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Love Wars IV: A New Dope

May 19, 2014

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Okay, so since I was too lazy to figure out how to do scrolling text with a vanishing point in Final Cut Pro, I might as well throw in the towel and confess that the “long time ago” was December 2013 and the “far, far away” was Denver, CO, which requires only a plane ticket or car to reach rather than a ship that can make the Kessel run in 12 parsecs.

But in lieu of the famous film saga’s pretext, allow me to reintroduce Christmas lights boy, for he is the Darth Vader to my Luke Skywalker only with more awkward Freudian overtones which I suppose would make him more like the Luke to my Leia in that regard at least.*

*Note: yes, I know I alluded to analogizing my endless man troubles to the Lord of the Rings rather than Star Wars, but given that this has been a surprisingly ceaseless tale with the potential to be revitalized and subsequently ruined by J.J. Abrams, tying it to the previous generation’s defining fantasy series seems more apt. After all, there’s only so much to be done with LOTR after The Hobbit ends, since The Silmarillion seems ill-equipped for a movie adaptation. But then, I suppose in an effort to earn even more lunch money from the nerds who overcame the wedgies and forked-over school lunch savings to get real jobs, they’ll give that, too, to J.J. Abrams eventually. Sigh.

Anyway, while I fully acknowledge my own unintentional mishandling of the Xmas lights debacle, Darth Oblivious wasn’t doing himself any favors, either. Because after I legitimately backed out of our “date” (shudder) due to a racking cough that sure made me wheeze like Vader, he texted me to tell me that he was going to a deli near my place to pick himself up some dinner and wanted to know if I wanted him to get a tongue sandwich that he would then deliver to me.

I don’t want tongue from you or anyone else, I thought, though I replied with a demure, “No, thanks.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he replied. “I could get you something else tho*.”

“I’m good, thanks!” I all but yelled directly at the phone in the hopes that Darth Oblivious wouldn’t live up to his name. After a few more back-and-forths in which I managed to successfully beg off his tender, tongue-filled ministrations, he fucked off, though obviously oblivious to the hint.

*It’s worth noting that I am paraphrasing all these early conversations. I could look through them to get the exact verbiage, but it will become painfully clear by the end of these posts why I have no wish to do so.** Ergo, I no longer recall whether he actually truncated the word “though,” but he definitely couldn’t be bothered to add in nearly half the letters in the 5th Grade English Teachers’ Gold Star Spelling of the word “through.” I’m all for simplifying English’s ridiculously complicated and not even standardized spelling system, but there’s no need to be a lazy ass when you clearly know better!

**See what I did there with the foreshadowing?! My own fifth grade English teacher ought to be so proud!

DO went to Florida the next day, leaving with just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to read any more tongue-tinged texts or iMessages dripping with rage over the stupidities of the sheeple (note to guys trying to impress chicks: the only people I have ever heard use the word “sheeple” unironically were bigger tools than you’ll find in a bomb-defuser’s gear bag, so think twice before using that term to demonstrate your moral and intellectual superiority. Actually, just don’t even try to demonstrate your moral and intellectual superiority at all. If it’s really that far above the–Flying Spaghetti Monster forgive me–sheeple’s, it’ll speak for itself). I was, however, fully aware of the fact that he mentioned this sojourn to Florida as a vacation rather than a permanent move, so I gave serious consideration to making a premature move to California in that week-long reprieve so that I could respond to his next missive with a fearless, “No longer in Colorado. You could take your tongue and shove it up your ass if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it a little too much. Toodles!”

But of course, I didn’t. Instead, I spent the better part of the two weeks following his return blaming my terse and delayed responses on being near-permanently up in the Sprint service desert that is the entire United States of America…er, I mean, the highest of the High Rockies. After a while, he must’ve finally figured out that I wasn’t ever going to get together with him whether I was telling the truth about my location or not, so he stopped trying. That, I figured happily, was the end of that.

Fast forward to the end of January. On a trip to California in which I scouting the LA area for job prospects due to an actual desire to move closer to an ocean, which desire amazingly had nothing to do with avoiding asses in sheeple’s clothing, I opened up my email one night and found a long, rambling note from my favorite simpleminded Sith lord.

“Hey, so I just wanted to apologize for how creepy I must have sounded,” it breathlessly began, relating how my logorrheic Lothario realized that trying to push a girl he barely knew into shoving his hand-delivered tongue sandwich down her throat might not have been the suavest approach he could have taken. It went on to explain that he was working on a new project that was promoting vasectomies for male Colorado residents and directing them to a website where they could get more information and even schedule an appointment for a free vasectomy. Being firmly pro-birth-control myself and fully supportive of my male friends who are as well, I couldn’t help but take the bait.

I called him. We talked for hours–literally, and I mean literal in the literal sense–about the values of choice, birth control, independence, and darkly humorous ways to advance those notions. I was fired up about the new project and hung up the phone eager to give the would-be cunning linguist a fresh start.

Forgive my tormented mixing of cinematic folklore, but it looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

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