variation: Pookie-bear. Snookums, variation: Snookie. Woo-woo. Puppy, variation: Puppy-pooh. Pooh-bear. Feel free to offer variations such as Honey-Pookie-Snuggle-Bunny, or Snookie-Pookie, or Pookie-Woo-Woo. I donât quite care for the woo-woo thing myself, but itâs quite common and popular in Australia, Iâm told.â
âI wish I could use those,â I sigh. âBut the circumstances are a little more hazy. I donât know where this whole thing is heading. I think of him constantly, and he possesses my every waking thought. I even called the radio psychic to find out my destiny.â
âAh, I remember that day we did âDestiny,â good day that was, an inspired day that was,â Adam reminisces. âThen that Destinyâs Child shows up and makes it all soppy, screws it all up for everyone.â
âThey were better as a four-piece, better harmonies, rounder sound,â the midget chimes in. And heâs totally correct, too.
âSally the Psychic said it would work out, but it hasnât. Why would she give me faulty advice on an Arbitron-rated Best for Easy Listening Lite Rock station, the radio station that everyone at work can agree on? Iâm hopelessly smitten by this guy. I have detailed fantasies about us: it started quite simply, romantic vacations, camping trips, matching tattoos, a night at the opera, but last night I found myself dreaming about us in Supermarket Sweep . He was running down the aisles with the wobbly shopping cart under perfect control in his gorgeous tattooed arms, and I was screaming product names at him. Lysol Linen-Fresh Disinfectant, Ray-O-Vac 12-Pak, Deep Woods Off!, Tide with Bleach, Springfield Chicken Chunk Pot-Pies, Snickerâs, for godâs sake, Snickerâs. I donât even use half of those things and I donât know whether he does or not. I long to hear his voice, even over the static of the phone line, but he has call forwarding so I canât even call to hear his voice on the answering machine message. I hunt for his name on the Internet everyday and bookmark every instance of it. I look at his name in the phonebook just to pass the time. I hide behind parked cars and municipal trash bins so that I can just look at him.â
âI think youâre looking for Stalker or Obsessed or Unrealistically romantic or Romantique, if you please,â Adam says.
âAnd every time I see him, every time I watch him move, I think I feel some crusty cosmic fingernail poking at my very insides. I have no word for what Iâm going through. I donât know what I am, he is, or how to sleep or wake. I need a word for this condition that Iâve found myself in.â
Adam looks flummoxed. He looks defeated. âWow, that is a difficult one. If only because the condition is imaginary, unrealistic, too idealized, and that, my dear friend, can be called by any name and it would still make no difference or sense.â
The midget shaking his head slowly in resignation has tucked his notebook away and has powered his laptop off.
Happiness is not the remedy for unhappiness.
Oops.
K ing
When the dumping occurs, friends rally around. They look doleful in solidarity, they tread lightly, they offer sentimental platitudes intended to uplift, to raise hope, to soothe. Better to have lost in love, then neverâ¦, they say, You deserve betterâ¦, they declare, Itâs his lossâ¦, It was never meant to beâ¦
Yes, there are plenty of fish in the sea. But there is also jellyfish and mercury poisoning. Go fish.
The guy I was dating sent me an e-mail telling me that his life was too busy to have to factor me into the equation of work and school and family and friends and obligations. We can still hang out, he writes. The e-mail contained an attachment, an unwieldy ten megabyte image file which I think is a picture of him, but itâs all pixilated into swirly bits of a million and two colors, as if the
âI wish I could use those,â I sigh. âBut the circumstances are a little more hazy. I donât know where this whole thing is heading. I think of him constantly, and he possesses my every waking thought. I even called the radio psychic to find out my destiny.â
âAh, I remember that day we did âDestiny,â good day that was, an inspired day that was,â Adam reminisces. âThen that Destinyâs Child shows up and makes it all soppy, screws it all up for everyone.â
âThey were better as a four-piece, better harmonies, rounder sound,â the midget chimes in. And heâs totally correct, too.
âSally the Psychic said it would work out, but it hasnât. Why would she give me faulty advice on an Arbitron-rated Best for Easy Listening Lite Rock station, the radio station that everyone at work can agree on? Iâm hopelessly smitten by this guy. I have detailed fantasies about us: it started quite simply, romantic vacations, camping trips, matching tattoos, a night at the opera, but last night I found myself dreaming about us in Supermarket Sweep . He was running down the aisles with the wobbly shopping cart under perfect control in his gorgeous tattooed arms, and I was screaming product names at him. Lysol Linen-Fresh Disinfectant, Ray-O-Vac 12-Pak, Deep Woods Off!, Tide with Bleach, Springfield Chicken Chunk Pot-Pies, Snickerâs, for godâs sake, Snickerâs. I donât even use half of those things and I donât know whether he does or not. I long to hear his voice, even over the static of the phone line, but he has call forwarding so I canât even call to hear his voice on the answering machine message. I hunt for his name on the Internet everyday and bookmark every instance of it. I look at his name in the phonebook just to pass the time. I hide behind parked cars and municipal trash bins so that I can just look at him.â
âI think youâre looking for Stalker or Obsessed or Unrealistically romantic or Romantique, if you please,â Adam says.
âAnd every time I see him, every time I watch him move, I think I feel some crusty cosmic fingernail poking at my very insides. I have no word for what Iâm going through. I donât know what I am, he is, or how to sleep or wake. I need a word for this condition that Iâve found myself in.â
Adam looks flummoxed. He looks defeated. âWow, that is a difficult one. If only because the condition is imaginary, unrealistic, too idealized, and that, my dear friend, can be called by any name and it would still make no difference or sense.â
The midget shaking his head slowly in resignation has tucked his notebook away and has powered his laptop off.
Happiness is not the remedy for unhappiness.
Oops.
K ing
When the dumping occurs, friends rally around. They look doleful in solidarity, they tread lightly, they offer sentimental platitudes intended to uplift, to raise hope, to soothe. Better to have lost in love, then neverâ¦, they say, You deserve betterâ¦, they declare, Itâs his lossâ¦, It was never meant to beâ¦
Yes, there are plenty of fish in the sea. But there is also jellyfish and mercury poisoning. Go fish.
The guy I was dating sent me an e-mail telling me that his life was too busy to have to factor me into the equation of work and school and family and friends and obligations. We can still hang out, he writes. The e-mail contained an attachment, an unwieldy ten megabyte image file which I think is a picture of him, but itâs all pixilated into swirly bits of a million and two colors, as if the
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