“Um, no. Not really. ‘Get A Life’ doesn’t really answer my question,” Bob was snide and crestfallen at the same time.
“Look, Bob…you asked me to solve your non-dating, abysmally alone and sad, sad situation. You kvetched about it for almost four minutes.”
“Old wise prophet saying. Look. Let me see if I have this right. OK?”
“Good. Don’t interrupt me: The All Knowing Head, moi, Will Answer All, Always.”
“You already said that when we started all this,” Bob retorted.
“Shhh…I said ‘Don’t Interrupt Me! Ahem…The All Knowing Head Will Answer All!”
Bob clamped up.
“Good. Just nod if I have the information correct.”
Bob nodded “yes,” with a silent “go on already.”
“Patience, Bob. Patience. Did not a wise man once say ‘How can a society that exists on instant mashed potatoes, packaged cake mixes, frozen dinners, and instant cameras teach patience to its young?’
Look, you spend most of your free time at a computer or on your smart phone. You Google, Facebook, Twit, blog, re-blog, comment on comments (and then sometimes re-comment), and you find yourself pining away for these abstract women from anywhere but face to face. You romanticize what it would be like to jet off to be with them, or visa-versa, and in no way, shape or form would you do anything about it. You live in your man cave and dream, hope, fantasize, get maudlin, pine…yes…I know I said pine already. Get over it.
You, Bob, need to GET A LIFE. Capital letters and italicized. Get off the computer, go out and meet some real people, for Heaven’s and my sake. You whiners, always the same thing. ‘Wah…nobody loves me!’ Bob…love thyself first (and I don’t mean at night, alone in bed, under the covers). Get out of the house. Go to a meeting, museum, festival. Chat up some people. Do not just go to a movie and call that ‘going out.’ Live. Splurge. Take some chances. You won’t know until you just walk up, strike up a conversation, and see what happens. The worst: she can mace you. The best: she’ll think you’re interesting. Maybe. I hope so.
Get a life, Bob. Get a live. Live. Now, go.”
Bob stared at the hologram projected Head In The Field. He sighed, nodded, put his hands in his torn jeans pockets, and walked away.
“Hey…you’re welcome!” The Head In The Field shouted out to Bob’s back. “Putz.”
Head yelled out “Next!”
Debbie forced herself up. Taking tiny supplicant steps, she found herself in front of The Head.
“I, The All Knowing Head, moi, Will Answer All, Always. What do you wish to know?”
“Well, um, I was like wondering if you could, um, help me with why I’m so alone? I look online all the time for the right guy, and, um…”
“Oy,” said The Head In The Field.