Six years ago. Mandy and I moved to San Diego, California. A gutsy move. One of the best things I’ve ever done in my life, besides my English teacher (Joyce) in High School. Straight A’s all year. I can still hear my mom: “Wow, son, you must be really good at this language, unlike your father.”
I carried two suitcases, one with clothes and one with dreams. But soon, stress and colliding characters drove us apart and my love for Mandy reached the end of the CD, no more music. And we both realized it. No more rock band, just silence. These things happen. Every day and everywhere.
Now, quite unexpected I was a single guy again. Very much wanted and at one point I actually heard someone say: “Hmm, European,” like I was a bar of creamy chocolate. Dozens of girls were ready to throw themselves on me. Jump my bones. And I was ready to work the market like a horny teenager. Conquer the world. Play the market. Check out the talent. And get me some eye candy. I now was a Steve Howey in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. “Scrumptious,” she added.
Unfortunately I fell in love... deeply, madly. Nothing I could do about it. It just happened. It’s chemistry... and I was horrible at chemistry in High School. Go figure. So much for playing the market. It took one smile, and one hello... and she got me: this Little Ms. Sunshine... born and raised in Southern California. A SOCAL girl.
Ever been in Napa Valley? Well the girl reminds me of this area in NOCAL. It’s gorgeous. And so is she. Zesty. I am 35 years old and my legs shake uncontrollably every time I see her. Nothing I can do about it. I love her. Today, tomorrow, when I am 88 years old. And I have to live with it, the rest of my life. Living my life.
As you can tell. It somehow didn’t work out the way I had in mind: married, 4 boys, one girl, a Golden Retriever, shit loads of fun and something special. I had already picked out the names for our kids. Maybe one day I will find out why she suddenly stopped talking to me. It was early April. It rained that day.
Getting over Little Ms. Sunshine was one of the hardest things I had to do in my entire life. Brutal. And I am still hurting. It’s like fighting a battle and you already know you’ll lose. Suiting up for a game and you know the opponent will thrash you and your team. Humiliating. Scarred for life. A war veteran. “Love is a battlefield.”
No regrets, no hard feelings. Just feelings. My feelings.
My prayers blessed me with strength. Cashing in some karma. I repeated the words my grandfather (that’s “opa” in Dutch) told me once: “The higher the mountains, the larger the pain, the bigger the man.” Thanks opa, but never again, please.
Lucky for me I have an amazing circle of friends in San Diego. People that truly love me. Sincere. And thanks to them I was able to work myself back into the market. I had wonderful times. Parties, concerts, met wonderful people, and I was happy again. And I was ready to work the market like a horny teenager. Conquer the world. Play the market. Check out the talent.
It was mid August, 20, 21 weeks later, and I’d just taken a shower. April (another SOCAL girl) handed me a towel, and my cell phone and kissed me. She turned and the dragon tattoo on her back freaked me out, again. She said: “You got a text message”
Flabbergasted. The return of the shaking legs. Two luminous words, from Little Ms. Sunshine. The text message said: “friends yes”
“What’s wrong,” April asked me, while playing with her hair.
And the honest sucker that I am... I told her...
“Okay, take one more good look mister Holland,” and she turned around naked, “because this is the last time you will see this.”
She put on her green summer dress and left. The impact of a two worded text message.
I replied to Little Ms. Sunshine that as long her head is up her we can’t be friends. And with her being a SOCAL girl I predict that I will never talk to her again.
“Well that is because you can’t really talk with your head up your ” one of my friends jokes. Humor, a wonderful medicine. Over coffee I discuss the text message incident with a friend. He’s from New Jersey. Good looking kid. He’s also single and faces the same problems. And at this point I tell him that I have turned it into my lifetime goal to find myself a sincere SOCAL woman. Marry her and be happy. Life can be so simple.
There’s Tracy, from Carlsbad (SOCAL) she tells me she wants to get married, no kids, because that will ruin her figure.
There’s Luna, not sure if that’s her real name. When I tell her I am driving a Ford Focus, she laughs, and she thinks that I am making a joke. When I show her my Focus, she starts crying and runs away. Back to Pasadena (SOCAL)
And Jessica from San Diego who took off her pants after two beers (But Lights)... In a crowded bar. Followed by Naomi, also from San Diego, who orders a MILK at a concert.
A wonderful date with Jody follows. She’s super funny. We actually see each other a couple more times. We go to the Chargers vs. Raiders game. And we stand next to someone that looks like Snoop Dog.
During the game we chat. She tells me that she’s from San Marcos (SOCAL) and that she wants lots of children. And a ring (it’s our third date).
“A.. ring?” I ask her.
She takes a sip of her Italian soda, peach, and nods.
“Yes, a ring, I want a ring,” and she folds her arms while looking at me.
“What kind of a ring?”
“Well you know the rule.”
“What rule?” - I am clueless.
“A ring that’s four times your monthly salary. And I am talking gross.”
I start laughing, but within a second I realize she’s not making a joke.
The Chargers smoke the Raiders that night. It’s one of those games... Snoop Dog hugs me before he leaves, with Jody.
Two years and a bunch of SOCAL girls later I fly to Orlando Florida to run a marathon. The race itself turns into a complete disaster, but two wonderful things happen. One: I drink the best Bloody Mary ever. Two: I meet this amazing young woman.
Don’t fall in love. She’s one in a million girls. She’s everything I ever dreamed of: witty, smart, zesty, and a petite blonde. Her trade mark: humor. It’s absolutely perfect. And she’s from Temecula (SOCAL). Two months later, she plays her boyfriend card. Lucky bastard.
But seriously how many times can I break before I shatter?
Work for my friends again. This time a party. Last week. And I find myself on top of a hotel in downtown San Diego and I am overlooking the city. I am sipping on my $15 drink. One hour at work in exchange for a Jack and Coke and I whisper to myself: “Don Dutch you’re in the wrong business.” I smile, take my glass and cheers the city I love so much. “Here’s to you baby, the only SOCAL woman that won’t let me down.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
And there’s a tap on my shoulder. I am super surprised to see a seriously stunning, tall, blonde woman in a delicate, bright orange dress. She’s wearing rubber see through heels and her eyes are as blue as the waters near Belize. She smiles and I almost choke. Dear Lord who made this woman?
“Hi I am Irene” and she offers me her incredible soft hand.
No rings. Good. Good.
And I immediately wonder: what is wrong with her?
We chat and I make her laugh, which is a good thing because funny guys get the babes. $60 later I ask Irene:
“Where are you from?”
“Glendale, California,” she replies.
“Is that SOCAL?”
“What’s a SOCAL?” she asks and looks confused, like a puppy that’s being punished for the first time in its life.
I cast a smile and tell her not to worry.
“So guy with the funny accent, where are you from?”
“The Netherlands”
Irene is suddenly very quiet. It’s awkward.
She looks at me puzzled. I can tell she’s thinking. And all of the sudden she smiles:
“Oh, I love The Netherlands,” and she makes two bunny hops.
“You do?”
“Yes, it’s that place owned by Michael Jackson right?”
And now we know... She’s definitely from SOCAL.
