A Door for Humans

I was delivering flowers yesterday afternoon. Nothing out of the ordinary. Actually, I was delivering a gift basket to a doctor at Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic on Old Lebanon Road on the north east side of town but that doesn't matter. The gift basket part not the Two Rivers Veterinary Clinic part. That does matter.

Hell. Lemme try that again.

So I was delivering a gift basket to a vet's office yesterday. Not a veteran's office, a veterinarian's office. You know what? I'm just gonna start drinking right now. Maybe that'll help.

Okay... Third time's a charm. Yesterday afternoon I was delivering a gift basket to a veterinary clinic (I DID IT!). I pulled up to the front door in the behemoth that is our delivery van and parked squarely in the "NO PARKING" zone. I have special privileges, that's why. I got out of the van, walked around the back of the vehicle, and opened the side door. There was the arrangement gift basket in all its glory. I picked it up, assed the door shut, and walked in.

Upon entering, I was met with a set of two doors: one to the left that read "Dogs" and one to the right that red "Cats". Seeing as that I had a basketful of edible goodies (read: not underwear), I used my quick flower delivery man thinking and deduced that of the two doors, the one that read "Cats" would be less likely to have animals in that want to eat all of the delectables that I was carrying. I also guessed that there probably was no catnip in said gift basket. Also, I had to get into the office itself.

This is the conversation that I had with the front desk administrator lady:

Me: "Hi!"

Front desk administrator lady: "Hi! OHMYGOSHTHATISGORGEOUS!"

Me: "Awesome! Yeah, this is for Dr. Schlabach."

Front desk administrator lady: "Oh, I can take it to him."

Me: "Great, thanks. I hope it's okay."

Front desk administrator lady: "You hope what's okay?"

Me: "Well, I saw a door for 'Dogs' and a door for 'Cats' but I didn't see a door that read 'Humans'. I'm not in trouble, am I?"

Front desk administrator lady: [silence]

Me: "Have a good one!"

And this was after me meeting someone at Vanderbilt Hospital named Cookie Warpool. I didn't think my day was going to get any better after that but boy was I wrong...

Free flowers! Ladies, inquire within! (Act 2)

...And I thought tax season was brutal. Back in the days of working at Harpeth Financial, I would regularly work seven days a week during tax season. It wasn't so much intense as it was long and boring. Kinda like Dances with Wolves. If you've never endured (and, really, that's the only way to describe it) Love Day by working at a florist, than you really haven't endured much of anything. Deliveries here, deliveries over there, deliveries and delusions of grandeur everywhere! I, strangely, really enjoyed myself despite the loopiness that eventually ensued.

If you'll notice the previous blog entry I was ready to make some single lady's dream come true on Valentine's Day. I promised them free flowers in exchange for, umm... not being alone on Valentine's Day night. Yeah. That'll work.

Oh, the reposts! Oh, the retweets! Oh, the text messages from friends saying "I showed this to everyone in my office!" And do you know how many direct responses I got from ladies who said, "Yeah. He's kinda cute. Short, but kinda cute. I'll let him bring me a boquet/arrangement/whateverit'scalled. Hell, I may even let him buy me a drink."

Zero. That's how many. Not one. None. At all.

What kind of world do we live in where a woman who, let's face it, has got to be almost as perpetually single as I am can't even say "Yeah, I don't dislike this guy enough where I'll let him bring me flowers." An arrangement that looks as magnificent as this:

If that doesn't just induce feelings of lust and desire, I don't know what will.

Ladies, I'm gonna be honest here: You are missing out on one hell of a prize. Clearly that prize is not me. I tried that. The prize now involves food. And drink. And a sweet ride. I'm now going to up the ante'. In addition to a free arrangement for you, I will throw in the following:
-- One free dinner to the restaurant of your choosing that doesn't involve the word(s) "King", "Castle", "Wendy's" or "Crazy Expensive". Clearly a meal here is not an option. Sorry.
-- Almost all the alcohol you can handle. I don't want to end up being your drunk makeout session this month.
-- Valet parking (if it's available). This is a big deal.
-- An evening of elegance and style riding around in a 2007 Ford Escape. It's a bitchin' ride. Trust me.

I have really raised the stakes, I know.

Let's try this again, ladies. How can you resist?

Be sure to tune in for the exciting conclusion of this trilogy wherein I still get no response and offer, hell, I don't know... ballroom dancing lessons and half a dozen or so Titleist golf balls into the mix.

Free flowers! Ladies, inquire within.

Irony: i-ro-ny [ahy-ruh-nee, ahy-er-] –noun, plural -nies.
1. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: The irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.

