Monthly Archives: January 2015

Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 247: The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (17): ‘The Must-Have Valentine’

A Romance Scribe-in-Progress

Rg2: A Romance Scribe-in-Progress


“The Must-Have Valentine”

There are three types of male Valentines
inhabiting the face of our shared earth,
The Passive, Aggressive, & Must-Have Valentine
One of whom knows your exquisite worth

You haven’t yet chosen, I can sense
While options linger eagerly in wait,
I suggest you thoroughly vet the others
No matter, it’s me you’ll contemplate

Confidence? Or is it Providence . . .
Perhaps fate brought you to my sphere,
A silent influencer, I, a botherer of no one
But divinity has found me in your ear

Woman, my yen is powerful, just an hour-ful
My flow transforms your frame of reference,
An awakener, I, no mistakener, I
To your majesty I accord my deference

My scripture on the page, my poetry in your heart
Say you haven’t thought of me, I’ll simply go away,
But questions remain—might you be afraid
Intensifying as we get nearer to the day

Your island . . . cove, my inland . . . trove
Care to meet me half-the-way?
Grace me in a red dress, I swear
Your trepidations I will allay

I’m The Romantic Age within, this love’s akin
That era from scores of centuries ago?
Bygone to modern men, God help them all
Time and chance have revealed your beau

Come join me in this exclusive offering
To one another a memorable affair,
But once a year a moment this kind
For your hand, on bended knee I bear

My ask, my want of your elegant presence
Your Must-Have Valentine will show the way,
Scratch the names from your prospects list
Now whisper mine . . . for Pamper-Her-Friday.



Romance is forever. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®

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Posted by on January 30, 2015 in Pamper-Her-Friday


Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 246: The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (16): A Love Note by Rg2

Creative Verse by Rg2

Creative Verse by Rg2


Dear Krishtine,

It’s a new year.

Like the most recent four or five of my life, my intention hasn’t been to fall for a woman. I’ve remained disciplined—I’ve desperately tried. Self-sequestered in my quiet environs with little more than a laptop, a lone candle, an occasional liqueur-on-ice, well, a little more than occasional, and my favored vocalists and instrumentalists haunting/inspiring/consoling me on digital, I’ve sought refuge in the man within. Self-refuge.

Few know me. Fewer understand me. And yet, the world, increasingly, recognizes my presence . . . in some creative form or fashion. I’ve submitted several proposals to Fortune-ranked and -unranked companies recently, some by invite, for creative products/services marketing alliances with Pamper-Her-Friday and Romance by Rg2 as the commercial theme.

Visualize one that I’m particularly fond of having written: A mother and her little girl–both confronted by an extremely humble existence—daily walk past a modern-day five-and-dime store on their way to the youngster’s school. The display window features a life-like, hand-crafted action figure of the little girl’s likeness, dressed in a graduation robe, mortarboard and tassel. For reasons known only to her, perhaps wonderment more than anything, the little girl is fixated on the figurine. Her mother simply can’t afford it.

Well, it’s Friday (are you smiling, clued into where I’m going with this?) and the owner, having noticed the cute window-watcher before, is feeling generous—with a catch: Written on the no-charge receipt is his request to receive a photo of her on her college graduation day, dressed in the figurine’s likeness, of course.

There’s no guarantee the request is fulfilled in years hence, sure enough. But the little girl, a smile even her mother hasn’t seen her daughter wear, her eyes all aglow, is immeasurably touched, clutching the figure in her arm, her gaze returned to the owner a final time before they so thankfully exit the store.

That’s Pamper-Her-Friday for ya. Now imagine the countless other commercial applications with the PHF theme. See the vision?

Oh, and what if that little girl, so touched by the owner’s gesture, goes on to graduate, earns her professional bona fides, returns to the store and offers the near-to-retirement owner a profitable lease buyout or establishes an interminable scholarship at her university in the owner’s name?

See the vision?

I’ve been disciplined, Krishtine. Sometimes painfully, sometimes desperately, mostly resiliently disciplined.

What I saw in your eyes when your photo appeared wasn’t unlike what my inner vision saw in that little girl’s eyes when I created her conceptually.

Yes, inspirational, you. So very lovely, you.

When the ad airs, I’ve directed my lawyer to issue a portion of residuals to your name, due to arrive explicitly on the fifth day of the week.

Why that particular day?

Because . . .

. . . it will be Pamper-Her-Friday.

