Awhile back, I posted something about how no matter famous or desirable or beautiful someone is, there will always be someone there to break up with them. That’s why I enjoy celebrity divorces so much. They prove that just because I get paid minor duckets to sit on my ass at a desk and some other people get paid shitloads to have personal trainers and nutritionists, I am no more of a relationship failure than they are. Plus, like most pretty people of the world, they’ve never been required to develop much in the way of personality, and as a result are pretty boring. Don’t believe me? Read a celebrity interview. Behind 90% of them is some journalist sweating balls because he has to make this person sound interesting somehow, which is why modern journalism has become a graveyard of artfully arranged soundbites.
Halle Berry is a perfect example. Now, I’m not saying that she’s boring or anything (I have no real opinion of her one way or another), but what lowlife hasn’t Halle Berry been with? This is a woman who is completely, unarguably, empirically beautiful, and who, even when she’s not flashing her boobs in a John Travolta movie, is talented at what she does for a living. But the men she ends up with are public assholes. She was with some baseball player who beat her so badly she went partially deaf in one ear. Then she married some guy who cheated on her and told everyone he was a sex addict. Then she had a baby with some supermodel and is now telling people that he’s a racist.
Halle Berry, what in the fuck? What is so wrong with your self-esteem that you’ll not only find these people in the first place, but stay with them long enough for this ugly business to come out into the open? Now, I’m not saying that I’ve never found one of these people. I did find – and married – one. But I left when the lying, cheating, and stealing became evident. Screw me over once, shame on you. Screw me over multiple times because I let you do it, shame on me.
The Halle Berry thing and a situation I was recently witness to makes me wonder why some people choose relationships when they shouldn’t. Why stay with someone when all evidence tells you to run screaming in the other direction as if your hair were on fire? AND, after you make the unadvisable choice to stay and get fucked over (like you always knew – or should have known – you would), why blame anyone but yourself? That fable about the frog and the scorpion? IT’S FUCKING TRUE, you dumb shits! And you know it’s true.
I knew it was true, too. After I left my marriage and moved back to St. Louis, I went on a spree of “relationships” that consisted of sleeping with people and throwing them back. This wasn’t the problem; it’s actually what I would prescribe to anyone who gets out of a longterm and shitty relationship. I mean, don’t treat anyone terribly while you’re doing it, but learn to get naked in front of someone else without any subtext of commitment. It’s pretty awesome. Anyway, after a year and a half of this, I decided that I wanted to try actually dating someone. So I did. I dated a guy named Steve who, although being very nice to me and relatively stable, also drove a bright yellow car and had voted for George W. Bush once. Now, although I’d learned how to start a relationship, I still didn’t know how to maintain one, so after our first argument about six months in, I decided not to call him anymore. This remains the worst way I’ve ever broken up with anyone, by the way. (Even worse than the time I broke up with Rob in the parking lot after a Poison concert, because I at least talked him through it and gave him a hug. Then I went to IHOP.)
After Steve, I was ready to date someone else. Which I did almost immediately. In hindsight, “almost immediately” is not the appropriate amount of time to wait before dating someone else, especially if you really don’t know what the fuck you’re doing with relationships in the first place.
It was…fun. Really. It was also frustrating, and anxiety-producing, and, looking back, something I should have treated far less seriously than I did, but at the time I was having fun and thought that was enough. It didn’t help that no one I knew told me the obvious until it was too late, and by the time it was too late, my headgame advantage had expired. While there aren’t lots of things in my past that I wish I could go back in time and change, this is one of them. I left this relationship like a sane person and didn’t make a total fool of myself, but it would have been far better if I’d left it without saying a word (or, in my case, sending a text months later that was never returned, though in my defense, I was on drugs at the time). I should have known better.
Anyway. The point is that you know better. You almost always know better. You can’t expect something that’s never going to be given, and you can’t call someone an asshole just because they don’t like you back.
Though in the case of Halle Berry, maybe she should just start liking girls.
Not to get all “Grammar Teacher” on you, but it’s “ducats”… not “duckets.”
Sorry… studying to be an English teacher has turned me into an asshole.