Monday, July 09, 2007
Nothing But A Woman In Common
I once told a friend's boyfriend that he should go ahead and kill himself if he didn't want to live, that he should put himself out of our collective misery. Later that night, I feared I'd been a little harsh. My father had been dead for two weeks, and I was a little on edge, thinking about all the jerks who lived forever and guzzling the truly excellent margaritas at Joe T. Garcias, possibly the best Mexican restaurant on earth. It was my friend's birthday and the boyfriend showed up, talking about how he hated living and wished he'd been born when he could ride the earth on a horse or fight a war, a popular war, not like Vietnam, but something like on Band of Brothers. Those television wars are always a cozier alternative than a real one, right? Given my rather nonconfrontational nature, I almost let this go, but he pushed on, saying that he should do himself in because he was a waste of flesh. Yes, I said, a death gleam in my eye. The planet has limited resources. I think you should. Die.
So I lost my shot at working for a suicide hotline, I see that now. And some points in Heaven given that I tried to spit on him as he walked by my chair on his way to the bar. The perfect little girl I'd been had died with my dad and if that douchebag wanted a war, I'd be glad to provide him one. I never saw this person again, though. My friend and he broke up. She started dating a man I adore, for whom I have endless respect. The new boyfriend did see my nemesis, though. They talked for a little while in the way of men who have nothing but a woman in common do. My name got brought up. Everyone liked me except the one who lives in Detroit. That city does bad things to a person, the old boyfriend said. The new one laughed. She loves me. It's always good to know someone from Detroit, he told him. You never know when you're going to need the firepower.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"People are all I take seriously. Therefore, I have nothing but sympathy for how people behave - and nothing but laughter to console them with." John Irving
Drinking art criticism book: The Coming Apocalypse Greg Bottoms
Benedictions and Maledictions