If You Can't Be With The One You Love, Bash In Their Skull And Hope They Only Remember The Good Times

I'm not one to leave loose ends. I wish I was because it would make me far more interesting and sexy. But I like things wrapped up in tidy little packages, tied with tidy little bows. Or maybe knots. So for anyone who thought my last post was too cryptic (*cough* Trashman), allow me to clarify.

Two lovely people who are married and with whom I am rather closely acquainted, have decided to part ways. This did not come as a huge shock to me because a few years ago I was at their house staring in rather horrified surprise at the songs the husband had downloaded from Kazaa.

There was only one song on their list.

The refrain has a certain charm, to be sure. But if you're just loving "the one you're with" I can assure you that "the one you're with" will be the appendage attached to your wrist (barring any unfortunate harvesting accidents) in fairly short order.

Human beings just don't settle. We'll construct any number of intricate delusions in order to convince ourselves that the ones we love are indeed the ones we're with. And if you aren't doing that, then you are kind of scummy. Slightly more honest perhaps, but still scummy.

Lest anyone get the idea that this is a reflection of a personal nature, it isn't. Well it is, but it has nothing to do with Jethro or me. I have to put that out there just in case there are lurkers who are concocting fantasies that they have a shot with either of us. Because as you all know, people are just beating down our door.

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I went to an Asian business networking association "mixer" with Jethro last night. Big mistake. Jethro is great at that kind of thing. Me not so much. He's the James Bond to my Old Elvis.

Anyway, there were quite a few young Asian professionals looking to make some business contacts. And since I don't do anything more professional than fluffing my husband when I want to eat, I was a bit out of my element. So I started drinking. I only had three, but I hadn't eaten much and they were pretty strong.

It's a bad thing when I drink alone. I'm not meant for it. I get tunnel vision and I only see the glass. I sip the cranberry juice and vodka through the straw to watch it wind it's way in rivulets, against gravity, through the ice cubes,. This does not make one's drinks last as long as one might think. So I end up dispatching with them pretty rapidly.

I was finishing my second one when the bartender came up to me and asked how I was doing. I told him I thought I was being discriminated against. He humored me.

So I think I'll leave that kind of thing to Jethro from now on. He's far more likeable and has far fewer disorders.