Mystery Date

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MysteryDate

Mystery Date was a board game released in 1965 and marketed to little girls. Players took turns opening a little plastic door in the middle of the board to reveal their potential dream date. To score points the outfit you had collected through individual wardrobe item cards, had to be an appropriate match for the hunky male behind the door – swimsuit for the beach date, formal wear for the dance, etc.

If you look closely on the left hand side you will see that the game is intended for girls 6-14 years old, making it the perfect choice for moms who want to prepare their little girls to act appropriately when a strange 20 to 35-year-old man shows up at the door. Judging by the 1960s TV commercial “acting appropriately” means either squealing with delight or swooning. Hmm. Who invented this game?

You might think that this questionable game grew out of favor over the years but Mystery Date was reissued in 1970, 1999, and in 2005. And – I’m not sure – but I believe that the 1999 version includes a man in a trench coat with his pockets full of candy. (“Sigh!”)

Anyway, although I borrowed the name for my poem, it has nothing to do with the game. Just thought you might enjoy this bit of Milton Bradley history.

This is Milton MiltonBradley

Check out the Mystery Date commercial (with a very catchy jingle) from the ’60s http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=mystery+date+commercial&FORM=VIRE3#view=detail&mid=8CAF3495948ECD58DFE78CAF3495948ECD58DFE7

TGI Friday the 13th

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Welcome to my poetry blog. Well, it’s not really poetry. And it’s not actually a blog – in the strictest sense of the word.

Wikipedia A blog (a truncation of the expression weblog)is a discussion or informational site published on the World Wide Web and consisting of discrete entries (“posts”)

Blog is short for web log – who knew? (probably everyone but me)
(The above is the only piece of information I will ever be offering in my “blog”)
So it’s not truly “informational”

As for discreet, well judge for yourself. .

And it’s not really about poetry – of the traditional sort. If my poems rhyme at all it’s purely coincidental. But we’re not talking free verse (God help us!) either.

In some cases I’m just gonna write down some random thoughts or short essays and then break them into short lines so that I can call them poems.
Like this:

It’s a poem
If I say it is
If I talked like this
I would drive people crazy

I might even occassionally include a cartoon and call it a “visual poem”
Just to be pretentious and to justify its inclusion in my “poetry” blog

(I like quotation marks – in case you couldn’t tell
I find them to be the best way to make fun of myself. Which I do. A lot.)

St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. A series of “Love Poems”

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“LOVE POEM” month

I don’t plan to have themes but I had a lot of “love” poems so I thought I’d express all of my bitterness during this Valentine’s Day month which, since it’s February, is actually a month full of people walking around with nothing but hatred infecting their hearts. At least those of us in climates with a true winter. If you don’t care for my love poems, don’t worry – February is thankfully short!

PickYourPoison

MYSTERY DATE

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My soul mate Is:

a) The guy from the gym who once offered me a piece of gum.

b) The married man I used to date (ha! Date. Right!) who will eventually leave his wife and kids to be with me

c) Someone I met in a chat room who is a young, handsome, rich successful Hollywood screenwriter

d) A prince from Nigeria who needed financial help getting his money out of the country (I sent him a little.)

e) Some guy passed out in a puddle of his own vomit in a shitty dive bar somewhere. Homeless, jobless, but with some sort of potential. We’re just not sure what it is. Or where he left it. Or his car keys. Or his car for that matter.

Well, I think we all know how this game ends.

Not such a mystery after all.

‘TIl Death Do Us Part

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Because I love you

-Every little thing about you

Your smile, your eyes, your walk, your funny little mannerisms

The way you laugh so openly and so generously

The way you can be so laid back one second and so full of enthusiasm the next

Because I love you

And only ever want to be with you

And think all day long of little things I could do for you

And can’t imagine life without you

It’s only

Because I love you

That I wait for hours outside your gym on the chance that I’ll catch a glimpse of you

Sneak round to the back of your house and go through your garbage

Make unecessary trips to your doctor, your dentist, your therapist and your chiropracter with the hope that I’ll run into you

Have memorized every personal fact about you that I could get my hands on (I bet you didn’t know how much was available to those with determination)

Follow you into restaurants and, when you leave, snatch up your used napkine and, if I’m really lucky, snag a bite of sandwich, a straw or a half eaten roll

Because I love you

I would gladly go to jail for you

Cut off my pinky, wrap it up in pretty paper and a bow and mail it to you

Because I love you

I would kill someone in your name

I would kill myself

I would kill you

Because I love you

I stalk you

I stalk you

Because I love you

So much

HIM

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I’m in love with a boy in a boy band.

He’s the one who wears suspenders and red pants a lot.

In pictures I can’t always pick him out in the lineup.Because sometimes he has his hair blow dried, sometimes spiked up and sometimes he’s wearing quite a lot of eyeliner.

I know he’s not the blond one or the ambiguously ethnic one or the one that REALLY looks like a girl, but the other three are kind of interchangeable.

However, there’s no mistaking those dimples.

I know that I’m a little old to have a pop star crush

and I realize that I am possibly three times his age but I think he would understand an older woman.

It’s so obvious that he’s wise beyond his years.

I can see behind that twinkle in his eyes and tell that he’s really pretty serious.

And, I think, quite lonely.

He’s not like the other guys in the band.

He’s different, deeper. I don’t think people really understand him.

He’s not conceited. He just happens to have a great voice and is – by far – the best dancer.

These are gifts. He’s indebted to the world to share them.

But fame and fortune. He doesn’t really care about all that.

I know he’s the real genius behind the group.

Every band has one.

When they sing that one song about “the girl I never noticed before” I just know that he is singing about me.

Well, of course, not really about me, but someone just like me – mature and wise – not some giggling teen.

I’m sure that if I ever got the chance to meet him. Even if – and I picture this scene a lot (in slow motion) if I could just make eye contact with him – like while he was ducking into his limo with the rest of the band – he’d know, he’d just know.

And I think,

if I ever managed to get that close to the band, I wouldn’t get him mixed up with the other two that look like him.

I’d only have a split second, I’m sure, but that’s all the time that soul mates need to recognize each other.