I've been thinking
about old girlfriends and I've noticed an interesting pattern:
They were all nuts.
Not in the usual ways that men think women are
nuts (and vice versa). I mean all these women believed in nutty
things - things that ten or twenty years ago might have had them
commited to an institution. (Some of those old traditions really
make a lot of sense when you think about them.)
And whatever brand of goofball belief they
practiced, it always led to the failure of the relationship. So from
where I stand, the only result of this nationwide fascination with
spiritual enlightenment is the utter ruin of my sex life. I ask you,
is this really progress?
Alex was a member of several twelve-step
programs. In fact she was a member of ALL of them. Every night of
her week except Tuesday was taken up with a meeting - Alcoholics
Anonymous, Overeaters Anonymous, Debtors Anonymous, Cocaine
Anonymous - you name it, she was recovering from it. I began to
wonder if there was an Anonymous Anonymous for people like Alex who
can't stop going to meetings. As a joke, I asked her that question
once. Once. Apparently some people prefer their recovery
straight up, hold the irony.
More to the point, Alex was also deeply,
annoyingly spiritual. (If you know anybody who's into the
twelve-step thing then you already know "higher power" is
a term you quickly grow tired of hearing.) Alex's greatest goal was
the completion of her system which matched the seven chakras with
the seven deadly sins. I still don't know what a chakra is - much
less why someone would need seven of them - but I suspect the fact
that there are both seven chakras and deadly sins is probably a
coincidence. Alex struggled so bravely with her attempt at a Unified
Belief Theory I never had the heart to point out there were also
seven dwarves, seven seas, and seven "lost" episodes of
The Twilight Zone.
Alex's quest is indicative of a common thread I've
noticed in much of this new age retread mysticism - a lot of people
got screwed up by and then rejected old-fashioned Christianity. So
they find something new to believe in - and immediately begin
grafting as much Christian mythology as they can into it. At least
it's a way to hedge your bet and be progressive without completely
ruining your chance at going to Heaven.
Alex and I finally went our separate ways when she
decided she was addicted to sex as well. Not so much because this
realization spoiled our sex life (I hadn't noticed much of an
addiction on her part, actually), but the additional meeting this
addiction required meant she was no longer free on Tuesday nights,
either.
Lisa, on the other hand, was a witch. Not
the good kind who travel in bubbles and distribute shoes to needy
Kansas girls or the fun pointy-nosed kind who look good in
silhouette form on a front door on Halloween, but the silly kind who
really think running around naked in the forest actually gains you
something besides a rash or a bad case of chiggers. Lisa and her
coven got together every week and performed rituals which enabled
them to "reject traditional male-dominated society and
rediscover the power of women". My mother used to do the same
thing, except she called it "Bridge Club".
Lisa once showed me a picture of her coven at
work, and I can only say I wish physical attractiveness had been a
higher priority on the entrance exam. I really don't think this
makes me a chauvinist. I just think a person, whoever they are,
should be more considerate of others' feelings before proudly
displaying a photograph of naked fat girls on a hilltop.
Whether or not these rituals produced any tangible
result, I can't say. Lisa did buy her first house not long after the
rituals began, but the skeptic in me suspects this had more to do
with her father dying and leaving her a bunch of money. Unless of
course he died as a result of seeing a picture of his daughter and
her friends on a hilltop.
Ellen seemed fairly well-balanced at
first. She was raised Catholic, but had long since gotten over it.
Or so she claimed - we once went to a Catholic wedding and all the
requisite audience responses came out of her in a disturbingly
Pavlovian way. When the time came to kneel she slid off the pew as
if pulled by a hidden floor-mounted winch, while looking at me with
the most pitiful "I can't help it" look on her face.
Ex-Catholic, indeed. Let's just put that one on the oxymoron list
alongside "self-help literature".
