My Weekly Date with a Liberal – Date #2


Breitbart entered. The woman was there waiting, but this time she had a young lady friend with her. The woman could no longer keep this to herself. She needed to share it with someone. Not surprising, Breitbart had no objection.

Who was he to deny anyone an opportunity to see it, particularly this young beauty?

She looked on with a combination of curiosity, skepticism, and perhaps a hint of excitement which she tried to hide.

He slowly opened his “laptop”…her eyes landed on his Big Hollywood and then grew wide as if trying to make room for what she was seeing. She had been prepped, but apparently not well enough. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted.


Looks like it’s just the two of us.

_______ _______

Note: The above scene is WGA registered.

For those readers unfamiliar with my specific niche within the Big Hollywood community, I urge you to read my initial column before proceeding any further.

Consider it an army field manual of sorts. With a better understanding of my motivation and commitment to research, this manual will help you survive with me, side by side, and together, we will navigate the treacherous mine field which is the dating of a Liberal.

Note: In the case of this field manual, torture is permissible and lawful as it is self inflicted.

If you choose to continue without watching the Pilot so to speak, at least let me share with you one of the sharpest insights I’ve read on the subject.

“The divide between the sexes is great and mysterious. The divide between the sexes with opposing political perspectives could prove to be dangerous enough to cause irreparable harm to anybody willing to explore it.”

– Jon David

As a noble and anonymous crusader for Big Hollywood, I have decided to dive on the grenade for all conservatives and date One Liberal a week. The following self mandated criteria must be met weekly.

  • She has to be a confirmed liberal
  • I can not tell her I’m a conservative until mid way through the date
  • I shall report my findings honestly, and in excruciatingly painful detail.

Date #2 “Angelib”

There really is no such thing as a “blind” date anymore. Google and Facebook are pretty much all you need to find out anything about anyone. It saddens me that in our quest for immediate gratification, we have abandoned our principles…out of narcissism, we keep no secrets kept, and out of laziness and convenience we have jettisoned all traditional notions of stalking. Nobody has the time or wherewithal to get in a car and properly stake out a woman’s house or place of work anymore. Nobody has the courage to defy a restraining order in the name of unrequited love. God forbid we actually put in some legwork or show some real initiative…or dare I say….pride.

But why should we? We need not put in any extra effort when all that is required of us is the click of a mouse to remove all mystery from a time honored tradition, while robbing ourselves of one of the few surprises left in the world.

We have lost respect for the institution itself. We have given eyes to the blind date.

Some of the more insightful readers may have already guessed that my second date started off blind. In fact, the date was procured by my brother as he lay in a hospital room recovering from a most embarrassing hemorrhoidectomy, of which I promised I would never speak. However, the magnitude of the gesture I’m about to describe trumps any promise of confidence I may have made.

As he lay on his stomach, pain killers coursing through his veins, a new shift of nurses began, and in walked Angelib to check on my brother’s wounded posterior. How are you feeling Mr. Brother of Jon David? Now the good thing about having a brother who’s married is that every girl he’d like to have sex with, he sends my direction. Despite the medication and his compromising position, he was still able to see his vicarious forest through the trees.

As she removed and replaced the gauze from his bottom, he slurred the words: Do you have a boyfriend? Why he felt this an auspicious time to pose such a question, I will never fully understand, but somehow it garnered a laugh from Angelib. So he continued. I’d like to introduce you to my brother.

Like a soldier putting his company first, my brother ignored the throbbing pain in his backside and put me first. When I think of the valor, it brings tears to my eyes.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one moved because I kid you not, she said okay.

It was on: a blind date: one of the few surprises left in the world. I immediately logged on to Facebook to check her out.

Note: in my defense, please refer back to the first of my self mandated criteria. She had to be a confirmed liberal. If there was another way, I would have pursued it.

As I combed through her photos (only downloading the really hot ones) I came across a disturbing image: a photograph that truly upset me and had me thinking that I might not be able to go through with this. Even more disturbing was what she had written beneath it….

“My favorite picture of the year” – Angelib

To calm myself a bit, I did what I usually do when I need to relax, I began reading the Constitution.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

It’s her right. It’s her right. It’s her right. I was hoping the mantra itself might make what was inherently her right, feel less wrong. But it didn’t. So I turned to my imagination for comfort, thinking of all the potential finger gestures our former President could have been making from within that helicopter as he flew off to a place where he might actually be appreciated.

