Conjunction-Junction, What's Dysfunction?

Ahhhhh, it's a beautiful evening.

The stars are out, the music is blowing through speakers the size of Rhode Island and the kegs are flowing like there's no end in
sight. You? You look dapper. The kind of dapper that makes editors at GQ stop talking about fiscal revenues, quarterly earnings
and the new insert for a Calvin Klein cologne called "Busk" and start taking notice of how friggin' handsome you really are.

It's easy getting the most beautiful woman at the bar to notice you, simple for a suave man like yourself with distinction and class.
All you do is turn on the portable neon sign you carry with you which --when turned on --flashes "Hey Mama, Check THIS Shit
Out!!" in bright blue letters with an arrow pointing down in your direction. Because it works every time.

Only this time, it doesn't work.

You scratch your head. Hmmm... she must have discriminating tastes (in fact, she's been looking at the ground trying to find her
lost contact). Challenged, you rely on your best back-up plan: shouting, "HEY YOU!!! LADY!! COME OVER HERE!! I NEED TO
ASK YOU A QUESTION!!"

And that seems to do the trick. So you pour her a cup of foam from the tap and notice that, in fact, she isn't that beautiful up close.
At all. Not only that, she keeps blinking as if she's just lost her contact lens or something. So you look at your options:

(a) meet another woman (b) drink more beer

Ten cups of foam later, you begin to change your mind: she's not so bad after all. And so what if there's a weird-shaped
little purple ridgey thing on her upper neck...; so what if her teeth aren't exactly straight... or all there...; so what if she
likes pulling out her compact every fifteen minutes to make sure that her L'Oreal "touch-up" is covering all of the
zits on her forehead... She does laugh at all of your jokes... or is she just laughing at you?

The next part is somewhat a blur.

OK, why lie? The next part is non-existent.

You wake up the next morning and she's next to you. Well, someone is next to you. You just can't remember who... Her make-up
is gone, smeared off by slop kisses that wreaked of hops and doritos, and her hair is tousled, making her look as if she's either
just walked off-stage from a bad production of Beckett or that she's been playing with the electrical outlets in the kitchen.

Either way, you scream a blood-curling yell that makes the neighbors call. What the hell can possibly come from a night like this?

Three months later you get your answer: you're head over heels in love...

Home | Valentine's Day | Relationship 101 | Modern Dating