I know you want to know about how things are going with Geek
Rebel. I’ve sat down to offer an update on several occasions, only to give up
after deciding what I’d written was entirely uninteresting to anyone but….well, anyone.
Basically, I’m happy. We’re chugging along. Occasionally he’ll do or say
something that triggers in me a shitload of baggage from relationships past. Or
I’ll trigger something from his past. We’re almost 40 – it’s expected. But we always end the unpleasantness with a calm, thoughtful conversation about what
happened, each taking some portion of the blame and coming out of the
conversation a little closer to each other. No shouting, maybe a few tears
(from me, more than I’d prefer). I think that’s how it’s supposed to work,
right? Who the fuck knows. The point is, we’re good. What else do you need to
know?
But tonight I write after spending my evening with some terrific company, the women of the Slate DoubleX podcast. (I spend a lot of time hanging out
with the Slate writers and editors – at least in my earbuds—and they make the
best company for long dog walks, household chores and commutes to work. Check out Slate's podcasts. I'm just discovering DoubleX, but what I've heard so far has been excellent. My favorites are the Culture Gabfest and Spoiler Special. Basically, if Dana Stevens is there, you're golden.)
On this particular podcast, the women were discussing an excerpt
from a new Obama biography that was recently published in Vanity Fair. The excerpt focused
primarily on college-age Obama as boyfriend material, using letters exchanged between young Barry and several girlfriends. If you’d asked me
yesterday what I wanted to know most about Obama, I would have answered something along the lines of, what kind of boyfriend would he be?
I started having dreams about being Barack's mistress during the last presidential campaign. Note that I didn’t call them "sex dreams." I wish my subconscious would grant me some respite from my everyday neuroses. Nope. In this reoccurring dream I’m his mistress -- and Michelle knows all about me.
I love Michelle. Even more, I love watching Barack and
Michelle together. That's what inspired me to wonder (perhaps fantasize) about him as a romantic partner in
the first place. From this side of things, he looks pretty damn good.
Unfortunately, I never get the chance to find out. In my
dreams, our romance is merely implied. You see, the Barack of my dreams respects
women. He wouldn’t have some hussy tucked away in a brownstone. If he were going to have an affair, it
would be a with a woman he respected. Therefore, I
attended public functions. I went on family vacations. If anyone asked, they
would say I was a good friend of the family. I was expected to interact with
Michelle and the girls accordingly, and they the same with me. Under any other circumstance, I would
relish the chance to hang out with the Obama girls --but not while
playing the part of the home wrecker.
It’s a miserable, stressful night sleep. I agonize over what
the girls thought of me or how much my presence might be hurting Michelle. And
deep down I dread the moment when someone in the press corps finally
thinks to ask, “Wait, who is that white girl again?”
I’ve had this dream several times and I suspect I might be
in for another soon. But maybe, just maybe, some of what I heard on the podcast today will seep in to my clearly self-loathing subconscious and give me a taste
of what sounds exactly like the kind of guy I would’ve wanted to crawl all over
in my early 20s: overly intellectual and overcompensating as only a young, male
Ivy Leaguer can be, but also the kind of guy who lounges around on a Sunday
morning doing the New York Times crossword puzzle while shirtless and draped in
a sarong. Yeah, it’s documented.
As Liz Lemon would say, I Want To Go To There.
By the way, I'm not the only one who dreams of Obama, as evidenced by the blog, I Dream of Barack: Real Dreams People Have of Barack Obama (apparently now defunct, with a new site, I Dream of Obama, on the horizon).
Dismissed. Good dreams to all!
