Thursday, June 16, 2005
true love and work
True love is dead. We all can pretty much agree on that, right? I mean, it just doesn’t happen like it used to. Stories of love told by old folks always go something like:
- “I saw her from across the room and I knew she was the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with. We were wed two weeks later and have been together sixty-five years.”But for people my age, it just doesn’t work that way. I wonder what stories of love the people of my generation will tell our grandkids. I think it’ll be closer to:
- “He was the dreamiest man I had ever seen. When I saw him working at the shipyard, I knew instantly he was the man for me. Ten years later, we had eleven children.”
- “I was wounded in combat in France in 1944 and on my first day out of the hospital I met this beautiful French girl. That night, we walked along the Seine and I proposed on the spot. That was seventy-two years ago.” (Editor’s Note: this quote will be said in the year 2016)
- “I walked out of Fulton Hall and on the bench in the quad I saw a young man reading Tennyson’s ‘Holy Grail’ and I just felt it. We were married ten minutes later and haven’t spent a night apart in fifty-three years.”
- “I had just done a keg stand when I went to the bathroom. I barged in, not realizing anyone was in there, and caught your grandmother pissing. She called me a dick, but two hours later she was giving me a blowjob in my roommate Todd’s bed. It was fucking awesome.”The sad thing is that the people of my generation still hope for this no longer existent true love. My friends and I have cast aside countless relationships for the most trivial reasons because we weren’t convinced the girl was “the one” (this is not limited to men; women do this too - I just don't know any women and thus can't use them as examples). Spoiled as we are, rather than working on the relationship or giving it a real chance because we didn’t immediately feel that “spark”, we ended the whole thing. I am admittedly guilty of this as well. Note to self: just because a girl has an above-average amount of arm hair or abnormally large feet or maybe one time ran over a kid does not mean that she can’t be perfect for you.
- “I was at Sutton Place at 52nd & 2nd. Your grandfather was there, button-down shirt open, hair perfectly gelled. He had just done three SoCo & lime shots in a row and punched the bouncer in the face. I fucked him on the LIRR that night. He didn’t call me for two months, but when he eventually did, we started dating. And you know the rest.”
- “Your grandfather played bass in a pseudo-retro trash band called ‘The Kings of Fuck and Ennui.’ I saw him on stage and loved his $80 vintage t-shirt and his hair, which looked like it had been cut by a monkey that had been badly beaten. I wanted him so much that when he told me I first had to kiss a girl on the mouth, I did it. Four times. It was real love.”
- “I was on Spring Break in Cancun when I did a half dozen ice luges and fell down a flight of stairs. I didn’t remember hooking up with your grandmother until six weeks later when she emailed me and told me she thought she was pregnant. Thank god we escaped that one! High five!”
Well, I’m writing this to tell you all that I am officially done. I don’t care about finding “true love” or “the one” because that shit is just too hard. As I get older, I’m becoming more efficient and pragmatic. I no longer have time for grandiose fantasies of love and happiness. When someone dreams of their soulmate, they envision a person that is the sum of a number of desirable traits: a short blond chick who loves Indian food, Yo La Tengo, and has tattoos; an athletic redhead who’s into camping and candle-making and can quote “Top Gun” line for line; a curvy brunette who loves dogs, the rain and going to the beach; etc.
But I’m through. Realizing it ain’t happening for me in the soulmate department any time soon, I’m refining my search for “the one” so that it no longer involves a collection of desirable traits wrapped in one person, but rather on one single determining characteristic that I have deemed more important than all the others: profession.
I want to say right away that this is not about money. I have plenty of money (lie) and I plan on having plenty of money in life (another lie). At the very least, I plan on not spending all the money I earn on onion rings, cheap vodka, and those crane machines where the crane dips into the pile of stuffed animals and you have to try to get one of the stuffed animals in the claws of the crane (biggest lie of all). No sir. Not me.
But profession is most important because it is the one trait that can be most useful to me. If I’m going to pick just one characteristic in a soulmate to make such an important decision, why not pick the one that would be most helpful to me? Besides, things like looks and personality really don’t matter to me anymore. I have resigned myself to the fact that I’m going to marry a troll who is a total bitch and throws lit matches at me in my sleep. So if I’m going to marry this pyromaniac troll, she might as well be a doctor and get me drugs easily.
