Is She THE ONE? A Partly-True Romantic Comedy

By Bob Boog

Bob, a Los Angeles real estate agent is at the point in his life where he wants to meet 'The One'. But he hasn't had much luck thus far. He finds himself mulling over what exactly he might be doing wrong, what he may do to turn his luck around, and lastly, how in the world will he know when he finally mee

• Language: English
• Publisher: ths international publishing
• Release date: Feb 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736512135

Bob Boog

Robert "Bob" Boog is a graduate of UCLA and lives in Valencia, Ca with his wife and three dogs. He is the author of the non-fiction books Selling Homes 1-2-3, Real Estate Sales from Hell and Selling Outside the Square as well as three fictional titles: The Real Estate Rookie, My Real Estate Nightmare based on a true story which means it happened more or less like this but with uglier people and Is She the One?

Book preview

Is She The One: A Partly-True Romantic Comedy

About the Author: Bob Boog is the owner/broker of a real estate company as well as a songwriter, screenwriter and author of several books. His wife claims he has a bad writing habit.

©Copyright 2017 by Robert Boog

All rights reserved.

Published by ths international ISBN: 978-1-7365121-2-8

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and no harm is intended by the author.

Vector Assets by Freepik, Cover design by Michaela Haze

Also by Bob Boog

The Real Estate Rookie  a fun, sometimes absurd, uplifting story for anyone who owns, sells, buys, rents, builds or who has even driven by real estate. This is the often ridiculous, sometimes absurd and always hilarious account of Bob Boog’s journey from a teenager who would cringe at the very mention of real estate, to one who lived and breathed every moment of it.

Selling Outside the Square a book that contains Bob’s creative ideas about selling

Visit www.3funnybooks.com  for books, videos and songs by Bob Boog.

Table of Contents

Caravan Day

The Psychic

Looking for Love

The Bonaventure

First Date

Lying at a Picnic

The Naked Truth

The Talk

The Dump

Moving Day

Trading Places

Ruined

Road Trip

Epilogue

1

Caravan Day

Someone once wrote that true love comes in quietly like the fog. The heart, they say, is timeless. While this may be true for some people, for me, finding my soulmate officially started on a specific date: January 13, 2011.

The morning was a balmy one in sunny Southern California. I was driving my new, black, Honda sedan that still boasted a brand-new-car scent. The dry, warm climate made it seem like summer and the perfect weather to preview the latest real estate offerings in the Valencia area.

Most real estate offices across the United States designate one day for all agents to view new property listings. In our area, that day happens to be on Fridays.

Where are we headed to next? I asked Joel.

Joel Watkins, a fellow realtor, rode shotgun but pretended not to hear me. Jesus, this is pathetic, isn’t it? Looking out the shotgun-side window, he pointed to his right. Look at this ghetto! It’s like these houses sprang right out from greeting cards. Don’t get me wrong, giving somebody a greeting card has got to be the most festive way I know to deposit five bucks into their trashcan. But seriously, this is downright depressing!

I was following a caravan of five other vehicles, so I had to keep my eyes on the road, but I knew what he was talking about. Our master-planned city consisted of thousands of tract homes with wide avenues governed by homeowner associations. Most of the homes were painted in earth-tones. Most bore red tile roofs with a tree planted in a tiny manicured front yard. It gave a well-kept appearance that most people appreciated. Excluding Joel and others like him.

In his hot, sweaty hand Joel held a printed list of broker open houses. A few advertised free lunches. One offered a $50 drawing just for leaving a business card, and the last one on the list proclaimed: Happy Friday the 13th! Get a free psychic reading. This one seemed the most interesting.

Joel stared as we passed a random woman in a car, Hey, Bob. Would you do her?  No peeking. Just answer me: ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’

This again? I asked. I didn’t roll my eyes but probably should have.

Come on. Would you have sex with her?

No, I answered. I kept my gaze straight ahead on the road.

You’re sure about that? He tried to make it sound more enticing. Positive?

Yes.

Damn you! he exclaimed. Yeah, she’s a grandma. Toothless, old hag!

The woman in the car next to us suddenly flipped him off. Jesus, can you believe the nerve of that woman?

Maybe she heard you, I snickered.

"Nah. Hey, ever notice how some of these grandmas get offended and scared when they hear the word penis, but then they have like twelve kids?"

I laughed.

"It’s true. It’s like, calm the frick down lady, I only said the word penis. I didn’t whip it out and dangle my ding-dong right in front of you."

I laughed again and shook my head. There was a ten second pause as I settled down to respond.  Okay. I have an important question to ask you. Ready?

I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

Then I chickened out. I wasn’t sure if Joel even knew the answer to my question. I had started writing a journal because I wanted to know what I was doing wrong. What did I need to do to find the right woman? Also, how would I know when I did find The One? I seriously wanted to know the answers to these questions but before I opened my big mouth, I reconsidered. What was I doing asking Joel? Not only was he not an expert, but knowing Joel, he would probably utter something stupid like, "You’re not doing anything wrong. Every girl can be The One."  That’s probably the advice he would offer (most likely rendered in a much cruder fashion) and though it might make sense, I wanted to get a more well-reasoned opinion and write it down.

I’m waiting, he replied. Then he farted. Loud. It smelled like rotten eggs.

God. You’re disgusting! I cringed as I caught a whiff. Joel grinned.

I shook my head and changed my mind.  I decided to ask him something less personal. Something he wouldn’t make fun of me for.

Well? Joel asked.

I stalled. What should I say? Could I dare be honest with him?

Um. What’s your secret for staying single for so long? I tried to make it sound like I was dying to get the answer to that question.

Joel looked over. Easy. Porn. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.

I’ve always had a problem with porn, I said.

Really? he asked Is it a religious thing?

Nah, it’s not that. My problem with porn is I get too invested with the storyline and end up worrying about the pizza delivery guy getting fired from his job for taking too long.

Joel snorted. Yeah, it figures you would say something like that.

We drove along in silence for a little while. I’m an average-looking white guy, 27 years old, and have an athletic build. People tell me I look like Ron Howard from the TV show, Happy Days—except I wear glasses. At 32, Joel much taller than me has a more muscular build, a thick head of brown hair, and a beard. His face resembled that of Jim Carey’s.

I mean, don’t you ever get lonely being single? I asked.

Not really. I have a bunch of cool friends.

I nodded, but inside I didn’t totally agree with what Joel had said. He and I had different definitions of the word cool. Joel’s idea of cool friends for example were the ones who bought clothes from the Sears catalogue. In other words, most of them were like him: into Star Wars and owning Star Trek toys. I harbored the suspicion that Joel secretly liked to dress up in a homemade superhero costume and then do pretend sword fights with his friends using wooden sticks fashioned like swords. I’d seen a few of his 30ish friends and most were weird and single. Now being single might be okay for Joel, but me? I had grown tired of it.

I wanted to have a meaningful relationship with a woman, not another crummy one-night stand. All my friends were getting married, and some were even having kids. Why haven’t you tied the knot? they all wanted to know.

I normally gave the same lame answer, I just haven’t found the right girl yet. To this they would say, Well, there are plenty of fish in the sea.

Ever hear this? While this cliché might ring true to some folks, I discovered it did not seem to apply to me—at all, in either fishing or dating.

I was now 27 and desperately tired of the dating scene. I wanted to find a wifey. Someone I could share my innermost thoughts and feelings with. Someone I could relate to. Someone I could trust. Be best friends with. Maybe even