A series of anticlimactic endings
March 10, 2005 | 4:42 pm | Uncategorized | Girly | 1
Now that I’m doing something I thought I would never do — getting married — I thought it might be entertaining to take a look back at all the notable gentlemen who’ve had the pleasure of dating me.
I’m joking, of course, but I happen to have dated a disproportionate number of men who are now moderately famous. I’m not going to names, because I’m a lady, but I think its worth noting that just because you grow up in Oklahoma or some other small town that doesn’t mean you can’t make something of yourself, like, for example, join a rock band that is only critically accepted here but is wildly popular in Japan, or become a country and western singer with a fading career and an alter ego, or be Opie, or become a writer and soon-to-be-housewife who works out all of her passive-aggressive tendencies via her weblog on the Internet.
My very first boyfriend ever literally sent me a note that said “Will you go out with me? Check YES or NO.” I probably still have it somewhere. He sat near me in Mrs. Keener’s classroom in the fifth grade. At that time, “going out” was really just a title — I don’t think we ever uttered more than five words to each other during our torrid romance. He was on the little league football team, though, and I seem to remember wearing his football jacket around at recess.
Later in life, this former boyfriend became very successful at one thing, namely, bulking up in the off season and smashing into quarterbacks for college football’s three-time national champions. He was drafted by the Baltimore Ravens after graduation, but then he had to go and blow it all by breaking his leg during pre-season practice, causing him to miss his entire first season in the NFL. Loser.
A few years later I dated Mr. Beginner Pedophile. I should have know this guy had issues when he first asked me out, namely because I was 16 and he was 20. I thought it was okay because my parents are four years apart, but it turns out that doesn’t make a very convenient excuse when your mother doesn’t approve of your new boyfriend.
Mr. Pedophile used to write me the most amazing, angry poetry. We broke up when I found a notebook of his stories about watching a little girl sleeping, wearing only cotton panties. Mr. P now lives in New York City, where’s he’s a prominent guest at poetry slams.
Another old flame (God, why did I ever?) is now gaining fame on the hot L.A. music scene. His Web site is full of accolades from 13-year-old girls, which is fitting, seeing as how he was once in a band with half the members of that other sugar-pop quartet from Oklahoma, the All-American Rejects.
After that guy and a couple of others, I swore off musicians forever. I’m not a jealous girl, but there are some lines you just shouldn’t cross, and one of them has to do with a bunch of desperate teenagers who would do anything to get their photo taken with you. Nope, I wasn’t cut out for that life – always on tour, always on demand, drugs, booze, boobies and more money than and 25-year-old should rightfully have
When I repeat on this site and to my friends over and over and over again that I never planned on getting married to anyone, it’s because the guys I dated were always more interested in themselves and their own lives than in compromise or commitment. Marriage was never part of my grand scheme mostly because I had never met a man like C, who is the most selfless, understanding and giving person in the whole wide world. Despite his flaws, he’s so concerned about the rest of the world’s well-being that sometimes I have trouble believing he’s real.
I swore I’d never date a musician again, but here I am now, getting ready to marry a man who is spending the seven weeks before our wedding trying to build a floating city in Asia. This was a decision we made together, and a decision I support, because his job is what is going to allow me to quit my job and travel Korea and spend my spare time writing for the next year and half. But I miss him, and I wish I could be there now, not two months later.
C, if you’re reading this, you better not be giving your autograph out to a bunch of 13-year old Korean girls!
Does that mean 13-year old Korean boys are fair game?