Love is Strange

The best thing I overheard the other night:

“But that’s literally what he said. The whole letter, right there. That’s literally what he said. I mean, not word-for-word, but pretty much.”

It is the most overused word of the decade. “Literally.” Everybody’s literally doing figurative things.

I am literally squirming in my seat over my plumbing problems. Our downstairs bathroom has sprung a leak again, due to some clog in the pipes underneath the house. Something to do with roots and pipes and snakes. It’s one of those things that my brain just “Blah, blah, blah Ginger”‘s because I can’t bear to know all that much about it. I just want it to work. I just want to be able to take a shower without ruining my office rug. But right now I can’t. And I won’t be able to until tomorrow.

The last time this happened we couldn’t use the bathroom at all. My pride and ego were swelled too much to drive somewhere to pee, and I ended up getting sick and then getting an infection. So, pee freely, my sisters. And I’m only talking to the women right now, since you men get to just piss all over anything and everything and it’s socially acceptable.

I mean, you get to literally piss all over everything.

So, I’ve had meetings recently for this last screenplay, and basically a meeting is where a company didn’t want to buy the script, but they want to see what the writer looks like. I go in and chat for an hour. Sometimes it’s one person, sometimes it’s a group of three or five. And I sit with a bottle of water or a cup of coffee and I tell my quick life story. I talk about what I’m working on now, what I’m working on next, what I worked on before, and what I’d like to work on if someone would just give me some money. I listen to what the company is doing, why they aren’t doing my project and other projects they plan on doing that most likely will have nothing to do with me. I actually enjoy meetings because the people are always friendly and it’s almost like an hour of therapy. I justify the decisions I’ve made in my life that led me to here and now. I explain the different projects I’ve taken on. I explain who I am in thirty minutes or less.

Each and every time I get around to trying to explain pamie.com the meeting takes a strange turn. Explaining this site and what I do here makes people think either I take my clothes off and post pictures of my boobies on the Internet, or I create this big fake life about myself that must be full of sex and scandal to make people want to read it. Then I try and explain that sometimes my cat writes an entry or my coffee or something, and that’s when I’ve lost them for good. This place makes no sense out loud. It only works when it’s one person in front of a computer, whether that person is me or you. We’re always alone when we’re together, no matter how many people are reading. I guess it doesn’t matter if they get it or not, but I find it interesting that people think I’m crazy for doing this.

I’m really bummed about Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob. Did you need a segue for that? Hold on. Let me try again.

Speaking of crazy, how ’bout that Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob? I guess once you adopt a Cambodian baby, the rules all change. But who’s going to be our crazy couple now? We need two kids that just might eat each other alive at any moment. We need that scary love where no matter what we think, “Well, at least we’re not like those two.” All couples have that one couple that they keep in the loop just so they feel better about their relationship. You get in bed at the end of the night, pull the covers up, kiss in the dark and whisper, “Man. Did you see those two tonight? Whoo! I love you so much. Let’s never be like them.”

And across town, in the dark, a replica of the two of you kiss and whisper the exact same words about the two of you.

So now that Billy Bob and Angelina aren’t our resident crazies anymore, David Arquette and Courtney Cox-Arquette better take a long hard look at themselves in their fun house mirrors and realize they’re next on the chopping block.

But more than that, I believe in crazy love. I really root for the two that have no business together because they bring out the scariest in each other. I really think that absolute nutty people should stay together and make nutty babies in their spooky houses. Stay with their own kind and create more of their bizarre race. Stop trying to pair the crazy with the sane. It never works. Someone’s either exhausted or murdered. I really think that there’s someone out there for everyone, and if you like to drop ants into your morning coffee, then you shouldn’t rest until you find someone out there that loves to raise ant farms. You can’t settle for half-crazy when you’re full-blown. And you can’t just take a crazy person because they’re crazy enough to fall in love with you. That’s unfair to the truly crazy.

If you spend half of your time with someone thinking, “What is wrong with that crazy person?” then you are with the wrong person. But if the two of you stop blowing spit bubbles long enough to share a long drooly kiss and then go right back into your saliva contest, then that’s love. I root for that kind of love. It’s special. That’s proof of a soulmate, right there. Normal people can mix and match. The freakies have to look harder.

So when truly freaky true love goes south, Cambodian baby adoption or no, I get a little bummed out. Because it should have worked for them, specifically because the odds were so against them. They’re never going to be able to date anyone else again without someone bringing up how they used to wear the other one’s blood in a vial, or how they woke up in the night and restrained themselves from killing each other. How could you date someone when you knew they used to have a very public crazy true love? They have to get back together. They made it so they couldn’t date anybody else. And really, I don’t want to see them date anybody else. How are they going to be more in love with the next person? Will Angelina wear someone’s toe around her neck? Will Billy Bob have to tattoo the woman’s name on his face? How are they going to be more in love than they were with each other? They’ll have to adopt all of Cambodia.

Aw, who’m I kidding? I’m mostly upset because they were comedy gold and now it’s ruined. Ruined! They just kept doing funny shit and now it’s all over.

Unless… Does anybody have Crispin Glover’s email address? Because I think Angelina might need a rebound. And someone tell Anne Heche to give Billy Bob a call.

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