Got a problem with your love life? Ask LaRue for advice at firstname.lastname@example.org
Let me tell you a little story about a girl - young, pretty, stylish and intelligent - who plays an expert in the game of love. She came from a biggish city where she was in love with a boy she couldn't have. He was a dark-eyed, brooding ball of trouble, making him all the more yummy. He was her best friend.
In every way she knew, she told him how she felt. Well, she hooked up with all his friends, made moony eyes at him and wondered a lot how come he wasn't makin' with the smooches already.
She believed that maybe, just maybe, while smart and dreamy, he was maybe a little dense. He clearly must love her too. She couldn't be wrong about the time they listened to Sade "Love Songs," at his suggestion, in her apartment, while drinking wine and waxing philosophic. (I mean come on people. Sade! Smooth Operator?? That music screams "Take me now!")
He's shy! That's it! He's afraid of the smoldering feelings that surely were bubbling to the surface because after all I, ahem, she, was young, stylish, intelligent, easy-on-the eyes, good-enough for ALL his friends and modest above all, for the love of Pete!! WHAT WAS HIS PROBLEM! What was he waiting for?
"He wants to tell me. He's longing to tell me. To take me in his arms and tell me I'm the one just like all the Meg Ryan movies I have memorized chapter and verse!" (She should be sued for false advertising, by the way.)
"I shall write him a letter. I will lay it out plain. After all, it's been two stinkin' years and obviously he's just been waiting for me to unload all of this onto his shoulders so he can unleash his love burden! I shall help him. Be his savior d'amour."
So she wrote the passionate, yet neatly typed, letter and left it surreptitiously in his mailbox and waited, and waited and waited.
Three days later, he came to her door. She puckered up and waited for the smooch-fest to commence.
Who is LaRue for the Lovelorn?
A brief introductory question-and-answer session with LaRue, the anonymous author of 'LaRue for the Lovelorn:'
Q: Who are you? How old are you? Are you single?
A: I know Juneau well. I am older than 1, and younger than 50. I am single, and I am a goonball in love, but I can see where I went wrong. I hope my mistakes will help people who are going through some of the same things. Sometimes we feel we're alone, but we're not alone.
Q: What kind of people do you hope will write in to your column?
A: Man or woman. Straight, bi, gay, transexual, lepre-chaun, whatever. Love is love.
Q: What kind of questions will you respond to? Say I ... had this friend ... who's into fire juggling ... and elephants ... and ... er ... wet cement ...
A: No question is too randy. I don't blush too easily. You don't have to trust me, but try me.
Q: Will people's anonymity be preserved?
A: Of course.
Q: How can I get in touch with you?
A: E-mail me at asklarue@ hotmail.com.
"I appreciate the letter," he said. "But I already knew all this. I just don't feel the same way."
Love's full of these little setbacks, isn't it? Just when you think you know everything, when you think you're the master of the game, the running back knocks ya into the Gatorade barrel, and skates off to hit his own home run.
Yeah, OK, I'm not so good on the sports analogies. Point is, we all get knocked down. We all get hit so hard by love, or what we think is love, that we want to get out of the game. We all think the same things: What's wrong with me? What's wrong with them? Why does it have to hurt so bad? I'll never do this again.
Fact is, we do get back in it, whether we like it or not, and whether we want to or not. That arrow hits us and we just can't resist. But when that arrow cuts a little too deep, and the shooter leaves you with nothing but the pain and no man or woman to ease it, you need a good friend, a lump of chocolate bigger than your head or a good columnist to commiserate.
But who am I to say such things about love? Well, I'm you. I'm a person who's taken her share of lumps. I'm not a therapist. I'm not a sexpert. I'm just a girl who knows what it's like to be in the game. I've loved and hurt and been hurt. My mistakes allow me to sit on the sidelines and help you through yours. You don't have to trust me, yet, but try me. Send me your most perplexing love quandaries. Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled heart yearning to feel freely. I'll help as best I can, or at least make it less scary to get back in the game.
LaRue for the Lovelorn can be reached at email@example.com.
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