You Don't Know Me, But We're Perfect Together
This morning I learned that someone I know in a Six Degrees of Separation sense is leaving New York City for the other coast. I’m pretty bummed out about it.
Ever introduce yourself to the same person more than once? Like 2 or 3 times? I’ve repeatedly tried to arrange a clandestine conversation with her. I confess that I barely…hardly…don’t really know this chick, but I am crestfallen over news of her departure. See, um, I’ve nursed a schoolgirl crush on her from afar. And while she couldn’t pick me out of a lineup, I could write a small biography on her. I master the subjects of my affection through arduous, thorough research. It’s not creepy at all, though. Google provided plenty of sources so I didn’t have to do any surveillance. But as fate would have it, she and I move in some of the same circles. We’re both comedians, so I’ve seen her on occasion – four times in the past 2 years. And I never even orchestrated a single one of those rendez vous like I often do when I have the hots for a lady. Destiny did all the work for me. Stand up comedy isn’t the only thing we have in common. We’re practically the same person, or at least seriously kindred souls. We’re both Catholic and furiously love football, too. Here’s the kicker: She’s a lesbian. She’s as gay as I am! I’m not barking up the wrong tree for once. It’s perfection. We’re so compatible! Football-loving, latent lesbian future excommunicatees - two peas in a pod I tell ya! Long have I’ve held the secret hope that eventually we’d get to know each other and a friendship would develop. In no time we’d me making love on a Sunday afternoon during halftime of the Bears vs. Giants game. That would be one of those things we’d do all the time.
But my dream is dead. Now she’s leaving me. I wasn’t invited to her farewell performance. I’m devastated and that doesn’t strike me as weird. In my mind I am suffering from the pain of a loss. I can hear the depressing music already.
Doctors, friends, family, aliens and my cat have said that I’m 100% out of my mind. “Shannon is prone to inventing elaborate scenarios about anything (real or imagined) all the while believing that the practice is completely normal.” Thankfully, there are moments when I remember that I can blame all kinds of psychotic shit, delusions and insane reactions to people, places and things on being a nutjob.
But…doesn’t everybody do this kind of stuff? You see someone on the street, think they’re cute and in 45 seconds you’re married and picking out an Audi with ample space for the twins’ hockey equipment.
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Ever introduce yourself to the same person more than once? Like 2 or 3 times? I’ve repeatedly tried to arrange a clandestine conversation with her. I confess that I barely…hardly…don’t really know this chick, but I am crestfallen over news of her departure. See, um, I’ve nursed a schoolgirl crush on her from afar. And while she couldn’t pick me out of a lineup, I could write a small biography on her. I master the subjects of my affection through arduous, thorough research. It’s not creepy at all, though. Google provided plenty of sources so I didn’t have to do any surveillance. But as fate would have it, she and I move in some of the same circles. We’re both comedians, so I’ve seen her on occasion – four times in the past 2 years. And I never even orchestrated a single one of those rendez vous like I often do when I have the hots for a lady. Destiny did all the work for me. Stand up comedy isn’t the only thing we have in common. We’re practically the same person, or at least seriously kindred souls. We’re both Catholic and furiously love football, too. Here’s the kicker: She’s a lesbian. She’s as gay as I am! I’m not barking up the wrong tree for once. It’s perfection. We’re so compatible! Football-loving, latent lesbian future excommunicatees - two peas in a pod I tell ya! Long have I’ve held the secret hope that eventually we’d get to know each other and a friendship would develop. In no time we’d me making love on a Sunday afternoon during halftime of the Bears vs. Giants game. That would be one of those things we’d do all the time.
But my dream is dead. Now she’s leaving me. I wasn’t invited to her farewell performance. I’m devastated and that doesn’t strike me as weird. In my mind I am suffering from the pain of a loss. I can hear the depressing music already.
Doctors, friends, family, aliens and my cat have said that I’m 100% out of my mind. “Shannon is prone to inventing elaborate scenarios about anything (real or imagined) all the while believing that the practice is completely normal.” Thankfully, there are moments when I remember that I can blame all kinds of psychotic shit, delusions and insane reactions to people, places and things on being a nutjob.
But…doesn’t everybody do this kind of stuff? You see someone on the street, think they’re cute and in 45 seconds you’re married and picking out an Audi with ample space for the twins’ hockey equipment.
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