A weblog offers personal articles, commentaries and/or journal entries by the host writer. There are millions of blogs scattered across the Internet. What sets mine apart? I dramatize the everyday events of my life as short screenplays.
Enjoy the Web's first screenblog!
...and visit davewrites.ca for the full meal deal.
Note: This is an efficient amalgamation of several bad dates from my 20s, some of which were fix-ups. I really did end a date this way (Urban Well, circa 1999). Although in real life it happened as I was paying the bill. Her reaction was not much different than what I describe here. She was the first and last blonde I ever dated.
Yes, the scene is a little cliché. We are summing up my 20-something love life after all.
I think I’m most proud of the title: “F*xed up!”
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FADE IN:
TITLE CARD: The one constant in all your failed relationships is you.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT – EVENING
DAVE (27) shares a table for two with ALISON (30), a conservative blonde with her hair tied back. Both peruse their menus.
Dave snaps his menu shut and places it on the table. A tall, gangly WAITER (25) appears at his side.
WAITER: Are we ready to order?
Dave gestures to Alison. She looks up, shakes her head and dives back into the menu.
DAVE: (to the Waiter) Give us a few more. Thanks.
The Waiter nods and leaves.
DAVE: So…
Alison stops reading but doesn’t look up.
DAVE: You work with Monica?
ALISON: Yes.
DAVE: In sales?
ALISON: No.
Dave catches himself twiddling his thumbs. He clears his throat and unfolds his hands.
DAVE: So is it Alison with one “L” or two?
ALISON: Just one.
DAVE: Just like the song.
ALISON: Which song?
DAVE: Um… “Alison?”
ALISON: Yes?
DAVE: Huh?
Alison tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and chews her lip. Dave massages his temples.
DAVE: Do you live Downtown?
ALISON: No.
Dave scans their surroundings. The restaurant is full of couples. Everyone else appears to be enjoying themselves.
DAVE: It’s a nice place, isn’t it?
ALISON: Downtown?
DAVE: No, sorry. I meant this restaurant.
Alison shrugs her shoulders and closes her menu. She avoids looking directly at Dave.
DAVE: They just opened a new restaurant across the street from my apartment. (grinning) It’s a Greek restaurant called Mediocreties. It’s okay, nothing special.
Dave waits for a response. Alison picks some lint off her sleeve.
DAVE: (still grinning) It’s just… okay. (deadpan) It’s called Mediocreties.
Dave stares at Alison. She notices and makes brief eye contact with him.
ALISON: I’m not a fan of Greek food.
The Waiter re-appears at Dave’s side. Dave gestures to Alison again. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
ALISON: Yes?
DAVE: So… should we just cut it off here and call it a night?
ALISON: Thank you.
Alison retrieves her purse, stands and leaves the table in one fluid motion.
WAITER: Wow and ouch.
Alison exits the dining area as Dave hands his menu to the Waiter.
DAVE: Penne with chorizo and a glass of Stella.
WAITER: Cheers!
The Waiter collects Alison’s menu, pushes her chair in and crosses to the bar.
Dave reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. He dials a number then holds the handset up to his ear.
DAVE: Monica! It’s Dave. Um… seriously? This shit has got to stop. It isn’t funny anymore. It’s eroding my self-esteem and I actually feel sorry for some of these girls. I can’t even imagine how you talk them into showing up. Anyways… call me tomorrow, okay? I need you to remind me that I need to get even. Thanks. Bye!
Dave hangs up his phone and places it on the table. He takes a sip from his water glass and stares off into space.
FADE TO BLACK.
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