And that brings us to the Top 5 Most Desirable Professions in a Soulmate for yours truly, Jason Michael Joseph Patrick Aloysius Elizabeth Mulgrew. Remember, all of you have to do is have one of these jobs and all this - [running hands up and down body, stopping at crotch, simulating masturbation, stopping, running hands up and down body again] - can be yours.
You probably could have guessed this one. In addition to being borderline addicted to prescription drugs (anti-anxiety meds; sleeping pills; painkillers; muscle relaxers; anything oval, round, white, off-white, blue, or multi-colored; etc), I am a tremendous hypochondriac. The double whammy of having someone to prescribe me all the drugs I want for the rest of my life and the luxury of being calmed by a certified professional when I wake in the middle of the night convinced that I have cholera makes doctor an easy choice for most desirable profession for my soulmate.
Simply put, I break a lot of laws. I don’t know how it happens, but it does. Some people are good at sports, some can draw beautiful pictures, some have a knack for languages; I have a knack for getting drunk and starting a garbage fires or throwing trash cans through windows. It’s just my little cross to bear.
Having a lawyer for a wife would save me a lot of money on legal expenses and make my life better in the big picture. Whereas before if I were on the subway and wanted to punch someone reading the paper, I’d think, “I don’t know – public defenders suck and getting a lawyer’s gonna cost me at least $400, so I’d better not do it”, if I were married to a lawyer I’d think, “Fuck punching this asshole – I’m gonna beat him with my sneaker! That’s assault with a deadly weapon and I don’t give a shit - my wife’s a lawyer!” The result: fun times for everyone. Except the guy I beat with my sneaker, but he was asking for it anyway.
You know, I originally thought that psychiatrist would be good because I may have some slight mental problems that could use sorting out, but on second thought, I don’t think having a psychiatrist wife is a good idea. I’m pretty impressionable and I don’t want my spouse manipulating me with psychobabble. She can do that with sex, like normal couples.
Not as high on the list as you thought, eh? The reason is simple. I love food as much as the next fat guy, but I can pick up the phone and for $25 get a top of the line chicken parm delivered to my door. You can’t just dial a number and get cheap and effective legal advice or call and have a shady Puerto Rican guy named “3” come to your house with drugs and pills (wait, scratch that second one).
The benefits of having a chef for a wife are pretty obvious. I’m actually getting kinda randy just thinking about all the culinary delights that I would enjoy. I have to say though that I think our relationship would ultimately be strained if my chef/wife ever got lazy (“Frosted Flakes for breakfast? Fucking Frosted Flakes? What happened to crepes filled with poached eggs, sautéed baby spinach and prosciutto or pancakes flambéed with bananas and nutella? You know what, go to your mother’s! I need some alone time!”)
Contrary to what you may have read on the internet or heard on “Extra”, I do have a penis and testicles (barely). However, that is about where my manliness ends. The list of things I'm afraid of includes but is not limited to: bugs, thunder, ceiling fans, ghosts, loud-ringing telephones, darkness, mirrors, vacuum cleaners, needles, dishwashers, red things, flushing toilets, creaking noises, anything elastic, blenders, anything green, and light.
You can't put a price on the piece of mind that would come with being married to a cop. Sure, you'd constantly be worried about her getting harmed while on duty, but let's focus on the positives here, ok? Anytime I saw a waterbug or thought I heard a burglar or there was loud thunder, I could turn to my cop wife and be comforted knowing that she has a gun and knows how to use it. Two other bonuses: the obvious sexual fantasies ("Let's pretend I'm Abner Louima, baby! And do NOT be gentle!") and like being married to a lawyer, being married to a cop gives me certain license with my penchant for crime.
Cab Driver – I take a lot of cabs. A discount would be nice.
Librarian – I don’t know...something about the nerdiness and all those sexy books just do it for me. Bonus points if glasses on a chain are involved.
Big Cat Trainer – Not much is sexier than a woman and a big cat. Such beautiful, sexual creatures (the cats, not women).
Teacher – Just so during sex I can say, “Was this in the lesson plan? Huh? Who’s teaching who now? Come on – what’s the state capital of Vermont? Montpelier, bitch! Montpelier!!!”
Lifeguard – I don’t swim, but I imagine if I did this would be very helpful.
[Please be advised that I realize that bartender is not on this list. Any combination of me and someone who can get me free booze is not a good idea and would only result in complete destruction of myself, the woman, and everything in a 300 mile radius. I don't usually do this, but I'm showing some restraint here and I'd like your support. Thank you.]