To be in Relationship or Not to be

There are good things about being in a relationship and good things about not being in a relationship. Let's examine.

The good about being in a relationship:

• Emotional intimacy with a woman.
• Consistent sex.
• Being there for her.
• Having her support.
• Learning about her interests.
• Creating shared moments.
• Boobies!
• Having her to hold at night.
• Smoothing my round edges.
• More confidence.

The good about not being in a relationship:

• I can watch football all Sunday and not leave the couch.
• I can spend Saturday night watching illegal pay per view boxing streams on the internet.
• I can go to a basketball game when I want.
• I eat what I want.
• I go where I want.
• I hang out with who I want.
• I have time to write in complete sentences.

If only there was some way to combine these two lists.

KOed By Love

I was so excited. I had just scored a romantic coup. I had managed to get Jewish Argentine boxer Carolina Raquel Duer the perfect present.

A signed picture of Muhammad Ali running in the former Zaire before the Rumble in the Jungle against George Foreman. Ali, in his gray sweats, is stern and focused, surrounded by the effervescent yellow glow of an early African morning. The picture read:

Dear Carolina,

Belief in one's self is the key to success.

Best Wishes,

Muhammad Ali

"The Greatest"

I slid into the darkness of her room, planning on sliding the picture in the top drawer of her dresser. She would open the drawer and there, staring at her would be a signed, personalized, picture of Muhammad Ali. I was so satisfied at the joy I was about to give her.

I heard the door slam and whispered, "Oh shit!" I took a quick step towards the dresser, but the floor creaked underneath me.

"Who's there!" she screamed. She raced into the dark bedroom and belted me in the stomach. In my pain, my right hand swung out in an effort to block another potential punch. My left hand held firm. Both were still holding the picture.

I tried to tell her, "It's me! It's me!" but the punch had knocked the wind out of me. She threw an uppercut which sent me flying backwards. My head slammed against the wooden floor. I lay motionless save the occasional twitch.

She turned on the light and saw it was me. "Oh, my darling!" Then she saw the two halves of the picture addressed to her and signed by Muhammad Ali. The relationship ended.

Camila Vallejo Speaks

Obviously, I've been writing a lot about the beautiful Chilean leader Camila Vallejo. Well, I received a letter from her recently that I would like to share with you.


Dear Proprietor of the H-Quack Times,

I respectfully request that you cease and desist in referring to any supposed interactions regarding the two of us. As far as I know, we have never met. You are clearly a fan of mine, and I appreciate the support, but I kindly ask you to choose other topics to write about. I am afraid that, judging from the recent work on your site, you have an obsession. Your constant posts imagining the two of us as some sort of romantic couple are very creepy and make me quite uncomfortable. Please stop. I sincerely appreciate your understanding.

Regards,
Camila

I'm going to have to get more creative in coming up with excuses to post pictures of her.

The End

Sitting outside of the Air and Space Museum, we were surrounded by a boisterous group protesting Obama's use of drones as a means of assassination. Despite the chaos around us, in our eyes, Camila and I were the only two people in the world. She, a Chilean communist leader with light angelic eyes and a round face that combined the cuteness of a three month old baby with the sexiness of an inmate's first nude woman in 26 years.

What attracted her to me, I cannot say. I can only presume. It could have been my leftist beard. It could have been my outrage at all injustice, no matter how slight. It could have been my sense of decency. It could have been my unapologetic bluntness. It could have been a physical attraction. Whatever it was, I was more concerned that it existed than why it existed.

We sat on a bench turned towards each other Her bent left leg on top of my my bent right leg, which was resting on the bench. Her right hand was in my left as a stroked her palm with my middle finger. My right hand continuously brushed her hair out of her face with the sole purpose of stroking her cheek. He left index finger and thumb fiddled with my right earlobe. Our eyes gorged on each other as if coming out of a three-week Gandhian fast.

I didn't dream of the future. I spent too much energy enjoying the present. There was none available to waste on analyzing our relationship. A week and half later, we were sitting across from each other at a restaurant, both seemingly ecstatic to be with the other. The bubbling of something more made its first appearance.

"Camila, you have the most beautiful eyes." Her cheeks grew pink. She titled her head and batted her eyelashes. "David, don't."
I was knocked off balance. 'Don't? Why not?' I thought. The conversation continued at such a pace that silence couldn't get in a word edgewise. We laughed, discussed serious topics, our families, our hopes. Everything seemed to be going wonderfully. At the end of the meal, we hugged passionately, our cheeks kissing each other before our lips took over. We vowed to meet again as soon as possible.

