          (Unless you don't have a gift)

2)      St. Valentine’s          (Same condition applies)

3)      New Years Day       (Unless dumping your “other half” is part
                                      of a New Year resolution)

What I'm trying to say is that the little extra thing that makes it beautiful, what adds that bit of necessary human touch to it and makes it special, is just the fact that you have been dumped without notice and on a holiday.  Isn't this such a friendly world?   Yes, my friend got dumped on the number 2 of that list, on St. Valentine’s Day.   Let me make something clear, on that day my friend wasn't precisely asked for some time off, he just found out that he had already been kicked out of the “circle of trust” while looking around on a extremely crowded mall for a special Valentine’s Day gift.  The good part is that before he decided to spend a small fortune on a gift, he accidentally found that she already had one for him, a taller one. 

If you have ever being dumped or survived a difficult break up, then you know the mandatory questioning, and if you're a guy, the usual why, when, where, who and what are always at hand.   Guys are a bit different when they have to deal with these sort of things, so in that case, the usual questions are:  (1) Why him?  (2) Since when you are having sex with him?  (3) When did he undress you the first time?  (4) Who the fuck he think he is?  And my all time favorite;    (5) What’s his size?  

You get angry, you want to shot her and you call her names you didn’t even know existed.  She cries, you cry, and yes, you end up hugging each other, crying pathetically, building without knowing, your last stupid  Kodak moment.  She says she's sorry and that she wants to be your friend, you accept it, but again you want to shot her.  After hours of unbelievable nonsense you realize: that's it, this is it.  After just a couple of weeks no friendship remains, and if you had a shared banking account, you are screwed.   Welcome to the club, if that is your case.   Well, now you have been single for a couple of weeks and you suddenly realize you are no longer yourself.   You used to love watching Real-Madrid games on Fox Sports but since she’s gone, for some reason you switched to Sex and the City and get hooked. And it gets even worst; you are also enjoying The Cooking Channel.  You have turned into a pathetic mass of flesh.  You get the dust out of your old phone book and even dare to call friends that don't even remember you.  You start working out; you get back in shape and buy new and nicer clothes.  And while you waste precious hours watching girly television, you also get ready for a comeback.   Suddenly, there you are.  Two months later, better shape and a fresher look; and just when you thought you were ready to go out and finally get what you know you deserved, the phone rings.  Caller ID reads PRIVATE.  In the past you never answered those, but now, considering the lack of options, you answer and even fake a deeper, more relaxed tone of voice.  

–It's me… 

And as you hear her voice after two months, you just can't help it.  Your heart beats faster, a drip of love fluid escapes in a matter of seconds and you even fart.  

Hello?   (You reply, acting busy but in complete control) 

 –I just called you to let you know that I will ask my brother to pick up some personal belongings that I left at your apartment.  He's going on Thursday.  By the way; how are you?

Well…

But even before you finish the sentence, she hangs up.   Now you are just down.  You go to your video cabinet and get what you need for moments like this:  Sex on the City 3^rd season.  Once again, there you are, sitting down in front of the television, eating Ramen noodles while Miranda or whatever her name is, complains about love and stupid stuff.  You are just pathetic.  

When you are on a relationship, you don't waste much of your time on the computer, after all, you spend all day in front of it back at the office; but after a few months of being addicted to girly television and chocolate, you decide to turn it on again at home and see how it feels like.  

Inbox:  633 unread emails, mostly spam or porn.  

You navigate here and there and you suddenly find yourself, after just a few clicks, stalking your ex girlfriend on Facebook and MySpace on an hourly basis.  Not daily, hourly.

