BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

And so the dance of deception begins…

What dance? What deception? Read on…

In recent months some of the news organizations had their work cut out for them battling against slow news days. By “slow news days” I mean those stretches where the only news was the same old sucky economy and healthcare debate. Nothing new… No dead celebs, no scandals that hadn’t already been beaten to death, no multi-tuplets, and no shocking tragedies.

They needed something to wax poetic about, as usual, and so they filled the “news holes” with feature programming. One in particular that stood out from the crowd – for me, at least – was when they dusted off a bit of psychology coupled with the Internet. I probably took notice of it because of my fascination with the human condition and how our minds work, but something tells me I’m not the only one had an interest in this subject. (Duh, Sellars! Why else would they be doing the reports you doofus? Yes, I know, sometimes I can be Captain Obvious Doofus Guy…)

What am I babbling about? Simple – the news programs ran some feature reports about the “wisdom of looking up your old flames on the Internet.”

Is it wise to do so?

Is it not so smart after all?

And, what is it you are really after?

Well, personally I found these reports to be interesting, again, because of my fascination with psychopathologies and what makes people tick. They were nothing new. There have been articles about this before, but the statistics and correlations between them and other statistics (divorce for instance) keep changing… And not necessarily for the better.

However, as usual I thought their reports were a bit stilted and incomplete. By that I mean, they skewed it to make things sound like people don’t harbor subconscious intentions, and we all know that’s not true. But, moreover, they didn’t really get into the warning signs of the whole “what are you really after” factor. They had psychologists babbling about how it really isn’t a good idea to go in search of old flames because you might get in over your head, but they were simply paying lip service to the advice. No substance. No admissions that intentions aren’t pure. And most especially, no red flags for the prey of the “old flame hunters” out there who end up sliding down that slope as well if they aren’t careful.

Well, being a somewhat public figure, as mentioned in the past I have actually had to deal with stalkers a time or two. And, while not exactly the caliber of stalkers, I have also had to deal with old flames looking me up.

Yes, I know it comes as a shock to many of you, but I actually dated before becoming an indentured servant to the Evil Redhead. And, I know it’s an even bigger shock to discover that any of them would actually want to look me up after managing to get rid of me… Well, just imagine how surprised I was as well, so there…

But, moving right along… Said flames have ranged anywhere from a “quick flick of the Bic” to “long lasting bonfires.” However, the common thread and most important point about them is that they have long been extinguished and there are no smoldering embers – at my end anyway.

Now, I should point out that there is a difference between an old friend and an old flame. If you don’t know what that is, go back to 5th grade health class and watch the birds ‘n bees filmstrip again (yeah, dating myself…) And, there is a huge difference between looking up an old flame and looking up an old flame then contacting them.

Especially if the old flame happens to be married.

These latter two points are exactly what I am talking about.

So, while I don’t even begin to consider myself an expert on the subject, I do happen to have more than just a bit of experience in this area, as well as some intense background studying irrational behavior (I write about sociopaths, remember?)

Admittedly, I hold no degrees in the subject of psychology. But, as noted, I write fiction for a living, and as any fiction author can tell you, we are lifelong students of human behavior. It’s how we make our stories real. So, while we aren’t licensed to help you cope with your clinical depression, odds are we can spot a bullshit artist quicker than your average bear. And yes, that talent also draws from the old adage, “it takes one to know one,” as fiction authors are bullshit artists by trade. What makes us different from other BS’ers is that we readily admit it.

So anyway, it recently dawned on me that perhaps I could put my powers of BS X-Ray vision to use for the good of mankind, and at least partially fill the void left by the feature news programs. Especially since it is “that time of year” – yes, the holidays – which as it turns out is when statistically there is a sharp rise in the number of “old flame contacting” occurrences. (I have a pet theory that Dan Fogelberg and his song, Same Old Lang Syne are directly responsible for this phenomenon. I call it the Fogelberg Unwanted Creepy Kook Marriage Encroacher Effect or FUCKMEE for short.)

