The Way Love Should Be

Anybody who has dated before has somewhat of an idea of what their next relationship will be like. Anybody who has watched any daytime television before also has some ideas of possible outcomes of a romantic relationship. Dating experience coupled with daytime television watching brews a copious knowledge of the dating scene. For example, there's always the attractive girl in the red dress, always at the bar by herself drinking whiskey sours, who you never had enough courage or alcohol to approach. Just from sitting at your table across the room you can assume based on your personal experiences, that she will be either (A) taken, (B) has mental problems or (C) is evil. Based on your television intuition, she will probably be either (A) connected to the mob, (B) a prostitute, or (C) a vampire. All of these are possible, but you would like to think that you live in a movie, so you approach her.
You order a martini and check your Rolex in one fast and smooth motion, so she doesn’t notice that it’s really a Bolex. You tell her the history of Vodka and that you’ve killed many people in Peru. She is intrigued. We cut to a scene at your high rise apartment as you and the mystery girl indulge in Barry White and other erotic pleasures. Then the dreamy montage with The Cure’s “Love Song” playing in the background, the lovely couple running on the beach, riding horses, drinking from the same milkshake with two straws, and finally getting married. While on honey moon in the Bahamas, you realize that she used to be connected to the mob as a prostitute and they are coming back after her. 10,000 bullets, two chase scenes and six explosions later, you have a confrontation with the mob boss, who is a vampire. Needless to say, there is a long heated matrix-style battle and a Vin Diesel one-liner as you blow him away. Then fade into the couple in each other’s arms during the sunset, credits roll; and you realize you are still sitting by yourself with a watered down rum and coke, staring at the whiskey sour girl.

You’re not sure what it was, maybe it was when you got on your knees begging, but you succeed in getting her number. It could be a fake, and you can’t make out the last number, but nonetheless, you frame it and put it up on your wall as a trophy of your pimp status. After the first date, there are many roads this relationship can go; as I’ve said before, she could be taken or have mental problems, the one thing you have confidence in is that she is evil. The circumstances surrounding your relationship will define how it will go; will you end up on Dr.Phil, Oprah, or be an inspiration to the writer’s block ridden writer for Port Charles?

Among the many of the more real life scenarios to choose from, the most probable one would be the relationship driven by passion that burns out in a few weeks, sitting together silently during lunch at a 2 star restaurant, conversations that go nowhere, dying somewhere between your lips and her ears. The flame would grow dull and the romance mundane, as other couples will label you “dead” between bites of their lunchtime special. You will remember her in the bar with the whiskey sour, the triumph of getting her number, those countless passionate evenings accompanied with the smooth sounds Barry White. The lush apple of romance has turned grey; the deep schism in the romance picks up the phone and dials 323-461-PHIL.

Now that you have become a Dr.Phil couple, no matter what, you will be the enemy, because you are male. Dr.Phil will console you and help you, and maybe exploit your situation and make a whole new segment about it, giving it a catchy name like “Passion Put on Pause: The Dead Couples”. You will tell the nostalgic story of the romance that started not too long ago, and Dr. Phil will solve your problems with a mixture of fancy words and blunt accusations. The crowd will cheer as you two kiss again like you used to, just as you rehearsed it. More (dead) couples will follow in the “Passion Put on Pause” series, it may be reassuring that you’re not alone in the graveyard. The road paved by Dr. Phil knows no words such as disaster, divorce, quagmire, or pain; lest any premonitions of these ramifications occur, you always have the warm arms of Dr. Phil to fall back on. Such a success story just dials itself--633-0808--Oprah.

After Dr. Phil, your romance is now full of life, and Barry White. Oprah and her minions will drool over this story, you will tell it the best you can, in hopes of getting Oprah excited enough to give you some free cars or designer teapots. Of course, there will always be the dramatic reenactments of the epic story, complimented by a matter-of-fact voice over, and of course, the opalescent shot of the victimized woman staring out the window during the depressing parts. Along the way Oprah will make melodramatic commentary, and the crowd will follow in infomercial fashion, for it is such a joyous occasion. The long hard road seems to be all worth it now; you have overcome your relationship woes in the greatest fashion, becoming an "Oprah couple".

After the excitement subsides, and the spotlight has been diverted to a new couple with more exciting problems, like raising the dead every time they have sex; I would suspect that the sudden deviation from the spotlight will be the solvent to the glue that kept your hearts in the state of romance. A situation that parallels this would be the failed child star, teen idol one minute, Jim Beam swigging trailer park tycoon the next. Of course, this is an extremity, I highly doubt a couple in love will have a fallout like Macaulay Culkin, nor get molested by Michael Jackson. But I digress; your pleasant ride on the elevator of fame through misfortune may begin to fold, and Kenny G elevator music can mutate into the pounding sounds of speed metal band Anal Blast. Flashbacks of Oprah, Dr. Phil, whiskey sours and Barry White are blinding, and as such a prolific relationship goes up in flames, there isn't anything to do but look back on the good times. In a conflict between the climax and falling action, the relationship has crossed the line of the horrible break up.

The passionate couple, the dead couple, the Dr. Phil couple, the Oprah couple, and the horrible breakup couple, now the aftermath couple. The aftermath is seems to be where most creeps are born. Trouble coping can start the whole thing over again, horrible break ups can push the levels of psychosis, but most of all, this is where most vultures come to feed. Tabloids will pay close attention, Jerry Springer operators are waiting, soap opera writers inspired. The fall of TV's prime couple will become TV's prime couple again, just in a more demeaning way. America counts on you, knocking on the door of your wrecked romance with no remorse, saying "here we are now, entertain us". Meanwhile, there will still be a battle at who gets the last word, throwing punches here and there, until one of them buys a shotgun from some thug's trunk (just to add some flavor to the act), and nails their lover in the chest. A perfect Hollywood ending; and a perfect segue into becoming a legendary couple, like Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.