Just Because,



Pamper the woman . . . when she least expects. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®


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Posted by on January 23, 2015 in Pamper-Her-Friday


Romance by Rg2®: The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (15): A Valentine Love Letter

vid: The enchanting Buick Avenir


My Lady,

A wise man once told me, “If your girl loves you for your motorcar, you may want to rethink your girl.”

The sage said it in context, of course. I understood him. Women are inherently attracted to nice things. Women are, or can be, seduced by nice “things.” Most people, quite naturally.

And then there was you. You read my letters and the superficial, the material nature of this relentlessly capitalist world mattered little. A rarity, you.

Though they populated the clever TV commercials and the parking garage of your place of work, and the valet stalls of the various private parties you would attend, BMWs, Audis, Benzes and their euro/asian likes were never my aspiration—beautiful as they are.

I’ve never been a follower. Something about that characteristic you found attractive, mesmerizing even. A rarity, you. Do not for one moment believe I didn’t notice—and note it.

Remember when I told you I would be your Valentine when the time was truly destined, and that I’d someday arrive to your doorstep and sweep you away into the fairy tale that we both have harbored in our mutual souls?

I know you don’t love me for my motorcar. You loved me despite my not having one at all.

You loved me . . . for the sacredness of love. You loved me, thought of me, you longed for me and cared for me, you loved me quite simply and truthfully . . . for me.


Because you saw—in your mind’s, heart’s, and soul’s eye—that I was a reflection of your own being. You saw that my walk on this earth was a natural pace, stride, and gait with your own.

And that is why I am your and you are God-givenly my Valentine.

I’m coming to whisk you away in my motorcar. You won’t recognize the vehicle but certainly the navigator.

Because . . . I am, with all my heart, my very soul, with the very last breath I take . . .

. . . your Valentine.

I thank you.

Ever yours,



Romance lives. -Rg2

© 2015 Romance by Rg2®

disclaimer: (Rg2 RomanceWorks principals are GM shareholders)

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Posted by on January 19, 2015 in Pamper-Her-Friday


Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2® 245: The Romantic Valentine Collection by Rg2 (14): ‘A Valentine Emerges’

image: valentine by vasilisa

image: valentine by vasilisa


“A Valentine Emerges”

Perhaps prematurely I broach the subject
Though it’s never too soon for a woman’s heart,
I care not if those other suitors object,
You deserve the pursuit of a man apart

What are your plans for the coming fourteenth . . .
. . . may I kiss your hand in February?
It would be my honor to have the dance
I’m confident I will have no adversary

Men come and men go, the carousel
Your love is no place for nomads,
I dare to be your root, a bearer of fruit
Futile are the efforts of the other lads

Table delicacies by a symphonic sea
A quartet playing instruments to the wind,
A batch of once-only chocolates from Mrs. See:
Colombian cocoa and macadamia blend

Might there be a special request?
By all means, feel free to write it down,
Send to my inbox with your signature
Then close your eyes and hear the sound

My voice on speaker as I recite your name
Does it remind you of poetic verse?
Just wait ’til I sing you a serenade
There will be no need to rehearse

A thousand times I’ve sung and hummed
Your romance I’ve carried for days on end,
I remember the summer you cried my departure
The handwritten forget-me-nots you would send

You haven’t escaped me, nor I you
Once touched the soul is never the same,
When it finds its way the bottom of your heart
My romance is the source from whence love came

To stand and request your Valentine hand
I must say I exalt in such a noble task,
And what better moment than Pamper-Her-Friday
For you I’ve saved this most special ask:

Will you?



The Art of Romance. -Rg2

© 2015 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®


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Posted by on January 16, 2015 in Pamper-Her-Friday


Romance by Rg2®: To Oprah with Love: A Love Letter by Rg2

image by: laura makabresku,

image by: laura makabresku,


Dear Oprah,

I thought you’d appreciate this true short story as it happened some years ago. It speaks to the unpredictability of romance in a man’s life.

I had gone for a job interview only a few years removed from college. An offer didn’t materialize but serendipity did—or so I thought. Having exited the meeting and making my way to my vehicle, I briefly caught the eye of a woman, a resident employee of the company.

She looked to be my own age at the time and I immediately sensed the curiosity in her eyes. I smiled, then disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. My own curiosity descended with me. I left it there. But somehow or another—the details are hazy—we made contact shortly thereafter.