To that end, I am offering here a “red flag dictionary” of sorts. A modest listing of phrases often used – and reused – by “old flames/flings on the prowl.” The thing is, they appear perfectly innocent at first, but when unwrapped they look absolutely nothing like the representation on the outer packaging.

And there you have it.

While the “what it really means” column was presented with a bit of over-the-top, tongue in cheek verbiage for the entertainment value, it isn’t actually far off the mark. The stark reality is that more often than not, the gist of the “hidden sentiments” are exactly the same as those listed above, even if the words themselves aren’t. Word choices have meaning, both obvious and hidden. They are hooks, they are invitations, they are designed to evoke a response. Ask any writer – it’s what we do.

Statistically, the whole old flame thing is a slippery slope. If you don’t believe me, here’s a link to an article written about it back in 2006 – Think Twice. The one thing in this particular article I take exception with is the idea that these things start innocently. This is where I step out over the abyss and state that I think perhaps writers just may know a little bit more about human nature than psychologists doing experiments with a room full of chimpanzees, a crate of bananas, and some bad porn tapes. Primarily because of the fact that a simple universal constant is always ignored, that being – nobody is completely innocent after the onset of puberty. Yes, the “father of modern psychology,” old Sigmund himself (the psychiatrist, not the sea monster) said that, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” Well, that’s true. But, it’s the intent of the person holding said cigar that is at issue here.

Furthermore, I would posit that rather than being the norm for an old flame or fling to contact someone out of the blue after several years simply because they care how they are doing, it is in fact the complete opposite – extremely rare. Whether conscious or subconscious, in contacting an old flame or fling, a person is hoping to re-kindle a feeling that once existed because it is something that is currently missing from their life. And, as noted in the article, the percentage of these “old flame contacts” has grown because the internet has made it easy to chase people down.

But, you need to be aware, people don’t go looking for you unless they want something. That’s a hard, cold fact.

Take it from someone who has not only been on the receiving end of such contacts, but knows others who have as well. There’s an entire story written between the lines, and it’s not Hallmark material…

And trust me dear readers, that is non-fiction…

More to come…

Murv

…how to walk in high heels. Trust me, she knows… But, I suppose I should back that up with an explanation.

Now, I have to begin with the fact that we are not talking about E K here. This is not to say that she doesn’t have the aforementioned talent, because she does, in spades. However, in this particular instance I am waxing poetic (as you will see) about another young lady.

As you all well know, I travel a fair bit for book tours and the like – that much is a given. And, during my travels I see things. Sometimes they are frightening, sometimes they are strange, sometimes they are interesting, and sometimes I have no clue what the hell I am witnessing.

And then, there’s Leg Girl.

The Legend Of Leg Girl began several years ago on a weekend trip to Nashville, Tennessee to do a book signing and seminar. My dear friend and fellow author, Tish Owen, also owns a bookstore called Goddess And The Moon. I’ve done several signings there, and I always have a blast hanging out with her, her clientele, her husband Patrick who is my cigar smoking and booze drinking buddy, and all of my other friends there in “music city”.

Well, as the true story goes, one Saturday night after spending the day presenting a workshop on writing, and then signing a mess of books in one of the meeting rooms at the shopping mall across from where Goddess and the Moon was then located – it has since moved – we were going back to the store for a bit of a soiree. Wine, beer, booze, cheese, crackers, munchies, etc. You know the drill. Folks were going to come by, visit, have books signed, get a photo op or two, and all that jazz. Typical book store event sort of stuff. A great chance to just chill out and relax.

