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The Girlfriend From The Future
Peter Tatara - July 15, 2007

Greeting from The Past. I recently flew out to Las Vegas for business. I've spent time in the city's airport before, waiting for connections to Long Beach or Los Angeles, but this is the first time I've been on The Strip. There's glitz, glamour, mythological facsimiles of Paris, Egypt, New York, and New Orleans, showgirls, sweltering weather, and Penn and Teller.

Do I like? I'm deeply, madly in love with the real New York, and sure Vegas -- all tarted up in her rouge, push-up bra, and miniskirt -- is only all too willing to exhaust my every wish, whim, hunger, desire, fantasy, fetish, and perversion (even that one), but my New York, though, doesn't need the thong and stiletto heels to be smoking hot.

Why this talk of women? Just as I love New York, I also love a girl from New York. (Some may say she in point of fact lives in Boston, but it's only a matter of time before she moves to NYC.)

And, so, with all the pieces on the board, let us now observe how they move.

Shortly after arriving in Las Vegas, I called my girl from New York, and as we spoke, I realized something was wrong. Despite it being only early evening in Las Vegas, my girlfriend complained that I had woken her. She was already asleep. Then, the next day, she called me no later than 4 AM. I was confused by my girlfriend's new circadian rhythm and asked if she had become a dairy farmer or come into the possession of a charming Parisian-style bakery. I began listing my favorite breads and pastries as well as some designer baguettes I wanted to craft. Midway through the description of my smoked gouda and enoki loaf, my girlfriend called me gay. She told me she hadn't changed her sleeping pattern. Instead, she claimed, I was calling super early or extra late. Nonsense! I asked her what time it was now. 4 PM. I looked at my watch and told her it was only 1. She insisted it was 4. I dismissed her, adamant that it was in fact 1. This went on for a good measure of ticks and tocks, the end result being my realization that she was actually at 4 PM and I was at 1.

How could this be? I don't know, but I -- of course -- have theories. At its most basic, either she is in the future or I am in the past, but I do not know which of our timelines is the correct one and which is temporally out of synch. Considering this misalignment occurred following my flight to Las Vegas, I initially postulated my plane somehow flew through a vortex, wormhole, or tear in time -- displacing me from the present. Upon further reflection, however, I remembered after I forced my girlfriend to watch the BBC's Doctor Who, she sheepishly whispered she didn't absolutely hate it because "the Doctor's cute." A ha!

Could my girlfriend be cheating on me with Doctor Who's Doctor -- actor David Tennant? Could David Tennant have spirited her into the future, to lead a life of carnal excess forever just three hours out of my reach? The Doctor is a cruel man. While he could have made her a baroness in Rococo France (an era I know my girlfriend has an affinity for due to its frilly underpants), David Tennant is instead holding her captive in a bed eternally only 180 minutes out of my grasp.

After I came to terms with my girlfriend's kidnapping by a Timelord, I decided to make the most of my situation. Making money off the thing. I first approached my girlfriend about sports scores, thinking I could make a few bucks from this weekend's Yankees game. No. My girlfriend doesn't watch sports. Even in the future. I asked her about stocks and bonds, but while she gave me some leads, I don't think "Retard Co," "Loser Inc," and "Fuck You" are public companies. Even in the future.

In fact, my girlfriend shot down all of my money-making schemes, and her lies about there not being moon bases three hours in the future are bullshit. What does this leave me with? Not much. My immediate plan is to gorge myself on lavish, expense account dinners. Once I'm back in New York, though, I'm going to build a time capsule and bury myself in Central Park with instructions for my girlfriend to dig me up in her time. While Timelords are renowned for their cunning and wile, I -- a mere human -- will have outsmarted the admittedly-cute David Tennant.

It's a cunning plan which cannot not work.

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