Her phone voice was invitational in its sweet thinness–but direct, chatterless, as if subtly conducting her own interview. She didn’t hold sway in the company, I gathered, and, besides, she didn’t know my character nor work ethic to proffer a recommendation on my behalf.

I suggested, in deference to my budget, that we meet for sandwiches, and if she had a favorite burger hub in the Inland Valley, it’d be my treat. She apparently had an In-N-Out burger fetish. “OK, double-doubles on me,” I offered, “and some of those fresh-cut fries you like.”

She laughed at my comedic assumption and held onto her ‘yes’ for a moment, but I sensed a breakthrough. Funny, we never actually got burgers; instead, we ended up at Starbucks on what was a crisp fall night—a Friday it was.

I was take-the-room-when-you-arrive tardy. My drive was much longer than hers. She was seated with her handset to her ear, probably past ready to bail in angst. And then I walked in. She kept talking but her eyes couldn’t escape me as I approached her. “I apologize for keeping you,” I gave sincerely. She extended her arm to me and I clasped her hand. She said goodbye to her itinerant phone mate.

She rose from her seat and her eye level was parallel to my chin. Tall, distinctive, short, naturally curly hair, and spirit-lifting bronze eyes. And a fragrance only Eden could produce. She didn’t leave. She stayed with me, long enough, at ease enough to take my passenger seat and be driven to her impromptu suggestion—a quaint Chinese eatery only a couple of miles west.

Our talk was small yet engaging, intermittent laughter, though she noted I was rather serious for my age, a contrast to the California unseriousness to which she’d perhaps become accustomed. We didn’t talk about dreams and aspirations so much as what were the current circumstances of our lives.

I’ve always been a top-of-the-pack listener. As such, I’d learned to listen also to body jargon and what unspoken words may mean in the moment. I sensed her withholding. Though she very well could’ve said as much about me, looking back on it. She did, however, mention what she liked to do in the way of entertainment, alone-time, athletics. The Santa Anita Race Track.

That one really intrigued me. I hadn’t experienced horse racing to that point in my life and told her I’d love to go. For some reason, I was really looking forward to going to the track with her. She had been the only one to suggest that particular outing.

We never made it to the track.

In a subsequent phone call, our conversation now more relaxed, I invited her dancing. She accepted. We left heel marks, we had so much fun. The band then slowed the tempo. “I promise not to get too close for your comfort,” I suggested, my hand extended for her reply. Her gaze answered in the affirmative and I escorted her to near mid-floor. Having kept my word, she eased closer, unclasped her right hand from my left and placed it on my shoulder. And rested her temple against my lower jaw.

And the band played on.

And we held on. Into the night.

A couple days had passed and we again found ourselves in phone conversation. Again, I sensed withholding. Which, looking back, I was quite amenable to considering I had met her on a whim and at an unstable, still-formulating juncture in my own life.

When I mentioned the still-unexperienced burgers and the race track, she gave no answer this time. Her withholding was even more palpable. She had gone as far as she could go. Or as far as what circumstances would allow. The interview had reached adjournment.

“You know what, Nicole,” I released, “I feel like I don’t have enough time, like if I don’t hurry and get it all in, my time with you . . . . You don’t have time to get to know me, do you?”

She had no reply. Or simply couldn’t.

We never spoke again.

The mystery of it all, Oprah? The race track. I had reminisced on what might have happened—one of two scenarios. What if we’d gone and disaster struck? Like a jockey losing balance in mid-race, his stallion spooked, and they both tumbled tragically, causing a domino effect of fallen horses and riders, to the horror of spectators? And she’d have been sorely disappointed for me, saddened by the tragic events on my inaugural track visit.

Or, what if it had been a blue-sky, sunsplashed Southern California race day in which all riders and mares stayed upright, edge-of-seat galloping to a hair pin photo finish and the winning horse is the one I’d whimsically placed a $5 dollar bet on at 200-to-one odds?

Had the second scenario played out, what if I had taken my $1,000 winnings and given her $500, exactly half, for having invited and introduced me to the track? And then, what if I’d suggested, “Let’s each put $100 of our mutual winnings into a ‘getaway fund’ for an on-a-whim outing of your choosing”?

Ahh, the mystery.

Serendipity deferred?

We’ll never know. Because I wasn’t suppose to.

But I know what romance feels like.

I thank her for that.




Would you like to go with me to the track . . . on Pamper-Her-Friday? -Rg2

© 2015 Romance by Rg2®


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Posted by on January 3, 2015 in Pamper-Her-Friday

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