I just wanted to state for the record that I'm so grateful to Clay Aiken for bringing all of us disparate personalities together at this blog. I've felt very lucky to be a part of such an erudite group, and have been so inspired to read all the thoughtful, inspiring, and informative entries here. (Not to mention all the cool videos.) Now, having said that, here's one more offering that's all about MEEEEE. (Ha. Ha. Ha.) I just thought, since I started the story, that you'd like to hear the unlikely conclusion of my blog of June 6:
So, having moved on from “Jeremy” the slug actor and considering myself well rid of him, I had a couple of weeks of peace until a phone call late one night...
Me (groggy): Hello?
Strident Female Voice: Okay, let me talk to him.
SFV: C’mon, I know he’s there.
SFV (agitated): Don’t bullshit me! Put.him.on.the.phone.
Me: I’m sorry?
SFV (screaming): JEREMY, YOU BITCH! I NEED TO TALK TO HIM RIGHT NOW!
Me: He’s not here.
SFV: HE’S GOTTA BE THERE! PUT HIM ON RIGHT NOW!
Me: Nope, not here. Hasn’t been here in two weeks.
SFV: YOU TELL HIM TO CALL ME!
Me: Not gonna be seeing him, you woke me up, and I’m not the frickin’ answering service. Did I mention you woke me up?
SFV: Bitch! (hangs up)
I started getting these calls from the BBBB (Brainless Bottled Blonde Bimbo) nightly -- and this one was pretty standard -- until I resorted to disconnecting my phone. One night before bedtime as I was leaning over to pull the plug as usual, the phone rang. No Caller I.D. in those days, so I picked up.
Jeremy: Hey, babe! It’s me!
Me (warily): Yeah?
Jeremy: Well...it’s ME! (Was I supposed to be overjoyed?)
Me: What do YOU want?
Jeremy: Can I come over?
Me: No. And do me a favor and call the BBBB -- she’s been looking for you and her shrieking harpy act is getting really old.
Jeremy (offhandedly): Oh, I moved out. I mean, sure, I slept with her, but I didn’t know her very well, and she turned out to be a real psycho.
Me: Heh. Fan me with a brick. Why has she been calling ME, anyway?
Jeremy: Well, I sorta told her I was staying with you.
Me: Well, you can sorta UNtell her. You can’t come over, I gave away your stuff, get lost.
Jeremy (appalled): You gave away my stuff??
Me: I told you three times to come and get it, and you didn't. The Salvation Army, on the other hand, was happy to oblige.
Jeremy (after a pause): Bitch! (hangs up)
Well. A fitting denouement. Eventually, the BBBB must’ve moved on to harassing some other girl(s), since I didn’t hear from her again, until...
Fast-forward two years. I’m working at the international theatre festival and hiring box office attendants. I get a call from an already gainfully employed friend.
She (urgently): Are you hiring right now?
Me: Yeah, some box office people. Why?
She: Well, I know this girl...she’s in bad shape and needs a job.
Me: Define “bad shape.”
She: Well, she just got out of drug rehab and is living in her car. She’s been depressed and can’t find a full-time job. I hear she’s been reduced to turning tricks to get by.
Me (sardonically): Oh, gosh, how can I refuse?
She: No, she’s clean, I swear. And smart. And reeeeeallly needs a job. Winter’s coming...
(Anybody who's spent even one winter in Chicago knows they're nothing to fool around with. And the thought of a woman living in her car...well...)
Me (with a sigh): Okay, send her over. I’ll at least talk to her.
And sure enough, just to illustrate that "what goes around, comes around," it was...you guessed it...the BBBB. It was clear that she knew who I was the minute she saw me, and looked devastated. I was dying to exact my revenge, but...she really did look threadbare, haggard and terrible (and no longer blonde...the “B” for “bottled” was obviously accurate). And as she talked about how Jeremy had glommed off her, spent her money and dumped her, I reflected that, actually, we were both victims. I was just lucky to be strong enough to deal with it...and she wasn’t.
To make a long story short, I hired her, and she did a competent job, never giving anyone any trouble. We never really became friends, but I heard she at least got back on her feet.
What do they say? “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” Sometimes, no matter how badly people treat you, it doesn't pay to respond in kind, and once in a while, you can turn a negative into a positive. And maybe, as unlikely as it sounds, I felt a kinship with her -- after all, we were two survivors of the highly contagious Jeremy epidemic. Now, God knows, like everyone, I've done a few things in my life of which I'm not proud, but in this case, I think I made the right choice. Lest you think I’m some kind of saint, though...
I’ve never known what ultimately became of Jeremy, his probably long-suffering wife and his named-after-me daughter, or where they ended up. My namesake would be a teenager now, and I’m a small enough person to hope she’s giving him all kinds of headaches! That would only be fair.
Jeremy, meet Karma -- one of the few gals immune to your charm.