Dairy of a Madman

Wade calls me a Grammar Nazi, and the joke spirals rapidly downhill from there.

Sitting here closing out my work day with a package of powdered donuts (thank you, Mr. Overpriced Vending Machine on the ground floor), it hits me that the Lord of the Rings trilogy was, at its heart, a metaphor for marriage. And not a very nice one, at that. Oh, yeah, that ring is pretty, and you really reallyreallyreally feel its pull to put that bastard on and wear it, but then you end up looking like Gollum and eating live fish you snatch out of the nearest aquarium.

I’ve heard reports of people becoming invisible when wearing the ring, too. And I’m fairly sure the agonizing cry of the Nazgul is more pleasant than being nagged to take out the garbage.

I feel certain that this has occured to someone before. For chrissake, the tagline was “One ring to bind them all.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not opposed to marriage (the above is just a product of having too much spare time on my brain). On some levels, at least.

I hope that I can one day find the woman that I want to spend the rest of my life with. Having two marriages under my belt, I can tell you that, for the all the inherent problems that stem from combining two individual lives under one roof, that romantic union is wonderful. There are a million things I miss about it.

But the symbolism of the wedding ring is a little intense. For one thing, marriage (as an institution) is a religious thing, and religion is not my game; with a tip of the hat to Marx, I’m drug free since around ‘83. There are the legal ramifications - having power of attorney, for instance - but by and large, it’s religiously based.

This is where the romantic in me comes screaming out of the closet for a moment. I like the idea of spending the rest of my life with someone because that’s what we both want, day after day after long and wonderful decade — not because that’s what we feel obligated to do. It’s not so much the case now as it was fifty years ago, but divorce still has a certain stigma attached to it, societally, and I’ve known too many people that remain married largely because they don’t want to bear the label of “divorced.” Hell, the same concerns have crossed my mind a few times (and it doesn’t help when people refer to me as “Ross” — I know nothing about archeology, people!).

Those of us that are divorced are no different from you who have have long-term relationships that have ended, especially if cohabititation was involved, except that we have phone numbers for lawyers in our desks.

It is a nice thought, to imagine waking up next to someone every day and knowing that they are there because they choose to be, because they enjoy my company in spite of all my faults and flaws, that they want to be with me even after last night’s fight about Krispy Kreme versus Dunkin Donuts, because they still are in love with me. That sits so much more pleasantly with me than wondering if they’re only there because they don’t want to disappoint themselves, or because they swore they’d never get divorced, or because they can’t afford the court costs yet, or because I know where the body is buried and I have the 8 1/2″ x 11″ photos to prove it.

But, like I said, I’m a flaming romantic, and most of my ideals are better suited to movie theaters than real life.

Being a flaming romantic, at least doesn’t inspire me to listen to Streisand. It also doesn’t help me dress any better than I do.Sadly, my fashion sense is more tied to the Grammar Nazi in me.