Two days later, I called Camila. No answer. "Hi Camila. I had a wonderful time with you the other night. Let's go out again this week. How about Wednesday? Give me a call when you get a chance." Two days later, I received a text. "Sure. 6:30 good?"

I had spent the previous two days slightly concerned. But all doubts melted away with that text. I could not contain my anticipation. At 4:30 on Wednesday, another text came. "Have to cancel. Sorry." Disappointment filled the gap in my heart where excitement had made its home.

I told myself that it was ok. Don't get too emotional with every interaction. Two days later, I called Camila. No answer. I left another message. Two days later, nothing. I waited a week and called again. No answer. Two days later, nothing. I texted. No response.

What had happened? I was confounded, dumbfounded, and brokenhearted. I thought she liked me. We had good chemistry. We enjoyed each other's company. We had a lot in common. Things seemed to be going well. Why all of the sudden? I didn't get it.

Over the next couple of months, I tried again here and there and either got a rejection or was ignored and finally decided to give up for good. I suppose the combination of not understanding what had happened and my imagination of what could have been forced me to try so much.

Stories tend to have happy endings or at least closure. But life cannot always be packaged neatly into a story. Life poses questions that will never be answered. We must accept that reality, learn what we can from our experiences, and move forward.

An Old Love is Punished

In May 2008, Yulia Tymoshenko and I had a fling, which ended badly. Now, Yulia has received a seven year jail sentence in Ukraine, a move widely seen as reversing the gains of the Orange Revolution.

Part of me is sad that Yulia, a person I once loved, is in this position. But there is another, perhaps darker, side that feels this sentence is karma for breaking my heart. I always tried to be there for her. I put myself out there for her. I saw my future in her eyes. And she couldn't accept my vulnerability. She saw what I view as my best qualities and used them against me.

She said I never listened to her. I never stood up for myself. I was too negative. These all seemed like excuses to cast me aside because being with me would force her to open herself up. She was not able to show that same vulnerability to me.

I wanted her so bad. I have come to realize that it wasn't meant to be. My life is better because we are not together. And yet, whenever I see her face, those old love pangs resurface. Her face reminds me of the perfection I saw in her. It reminds me of the happiness I envisioned being with her. Emotions that I will never experience with her. Perhaps I never could.

Now, I have a new love. The Chilean communist student leader, Camila Vallejo. That love is merely in its early stages, so I won't go into detail just yet.

A Woman at the Mall

I'm walking toward the green expanse that is the Mall in the heart of Washington DC. The Looptroop's Last Song occupies my ear phones. I hear two women talking behind me and I continue, hoping not to trip and look stupid. I can hear their voices, but not their words. They sound like they're in their twenties.

I reach an intersection and am forced to stop. The two women stop behind me. I move my head right until I can catch them with the corner of my eye. I'm only able to see one. She's even shorter than me. Her cheeks are round with a hint of blush. She has big brown eyes. I turn my head away.
'Oh, she's cute,' I say to myself. The light changes.

The two women pass. I notice the one I first saw. She's where I white open shawl and tight black slacks. Her long dark hair rests in the small of her back.
'She's just my type,' I think.

The two women have picked up the pace. I'm maintaining my usual measured saunter. They go straight. I turn left to find suitable bench to sit and read. I turn to the right to get one last look at the woman in the white shawl.
'Well, there goes my chance. I'll never see her again.'

I pass one bench and settle in the second. I throw my eyes in the direction of the two women. I capture the white shawl. I relish the one last look. I open my book and search for place where I left off. By my gaze wanders towards the woman in the white shawl. She's approaching the intersection. That will be my last chance to see her.

But the two women turn left. 'Yes!' I exclaim. They walk at their same motivated pace. 'If I walk across the field, I can probably reach the sidewalk on the other side just as they're passing. It could be the start of something wonderful,' I tell myself. I study the green expanse geometrically. 'But, if I caught them, what would I say? It's not worth it,' I reason.

I try to tear my eyes away from her to read, but they won't budge. 'What if there's a reason they turned left? What if she'd the one person on earth meant for me. This was supposed to be our one chance meeting,' I wonder. 'Oh, to hold her in my arms and smell her hair. To talk with her late into the night. To learn everything about her. To grow together and become the center of each other's lives. What I wouldn't give,' I wax.

The woman becomes more miniscule. My heart leaks. I become paralyzed but for my eyes. 'There goes my one chance at happiness,' I pout. The woman disappears from sight. My head fills with emptiness.

Then a woman runs by.

