The Bros Ceremony

As much of the country braves the continuing cold and snow, this past weekend many hearts were warmed by the happiest, lovey doviest, most cuddly date of all - February 14th, Valentine's Day. That is, of course, if they weren't spending it with their emotions on a seemingly never ending Giant Drop of lonely sadness.

To this I say, "shake it off, towel -- you'll be alright." To copy with my single status in life, I spent most of Valentine's daydreaming (see what I did there?) about the perfect date. I went over the main criteria: face, smarts, family, booty, and monaaaay. What's that? How dare you call me Kiddy Pool Shallow Jones! We all do it! .... But anyway, the thinking led me to an interesting place.

I eventually found myself in a "The Bachelor" type scenario, with the final two contestants squaring off. I thought to myself, who in the world would I want to spend the rest of my days with? It was obvious: Will Smith or Larry David.

WWF: St. Valentine's Day Massacre 1998

On the one hand, you have a strong black man whose perennial box office championships come as the result of being charming, witty, and oh-so-mean to Carlton. On the other, you have the embodiment of everything that has ever been considered hilarious, donned in beige slacks, a uni-colored V Neck sweater, and a white undershirt. Both of them are very hard to say no to.

As the daydream continued, I immersed myself further into the world of a potential playoff, at the end of which one of them would be crowned my soul mate. In the interest of the few women reading this - yes, I have absolutely stolen this format from all of your favorite dating shows, but no, I will not give my contestants street walker nicknames.

It's basically Blacker Vance versus the Bald Buster.

For Prince, my daydream carried on as such. We went to a Philly Cheesesteak place in his hometown, and he was initially treated like Norm walking into Cheers. (Anyone reading this, that kind of reception is a lifelong dream of mine, and if you wanted to make it a reality, you too could be on this shortlist). Anyway, as the dinner went on, and my vegetarianism gave way to a French meal where little potato sticks were fried just so, the owner of the establishment started giving Hancock a hard time. Turns out there was another man. One who apparently spun him around during the opening credits. Another man with whom he'd shared a dance? I can understand Kevin James -- who could resist that piece of work -- but this? I was about ready to head back to L.A. for the rose ceremony.

More like the King of Hearts

As the thought raced through my mind, something happened. In a classic Hitch move, Will told the owner that he only conversed with civilized people not on Burn Notice, defended my honor, and apologized for the embarrassing display. Along with introducing me to Uncle Phil and both Aunt Viv's, he had redeemed himself.

Alas, there was another contender in this race. Not to be outdone, Larry picked me up at my doorstep in his Prius, and proceeded to curse every schmohawk on the road who was getting in the way of our plans. His aggressive nature and poor manners were winning me over. Anyway, after the dinner, where he got into a staring contest with the waiter - to the tune of flute music - over the Cobb salad, we went to a mutual place of interest - the driving range. We laughed as one of the balls struck Funkhouser, went home and kicked it with Leon, and decided to call it an evening.

After hours of deliberation, and countless Netflix rentals, my daydream came to a conclusion. If I can't have both, I don't want either, and I decided to return back to my first television based love - Sloan.

So the next time you feel lonely and down, observe and replicate my thought process. If you wanted to leave a comment about who your ideal candidates would be, that would be dandy like valentines' candy.

Keep dreamin' kids,

Tapan Jones

p.s. On February 9th we celebrated the One Year Anniversary of The Chicago Sometimes. Thanks for reading guys, and here's to one..no that doesn't work..five? more!