But then I realized that President Bush was far too classy to indulge in that type of petty antics as evidenced by my favorite picture of the year.

My caption would have simply read……Class

If I had truly taken anything away from the latter image, then I too, would have to walk the high road. I could not blame Angelib for her stupidity and misguided patriotism as both are protected under the constitution. I had to embrace her and the greater cause: the commitment I made to all of you here at Big Hollywood to seek the truth. Not to mention, my brother’s hemorrhoidectomy was not as successful as initially thought and might require additional surgery. I owed my fallen comrade the courtesy to follow up on his shameless inquiry.

I would proceed but I have to be honest, I was hesitant to spend any money on this date.

I called my local Congressman: Henry Waxman. I explained to his office the purpose of my research in hopes of securing a handout. Unfortunately, the notion of Republicans understanding Democrats is of little or no importance to the current administration. I was also informed that the last of the monies for my district in the current Omnibus spending bill had already been allocated to study canine testicular elephantitis within short legged breeds. Seemed reasonable, so I moved on.

I stopped by the offices of Big Hollywood. Breitbart greeted me warmly. I explained that I was having a hard time justifying spending money on this particular date. I showed him the picture from her Facebook page and explained my adverse reaction. He listened intently, nodding his head. It was good to see a friendly face. He stood up from his desk, took a swig from a jar of moonshine, and said 2 words: “Personal Responsibility.” I thought about this. He was right. I had abandoned one of the core principles of conservatism. I didn’t need any help. I had initiative. I’d figure something out on my own. I thanked him. Then he punched me in the face.

When I woke up, the answer was clear: the perfect date with a liberal…and it wouldn’t cost me anything…at least monetarily….the HIKE date. Every liberal loves a good hike. Don’t get me wrong, conservatives enjoy a good climb as well. We just prefer more scenic environments…like melting glaciers.

Another benefit of the L.A Hike date is that for some reason, the hiking trail is the only place in the entire city where people let their guards down, greeting every passing stranger as if they’ve known them for years. It’s a place where people set aside their differences, re-evaluate their prejudices, and open their arms to the loving essence of every soul….all a result of some bizarre unity created by a common interest in walking uphill.

I knew of a hill. I also knew that once I got Angelib on the trail…in her element, she’d be singing like a little liberal canary in no time. …plus it wouldn’t cost me anything.

Note: there are no notes at this time.

I must say I was a little nervous as I waited for my not so blind date to arrive. To make matters worse, at the mouth of the trail there was posting of things to look out for while hiking: Poison Oak, Ticks, Rattlesnakes, Mountain Lions, Republicans.

“Jon?” I turned around and there she was…all smiley and liberal. “Angelib?” I won’t bore you with the pleasantries, but we made a pact not to discuss anything related to my brother’s hemorrhoidectomy.

She suggested we hike up to the waterfall. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that there had been a 3 year drought in California and there was most likely no waterfall and thus, we probably wouldn’t come across any unicorns either, as they tend not to show up when nature’s faucet runs dry. I was in the business of finding truth. Not crushing dreams.

So off we went. It was a narrow trail, so I suggested she lead. That way I could evaluate the firmness of her booty, under the guise of being a gentleman. This was suggested by a friend of mine who had more hiking dates under his belt than I.


I’ve always been told to ask a lot of questions on a date….to take the focus off myself while showing an interest in the woman. Apparently she came from a different school, and spoke only of herself, saving me the trouble of asking or answering any questions whatsoever.

Her river of narcissism was diverted only for encounters with other hikers. “Good Morning.” “Hi, how are you?” “Good morning.” “Beautiful day.” “Hi, how are you?” And then seamlessly flowed back to her dreams….her fears….her son.

Her what? Her son? What son? Nobody told me anything about a son.

There were no pictures of a child on Facebook nor did it list her as a “Proud Parent.” Why didn’t she have any pictures of him? Maybe she wasn’t proud. What kind of woman isn’t proud of her son? I’ll tell you what kind: One with a really nice butt. Good tip from my friend.

I was worked up and couldn’t figure out why. I had dated single moms in the past. It was never an issue. I love kids. I was once a kid, and I think I’m fantastic.

And then it hit me: omission can be a lie. For me, a woman needs be up front about 3 things. 1) Does she have kids? 2) Does she have herpes? 3) Does she have herpes?