Craigslist Missed Connection

A Passing Glance - w4m - 25 (Bethesda)

I've never done this before. I saw you on the metro, the red line, indicative of the heat between us. Or was I just imagining? You were wearing a faded white t-shirt and jeans with a hole in the knee, sitting in all your hirsute glory. I was wearing a pink tanktop. You smiled at me, looked away, and then returned to your scowl. Oh, to get inside you mind and listen to your thoughts. They must be so tortured. I'm sure just need someone there to listen. I want to be that person. I know I can bring you sunshine. Please, I know there's not much chance that you'll see this, but, if you do, know that I will be there for you.

Women are funny. After downing four dollar dogs, I was just feeling gassy.

Face of Love

There was a study recently conducted that said women are less likely to be attracted to a man who is smiling. Think about that for a second.

A smile tends to represent happiness, positivity, fun, compassion. Women are not into that. The author of the study theorized that women felt smiling was too feminine. Take another second to think about that.

That might be the most illogical thing I've ever heard. What kind of psychopath would be less attracted to someone smiling? And how am I suppose to relate to a group of people who feel that way? Happiness, positivity, fun, compassion, these seem like great qualities to have in a partner, right? Apparently, not for women.

I've always given women the benefit of the doubt. Many are logical and thoughtful. I've excused their propensity for tall men, which is probably as illogical as this smiling thing (listen, tall men are wussies. Short men are tough; they've had to be. If you want someone tough who will "protect you" you should be with a short man. Trust me). But this smiling thing is too much. It just makes no sense. Plus, the worst part, I rarely smile and no one finds me attractive.

My CL Scandal with a Congressperson

I had my own scandal when a congressperson answered my Craigslist personal ad.

To: HarazQuack@juno.com
From: LookingToTheRight@gmail.com
Date: Friday, January 14, 2011, 2:41 PM
Subject: Will Someone Prove To Me Not All CL Women Look Like Toads - 29 (DMV)

Hi,

Hope I'm not a toad. :) i'm a very fit fun classy gal. Live in Cap Hill area. 38-24-37. 49 yrs.. Lobbyist. I promise not to disappoint.


To: LookingToTheRight@gmail.com
From: HarazQuack@juno.com
Date: Friday, January 14, 2011 9:57PM

Hot pic. Are you sure that's not a photo from a Jcpenney ad?


To: HarazQuack@juno.com
From: LookingToTheRight@gmail.com

Lol…no…Here.. I just took one..i'm relaxing at home. Hope you like it.


To: LookingToTheRight@gmail.com
From: HarazQuack@juno.com

Holy shit! Thanks! So do you always send shirtless pics to men from cl?


After a few more email exhanges where the woman told me that she was "divorced with five children," I decided to do a Google search for the woman, named "Michele Bachmann."

Turns out she lied about her age, occupation, and marital status. But I'm keeping that glorious topless photo for myself!

The Secret to Love

So I created an audio file with the secret to finding and keeping the love of your life. But I'm not good with computers; I haven't an idea how to post it. I've tried and tried, but I just have no clue.

I've tried googling it to find out how to post it, but it's very frustrating. I don't know what words to put in. I keep playing with different phrases, but nothing seems to get me the information that I need to put up this wonderful secret.

The stuff on this audio file is really great too. If you want to find that special someone, after listening to this file, you will, no doubt about it. The sad thing is I keep thinking about all of the people this secret could help. Imagine spending the rest of your days with the love of your life. I just can't figure out how to post this damn file.

I Found Someone!

After all the years of searching, I've finally found someone. Someone who understands my needs and is in total sync with me. Someone who gets me. Someone who mirrors me. Someone who is like an extention of me. Someone who is a part of me. Someone who knows how to please me. Someone who will never leave me. That someone, is my left hand.

Why I'm Alone

I'm heartbreakingly good-looking, an adonis physically, funnier than Woody Allen, and absolutely brilliant. So why are the ladies not falling all over me? It's a question that has dogged me for a number of years.

On my recent trip to Florida, it finally occurred to me. The secret was unlocked. I smell terrible. From greasy head to crusty toe.

I only have one pair of shoes that I wear constantly, even when I'm doing something athletic, which makes them stink like moldy cheese. I suffer from constantly sweaty ass and the spot underneath my balls is always funky save the first five minutes I walk out of the shower. My armpits smell like I perpetually have two unkempt hippies in a headlock. My beard's hobby is collecting and storing yesterday's meal. And my hair saps up any unpleasant smell I happen to pass by.

I think the ladies tend not to like any of that.

Complimenting My Game

Today, I realized that it doesn't take much for me to instantaneously fall in love. A couple of compliments on my jump shot and I'm more smitten than teenage girls with effete pop singers. She could be a murderer and an adulterer, but if she says my array of shots is Steve Nash-like, I'll fall head-over-heels.

