Set Me On Fire!

 

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Bird Dogging, bird-dog:

1v. American slang. to steal another person's date, girlfriend or wife; or attempt to.

[Origin: 1940–45, Amer. Soldier, WW2]

*****

“There was nothing more sleazier than that.” I was told. “A soldier, leaving for Europe, left behind his best girl...in the hopes his friends wouldn't pooch her while he was gone. Anyone who was caught doing this was regarded as dirt.”

All I could think was whether I should admit to having done that or just shut up and let sleeping dogs lie.

Any bird doggin' on my part was due to be hit with a thunderbolt. I can't explain it any better than the following I stole off the internet.

“'Colpo di fulmine.' The thunderbolt, as Italians call it. When love strikes someone like lightning, so powerful and intense it can’t be denied. It’s beautiful and messy, cracking a chest open and spilling their soul out for the world to see. It turns a person inside out, and there’s no going back from it. Once the thunderbolt hits, your life is irrevocably changed.”

“Spilling out for the world to see...” Yeah, I tried like hell to hide what I was really feeling while I was talking to those who were unattainable. I failed miserably at that. Hell, I couldn't help it.

I can count the numbers on my fingers. Patrica M., Diane D., Melissa K., Linda B. and a few others who were out of reach.

You women can sort of understand it but I don't think you can appreciate how intense it can be for us guys. I can remember being awake till the first light of dawn thinking about someone, and bitching because I lost a night's sleep. Or how you can be near the one you adore, but can't, can't utter a single word due to her being taken. Yet, I would still position myself to be nearer to her, even though this prize was claimed a long time ago. You have to be a young man to have this as the testosterone is sweating out in beads on your forehead. It's more than plain “horniness.” It does encompass that but it's so much more. The entirety of your being is focused on a girl.

Today this can be misconstrued as "stalking." But the trick to stalking versus being head over heels, is knowing when to quit.

The insanity could last as long as a month. Then the part of my brain which deals in reality finally chimes in with a few words to say and I eventually cooled down. Ugh. It was never a quick cure though. It also helps NOT to be where she'll be too. I had stopped going to Wes's Rib House due to a woman I knew there...and was way out of bounds for me.

I can lay claim to two marrieds I managed to get, but only for a short time as they never leave Number 1. No names but one was “Denver Girl” and the other was “Riverside Rat” girl. A Riverside Rat is a person who lives in the blue-r collar areas of Rumford, East Providence.

Meteoric romances these were. Flaming brightly then flaming out as they will. The funny thing was they were summer ones as well. I spent many days and nights in Misquamicut and Matunuck. The girls knew where they got their bread from so they always returned to the husband. What I did notice is that they chose to “accept” the relationships they were in. Both never had the guts to make the final break. Two incomes, a house and the easy life of only spending half you paycheck on necessities was a greater lure than breaking free. That seemed to overcome the drabness, staleness and death that their married life had become. I have no idea where they are now or what they finally decided, probably divorce as it's so common now.

Given the chance, would I want to experience a “thunderbolt” again? Would I want that roller coaster ride that gave such thrills and crushing defeats? Yes. But for a month is all, maybe a bit longer. The problem with staid middle age is just that, it's settled and self-restrained. Would you believe I worked toward that? Saving money, not driving drunk into oak trees, invested with Conoco Phillips and did nearly all the other things that made life...stable.

OK, It sounds like I want a little danger now and again. True. I do.

Many moons ago, I once worked at a shit-college-age job as a maintenance guy in a Providence office building that was owned by Joseph Mollicone (Remember him? Heritage Loan? I knew him somewhat and saw how he operated at times. I have a few stories about that I ain't telling just yet!). Anyway, on one of the floors were Dr's who would pour over SDI claims to either reject or pass them. I began talking to one Dr on a nightly basis. He was about 40 then and would openly admit he was jealous of my 21 years of age. He'd love to hear of my stories as a college kid and probably was living vicariously through them.

Now I'm literally way past the age of that Dr and know very well what he was about. He too wanted another thunderbolt, even if it meant being reminded of his own by a college kid.