At this point I had to assume she had herpes. She left me no choice.

I was starting to feel bad about myself. Maybe I needed to be more open. Give her the benefit of the doubt. Be One, with the…hill. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t mention him, or have his picture up. Maybe there was something wrong with him. I had been working on becoming more sensitive. This was as good a time as any to put it into action.

So I took an interest in her son by…..asking his name. Stuart, she said proudly. Stuart Libble, I thought. According to Angelib, Stuart was far from wrong. In fact, not only was he was the cutest in his class, he was also the smartest, warmest, the most generous, best athlete, the most insightful, and the most sensitive…little did I know, her 5 year old was the best child ever made.

Now this is a strange phenomenon I’ve noticed with parents. Every parent has the best child. I know this isn’t true. I have a niece and couple of nephews and I love ’em dearly, but frankly, there nothing’s spectacular about any of them. They know this. I’ve told them.

So how can there be so many great kids? If all these kids are so great and so smart, that would mean great genes were passed on by the parents who must also be great because they’re the ones who passed on the genes, not to mention, they were born to their parents who must’ve thought they had the greatest kids. So in essence, everyone who has parents is the greatest and the smartest. As cogent as I feel this theory to be, it must be flawed because upwards of 63 million people voted Barack Obama into the highest office in the world.

We took a break to soak in the dry brush and waterless creek. From her backpack, she took out two re-usable plastic water containers and two bags of homemade trail mix she had prepared specifically for the hike. I was starting to dig the whole maternal thing and started to think about how warm and safe I’d feel in her womb. I was getting distracted and losing focus. I had to pull myself together. I had to remember her favorite picture of the year. I had to figure out an organic way to steer the conversation into the political arena. I couldn’t be looking for a fight….and then she asked Do you like kids?

Then I saw it. My first move….and then the second…and then the whole board. I was Big Hollywood’s Bobby Fischer. My transition would be stealth, organic, and inevitably lead to an unhealthy ideological debate.

Note: If you can’t see the move, don’t be down on yourself. Feel good about You.

I love kids. They just scare me a little these days.

Why’s that? She asked.

I thanked her for the water, placed the bottle in her backpack, and said because there’s no respect anymore. Then I took the lead up the trail. She followed. I knew she would…..because….we were hiking together.

I was setting up the Jerome Gambit, an opening move in chess described as extremely dubious, where White sacrifices two pieces in hopes of exposing Black’s king and obtaining a mating attack.

Note: I have no idea what that means.

What I did know was that this was a “Plug in and Play” situation: a pre-existing family with rules of interaction and engagement already in place. All I had to do was get her talking, which hadn’t proven difficult thus far, but more specifically, about those rules…about her parenting style…unfortunately that would entail hearing more about Stuart.

If I could stomach this, the promise of ideological division would be great. After all, I’ve seen marriages fall apart as a result of differences in parenting styles. But these differences usually turn out to be symptoms of something else: an underlying resentment or hatred for the other person seems to be the most popular root cause in the institution these days.

I had no doubt, that once the division was established regarding child rearing, I could skillfully guide her into the political arena and from there, the underlying resentment and/or hatred for one another would no longer be “underlying.” It would surface and then we could explore it, embrace it, and see if we could overcome it.

So I chose the concept of “respect.” She was a liberal, so I knew it was likely she might find the notion antiquated, and thus elicit an adverse reaction. It did.

You’re not one of those people who thinks it’s disrespectful for Obama to take his jacket off in the Oval Office, are you?

Ah…the condescending negative question…a technique used by the arrogant by which any answer other than “no” labels you an idiot. So I applied the technique of answering a question with a question, often used by smart people.

Why do you think people were so bothered by that? I asked.

Her answer….wait for it… it comes…..: because Republicans are uptight a**holes who can’t handle the fact that we have a cool President. Taking off his jacket makes him one of the people as opposed to some King on a throne.

She was apparently participating in a scarcely known cerebral cap and trade program, whereby she was rewarded for using the least amount of her brain possible….by limiting the amount of intelligent thought escaping into the atmosphere she was accumulating credits. I could only assume she’d be getting an unprecedented tax refund.

