Monday, June 24, 2002
I’ve always believed that a sense of play is paramount to the health of any long-term relationship. And though some times I may have doubted it, Dan, now I finally understand that you feel exactly the same way.

I have to admit you had me going for a while there, when you “broke up” with me, quit your job and moved to Tacoma. Things got a little weird when you didn’t leave a forwarding address and I started to wonder if we were doing okay. But then I remembered how you loved to play-act when we were together, going home from the bar with other girls and conveniently “forgetting” to tell me that you’d changed the all the locks to the apartment. I have to admit; you sure knew how to keep a girl coming back for more! But your little “hard to get” routine didn’t fool me then and I wasn’t about to let it fool me when I was put to the big test. Before you could say “disappeared in the middle of the night” I was in a Seattle-area private investigator’s office, proving just what I was willing to do for your love.

Of course, I wasn’t naive enough to think that would be enough: after all, most any girl with a road atlas, a lock picking kit and a flexible career path could track you down in Tacoma and surprise you in your new apartment at three in the morning.

But only the true of heart would endure the endless trips to the police station and rounds of legal maneuvering necessary to prove their conviction over the next several months.

You knew I’d come through for you, Dan, and I did. No amount of door slamming, table-lamp swinging or screaming “Back to hell with you, bitch!” could shake from my mind the love I still saw in your eyes. Lesser girls probably would have given up after being shoved off the fire escape, but then of course they wouldn’t have been worthy of your love.

A restraining order can send a lot of messages, but if you really wanted me to stay away, I know you would have made sure it was for more than a mere 100 meters. That’s practically a Valentine’s card, an invitation to buy some high-powered binoculars and peer into your bedroom window from the parking lot of the Taco Bell down the street. You know these little lovers’ games drive me wild, you tease!

After all, if you really meant what you said about the end of Fatal Attraction, why would you go to the trouble of installing those electronic sensors in my bed to monitor my masturbations? Or what about the wafer-thin cameras hidden inside the patterns in my wallpaper? That just doesn’t make sense.

Everybody thought I’d for sure throw in the towel when you married Darlene, or at least when Alicia and Barnaby were born. But they just don’t understand us, Dan. I’m in this for the long haul. My love only goes stronger with every additional test, and with every night spent sleeping on your rooftop, peering down through the skylight until my breath fogs the glass.

Say what you like to the papers, Dan. I know you love me.

Keep Your Hands Off the President’s Money
Once again the current political climate has brought out the worst in the spend-o-crats. In case you’re thinking that’s another name for a real political party, don’t be stupid.

I Haven't Laughed That Hard Since Mom Killed Dad
I have to admit, when you fell off the top of that double-decker bus the other day, I couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh and point. Then I laughed so hard I had to sit down. As a matter of fact, I haven’t laughed that hard since mom shot dad in the head with that crossbow when we were kids.

You and Me Are Turkeys
There are way too many states these days. When I was a kid, we had four: New York, Georgia, Beezlefromt and Indiana. Indiana was everything west of Georgia, where the Indians lived. Beezlefromt was a big green state that got bought out by the Japanese.

Survivor Glorifies Being Stranded on a Desert Island
Not that glorifying this depraved lifestyle is anything new. There have always been exploitative movies like The Blue Lagoon, Return to the Blue Lagoon, Castaway (1987) and Cast Away (2000), as well as trashy novels like Robinson Crusoe.