Of the Second Cut

Alexz Johnson

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They say the first cut is the deepest, but I think we all know that’s bullshit. The cut can always get deeper. The more it slices, the more it stings, the worse it hurts, the harder you fall. Saying the first cut is the deepest is essentially romance version of Santa Clause: it can’t get any worse, someone better will come along, you’ll be fine. And while this may be fine and dandy, the blanket statement lessens the significance of the feelings at the time.

I absolutely believe things can always get better, someone else will come along and they’ll be fucking fantastic. And yes – you will be fine. But I also believe that the second cut is deeper. Way deeper.

I distract myself with noise: work, movies, television, writing, audiobooks, music. I focus on all that’s around me, for to focus on what’s inside me would be to acknowledge weakness. Once the noise goes away, as does my guard. Water creeps out the corners of my eyes as I attempt to stifle any audible sounds that may give my grievance away. My carefully compartmentalized emotions blending into one encompassing mass.

The worst thing is, I knew this would happen. I knew exactly how the conversation was going to go, Hell, I could’ve written the script. But it had to happen. I couldn’t go on pretending what wasn’t.

They say fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I also call this bullshit. At least in my situation, I knew exactly what was happening. Being led on isn’t as simple as one person lies and the other dances happily in their palm. It’s the feeling of being desired and rejected simultaneously. Being led on is seeing the reality and choosing the fantasy. For at least in the fantasy you’re special. The laughs, the cuddles, the kisses, they all feel real – so why not let them be real. I’m just as guilty as she in that aspect.

However, I can’t pretend that nothing happened. Nor do I want to. What’s done is done, it’s complicated as our circles are intermixed.

Like I told her, “It’s some Ross and Rachel bullshit.”

Of the Day I Meet Jimmy Fallon

Jimmy Fallon

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Me

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Someday I will meet Jimmy Fallon.

I must, for he is on my favorite people list.  That list is not easy to get onto, it rarely includes more than five people at a time and consists of my best buddies (you know who you are) and Jimmy Fallon. He’s married, I’m not going to try to date the guy – he clearly loves his wife, Nancy. Though, I will admit I have had a crush on him since he was on SNL and have watched 80% of Late Night With Jimmy Fallon.

On the day when I meet Jimmy Fallon I will not give away how star struck I am. In fact, I will appear calm and causal; but funny and witty as hell. I cannot express how witty I will be. I’ll be so damn witty that he’ll think, this girl should work for me. Of course, he won’t mention the employment right off the bat, but after a while, perhaps while bonding over a cup of coffee, he’ll say, “You know, I think you’d be a great addition to the writers of Late Night.” An offer I will happily and humbly accept.

But before that cup of coffee I’ll be walking along the streets of New York City. Looking for a nice bar to go to for drinks after my shitty minimum wage movie theater shift that I worked after my entry-level publishing position. I’ll order an overpriced lemon drop martini and take a seat at the bar. Sure enough, Jimmy Fallon and some buddies will come walking through the door.

Considering that I’m not a very observant person, at first I won’t notice. Suddenly, Jimmy Fallon will be standing next to me at the bar, waiting to order a beer. Being that he’s the nicest guy in Hollywood (so says Jane Lynch and whole slew of other people), he’ll introduce himself. Since I’m not a creeper and I’m super awesome from the moment I say hello, he’ll invite me to have drinks with his buddies. Apparently one is single and I caught their eye.

We will laugh, drink, exchange phone numbers, and become best buddies. His wife will like me too and we’ll go on shopping dates together. And through him I’ll meet The Roots, after one of their shows, and we will quickly become party buddies.

Someday, I will meet Jimmy Fallon.

Of the Prince Charming Epidemic

James Marsden in Enchanted

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Lyric’s come into being because someone felt, remembered, or dreamt something. As I’ve gotten older it these songs start to bare weight. I’m not saying that they make me nostalgic or that they remind me of better days. None of that sappiness. What’s irritating me is that I have one, count it one, person to link all the love songs to. Well, I dated a little in high school. But those relationships were far from meaningful. I don’t count those.

So … yeah … one.

By no means does this thought make me want him back and by no means do these memories make me sad. What it does is make me want a new, um … “special someone”… so to speak.

I’m officially over the single thing. Problem is – I’m a bad dater. I don’t notice when men flirt with me (unless they set off my creeper radar). My friends (and mom) tell me, “he was totally hitting on you” and I reply, “I had no idea.” I’m terrible at letting my feeling be known, even to myself. I lie to my brain thinking “Nooooo not him, I don’t like him.” Of course once it’s past the point of opportunity that’s when I realize “Huh, yep definitely liked him. Damn.” Then there’s my extreme independence. I do like being on my own. I’ve never been boy crazy – still not boy crazy (I don’t understand hyperventilating because a semi-attractive human being with a penis walked in the room). And regardless of horniness, I respect myself to much to sleep with a stranger or someone I am not interested in dating. That behavior just doesn’t mesh with my personality. If I were to suddenly be boy crazy and started sleeping around. My friends would worry. Though if that’s you’re personality power to ya, as long as your safe (condoms and such).

Thus I don’t actively pursue romance. Rather I wait and hope it comes floating by, glittering in the sky. And I’ll see the something shiny (all girls love shiny things) and grab it.

When I was younger my list of things required for a potential mate was crazy long. The shallowness of a Christian youth. Now that I’m older and “he has to love Jesus” isn’t on my list I really only care about four things: handsome, taller than me, funny, and willing to go Blues and Swing Dancing with me. End of list. I don’t think it’s impossible. I’ve met versions of him. Of course, he’s always taken but it does provide hope for us ladies. Settling is never an option.

Purpose of this rant: I’d like to have more than one human being to link songs to. I’d also like to stop day dreaming about the impossible.

Face it ladies. Prince Charming doesn’t exist. Fuck you Disney!

Things don’t turn out like romantic comedies.

And I have no idea why so many of you love Pride and Prejudice, personally I can’t finish the book (I’ve tried three times, never got past page 50). But I did watch the four-hour movie with Colin Firth and frankly Mr. Darcy doesn’t exist either. Why would you want him to? I’m sick of this “he’s so romantic and such a gentlemen” bullshit. Okay let us review: he thought he was better than the Bennet’s, he was cold and rude, convinced his friend to dump Elizabeth’s sister, made a rash proposal insulting Elizabeth in the process, but girls love him … I guess because he paid their families way out of ruin? I don’t know. P&P fans out there feel free to defend your precious Jane Austen. Just know that I will never agree with you. One of my dearest friend’s has a Jane Austen action figure complete with desk and quill – even she has never convinced me that Jane Austen is amazing.

Yep, definitely ready for a new romantic phase in my life. Not Prince Charming. Not necessarily Mr. Right.

Just Mr. Right Now.