As she continued, the ideological division between us grew as I suspected it would. When it came to parenting, she subscribed to the teachings of progressive behaviorist Alfie Kohn, who believes that respect comes from internal authority as opposed to external authority….Stuart was allowed to call his mom, teachers, and adults by their first names. This was so they were not viewed as authority figures to be feared, but rather as equals.

I was interested in knowing more about how liberals were grown.

Here are some other interesting tenets of Alfie Kohn which Angelib was applying.

  • No punishment
  • No rewards
  • No competition

I had hit the mother load. This was a big game liberal. I half expected a helicopter to swoop down over the ridge, where I’d see Sarah Palin leaning out, aiming an assault rifle to put Angelib down like an Alaskan Bull Moose.

But the Governor didn’t show so I was left with the only weapons I had: logic, reason, and the desire to see her face when she realized I was one of the uptight a**holes who can’t handle the fact that we have a cool President.

I expressed a genuinely feigned interest in her methods which pleased her greatly. I did however, have some questions. I started off innocently: if there is no punishment, how does he learn not to do something? She explained that recently Stuart punched her in the stomach. Fortunately I was in the lead hiking position so she couldn’t see me fight the laughter. She continued. Instead of meeting aggression with punishment, she and Stuart talk it out. She sits him down and says that punching Mommy or Angelib in the stomach doesn’t “work for her.” It makes her sad. It was liberal foreign policy applied to a 5 year old.

Dear President Medvedev, Dmitry,

We realize our missile defense system doesn’t work for you. We understand how you feel. So we hope you understand that a nuclear weapon in the hands of Iran, doesn’t work for us. Does it work for you? If not, could you please sit down with Mahmoud and tell him what he’s doing doesn’t work for either of us? We’d really appreciate it. Look forward to talking and talking and talking and talking and talking.

See you later alligator,


P.S. I hope you don’t interpret this letter as a sign of weakness. And please don’t tell anybody I wrote you. That wouldn’t work for me and it would make me sad.

We moved on to no rewards and no competition. My question was simple: if you remove rewards and competition, aren’t you also doing away with initiative, incentive, and personal responsibility? She made it very clear that Alfie Kohn was a scientist and that there were many studies that show a child performs better when there is nothing at stake.

This time laughter trumped courtesy.

What’s funny? She asked aggressively.

I’m sorry….I just don’t understand… When is there nothing at stake? In the real world, there are stakes.

The real world? She gave me the forward head tilt combined with the eyebrow lift, which in my experience, usually means “bring it.” So I brought it.

Yeah, the one I live in. Where competition drives innovation. Where hard work and good behavior should be rewarded. Where bad behavior should be punished. Where socialism doesn’t work. Where diplomacy is not a policy, it’s a tactic.

Note: I borrowed that last part from former UN Ambassador John Bolton.

For the first time on our hike, she was speechless, but only briefly. And then as if the possibility had just occurred to her…

You’re not a Republican are you?

It was as if Reagan himself hurled a lightning bolt from that Oval Office in the sky, where jackets are required….and it struck my heart such that I pulsed with strength and pride. She deserved the answer on behalf of uptight A**holes everywhere.

And I said, Yes. I’m a Republican. And then…..

….shirtless hippies carrying djembes descended from the dried out shrubs which line the Santa Monica Mountains, formed a drum circle, and began beating Hail to the Chief. I thought of my favorite picture of the year.

Actually there weren’t any hippies….just dead silence, save for the jolly couple passing by with a cheerful “Good Morning.” This time she didn’t respond. I did. “Hi, how are you?”

Angelib looked confused, almost disoriented, while still managing a hint of disgust. I clarified my position, not aggressively, just truthfully.

And I don’t think Obama’s cool. Taking his jacket off in the Oval doesn’t make him one of the People. It makes him pompous and disrespectful. He’s no more one of the People than I’m Tenzing Norgay. Obama seems like a guy who won the lead in the school play and he terrifies me. Not to mention he uses more adverbs than any orator since Cicero. Everything this guy does will be done “boldly” and “swiftly,” including the destruction of our country if we’re not careful. Is there any more trail mix?

She shook her head “no.” The awkwardness was palpable. Neither of us quite knew what to do.

Should we hike any further? I asked. I think the waterfall is just a little further. We both understood the metaphor. And upon reflection, I think we both knew there was no waterfall.

She considered it, briefly, and then once again, shook her head “no.” I understood and agreed. So with very few words, we hiked back down our cars…boldly and swiftly.


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