October 14th, 2005


Here I go again

My girlfriend dumped me. At 12:15 AM. Over the phone.

I know a lot of people think being dumped over the phone is horrible but for me it wasn't so bad. At least I'm at home, at least I don't have to deal with letting my emotions show on my face, and at least there's no awkward post dump waiting for the check or ushering her out of my apartment.

Being dumped late at night, on the other hand, sucks. It sucks hard.

How are you supposed to sleep after something like that? It bounces around in your skull like a marble in a milk jug jarring loose all sorts of odd memories and weird thoughts. If you get dumped at mid day at least you can treat yourself to a delicious dinner and some "I'm single again so I'll need this" pornography. Late night porn buying is just sad.

So I'm up, and I'm wired, and I'm single. It's an interesting feeling. I told my mom what happened and she said "That's too bad. It's really nice to have someone who really cares about you." That's kind of like telling an amputee "Wow, you know what's great? Legs. I love my legs. Can't imagine life without them. Of course you won't have to. You have no legs." Then maybe for good measure you could push them down the stairs, you know, just to let it really sink in that they are now a legless freak.

Maternal to the core. That's my mother.

So sleep is out, maternal comfort is so out, all my friends are in dreamland, what's left? Bashing her?

I guess, but I don't really want to. She dumped me, she had her reasons, I want to stay friends. There's no point in unloading a list of petty grievances and anger. It'd accomplish nothing. Instead I will say that I've learned a valuable lessons about relationships. Don't meet the parents. If you do meet the parents, lie. Say you're in advertising or working for one of Donald Trump's lackeys. Anything but the truth. The truth'll get you sitting at home on a Saturday night polishing the bishop. The truth'll get you right back where you started. Lie, my friends, this is sage advice. You should be writing it down. Lie once, lie twice, lie three times, and don't stop lying until they think that you're the Crown Prince of Monaco.

That and if you do screw it up with her folks and she's going to break up with you, try to maneuver it so it happens earlier in the day. Then go get yourself a nice bowl of mint ice cream and be glad all the stores aren't closed and it isn't past midnight and you aren't all alone in the dark with your thoughts and the pitter patter of rain on the window.

Stop that man. Stop that not quite as tall as others but still quite competent and valuable man!

An old joke comes to life.

Back when I was younger and political correctness was in full swing there was a joke about a woman who got her purse snatched, went to the police, described the culprit as African American (the PC word) and got the disdainful response "And how do you presume to know he was an American?"

Political correctness is just insane. I've seen examples of people calling people from Africa, who live in Africa, African American. Nelson Mandela is not African American. Nelson Mandela is African. Period. South African if you want to be specific. White Africans are just that, or Africans of European descent. There is no point in calling a black African an African of African descent. Likewise there are a lot of dark-skinned people in the United States who are not African Americans. One of my best friends in high school's family came from Haiti. They were not African American. Haitian American, sure, but not African.

Likewise fat people are fat. There's often a moral judgment attached to that, but there doesn't have to be. There doesn't not have to be either. Maybe the victim of this hit and run is really mad at the fat woman who hit her. Maybe she wants to insult the woman by calling her fat. Calling someone fat rarely kills them. It can't even get them to put down that danish. Trust me, I know. The job of the police is to catch people who commit crimes. Hitting someone with your car and driving off is a crime, and a serious one. People die every year from being hit by cars, and specifically from being hit by the cars of people too self-involved to call medical attention to someone after they hit them.

Calling someone fat is not a crime, and not really within the purview of the police. It's none of their business.

Racism, ageism, sizeism, and all the rest of the isms are problems in this country and society at large. Fighting them is a good thing. The way you fight them is by speaking loudly and providing examples of why they're preposterous. You don't fight them by legislating language and attempting thought control. There are a lot of non-racist people who use the world "black" to describe other people. There are plenty of racists who use "African American." The same holds true with fat and "person of size." It's actions and attitudes that count. Sticks and stones can break your bones, being called fat? Well, like I said, it won't even get you to put down that danish.

Celebrity Disgust

Whenever celebrities break up there are always a few people who act relieved or excited, like the fact that Angelina Jolie is no longer dating Brad Pitt means they have a shot with her. (Don't rush off to E!'s website, Brangelina is still going strong. Didn't mean to scare you there, golden_lotus) It's stupid, but it's pretty much de riguer. No Hector at the sub shop is not going to end up with a vial of blood around his neck any time soon, but at least a man can dream.

The thing is that when a normal person, such as myself, gets dumped there's nobody around to do the same for us. Angelina doesn't go "Oh look, Ben's available again." (To which Brad would reply "What, the fat guy?" and she'd say "Yeah, the fat guy" and he'd go back to working out his abs while she returned to looking through classified ads for more impoverished orphans to adopt) That's fine, I mean I'm utterly attainable for someone with lips as big as Ms. Jolie's, and there's no reason for her to day dream about the life we could build together, but I feel like I should get something. You know, she gets all this attention for being single, why not someone like me?

So I came up with an idea. If celebrities can't feel desire and hope when a member of the underclass becomes single, why not an emotion equally strong but not quite as desirable. Why not revulsion. Hear me out here. A movie star may not fantasize about the opportunity of dallying in bed with me, but she certainly could fear it. Terror could cross her porceline features (Or at least the corner of her eyes if she's Botoxed) as she realized that not only was I free but I'd likely be whacking off to her that very night!

Now you might think it impractical given the ratio of celebrities to normal people, but if you think about it it's probably not. How long does it take to be disgusted by a member of the masses? 15 seconds? And given that there are probably tens of thousands of people out there who could qualify as celebrities (If you include swimsuit models and porn stars) and that most relationships last a good while, 10-15 minutes a day devoted to being disgusted could cover it. You could apply for a celebrity to consider you loathsome and be assigned a specific one. Then just email her when you get dumped, along with an unflattering photo, and let the good times roll. Wouldn't it make you feel better to know that somewhere, out there, in Hollywood, Shannon Elizabeth is shuddering at the thought of caressing your hairy body in bed? Wouldn't it make her feel a little better to know that her next boyfriend will be an underwear model rather than Joe wishes-he-had-a-Sixpack?

I think it might.