FEBRUARY 12, 2011 ~ Margaret Cho, "I'm the One that I Want.."

I have recently delved into Margaret Cho’s memoir, I’m the One that I Want.  I’m having a hard time getting through it not because it’s not great... because it’s so great I can’t read more than a couple of pages at a time.  I have to take time between anecdotes and really let what she says sink in.


About a quarter of the way in, Margaret talks about a relationship she had at a  young age with a man named Bob.  As I read I was reminded that I too had a Bob.  I met my Bob in college; his name was Sean.  The story of the relationship between Margaret and Bob was painful to hear in that it reminded me so vividly of my own experience; but at the same time it gave me immeasurable relief.  Margaret Cho is amazing, if there is a bitch alive who needs no one’s approval it’s her, right?  Yet here she is, openly admitting all she was willing to put up with for once ounce of approval from a guy she didn’t even really like and I couldn’t help thinking, God that’s brave.
I started really thinking back on my relationship with Sean, as well the ones that followed and imagining all the misery and heartache I could have avoided if only I would have been honest with other people and myself.  Even now I sometimes catch myself slipping into a state of denial about who someone really is to me, as though that’s going to make the cold, hard truth any less cold, hard and true.
I met Sean when I was a freshman.  He was funny, I think.  It’s hard for me to remember anything good but there must have been something that drew me to him and it sure as hell wasn’t his looks, so I’m gonna say he was funny.  He drove a red KiA and on days when he felt like being nice to me we would drive around and listen to this mix CD full of bad 80’s music I loved.
Most nights we slept together in my bed- and by slept, I mean literally slept.  It wasn’t weird for me because I had a lot of friends who were guys.  I prided myself on being the cool girl who’s pals with all the guys, as though it were some badge of honor.  I wasn’t unattractive- no, I was just too cool.  Of course I didn’t have a boyfriend, not because nobody wanted to date me, but because fuck boyfriends, boyfriends are lame!
I deluded myself into thinking that the reason Sean and I weren’t sleeping together because our friendship was ‘just too special to ruin.’  I think women do this a lot- tell ourselves that the men who reject us are doing so out of respect or reverence because the thought of being rejected for any reason is just too painful and humiliating to accept. He’s not that Into you, if you can forgive the cheesy title, is actually quite brilliant for this reason.  It tells us that just because one person doesn’t love you, you’re not unlovable.  And that we need to recognize the signs when somebody isn’t returning our feelings, accept that this isn’t the end of the world- and fucking walk away, dignity intact.  Well... easier said than done.  Coincidentally enough, that book came out the very year all of this was going on.  My mother sent me a copy for Valentines Day.  She’s sweet like that.  Of course I didn’t read it; I didn’t want to hear it.  I was in denial.  Denial has been been a running theme in pretty much all of my romantic involvements thus far; this one was no exception.
“He kept talking ‘three-way! three-way! three-way!’ like there was no tomorrow.  It was just like that Albert Brooks sketch where he has two female roommates and keeps trying to get it on with them.  Trace got freaked out, ‘Oh my god, No offense, but your boyfriend is totally gross.  I’m not having sex with him.  I would do you in a second, but him- No way!’  We laughed a lot about it, but inside, it hurt me to be in a relationship with someone so sleazy, and not only that, my friend knew it” (Cho pg. 58).
If ever there was a literary passage that hit close to home it was this one.  Sean and I spent pretty much all of our time together so naturally people began to  assume we were a couple.  When I’d correct them they’d look at me puzzled and say things like “What?  You guys are always together... you belong together.”  As if it were that easy; as if it were up to me.  In an effort to passive aggressively make certain the whole world knew we were just friends, Sean would talk at length and in gory detail about all the girls he wanted to fuck right in front of me.  People, in particular girls, within earshot would shoot me this sort of concerned, sympathetic look which made me feel like just about the lowest thing alive.  I’d try to muster a laugh, but usually the most I could come up with was a sort of half smile, half shrug.  I may as well have just cried, it’s not like they all couldn’t tell.  The secret was out.  I was pathetic; a doormat... and everybody knew.
To add insult to injury, the objects of his adoration were always girls who looked nothing like me... skinny, tall, athletic, preppy.  No curls, no feminine curves; just pin-strait hair to match their pin-strait bodies.  They’d wear these boxy-looking pastel shirts with the color turned up- probably to hide the tag on the inside that would read Boys, Extra Small. The jewelry that accompanies this uniform is impersonal and specific.  Delicate pearl studs, a silver chain-link necklace with that authoritative “Return to Tiffany’s” logo on the clasp, an hermes bangle, or if she’s feeling particularly daring, two.  The most loathsome part of the whole ensemble, I’m going to have to say is the cardigan neatly draped around the shoulders the way an elderly woman would wear it.  I used to joke in my stand-up about grown men who dressed in this fashion- my punchline was “Only infants and easter eggs should be allowed to look like that.”  I could never take it seriously, I just found the  look so dismally un-masculine.  But it’s not feminine either, it’s stuffy and it’s sexless; tasteful androgyny.  I hated it.
