I have been thinking about FB (Former Boyfriend) quite a bit lately, probably because I tossed a video about Ann Coulter on my blog a few days ago, and it reminded me of something I had forgotten.
FB had a terrible crush on Ann Coulter - beautiful, accomplished (heh), mini-skirted AC. His love of her long, spidery legs and her awesome hair and her fabulous Botox job - he did not conceal it. He really, really wanted to bang Ann Coulter. Not Paris, not Britney, not Lindsay, hell, not even Nicole. His fantasy? Coulter.
Reader, meet FB: (by way of my favorite things he ever said to me).
FB: "Well, obviously all Muslims are terrorists. But at least they have the sense to know that women should not be allowed to wear pants and drive cars."
FB: "I have so much to give. My medical practice is, obviously, a 24/7 reminder that I am here to serve God. But, you know, in my later years, I will have to decide if I could best serve God by becoming the Pope, or running for President."
FB: "When I am in heaven, and you are in purgatory, I am going to have to pray for about 2 billion years for you to be perfected. Straighten up, already. Two billion years of paradise is a long time to pray for someone who is obviously not very concerned for her salvation."
FB: "Be grateful that you are a woman. It is far more difficult for me to serve God by loving you than for you to serve God by showing me the respect I deserve."
FB: "Baby, when you go in, you will see two rows. Elephants on one side, and donkeys on the other. Press the buttons for the elephants and then pull down the lever. And then I will take you out for cupcakes. With sprinkles. *kiss kiss* - now go make Daddy proud."
FB: "It's a mandate! It's a mandate! BUSH HAS WON!" (he shrieked while wiggling joyfully under the covers of my chaste Christian bed - as we watched the final election results of 2004 come in).
Was he crazy. Obviamente. Duh. But really a lot of his issues were not about meanness, but about dying - and his fear of it. Many times, he would wake up screaming in the middle of the night and then try to get away from something - he knew not what and he would never tell me about the dreams. He also couldn't make out with me without running off to confession within the hour to mend his relationship with the Almighty.
But I have to give the devil his due. He was an excellent boyfriend. Some examples:
"What did you just say? You'll meet me at the restaurant? Hush. I will have a car sent for you."
"What's that, my love? Your skiis are not properly waxed? Take them off. I will ski back to the shop and have them waxed post haste. You just sit here on this bench and sip hot cocoa from my thermos until I come back.l I shall leave my jacket, in case you catch a chill."
"Nini, I have been thinking. We really need to get away. I have planned a trip. Can you be ready at 6 on Friday night? I'll pick you up in front of your building and we'll spend a few days in Mexico."
"I love you. I know it's wrong to say it when I have been drinking, but it's easier."
"Nina, it's two in the morning and I am on rounds. This had better be good. (Nina tells FB she has vomited nine times in six hours)." Twenty minutes later, FB arrives at my apartment with a huge bag of medical tricks, administers IV fluids and a sedative - and washes the vomit out of my hair. (I am not kidding).
*leaving my apartment at 5am to do rounds at Horrifying Hospital* "I will bring you scrambled eggs and coffee from the diner on my way back. Sleep until you smell coffee. I _______ you." (the blank was the word love which he could not say unless he was drunk, but he could MUMBLE while sober -with obvious distress - especially if he thought I was unconscious).
But, oh, good heavens, he loved him some AC.
We saw her once, on the sidewalk in midtown, and he was gobjawed.
I turned to him and said, "uh, honey, I am pretty sure that is Ann Coulter."
"Ann... oh.... "
"She's wearing pants."
Sometimes when he would leave the apartment in the morning, I would cling to him sort of like a damsel in distress in a John Wayne movie, and gasp, 'Swear you will not try to contact Ann Coulter. Swear it... I beg you..."
In spite of his obvious sweetness, and because of his political fervour, he could not, would not promise it. It used to (sort of) bother me that he would not promise me never to have coffee with a woman he would never meet. Duh, I know. But it did.
Sometime between whenever that was and today, I realized that it might be called something like progress if I no longer care whether he tries to have coffee with AC, or bang her, or whatever. Most of my thoughts about him have been happy ones, and while I sometimes still miss him, it no longer hurts.
He was crazy, but he was good to me, and he was HILARIOUS. But he is also gone, and I might without obvious unreason surmise, from the fact that I got through this post without crying, that I am getting over it.