It’s nothing personal. Really. Halos fans are cool. And when I lived in SoCal, one of my favorite things to do was head on down to the Big A. But this has nothing to do with the Angels or their fans and everything to do with her.
I am over her. I am. We had our good times, and yeah, she broke my heart into a bazillion little pieces, but it’s over now. I’ve been over it.
For a while now.
It’s just that running into her during the playoffs — seeing how shiny and beautiful and happy she is with another man — well, just the idea of it happening like that so fast makes me want to puke. And while I’m sure there will be a time when seeing her prosper will not make me dizzy with envy, that time is not now.
We’ve all had those kind of relationships where we really like the person, we’re really comfortable with them and we have so many memories of the good times together that it’s nearly impossible to say goodbye. It’s not that you no longer like them, it’s just that it’s not there anymore. Well, that’s kind of what happened last week between the Tigers and Brandon Inge.
We’ve known that something was off with the relationship the last couple years. It just didn’t feel as fresh and fulfilling as it used to. Sure, we convinced ourselves that the old magic was still there, hiding someplace. And every once in awhile that spark would rekindle something and we’d see flashes of what used to be there. It’s like that magical vacation you take to try and find what used to be there and for a week or so, you rediscover it briefly. But, just like in real life, things soon return to normal and you slowly begin to accept what has to happen.
The thing is, it’s hard to leave a relationship like that, especially when you’ve had so many truly terrible relationships previously. Dontrelle Willis? Mike Maroth? Those two were like the alcoholic chick you picked up at the bar who decided to leave a toothbrush behind the first night and then just refused to leave. But Inge? He was more than a relationship. Even your parents liked him. He played multiple roles and he always seemed to step up and do what was asked of him. He was a metaphor for everything that had happened over the previous five seasons.
But whether the relationship is certifiably insane or has just run its course, the end result is the same. You gotta get out. I’m not saying that makes it any easier. Even though I know dropping Inge was the right choice, it’s not like I can just forget him. I’ll probably still check his facebook and occasionally look at the photos we took together. Luckily, it’s not like we’re left all alone. There’s a new crush who has caught my eye and he’s a real Prince.
I understand he’s just going about his business, but I sorta feel like every time he opens his mouth or takes a swing with that halo on his head he’s deliberately punching me in the gut.
“Here. Take that, mang.”
Ouch, Albert. Ouch.
It’s one thing to get over an ex-lover, but it’s another thing to get over an ex-lover when SHE’S TOTALLY IN FRACKING LOVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE. And when she goes around showing off her newfound bliss that DOESN’T INCLUDE YOU, it makes getting up in the morning pretty dang difficult! Not even the toughest of tough guys can get rid of the awful, looping image of his ex-girlfriend having hot-love action with some other dude. It’s just… sickening.
At least I have a back-up plan.
Manny is supposedly asking for too much money; but he deserves a multi-year deal. I am supposedly too nice of a guy; she said I “deserve better” so she dealt.
Manny is quirky; you never know what he’s going to do. I am quirky; you know every Saturday afternoon I clean my apartment.
Manny is slow; he looks heavy when he runs. I am slow; I continuously run into and commit to bad relationships knowing they are bad.
Manny plays a crappy left field. I play a crappy left field.
Manny intimidates pitchers. I intimidate women, who are almost as unpredictable as pitchers, so it’s virtually the same thing.
Manny will most likely hold out until he finds the right fit.
I think I will too.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
I’ve had a really difficult time getting ahold of Mr. Lung recently. Part of it may be a result of his newfound happiness since he’s on top and I’m on the bottom, a portion of it might come from his inability to manipulate mechanical devices as a result of poor blood circulation from wearing dual pinky rings but I think most of it results from a nefarious new addition to his local cable programming.
Yes, Jeff has succumbed to that tempting, nubile succubus that is the MLB Network. Just so you know how bad it has become, here’s a recent phone conversation between the two of us.
Jeff: Why are you calling me?
Allen: Uh, because I wanted to wish you a happy new year and see if you were posting today.
J: Well, I’m busy right now.
A: Of course, Jeff. I just thought it would be nice to start off the new year by talking to my friend because I wanted to see how he spent his new year’s eve.
J: Wait, what time is it? What day is it? Where am I?
A: Are you all right? Should I call an ambulance or something?
J: Shut up you ignorant fool. And leave me alone. I’m watching the MLB Network.
A: But Jeff, it hasn’t even officially gone on the air yet. They’re still just showing pictures.
J: I said shut up! I hate you! You’re not my mother!
Needless to say, it hasn’t gotten any better since then. Apparently the Network does not exist to solve arguments, it’s there to start them. For intance, last night I was subjected to a lengthy discussion of the top nine homeruns in MLB history. When I mentioned that I was really just calling so I could get his address in order to send him a birthday present, he immediately started crying, screamed “You never understood me and you never will” and then abruptly hung up phone.
So, as we progress through this new year, I’m hopeful that the effects of this new drug will wear off. I mean, isn’t it bad enough that I’m on the bottom while Jeff has a “beautiful girlfriend”? Haven’t the gods laughed in my face enough with the football season I just had to sit through? Are the fates not satisfied now that the Steinbrenners have bought up a Kentucky Derby stable’s worth of talent? Come back, Mr. Lung! There’s life on this side of the screen, too.