On Dating, Alter-Egos, Rebirths and Such

I arrive at the café 15 minutes early as most dating coaches and clinically sane people would advise you. I go through the list of things I would say, the jokes I would make.

Blank.

Shit, wasn’t there a list of topics on the agenda tonight to be discussed? Are cheat sheets allowed on dates?

I fidget. My hand needs to play with something. I take a bag of sugar and wrap it open for no particular or logical reason. The pebbles of sugar spill inevitably on the wooden table carved with initials and ‘woz ‘ere’ s and faded love hearts.

The Voice Inside My Head aka Sami: Great man..what are you trying to do? Show her what a freak show you really are on your first date?

Luckily, I manage to wipe away the sugar in time for the grand entrance of my date. She doesn’t look right nor left, I stand up, wave stupidly and shake her hand.

She looks exquisite.

I crack some joke of me knowing all the stories of the people sitting in the café by now.

Me: This guy thinks his girlfriend is too possessive, while she says that his ex has no right to call him, but he says that they’re only good friends, what do you think?

She smiles, suppressing a chuckle, I hope she doesn’t think I’m hinting that she's late.

Sami: Wow man, she is a looker. Want me to take over?
Me: No, I want to do it the right way..
Sami: Right way my ass. You know I’m much better with the LAY-DEE-Z, (doing an animalistic humping movement) ask your exes
Me: I know but I want her to like me for me.. not some silly alter ego I created..
Silence
Sami: HA HA HA HA! You’ve been watching too many Oprah Winfrey episodes my friend
Me: No I haven’t..you know that..
Sami: I think she’s staring at you..

It was the waiter and her staring at me evenly.

Waiter: What would you like to have, sir?
Being the gentleman I am, I gesture to my date to go ahead.

She orders some mocka-cuppo-fettucini thing. I order minted tea.

So much for sophistication.

We talk some little about work and troubles we’re facing in life. We find we have a lot in common; our fondness for foreign movies and desire for World Peace.

Speaking of which.

Halfway through the date, Sami pops out with a smoking, white suit and a matching hat in a foggy club, spotlights centered on him.

Sami (singing): Babyyyyyy, When I get that feeling I want seck-choo-wal healing..seck-choo-wal..When I get that feeling..
Me: I am aware of that, thank you very much for your kind contribution.. go back to alter-ego land where you meet other imaginary hot chicks and have sex all the time
Sami: I’m tired of them, they’re all so…fake! Listen, I can get her to put out in 20 minutes
Me: Shut up
Sami: Ok that’s an exaggeration, give me two weeks
Me: Go away
Sami: Okie

Sami picks a hot blonde in a night dress from the front seats, sweeps her off her feet in one quick motion, and plants a passionate kiss on her lips. Her fingers curl around his suit, and her manicured toes similarly in her sandals.

Back to boring reality world.

We called the waiter in a variety of names. Man, sir, gundoo, idiot, Sayyed, Hajj.

I pray he trips and falls and breaks his damn neck, and while we’re at it an apocalyptic, nuclear war is waged outside where human race perishes and we are forced to form a primitive community to guarantee the continuation and evolution of human species.

Nothing of that sort happens.

Sami: Tell her she’s fat..
Me: WHAT? She’s not fat..
Sami: You are gonna blow it anyway, might as well have fun with it.
Me: Go away man.
Sami: I give it 2 weeks.
Me: No, I feel this is it. Really, she’s the one.
Sami: Blech! (Does some silly The Matrix movements)

He was right. All it took was 2 weeks.

That’s when the old me died, and I became Sami, the silly alter-ego I created.