This is one of my favorite literary devices. Indeed it is. That and, as always, assonance. There are so many wonderful and fun ways to use it: to make fun of people, to make fun of situations, to make fun of people in situations. Um... Basically that would be it but that is the basis of humor and I'm not clever enough to think of new jokes or ways to use the old ones. I stick with what I know and it's lead me to the a life of fame, glory, and sleeping on top of a pile of money with many beautiful ladies each and every night. See? Irony. Right there.

For those of you who don't know, there aren't many holidays that I enjoy. Christmas, Worksgiving Thanksgiving, Easter, Valentine's Day: these are all days I can do without. Don't get me wrong, I think that the meaning behind them is fantastic but dropping some cash on chocolates or flowers for your sweetie just because the world says you should and if you don't you're going to be sleeping on the couch next to your 60 pound boxer who would be more than willing to make sweet love on you all night long... that's just wrong By the way, I did a Google image search for "boxer" and found yonder image. The url associated with it ended with "Boxers at play". Check it out for yourself. I don't know what kinda play that is... This is where I'd make a joke about David Carradine or Roman Polanski but I don't have one for either off of the top of my head.

So, guys, you kinda hafta buy something for your sweetheart this weekend. Otherwise it'll be you, a bottle of Fireball whiskey, and your entire collection of Pirates of the Caribbean movies trying to make it through the next few days. Actually, that sounds like a pretty good weekend if you ask me. And, fellas, quit asking me for discounts. I think I may have done used 'em up. "May have done used 'em up"? Good God.

The personal irony for me is that in addition to loathing Valentine's Day is that I work at a florist on the weekends; a job which I adore on a day that I decidedly do not. For the next two-ish days, I will be driving around the greater Nashville area delivering love (hehehe). To see the reaction on women's faces (and probably some dudes', too) when I hand them their bouquet and then have them immediately run over and hug/kiss/makeoutwith their significant other while I'm standing there with my clipboard in my hand waiting for her or him to come back to the front door and sign it all the while freezing my ass off on what may very well be my least favorite day of the the year... Well, that's irony.

To the ladies who are reading this (and I know there are at least three or four of you), don't feel bummed if you ain't got nobody just like David Lee Roth in his song "Just a Gigolo". I don't either. And maybe, just maybe mind you, I'll make your Valentine's Day by swinging by your place after I'm done working and give you a flower or two. Goodness knows what happens when I give flowers out to women: Someone else comes along and gives her a bigger arrangement and she starts gushing about that one. Which may or may not have happened in real life within the past week to me.

Has anyone seen my pride? If so, can I have it back?

So ladies who may be interested in free flowers, get at me. Leave me a comment. Tell me why you deserve free flowers from me: charming, funny, bearded, handsome me. Make sure I've got your phone number. Wear something skimpy when I show up. You know the drill.

You don't bring me flowers anymore except for when you do

Last night I had a very several conversations with a friend of mine. One in particular stuck out in my mind if only because I was exceptionally honest and forthcoming... And maybe because the instant that it was over I knew that I had to write it in to something at some point in time for (at the very least) posterity's sake.

As many of you know, I work at a florist on Saturdays an occassionally get free flowers that I give away. I now know all of 4 kinda of flowers now so lookout world! I walked out the door shortly after 6 yesterday evening and decided to drop off some flowers at my friend's house. I don't know why but I thought that not only could she use them but that they would suit her personality. She's a beautiful woman inside and out: caring, charming, incredibly artistic, the definition of grace (despite her clumsiness), and has got a good heart to boot. And, if you haven't been paying attention, you may know notice that this blog is called "Looking for Like" and not either of the two other dreadedly annoying four letter words. So, with no intentions of hope or (for that matter) surrender to the seeds of romanticism of my youthful days, I drove over to her house and gave her these flowers. All because I'm just trying to be a solid dude and I know that I've fucked up on far too many other things in my life that I should be trying to atone for them. Karma. Giving back. Whatever.

Honestly there were no intentions. And I can't even fake that.

To give you a bit of background on the previous coversations, she and I were talking about intelligence. I consider myself to be a pretty smart guy. As a matter of fact I know it. We were talking about IQ tests and high scores. We were talking about cognitive ability. And she was talking about how she thought I was all of those things and possesed all of those or whatever the proper verb tenses and item correlations there are with those things. It's 7:27 am on a Sunday, I'm at the laundrymat and I'm typing this on my phone. Don't expect Dickens.

Our conversation went like this:
Her: You're so smart. Why are you hanging out with me?
Me: 'Cause I like you.

And for at least a split second I felt like it was the most honest thing I had said in years. Yes, I'm still kind if a jackass and, no, I don't think that'll ever go away. And, yes, I got the flowers for free but if I would have kept them they'd probably be laying next to the empty Little Ceasar's Hot and Ready box on my bedroom floor right now. If we can all look past that, we'll be okay.

So, to all of other my lady friends (not "ladyfriends") who read this: I might bring you flowers some day, too. Just 'cause I think you could use them.