123Valerie Strikes Again

Unprecedented Self-Indulgence.

Tuesday, October 02, 2007

This One Goes Out to the One(s) I Love

I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar. That much is true.

The year was 2003, February, I believe. I had just quit flying the friendly skies to go to school full time and I got a job at a little bistro, where the manager would dip into the extensive wine collection. His name was Theodopholous, and in an average shift, we saw him arrive drunk, sober up, suffer a hangover and get drunk all over again.

It was a pretty volatile place.

In fact, the head chef quit/got fired on my first day, but all he and I needed were the few seconds in passing to realize that we were both interested. Quite literally, he was walking out the back door with his chef jacket in hand and cursing under his breath, while I was arriving for my first shift.

We locked eyes, and it was a very sweet moment—both he and I turned back to watch each other walk away.

I got his number through another fellow waitress, and being bold and brazen, I called him. (Sorry Woodrow. That's how I roll.)

He was loving and sweet and funny and all of that good stuff. I, however, was kind of dumb and a little overwhelmed with a sick Mom and school and work … well, just generally kind of a mess.

So, after three months, I broke his heart. After he said, "I love you," I replied, "Thank you, that's so nice." Oh, 123Valerie.

Fast forward a few years. Chef somehow found it in his heart to not hate me too much, and we occasionally hung out. I was working at a new restaurant, where the manager DID NOT throw sautee pans and staplers at the staff, and I was working with a nice girl, M.

M was funny and attractive and intelligent and all of that good stuff. I heard a little "Bing!" and an idea popped in my head, atop my red curls. "I should fix M and Chef up!"

And, gang, do you know what? They got married earlier this year. They're doing great. Happy as clams.

I feel I've atoned my dumb 23-year-old ass by setting up a boy whose heart I broke with his loving wife, right?

Okay, so the other day, they popped in my head, and I checked out their MySpace pages to see what was new. You know how those things are—they make your eyeballs melt, what with all of the crazy graphics and pictures of drunk friends sticking their tongues out, leaving deep, heart-felt messages like, "Dude! Wuz up!"

I get that it's a digital popularity contest. Whatevs.

But, I was really surprised to read that M left Chef all of these sincerely, deep, heart-felt messages on his page like, "My darling husband, thank you so much for completing my life. I can't wait to spend every day of our lives together in love and bliss. Love, your loving wife."

I read that and literally scrunched up my face in confusion.

Now, here's the thing—I'm not opposed to sending sweet love notes via e-mail. I can accept that very few people keep up with actual handwritten correspondence, sadly (except for certain Nova Scotians, eh, Peter?).

But, to put those kinds of messages up on a board on a computer, when you could probably just tell your husband, oh I don't know, in person, seems really, really weird to me.

Actually, it seems a little insecure. The technologic version of peeing on your territory, like, "Ladies who see this, this is my husband, and he completes my life, and we are going to spend every day of our lives together in love and bliss. Fuck off."

Am I being over sensitive? Well, probably, yes. But can you dig what I'm saying? Would you ever leave your significant other a Hallmark card-esque cliché of love on his or her MySpace page?

Maybe I should try it before I go knocking it:

My darling pretties, you complete my life. I have known from the moment I looked into my monitor that we would be together forever. You have stood by me through the tough times, when I ranted and rambled and posted drunk. I am grateful that you never judge me when I incessantly talk about my boobs or all of the berries I find in my neighborhood. You don't mind the ghastly pink motif or my penchant for asinine bullet lists. I can't wait to spend our days together bathed in romance and to have your beautiful children as a reflection of our blog love, our blov.

Wait. Okay, scratch the kids part. But, the rest is all true. That did feel pretty good.

Okay, your turn. In the Comments section, leave me a super-cheese, warm fuzzy.

Editor's Note: Bea Arthur of TV's acclaimed "The Golden Girls" has a MySpace page. http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=231482036

She's 85. I guess I should get hopping, then.



  • At 8:31 PM , Blogger Peter DeWolf said...

    Hand-written cover sheet...

    I am STILL baffled by some of my fellow Nova Scotians.

  • At 12:03 AM , Blogger Grampa said...


    Now bend over.

  • At 7:14 PM , Anonymous Franki said...

    I wuv yer boobie-woobies.

  • At 9:13 AM , Blogger Effortlessly Average said...

    Ok, before I even read the post, I have to tell you about the title. When I was dating my first wife, that song came on the radio, like, every time we'd get our freak on. I don't think you could go so far as to say it was "our song" (since our marriage, and in fact our entire courtship, didn't last that long), but whenever I hear that song I think of her. Weird.

    Ok, now I'm going to post this and go actually read your entry. So be prepared for me to comment again. Jus' sayin'


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