Thousands of dates

I was unable to sleep last night so I started counting dates. Sometimes this is what I do when I can't sleep. Some people count sheep, but in my life, I have only known two sheep and they were neither funny or fun.

The interesting thing about sheep is that if you sit them on their butt, they will sit still with front legs just kind of slapping against their fat bellies like a football fan watching a game. It's actually very enduring. We had two sheep in New York for a time. I do not remember their names, then again, neither did they. I remember countless times where I would stand outside the kitchen, calling their names, Reagan and Hitler, that may have been their names, and they would stand a hundred yards away, grazing.

Humans have lost the art of grazing. I see these enormous pig people in their extra large vehicles, lined up outside fast food death outlets, waiting for morsels of unhealthy crap, unable to take the time to get out of their cars, sit in the sun and enjoy a healthy meal. Sheeps have a lot to teach us. Reagan and Hitler focused almost exclusively on grazing. Sure, they had play time, but that usually involved Beth the Lesbian Wonder Dogs insane sister, Incredibly Angry Psycho dog.

At a young age Incredibly Angry Psycho Dog got the taste for murder and she never gave up. She was a natural born herder, so getting lesser animals to do what she wanted was not an issue. Of course, like any super angry psycho killer, our little dog finally went after something that was bigger, smarter and with less care than, say, a stupid chicken. Angry Psycho Dog did try to corner the sheeps, but to no avail. Sheeps may be slow and incredibly stupid, but one thing they are not is easy eating.

Chickens on the other hand are defenseless, almost brain dead from day one and they make a decent meal, even for Incredibly Angry Psycho Dog. At some point someone needed to leave, the sheeps, the chickens or the dog. In her free time Incredibly Angry Psycho Dog has taken an interest in Native American culture, which was ironic because she was clearly Australian.

In America everyone claims to be from somewhere else. Incredibly Angry Psycho Dog, who even barked with an Australian accent, at one point was running around in the high grass and I heard her bragging to her lesbian sister, this is what our ancestors used to do before the white man ruined everything. Oh sure, the white man ruins everything. Now that I think about it, from oil exploration to fracking away the water supply, white men really have done a job on this planet. I thought of Reagan and Hitler, slowly grazing away, waiting to be set up on their butts so they could be like fat men watching football and then I forgot what I was saying.

I knew a tall dumb white guy once, his name was something like Christian Johansen, he was as white as possible, round faced like his round faced Norwegian ancestors and kind of stupid. When I first met him he claimed to be Norwegian, nothing wrong with that I thought, since he so obviously was. Plus, the whole Johansen thing makes it complete. Then one day we were talking and he said he was Native American, to which I replied sarcastically, so am I. Because in the end, we are all Native American and I'd be damned if some tall, terribly white moron was going to claim sisterhood to my Native American brothers. Not to mention, I really am Native American. A few months later I ran into the Norwegian version of Zelig. We had a coffee and got to talking and at some point he asked me what I was doing for Hanukkah. Strange question coming from a super white Norwegian Native American, but I said something to the effect of killing Christ, like always, and he shook his head and said, "our people should not make such jokes." Our people? Why yes he said, "I'm a jew."

So, in the span of about 7 months, a super white, incredibly stupid Norwegian had jumped ship and joined the Native American community, only to decide sometime later, to claim membership in my original tribe, the put upon Jews. Why not? Heck, just this morning, when I signed some document from my childs school, she said she could not read my writing, which meant that the school administrator, Shaky the Clown, would not be able to read my writing, which meant that at some point I would get a call and I would have to answer for my bad penmanship. My daughter asked me why I wrote so poorly and I said, probably because I am African American. She looked at me like I might be insane and I said, seriously, look it up, our people are from South Africa.

Let's just put the above mess out of our collective minds and move on. There was a message here somewhere and damned if I am not going to find it.

Right, dates and counting them. By some estimations I have been on well over 750 thousand actual dates in my life. Some involved meals, a couple involved sky diving and at least on involved getting all sexy underneath a dam in Southern California. Most people have never been inside a dam, I have only been inside a dam twice, once was with a young woman whom I will call Young Woman With a Troubled Life.

The interior of a dam is a pretty amazing place, because it is a thick cement structure that is, or could be, almost a mile long. There are tunnels and sensors and all sorts of interesting passageways. The YWWATL was the daughter of the dam manager. It is true, people get hired to live near a dam and watch it. Her father, a raging alcoholic who also happened to claim to be not only Norwegian, but Native American (blaming his alcohol abuse on some long distant relative) and later, he became a fundamentalist preacher. TWWATL invited me over via a note on my car windshield. This was the very first time in my life that a woman had accosted me. I was young and vibrant, a fallen beauty pageant contestant, unable to finish up on the talent portion of the competition. YWWATL saw me fail, but also found me seductively special, leaving a note on my car and inviting me to tour the dam.

That dam, for one night only, served as both our own private world and the largest and creepiest place in the country to engage in sexual behavior. In the darkness of the tunnels inside the dam itself we made love in every available position. At some point she walked away, into the deep darkness. I was tired and sat down. The floor felt wet, but it was not. A door opened a great distance away and TWWATL said if I wanted to go, I should leave. I left.

Counting dates is my way of falling asleep with a warm glow. I have dated some amazing people and a couple not so amazing people. I stay in touch with many former lovers, mostly because, after the initial breakup, we tend to remember those things that brought us together, and that leads to a phone call and at that point the conversation goes like this.

Me; Hello.

Becky; Hi, it's me Becky.

Me; I thought we broke up months ago.

Becky; We did.

Me; Well, it's nice to hear your voice.

Becky; It's nice to hear your's as well.

Me; Well, thanks for calling.

I usually hang up and sometimes the phone will begin to ring again, but I learned a valuable lesson from a sheep named Reagan, never pick up the phone if you would be forced to engage in a conversation that makes you uncomfortable.

There is a lot we can learn from sheep.