I guess that's not a very smart thing to admit publically. I'm opening up myself to some shady manipulative female. "Hey big boy, you pass like Bob Cousy." And the next thing I know, I'm tied up in some strange apartment, stark naked, stripped of my clothes, money, and dignity.

Illusions

While I was driving, I peered out of the window, "Wow! That woman is HOT!!"

A few moments later, "Wait, that's a trash can."

Race Relations

A while back I had a girlfriend who was black. We used to have very open discussions about race. Sometimes, we would be so honest that it would bring us to tears. That kind of communication was occasionally uncomfortable, but ultimately made us very close. She was very special. Sometimes, when I would walk out the door, on my way to my car, she would open the door and say "I love you" and sometimes she would just scream out:
























RACIST!


and quickly shut the door again.

Mackey Sasser Disease With Women

I have Mackey Sasser Disease with women. I have a mental block when it comes to throwing the ball back to the pitcher. I can throw a rope down to second and I can make any other throw imaginable. But if you can't even throw it back to the pitcher, you don't have a lot of opportunities to throw the ball elsewhere.

Is She the Perfect Woman?

There are so many women in the world. How do you find someone that you can live with for the rest of your life? And when you do find someone, how do you know if she's The One? You have to find out how much plaque she has. If she has too much plaque, that's no good. But if she doesn't have any plaque, you have to ask yourself, 'What is she hiding?' She is probably covering up some insecurity. The old saying, 'If it seems too good to be true, it probably is," rings true with women and their plaque.

You might ask me how I know this. My grandmother told me. She said, "If you want to find the right woman, look to her plaque." There is a chance that "plaque" is Polish for something else. Or maybe I just misunderstood her; she had a very strong accent.

The Revolutionary's Dating Service

RevDate: A service to help you find the person that you will some day not only have on your t-shirt, but also in your heart.

Please fill out the following form

turn ons: long strolls up to the president's place of residence, cuddling up by the plans to overthrow the government, and long untamed hair
turn offs: the status quo, the 700 Club, short tamed hair

preferred form of government: anyone but this one
favorite kind of coup: bloodless

method of spreading your message of revolution (put an "x" next to no more than 3)
television show:
radio program:
low budget newspaper:
blog: x
nonsensical fliers passed out at unrelated protest:
screaming from street corners: x
secret cabal:
Ponzi scheme:

Describe your perfect partner: She rejects all assumptions that are programmed into our heads from an early age, espouses compassion and empathy towards the plight of our fellow human beings, and wants to change the way we relate towards one another starting with our entire system of government. She does everything in her power to achieve these goals so that our descendents will have the opportunity to strive towards reaching the limits of human capability. And she has a cute butt.

It's Alright Charlie

The girls like Charlie. They just don't want to be with him. Well, that's not entirely true. Some like him and don't want to be him; some like him, want to be with him, but just can't because of the world. Charlie often feels like a murder victim, yet he continues to live.

But let's not feel too sorry for our friend Charlie. Sure, he's a shlimazl when it comes to the ladies. It's not a good scene when you a like a woman, she likes you, and that's not enough. Sometimes she'll act like you're worse than Hitler. Sometimes she'll act like you're the only thing in her world. It's confusing and poor Charlie is too dumb to figure things out. And when he does, it's far too late.

But remember, I said don't feel too sorry for good old Charlie. He's surrounded by wonderful women. These women won't shoot him. In fact, they'll be there whenever someone else shoots him. You see, Charlie's a lot luckier than he realizes.

A Woman's Affection

I was watching the Hindi movie Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam when one scene confused me thoroughly. The guy grabs Aishwarya Rai from behind in a joking manner. She's not so thrilled with it, so she slaps him. Then the confusing part. He gets angry! In fact, he says, "You are not worthy of my love anymore." Huh?

What I don't get is: How would you know if a woman likes you unless she slaps you? Even more so if she closes her fist and punches you right in the face while you're driving. It was my understanding that violence and yelling are how women show affection for men. You know they like you if they yell at you when you don't pay. Or if you do pay. Or if you're talking to someone else at the lunch table and she grabs your hand and then bites it. Or if you're choking and she ignores you. Then when you question her about it, she says, "Oh, you were choking? Let me help you," and then punches you in the back. Or grabs the upper part of your cheeks with her long sharp nails and tries to rip your cheeks off of your face. Or coughs in your face while your sleeping and then laughs and laughs. Or, well, this could go on for a while, but you get the picture.