The One About Sancho

Dear Agnes:

I need your help. I have been dating this man, for the sake of anonymity we will call him Boris. Anyways, Boris got it into his sick little head that he is not Boris anymore, but instead he is Sancho. All I hear all day long is “Is Miss Tibbits Sancho? No, I am Sancho”. What can I do to convince Pablo, er I mean Boris that he is not Sancho. I mean, Scott Baio is not Sancho, and you, Miss Agnes are not Sancho. We all know this, why doesn’t he?

Yours in Sanchotude,

Miss Tibbits
Tibberia, TA, UTA

Dear MT,

I once who had a friend, Martin, who had what I’ve labeled the Sancho Personality Disorder (SPD). Our friendship started off normal, but after a cultural traumatic experience at the Midway Sunday Flea Market, he was struck with SPD, and all he could say after that was, “Are you Sancho? No. You are not Sancho. I am Sancho.” Then, to top it off, he’d tilt his head back and do a little hip-hop-hip-hop that would make me moister than a Betty Crocker Cake. My menopausal school-girl crush got the better of me and that evening when Martin/Sancho passed out from too many servaysas, I mounted him like a taxidermist and rode him faster than a speed freak on a mechanical bull — sparks, smoke, leather, beer stains and all! Something came alive in me that day … I never regreted taking advantage of him in his drunken slumber. Not once.

Martin/Sancho met a bitter, traumatic, tragic, very sad, very nasty end: He overdosed on back-alley gorditas at the local Taco Gal the very next day. Three months later I was a ‘gal in trouble’ and after what seemed like months, I eventually gave birth to a boy who I named Ricky … he had two rows of the most gorgeous teeth, and dark hair with natural blond highlights. And boy could he shake a rattle! And he smiled all the time. The nurses said it was gas, but I knew it was happiness. I gave him his father’s name as a last name, and then put him up for adoptin. Last I heard little Ricky Martin was in some boy band, Menudo, and was doing well.

I still pine for Martin/Sancho and his reeko swavay ways. I know when my time comes and god calls upon me to make the final run for the border, Martin/Sancho will be there waiting … smiling at me … wearing a white tank top and a gold chain.

In conclusion, Miss Tibits, you’ve got to take your Sancho in whatever form you can while you can get it and be thankful you’re getting any at all. Mine got away, but yours doesn’t have to.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006

The One About the High School Sweetheart

Dear Agnes:

Four years ago, I married my high school “sweetheart,” Niko. We lived in L.A. and planned to buy a Camaro and raise a family of twelve there. Before we settled down, however, Niko decided he should spend a few years living apart in a different climate to see if he liked it better. I agreed, with the understanding that we would move back to L.A. together in three years if things didn’t work out for him.

It’s been four years since Niko moved to Florida. I met two nice conjoined twins (and a couple truckers, oh and a homeless guy, well, a couple of homeless guys) at the Wal*Mart I work at, and we had an affair (at different times, not all at once, except for that one time). Now I am pregnant with triplets, and I’m not sure who the fathers are. This is wonderful news for me, but Niko knew from the beginning that I didn’t want to raise my children away from him. I told him it’s time to come home to LA and be a responsible father to his illegitimate kids, but he won’t hear of it. I wants the babies to be born in LA. Niko says I am welcome to stay in LA, but that he is staying in Florida.

I love Niko with all my heart. How can I convince him to move back to L.A.?

Your biggest fan,
The Unhappy Hooker in the West

Dear Unhappy Hooker:

Shame on Niko for not keeping his word, and shame on you for being such a slut. If I would have kept any of the kids *I* ever had, I DEFINITELY would have treated them a lot better than you’re treating yours.

Now you must decide which is more important — your marriage or your occupation. You’ll be hard pressed to convince Niko to do anything. You need to find a way to put the “oomph” back in your relationship! When you figure it out, you will know what to do, but if you don’t, here’s a hint: a six-pack, a road trip to Florida and a Saturday Night Special in your purse spell romance!

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006

The One About the Queer Boyfriend

Dear Agnes:

My husband has been supporting a man for the last nine months. So far he has given him a house, a $6,000 truck and has paid all of his bills. I went away for a week, and when I came back, I found this man in my house. What do I do?

FRUIT FLY IN TRAINING?

Dear FFT,

Not to fear. Most likely they’re just good friends. Yeah, and I’m the frickin’ Virgin of Guadalupe. You’ve got to face facts. Your man likes the pole and the hole, and your wedding bed apparently ain’t getting any fresher. In fact, I’d venture to say it’s starting to smell of aftershave. And not the Aqua Velva you bought your happy hubby for Hanukkah.

Confront your husband, tell him you put a web cam in the bedroom and you didn’t see them doing anything that you two couldn’t do yourselves. Tell him it’s time to play the slot machine or take his roll of quarters over to the the Pai-Gow Poker table.

And remember, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, unless you need leverage during the divorce proceedings. Nothing says I’ll miss being with you like a cleverly wrapped video tape mailed to, say, his workplace or his parents’ house.

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006

The One About The Fantasy Man

Dear Agnes:

I am engaged to be married on Valentine’s Day. He is a wonderful man; we have been together for three weeks. It will be the seventh marriage for both. I really like this man. He’s funny, witty and kind. He loves me and my children, and they love him very much (when he’s not in jail).

My problem is I do not feel that we’re soul mates. Is this just a fantasy? What if I’m making another mistake? I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I can’t help feeling that since I don’t feel butterflies after being with him for more than three years, something is missing. And being a hefty lady, there aren’t too many propsectors out there looking to dig in my gold mine.

Am I being silly or looking for something that does not exist?

GORILLA IN THE MIDST

Dear GIM,

Soulmates is one of my favorite movies, and I’m glad you enjoy it, too! From IMDB “Immortal Richard Wayborn uses the bodies of the young women he kills to temporarily bring his wife back from the dead. They’re Soul Mates. But Sara, his latest target, may be more than he bargained for.” Talk about butterflies, Gorilla! Hilarious. I still don’t know why it never got wider distribution. If it had the Olsen Twins in it, it would already have a Saturday morning cartoon.

But back to your original question. Yes, that is just fantasy, and most likely you are making another mistake. But where would the world be without mistakes? Wouldn’t we miss watching George W stumble through another sophomoric speech?

You are right, however. Something is missing. There is no such thing as a “soul mate.” That’s just a term used by selfish people to excuse their bad behaviour and break apart healthy families and fuel their ego-centric personalities (such as my ex-husband).

Here’s my advice to you, my friend: make like the other pound-oriented brides of the world and slam some tequila, pop a valium, trade in your aged dad for someone stronger, and just reply “I do” anytime anyone looks your way.

Your lucky groom (and possibly some of his groomsmen if it’s anything like my wedding) will be taking a ride in your mine car caboose in no time!

Save me some cake!

Your best friend,

July 4th, 2006