But Ellen's being a screwed-up ex-Catholic was no
big deal. The real trouble started when she discovered this
ridiculous "Women and Wolves" thing. Gradually her
apartment became filled with wolf sculptures, wolf photos, wolf
throw rugs. Anytime she was faced with a difficult problem she'd get
a faraway look in her eyes and clutch a silver wolf necklace she
constantly wore. (If you can figure out why asking advice from a
wolf necklace is any better than asking a dead Jewish guy necklace,
you're ahead of me.)
I began to invent my own interpretation of her
inner dialog...
"Oh, Great Wolf Guide - should I get the car
detailed?"
"Arf!"
"Wolf Spirit, tell me if I look fat in this skirt."
"Woof!"
"Canine Deity, help me decide whether to buy these open-toed
sandals."
"Can I sniff your butt?"
Ironically enough, all the while she was seeking help
from an invisible wolf, Ellen owned a dog. Her anonymous canine guide
was the source of all knowledge. Meanwhile Chipper's only documented
skill was eating shoes. As far as I know, Ellen never noticed this
paradox. I decided to part company with her before her doggy deity
started telling her the road to enlightenment started with rolling in
things that smelled bad.
Then there was Mindy. Mindy was Jewish,
and I must say that based upon my comparative religion studies -
mostly watching Neil Simon movies - Judaism is one of the most
palatable religions going. For example, they have a Book, but it's
okay for them to argue about what it means. Plus I like the fact
that all their holidays seem to be about how much food you can get
onto one table. If you must follow a belief system, I'm all for
Judaism (even though The Exorcist was more
entertaining than Brighton Beach Memoirs.)
So I had high hopes for my relationship with
Mindy. Her mother even liked me, which counts as a miracle in any
religion.
But then Mindy started getting into Indians.
(Native American, not Far Eastern.) This wasn't so hard to deal with
at first - a few of those diamond-shaped yarn-and-feather things
over the bed, no big deal. But as time went on she got into the
Indian thing so much that she ultimately left me for an Indian guy
and ran off to live with him on his reservation. I had to call it
off at that point. Never let it be said I can't take a hint.
The cruelest blow came from Joan. We liked
the same music, the same movies, the same food, the same jokes. We
were best friends. We both wanted the same things from life. Other
people considered us to be the kind of couple that all couples
aspire to be.
I'd always known Joan believed in some form of
unfocused, non-specific spirit thingamabob - the nebulous Mr.
Fix-All Space Daddy that people who haven't completely shaken their
Sunday School indoctrination tend to cling to. But she'd never made
a big deal of it. In fact, I had hope she might eventually go all
the way and realize life is just a big random pool of bouncing
molecules with nobody in charge, no plan, no eternal
sin-and-salvation checking account.
A side note: If you're one of the many
people in the same spiritual position as Joan - why not make that
leap right now? Just look around and ask yourself straight out - is
anyone flying this karmic plane? Be honest with yourself when you
answer.
To speed the process, watch an
hour of the evening news or as much of any episode of The Rikki
Lake Show as it takes.
There, you see? Now that you've
shed that final scrap of misguided mysticism, you can get on with
your life. And you don't have to think about that stuff anymore -
so you also have more free time!
You're welcome.
Sadly, Joan never made that leap. Instead she
decided we had to break up. Her reason? I wasn't "spiritual"
enough, and she could no longer accept the fact that we had "different
beliefs".
Which was a bunch of crap. Joan didn't have a
belief. She had a cosmic hunch, that's all. I was perfectly willing
to accept that, but did she cut me the same slack? Goodness, no -
and never mind the fact that we were otherwise perfect for each
other. Apparently in Joan's dimly-considered worldview everything
would have been dandy if I had only believed in astrology or
Scientology or Islam or tiny pink dental hygenists living in hollow
trees or in fact anything at all. Narrow-minded of her, wasn't it?
After that episode, I was determined to avoid any
and all women with any tendency toward irrational beliefs.
A long dry spell followed.
And then I met Liz. Liz, wonder of
wonders, was an atheist. My long search was finally over. Bliss
ensued.
Or so I thought. Liz recently announced that it
was over between us - she'd realized she just didn't like me very
much.
At last - a reason I could understand. Hallelujah!
