Don Giovanni

Had a great day having a caper with C and R like the old days-lunch with plenty of repartee, and, because we didn’t have to go back to the office, like all our other capers, we could have bloody marys and Malibu and cokes. Then we crashed Lotta’s house and sat on her porch so close to the beach and enjoyed the gorgeous day, regaling her Mom with our banter. But came home with a bonecrusher of a migraine (thank you, bloody mary) so I did my usual routine…medication, turn off the phones, get nice and cuzzy on the couch, and find something unstimulating on TV to help me sleep through the pain. Usually, my best bet is Court TV, especially if an expert witness is testifying, because explanations of blood splatter patterns really sends me into nonny-nonny land.

But today, I flipped by and saw that one of my favorite movies, “The Tao of Steve” was on and, head pounding or not, I was drawn in. This is a film that has dialogue that would please a philosophy major while making anyone laugh out loud. A favorite of mine is:

He: I’m falling in love with you.

She: No you’re not.

He: Yes, I am.

She: Then why do you see so many other girls?

He: Oh, what am I supposed to remain celibate while basking in the warm glow of your

annihilating comtempt?

Days before this, she told him how Kierkegaard was fascinated with Don Giovanni. She said Don Giovanni slept with thousands of women because he was afraid he wouldn’t be loved by one.

And the principles of the Tao of Steve (that being Steve McQueen as is later revealed) for how to win a woman is as follows:

Abandon all desire for her

Let her see you being excellent

Retreat from her.

“Because, we pursue that which retreats from us”

Well, this was wonderful stuff in my med induced state, but it also made me reflect upon my patterns in love and war. The other day with C and again on Friday with M, we took trips down the romantic history channel. M and I have know each other since our twenties, and we each knew all the men that we didn’t wind up with. And there were some rich and

high-larious stories in the bunch. The night we went dancing in the Fun House with M’s new date who showed up in a matching denim outfit, pants and vest, ready to dance with himself in a mirror when we got there. And me getting into my car by the park at 2AM after a night out with my girlfriend and seeing the guy I was dating walk out of the bushes and tap on my car window. He had been sitting there in those freaking bushes all night waiting for me to get back. He eventually became an FBI agent (truly).

My shrink has been working with me to get me to even consider dating again. I guess when I think about how much dating I actually did do when I became single again, there hardly seems to be anything that I missed out on, from climbing up the side of an oil tanker with a beautiful blond rigger and waltzing with him on the captain’s bridge, to dating a himbo who thought France was a city.

Soon, soon, it’s crystallizing and I may be ready to have another adventure, but I’m going to have to do something more than wait for him to come crashing through my French doors.