Unfortunately, the day had been so hectic for poor Tish and her staff that she had not yet had the opportunity to go pick up the aforementioned noshing items and beverages. Since I had nothing to do between finishing the seminar and the start of the soiree, I volunteered to ride along with Tish and help with the toting, lifting and other such stuff at the grocery store. And so, off we went…

No more had we pulled into the parking lot and begun our search for a space than out in front of us steps “Leg Girl”… All of mid twenties, great hair, hourglass figure, and most prominently on display a set of legs that a Rockette would sell her soul to have. And, I do mean prominently on display, for you see, this entire package was wrapped in nothing more than a sheer blouse, blazer, flared miniskirt – and I do mean MINIskirt – and patent leather stiletto heeled pumps. This was despite the fact that we were at the end of November and the temperature was in the mid forties or thereabouts.

And no, she was NOT a figment of my hormone driven imagination. Tish saw her too. In fact, Tish saw her so well that she was infuriated…

Allow me to explain. You see, Leg Girl literally stepped right out in front of us and began to slowly saunter up the middle of the aisle in the parking lot. Not to the left, not to the right. She was smack dab in the middle of the lane and Tish was unable to get around her. And saunter Leg Girl did. Slowly, deliberately, and swaying with a rhythm that would bring any red-blooded heterosexual male to his knees.

Well, suffice it to say, I had no room on the floorboards in order to get on my knees, not that I didn’t try. Still, even though I was unable to assume the appropriate position of Goddess Worship, I was mesmerized. Tish, however, was most assuredly not. Somehow, and I don’t know how, through my hypnotic stupor I was able to recognize this fact and managed to persuade Tish not to run over Leg Girl – trust me, that took some doing because that was exactly what Tish was intending to do.

Ever since that day, Leg Girl has been a running joke between Tish and me. Every time she books me for a gig at the store, or at PUF, she asks if there is anything special I need, and I always reply, “I need Leg Girl to be my handler for the weekend.” (“Handler” as in liaison / gopher / assistant… Let’s keep it clean here folks…)

Fortunately for me, though always promised by Tish – followed by a healthy chuckle, of course – Leg Girl has never materialized for said duties. Not that I would complain, however E K probably wouldn’t be particularly excited by it. In fact, I’m not really sure which one of us she would kill first…

But anyway, the Legend Of Leg Girl kind of… well… ummm… the legend has legs so to speak – no pun intended. Really. Seriously… But, pun or no, the events of that evening actually inspired a lyrical parody, written by yours truly.

Maybe someday, if we happen to have someone on site who knows all the chords to the original song, I’ll get drunk enough to perform this ditty at PUF…

Leg Girl

(To the tune of Two Hangmen by Mason Proffit)

As I rolled into Nashville with my friend her name is Tish

I saw what I’ll relate to you and it was quite a pretty dish

It seems there was this woman, who had this pair of gams

They went all the way up to her neck, and that’s
where it began

The woman’s name was Leg Girl, the best that I could see

She like to show her legs off, and that’s okay with me

I guess she saw me coming, and donned that mini skirt

And stockings and stiletto heels just so she could
flirt

She walked across the parking lot, right down the center aisle

She swayed and sauntered like a dream, it really made me smile

She stopped a moment in our way and then she tossed her hair

The wind picked up and her miniskirt billowed with
much flair

The driver’s name was Tish Owen, she said this bitch is slow

I’m gonna run her over now if she doesn’t start to go

I said to Tish please don’t do that, I really like this sight

She went to all this trouble so just let her make my night.

The wind continued blowing and gave Leg Girl a goose

She moved a little faster now, but still shook her caboose

Tish was laughing hard at me, as I began to drool

Leg Girl was such an awesome treat that made me
act the fool

Tish finally found a parking space and pulled in with a squeal

Leg Girl was going into the store on teetering high heels

We followed along behind her, and then she disappeared

But I saw her again as we checked out, with a case
or two of beeeeeeeeeeeeeer…

(Chorus)

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

(Repeat Whole Bunches Of Times)

One more time!

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

And she’s my Leggggg Girrrrrllll, there in Tennessee, and that don’t bother me, at all-all-allllll…

More to come…

Murv