This pre-Franorama World post is from my MySpace blog Jan. 20, 2009, 5 a.m. — still wired after a drive home from San Francisco and four hours before Obama’s inauguration:
I’m talking about Obama! What did you think? (Made you look …)
But seriously: Doesn’t it seem like the start of a relationship? I mean, this guy comes into your life — and he tells you straight-up, “I’m not the obvious choice.” But after sitting on the fence for ages, and knowing he’s not quite Mr. Right, you just go “Oh, what the hell” and agree to go out on a date with him, even if only because the rest of the guys are a bunch of fucking losers.
And the next thing you know, you’re under his spell. He makes you think he’s the second coming of FDR, JFK and The Beatles rolled into one. (You may even have to tell your mom, “Guess who’s coming to dinner?” And maybe your mom will be charmed by him, too.) Then, despite a deep-seated fear based on how the previous guys worked out, he gets you to take him on for a long-term (here’s that word) commitment. Could be four years (like my longest relationship), could be eight.
So you give in, knowing you may never get a better man interested in you. (Plus, the last relationship was a fucking nightmare and even a dead tribble would be better than him, and let’s NOT go there right now because the wound is so raw it feels like yesterday. No, wait — it is.)
And soon, he has you giddy. Sure, he’s done a few insensitive things here and there to annoy you and maybe piss you off a little (like the time he invited over that preacher from the big worship entertainment center in SoCal, the one who’s said some bad things about some of your brothers and sisters over the years), But he hasn’t had time to really fuck it up. (Yet.) You’re still in that new, romantic stage.
In essence, you so want things to work out with him with all your heart and soul. You want to look back years later, hold his hand and say, “This is a good man I latched onto.” So much so that you can’t see the forest for the trees — those days in the middle of the relationship when the sheen is gone, when he comes home says “Where’s my dinner?” and you say “Get it yourself.” And you barely acknowledge each other, with maybe a grunt — until you make up and repeat the process several times.
That’s what it’s like.
Oh well, the inauguration is happening in 4 1/2 hours and I’m not even dressed for the occasion — a long-sleeved T and sweats for the car ride home from San Francisco just now. Maybe I can take a nap and get up in time to make the ceremony …