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We went out tonight. I wore my artificially-aged Guess jeans, American Apparel t-shirt, worn brown leather belt with matching sandals, Nike wrist watch and knit YR armband. Julie wore an earthy, vaguely ‘70s dress and at least $6000 in rings, earrings, and necklaces (almost two-fifths of which is thanks to me!) Yes, we were your prototypical L.A. couple (may my cultural soul burn in fiery eternal damnation.)
We went to a wine bar in Culver City. We sat out front, with the other professionally hip, Industry-employed (we conceal our joblessness well!) beautiful people. And while we sipped on flights of wine, and dined on charcuterie and cheese, we gossiped about the passersby. Let me tell you, parenthetically, that in L.A., which is a town almost entirely populated by freaks, Culver City is the new up-and-coming hotspot for freaks.
Fat freaks, tall freaks, old freaks, butch freaks; Culver City was playing its best hand tonight. I recall in particular one young woman with enormous breast implants. Now you young men may know the trap that’s about to spring, but let me edify you. You can get away with anything, even staring at other women lasciviously while on a date with your girlfriend of over 10 years, if you can make her laugh about it. Being quick with words, I found the right line, layed it out, and everything’s just fine. If you killed someone, then made the witnesses laugh, I guarantee you’d get away with it.
Anyway, the reason I bring up the young girl with the big tits is, people are shallow. Within me there forever continues a deep and searching dialogue on the meaning of life and the purpose of existence, but on the outside, I’m just another dick.
Let me give you another example, as we return to Julie’s used-car-worth of precious stones and metals.
Julie has a new diamond ring (for which I am to receive two-thirds of the thanks,) that she wears on her left ring finger. It is, after all, the ring finger, so this so far seems to make a fair amount of sense. But apparently, which finger you wear your ring on is somehow, in Girlland, equivalent to taking out a front page ad in The New York Times saying that you’ve landed your man.
For years, Julie’s had to fend off the insistent prodding of wedded friends and acquaintances as to why we weren’t yet married (as married people feel very lonely, and they desperately want someone to come and feel lonely with them.) But now – get this! - strangers – excuse me, strange women – are coming up to her in the grocery store, the department store, and all the other stores where women are found in profusion, to congratulate her on her phantom nuptials. And then when she explains that she’s not engaged or married, they feel compulsed* to put on their love cop uniforms and read her her drop that waste of time and find a real (marrying) man rights.
Which almost brings me back to my original point, which is, if I recall correctly, people are shallow. Ladies, I’m a misogynist, so there’s no love lost here, but get over it! If the girl’s wearing a ring on her left ring finger, it’s because she’s wearing a ring on her left ring finger. It’s time to break up the catty cabal and take a walk outside. If something compulses you (hooray!) to confront a stranger in public, it really needs to rank significantly higher on the importance scale of life.
* You’re right if you think I made that word up, but it just sounds so right!
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