Thursday, September 2, 2010


I was hanging outside of the bookstore today and taking full advantage of a never-ending crosswind and canopy shade, when Valentino sat next to me.
It is unknown if Valentino was truly his name 
(there is, of course, a slight chance)
 but Valentino was a fitting monicker for the man.

I am most certain, however, that the name of the woman that he was breaking up with over the phone was Deena, because Valentino repeated it over and over in his thick Italian accent.

"Deena.  It is over."
"Deena.  There is no solution.  This is the end."
"Deena.  You live your life and I will live mine."

Whatever.  It was a cad's play if you ask me, but to each his own.  My problem was that I counted exactly twenty-one unoccupied seats at the outside cafe area.  As a matter of fact, I was the lone wolf of the territory.  Nobody else around - and Valentino decided to plant himself a few feet away from me to cut his amorous ties with the - in my opinion, lucky - Deena.

So I began a stare-down with Valentino as he proceeded with the messy breakup via cellular connection.

I will begrudgingly give him some props and attest that he kept his own.  He unflichingly continued under my hypnotic gaze and even called his mother (in Italian) after he was through dumping Deena.
I finally got the better of him, though, and he nervously picked up his keys and moved away.

So Deena, if you're out there, I hope you get a little satisfaction by knowing that Valentino was made to feel somewhat uncomfortable during his final conversation with you under what he probably
surmised to be the watchful
eye of a man with mental issues.
(Fist-pump in the air for the broken-hearted)!


  1. Hands down, you have the best blog postings. I am never disappointed. They are always interesting. I always learn something new. And they always leave me with a smile on my face. You have a wonderful talent. Don't let it go to your head. :)

  2. Last conversation?
    Deena will get a call three weeks from now when our good friend can come p with no better plans on a Friday night.
    She will accept his call though she knows she should not, and will have a horrible time, and they will date again for a short time.
    Then our friend will repeat said phone call in a crowded bar while some girl in a cocktail dress stares at him in disgust.