Growing up in greenwich, there was no shortage of those types.  Some of them were even my friends.  He tortured me to no end with those.  “Oh, I’m gonna re-name my penis ‘---’s Butt’ because I’m gonna put in ---’s butt next time I see her, I can’t wait.”  God it’s so vulgar.  So many men talk like that- even older ones.  It’s so sleazy and vile.. I knew it was disgusting; I knew I hated him.  But I was stuck; stuck in a place so desperate for this person’s approval that I was actually jealous- of that!
I should probably take this time to mention what Sean looked like.  You’re probably imagining that he was some kind of debonair stud.  He was not.  Sean was fat.  Really fat.  He had acne that he would refuse to pop or do anything about so he’d walk around, face full of these festering yellow and white pustules; greasy hair barely contained by some filthy baseball cap, or beanie if it was winter.  I’ve always had a hard time taking a grown man seriously when he’s wearing the same style cap you see on newborn babies in the maternity ward, but of course I never said a word.  A lot of times he would get so stoned he’d forget to shower, so he constantly wreaked of the body odor/pot combination.  He was downright disgusting, inside and out.  They say the people we choose is a reflection of the way we see ourselves.  I knew he was gross but I was drawn to him for some reason.  I must have felt I was some sort of female equivalent of this horrific mess.
When he told me his plan to fuck this girlfriend of mine I laughed in his face.  “Oh, you don’t think I will?” He asked with a mix of shock and horror, “No, Sean.. It’s never gonna happen.”  “Why not?” and then out it came, without even thinking.. “She has really high standards.  She’d never want you.”  The rest of the conversation was kind of a blur.  I remember him stopping the car and getting right in my face, “Excuse me?!?”  But the rest... I don’t know.  I remember wracking my brain, trying to figure out how I got to this point.  That girl he was talking about was one of my best friends in high school.  In fact, I’m pretty sure she used to look up to me.  What the fuck happened?  I didn’t know.
When we got back to school I regaled my friends with lies about what a fantastic weekend Sean and I had together.  Again, I must have thought if other people believed that our relationship was so special it somehow would be.  At the end of the night, drunk and tired I went back to my dorm to sleep.  He was already there waiting for me, stoned.  Sean was always there when I got home.  He’d greet me with something along the lines of ‘Oh what great timing!  I literally JUST got here and sat down.  I had the best night, I was out with this person and that person, doing this and that...”  I knew he was making it up.  Sean never went out, he never dated, he never did anything.  He didn’t have a friend in the world outside of me, why couldn’t he recognize that?  Why couldn’t he love me?  I sat on my bed waiting for him to finish up the last of my bowl, before turning off my lights.  Finally, he climbed into bed.  I’m not sure what came over me, but I guess all the spinning I had been doing of the events of the weekend had filled me with a false sense of security; I decided this was the time to tell him how I felt.  “I’m sorry.  I thought you knew.  I just... I like hot girls.”  He paused briefly- “This.. (waving his hand over my body) disgusting.”  The tone was as flat and factual as if he was pointing to my hair and saying "This... blonde.”  That was the end of putting myself out there like that for me.  If there’s a chance the response is going to be “This... disgusting.”  I’d rather just not know.
I never told my friend that he’d said that about her.  I was afraid she would be offended, or worse, offended on my behalf.  She’d probably look at me all sympathetic and say something like “Oh Genevieve, what are you doing with a guy like that?  Don’t you know you deserve better?”  I hate to lie- but how do you tell someone “No, I don’t.” without coming across like a sympathy seeker?  I remember once, my friend Katie tried to say something to me about Sean but I wouldn’t hear it.  When you’re as insecure as I was, it’s impossible to tell friendly concern apart from pity- and pity is humiliating.  I wanted to be envied, not pitied; so as the pain tore me up inside I continued smile and boast of my wonderful relationship to anybody who would listen.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t fool a soul.
I don’t think about Sean very much; he’s a part of my life I have done my best to forget.  When I found out he died in November of 2008 I went through my pictures to try to find one of him.  I couldn’t.  Sean hated having his picture taken; it annoyed me so much at the time but now I’m grateful.  I don’t need images of him clogging up my beautiful pink photo album... thats for good memories.  I wish I could say there was a happy ending to this story; there isn't.  He's gone now and I don't miss him.  If I could go back in time and call him before he died I probably wouldn't.  The emotional trauma that followed "This...Disgusting" isn't something I’d wish on anyone- But Sean wasn't to blame for it, I am.  Cutting Sean out of my life was certainly a good move, but it didn't really solve anything.  He wasn't the cause of that event in my life, he was merely the catalyst; I know that now.
If you're wondering what the point was in sharing all of this, here it is: Have the courage to be honest yourself and with other people.   If I hadn’t let my fear and low self-esteem drive me to that state of denial I never would have been in that situation or any of the many variations thereof that followed (and there have been quite a few.)
So on a happy note- everyone be grateful for all that you are, and listen to people like Margaret Cho.  Not many people know their shit the way she does- and fewer still are willing to share the secrets of their hard-earned perspective on life so that we may be able to skip a few steps along the road to self-acceptance, peace, happiness, and eventually love.