A few more days and you finally decide to build your own profile. During that time, the good thing is that you get away from the television.  Now you got yourself another hobby.  You open a Facebook account, quite sober at the beginning.  You get a MySpace account as well and that one you work it out a little more.  You get yourself a cool name, upload a nice song, you add interesting graphics and your best photos. You are one good looking cookie. The first ones you add are real life friends or relatives until you learn and work yourself around, and you browse the options guided mostly by horniness and temptation.  As the weeks pass by, you send more and more requests, you add more stuff to your profile and you forget about Facebook, you are now in love.com. More requests, more virtual friends and you suddenly realize that your little virtual world has its advantages.  You are no longer thinking about your ex-girlfriend, you forgot about the Cooking Shows and you are so addicted to the computer, that you don’t even eat.  Welcome to love.com!

Then, you learn about the power tool.  You start browsing, choosing who you want to meet.  You now have the power to choose the country, region, gender, age and as on a menu, you get to decide which dish is worth to be at your table, you have the power to chose who would be welcome at your little and humble virtual world.   

Rachel:   Oh… I thank life for her.  Italy, 25 years old, single and hot as a Mexican mule.  

Nadia:  Oh my Nadia.  California, 27 years old, single and sweet as chocolate milk. 

Katerina:  I thanked the Holy Spirit when I saw Katerina.  Spain, 29, single and wild as a goose on mating season.  

Online dating sites are places –if we can refer to them as such– where you can find whatever you want, anytime you want by just clicking here and there and believing the stories and lies everyone usually say.   Finally, after many months of experimentation, of trial and error, my best friend was back on his feet.  He looked good, he was rehabilitated and in front of a computer.  Your friend list grows day by day and you move around that virtual world better and better, sometimes you meet nice and honest people, sometimes you give out your number and you get some in return.  One day you decide to call one of those “new ladies” you met online, one of those that for some reason, are in your top 12 best friends without even knowing them.   The phone rings and you get excited, as if you were on your way to a real date, with a real girl.

-Hello.   (she answered, and quietly you rehearse in a fraction of a second every single word)

-Hey there, it’s me.

-Oh, I did not expect your call.  I thought you will never call me.  How great to finally listen to your voice…     (a glorious voice from Madrid in broken English now seduces you) 

You are pathetic!

You suddenly feel like you are an international Don Juan or some kind of Gigolo.  You call Rachel, you call Nadia and Katerina.  Now what?  Revenge has been served.  Your ex girlfriend might be having fun with her new guy, but you are virtually having fun abroad.   Several weeks pass, more phone calls, more messages and more comments, and you think to yourself that is all the result of a work of art. One month passes by and you receive your first phone bill after you started calling around the world on your worldwide love quest, and the only thing that comes out of your mouth is: 

Oh shit!

It’s time for a better plan and for necessary measures.  You start calling less and writing more and day by day, you get fewer replies until the day you notice that you are missing 3 friends from your list.  Rachel, Nadia and Katerina are gone.  You feel a little uneasy, but just a little.  After all, you have been sending daily messages, and calling all those girls for over a month.   Yes, 3 fewer friends on your list.  You visit their profiles just to check them out and two of them no longer exist, or what is worst, you have been blocked, reported as spam.   The other one has something different; new graphics, a new lovely song and… a new status as well.  

In a relationship, it reads.

He lowered his head, catching a glimpse of a plane ticket to Madrid.

My friend is 33 years old, a child of the 80's as he often calls himself.  Generation X they call us.   We grew up with rock and roll and cassettes, canned food and cheese sandwiches. We grew up with the occasional love affairs and masturbating up to five times a day.  We grew on regular mail, chocolate milk, white underwear and spying on our cute neighbors from a treetop. 

Where did we leave all that human touch?

My friend still has a long tasty list of international beauties.   Now wiser, my dear friend Mr. Generation X no longer waste his time watching television or with any girly shows.  He is back to his original name which is also a cool name, a nice song is still heard on his profile but this time, the computer will go to sleep mode.  He is going out tonight on a date for the first time in several months.  Nobody is waiting and no one is on any list anymore.  Just the road and a few beers are waiting.

This time he'll make sure to bring a real one back home.

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Looking for online love?

   http://www.wien-singles.at/ 

 



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