Average guy explains love at first sight

Monday, 7/14/97 Average guy explains love at first sight LOVE:
Man, woman’s real thoughts as they fumble toward difficult
L-word

Gazing at the moon’s reflection off the water in the stream,
your toes gently rub the mossy rock that splits the stream, as you
sit side by side under a tree that’s witnessed couples come and go.
You hold your lover; the warmth of her skin nuzzles against you;
nothing is said but everything is understood. Movement comes
naturally and the slightest breath seems to scream to you. Although
the kiss is blind with all eyes closed, you can still see an
exchange of breath and of soul, followed by a slight pause as you
take in the moment to remember and re-live through eternity …
Wake up, hello, stop dreaming! The closest you’ve gotten to this
scene in the last six months was when you accidentally stuck your
foot in the toilet after you took in too many of the fumes from the
bleach you used to clean that bathroom of yours. Put aside the fact
that the only stream you’ll find in L.A. within a reasonable
driving distance is actually a sewer, and the fact that those
crickets you’re hearing are probably some sicko watching you from
the bushes. And definitely put aside that shit about a tree,
because it’s actually a street light that buzzes to the point that
it gives you a phobia for bug zappers. The hardest part is the
person sitting next to you and that dastardly word, Love. Don’t
flip just yet. Love is sometimes a bad word, sometimes a slippery
word, sometimes meaningless, sometimes misunderstood, and on a few
occasions, true. If you haven’t guessed by now, it’s the topic of
today’s lesson, so make sure to stay till the end of the lecture or
you won’t understand any of this at all. "Love at first sight" is
an interesting idea that originated somewhere at sometime and is
still used today. For instance, when looking at the average male
Homo erectus who engages in bipedalism, we often see "the dance
club approach." Let us take you on this trip into man’s pursuit of
the elusive goal on today’s Geographic Hormone. The music is
pumping, and the heater is turned to just the right level at which
everyone’s colognes and perfumes are activated by their sweat. The
female pheromones delicately parade across the dance floor, while
their kickin’ bodies not so delicately parade as much as they seem
to be conjuring up the ancient ancestors of go-go-dancing snakes.
The male sets his sights on the female of choice, quickly checks to
see if the honey has yet attracted any other bees, and then sets
out to share his knowledge about conjuring up some ancestors of his
own. One thing leads to another, and he tells her, "You’re the most
beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’ve got to have your number. Your
eyes are amazing." As she hooks up the digits you can almost hear
that guy from the soccer games scream
"goaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllll!!!!" The first date is a hit. You get
along nicely and there is actual conversation. You tell her about
how you’re really tired of going from one person to the next and
how it’s really meaningless. At the same time she tells you that
she feels the same way (yeah, we’re all veterans of that war, cry
cry cry). Then, as if you were one of those poor shmuck dinosaurs
who got shafted instantaneously by that big meteor that fell from
the sky, the question comes up: "So what do look for in a
relationship?" Man: Unga, me wanna fuck … Well I’m looking for
someone with her head on her shoulders …Unga hooters … I don’t
know if I can stand another one of those ditsy girls who doesn’t
stop telling me how she really needs to get rid of her pager
because people don’t stop paging … Unga … She definitely needs
to be understanding … Unga Jane meet John, Unga me man need lotsa
booga booga … I need someone who can respect my space unlike my
last girlfriend; she was too constraining … Unga Porno … and
she would have to have the greatest personality … Unga no Jane
who bigger than woolly mammoth. Woman: I need attention … I want
a guy who isn’t insecure and who knows how to treat a girl … who
treats me like shit but then is really nice so I’ll have something
to tell my girlfriends … He obviously should be sensitive; I
don’t want some ogre … I want a giant linebacker with smelly
breath who burps the alphabet and scratches up against me with his
patchy unshaven face … I also want some space too; I can’t stand
those guys who won’t let me go out with my girlfriends … Page me
Page me Page me … And I really doubt that I can get into a
serious relationship, too … Wow, today is the first anniversary
of the first time he asked for my number … And that’s about it.
Well, I think I’ve seen less miscommunication between a donkey’s
asshole and its tail – this is even more bizarre. Why is it that
girls who tell me that their boyfriends treat them like scum still
stay with them, and they seem to enjoy it? That’s simple. Every
woman wants a "catch," and a catch is always something that is
bigger and better than she is. She wants a complement to her, not a
detriment. Unfortunately, in order to establish differing levels of
personal value within the relationship, there must be a dominant
and a subservient partner. The easiest way to make someone
subservient is to treat them as if they truly are below you. Thus
women tolerate being treated as subservient so that they can
honestly believe in man’s dominant nature. Having understood the
"ins" and "outs" of a soft, sociable, dominatrix-like relationship,
they start seeing each other more and more until finally they’ve
been with each other long enough that those "I like you" and "I
like you too"s are getting really old, but all the rest of the
stuff is just dandy. It’s similar to watching the championship game
in mute. The players know each other and their respective moves.
There may be a little rough-housing – no harm, no foul; just good
old-fashioned athleticism. The only bad thing is that the Marv
Albert dialogue of "Yess!," or "Take it to the hole" and my
favorite, "From half court," is getting oooolllllllld. Because we
are always moving toward some goal in everything we do, we feel the
need for progression; the need to show results. This is (in cases
other than true love) the reason why, when we look into someone’s
eyes, piercing through their daily facade, we feel the obligation
to say something a little bit more snappy than "I like you." What
happens next is what I started talking about: Love at first sight.
All of a sudden the guy runs into a blood shortage so he’s only got
enough to keep one head working at a time. You can almost feel the
Billy Syndrome from Melrose Place come on: "I Love you Allison, I
Love you Allison …" Then instantly, as if some magical genie came
by and put a spoonful of warm melting butter in your mouth, you
anticipate your tongue slipping out between your lips and the sound
that comes out is so natural, it’s disgusting.
LLLLLoooooovvvvvveeeeee. "I’ve loved you since I first saw you."
Unga Unga. Her reply is milliseconds away as her childhood dream
comes true – of being in love with love (the idea more than the
feeling), hoping that she and Ken can move into Barbie’s dream
house and get that cool pink corvette. "I’ve loved you since the
first time, too." … Yes, yes, Barbie dream house here I come!
Make way, you plastic bitch! Well, it happened: we fell in love,
you and I. We don’t know what it means (shut up, all you
smart-asses who think you know; you never know). It sounds good and
it works for now, so don’t knock it. What it means takes a lifetime
and a partner to find out. Its rewards come with its costs, just as
any good thing does. As long as you don’t use love like a cheap rag
or as an excuse to be with someone, but rather as an expression
that encompasses those unexplainable, unforgettable feelings, go
ahead and indulge. Stick your feet back into the water, keep
gazing, keep listening to the silence, keep nuzzling, keep loving.
Don’t slip up. Alon Frydman