2000-08-16 | 06:04:03

on this week's episode of "desert storm": nictate realizes that the other half of her comedy dream team is harboring great anger/intimacy issues. hijinx ensue.

(by the way, you may have noticed that i have been using the term "intimacy issues" with great regularity in days of late. i don't want to be beating the pop psych bongo drum, but i have found this "issue" to be occuring in epidemic proportions in the men i've met and dated. kinda what i touched on in the "i like you, but" entry. anyway, sorry to sound afternoon talk show. i just call 'em like i see 'em.)

so...back to the desert storm coverage already in progress. i guess i've been stringing you along...making you relive the desert storm years with me in 3-D real-time. it really isn't for dramatic effect. i just didn't realize there were so many mines left unexploded on the battlefield that was desert storm. this boy is eating up entries like sarah ferguson is eating up weight watchers dial-a-meals.

speaking of which, i just read part of an interview with fergie and found out that the most tragic moment of her life wasn't hearing that princess diana had died, and not hearing that her own mother had been killed in an auto crash, but when she read the headline, "sarah should be exiled." ah, not too self-involved, then, are we?

speaking of self-involved, let's get back to desert storm.

ok, so all was not ladeedah and woohoo, even back at the beginning with desert storm. well, actually, back at the beginning, it mostly was ladeedah and woohoo, as nature intended. the infatuation period helps new lovers gloss over flaws in order to propagate the species. later, reality hits with blistering clarity.

the first sign of trouble was a few weeks into our dating bliss. one night i was reading a very clever short story. it was only two pages long, so on a whim, i called desert storm's voice mail at work and read him the story. i thought he'd think it was a cute and charming thing to do. in retrospect, i can see that it was pretty dumb. ok, really dumb. anyway, at the end of our group movie night the following evening, he and i were saying goodbye by his car. it was after we had waved farewell to our friends that he came in for the kill.

his eyes got hard and he took my hands in his firmly.

"now, young lady," he began, in a scolding voice. "this morning i came into work to find my voice mail full. i got complaints all day from people saying that they had been trying to leave me messages. do NOT do anything like that again. it was a REAL pain in my ass."

the term over-reaction came to mind. and i didn't like his lecturing tone. a red flag shot up. was he going to be like this on bigger issues? his way or the highway?

the same red flag came up in the bedroom as he tried to move things to their natural conclusion sooner than i was prepared for. i fully intented to do the nasty with him, but i needed more time to build up an intimacy safety net. he started getting frustrated with me.

"what is the problem? you have some serious hang-ups," he chided. i remember crying on the phone to my sounding board c-girl. why did sex always have to be political and a power struggle? was he always going to be the man? trying to keep me down? his way or the highway was what my inner mapblast was telling me. i was worried. really worried. but i continued to see him and the good stuff overshadowed those red flags.

to the tunes of mazzy star we consummated our love. we now knew each other in the biblical sense. it was fucking great, let me tell you. chemistry cannot be overrated. cannot. be. overrated. grrrrrrowl. whoa! sorry. i'm back now.

we swam along contentedly. i stayed over on weekends. he made us dinners that were simple, but damn good. we stayed in bed and watched movies. we went to parties with his crazy-ass friends. we had sunday dinner with his step-mom. i went to his comedy shows and raved to him about his performances, full of love and pride and vicarious wannabe thrillage. for you see, i had always had the secret fantasy of being a stand-up comedian. i couldn't imagine a better feeling than being up on stage and getting laughs. of course, i couldn't imagine anything more nightmarish than being on-stage and NOT getting laughs. hence, the vicarious thrill action sought through my braver boyfriend.

speaking of the "b" word, he and i never had a conversation about being boyfriend and girlfriend. i found out that he considered me his "g" word when we went to one of his comedy school alumni shows and he introduced me to his former classmates as "my girlfriend." whoa! i tripped. i thought it was funny. he, known for intimacy problems and commitment issues, slapping the title on me so soon and without a prenuptial agreement.

i was in like flynn, and vice versa. i later realized that he was calling the shots, making the plans for us. i didn't mind. i was happy to coast in his wake. i wanted to be that partner in crime he described when he bragged to his friends over the phone about me.

probably the biggest cause of sturm und drang between us revolved not around his anger, but around his flirting.

as i mentioned before, he flirted like he was going for the oscar. he was super good at it. i enjoyed his skillz in that arena...as did many, many other women. i knew going into our relationship that that was how he was going to be. i knew he wasn't going to turn off the spigot of casanovaness for my sake. his ego and lifestyle wouldn't bear the absence of it. i would never have asked for that sacrifice.

sometimes, i got a jealous twinge when he'd say something especially come hither-ish to a sexy girl in his circle of friends, but i'd swallow the jagged little apertif. i felt sure that he would never cheat on me. i knew his flirting didn't reflect on his affection for me.

but...aw, you knew that was coming, right? but! and a big but! so big, you could say baby got back. BUT...about three times during the year and a half that we dated, i had to speak up about flirtation violations. he crossed a couple of lines. i let him know. i told him he was being disrepectful to me and our relationship. he told me that i was a "jealous freak."

ok, i will now present to the jury evidence which i feel will convict the defendent of causing unnecessary harm to our little love nest. i will show that the defendent used these acts to push me away, thus insuring his comfort in the face of ever impending intimacy and commitment pressures. not issued from me, mind you. purely his own self-created pressure.

so, first off. we went to a party with his crazy-ass friends. he seemed extra pissy about not being able to find the party house with ease. about an hour into the shindig, in walks his most recent ex, the nineteen-year-old victoria's secret salesgirl.

desert storm whispered to me, "you're not going to beat her up, are you?"

i was in shock. presumed he was, too. i made the best of it. she quickly figured out that he and i were a couple. he hadn't told her. she asked how long we had been dating. i was vague, hoping that she wouldn't try to do the math and figure out that i was the homewrecker her dream foretold of. (i know it's bad to end sentences in "for" and "of," but it just sounds better. you know? apologies to strunk and white.) so yeah, i was super pleasant to her. inquired about her student film work. she mentioned she had invited desert storm to be a priest in her upcoming film and that he had agreed. hmmm...he'd never mentioned it to me. odd that. you'd think you'd mention it to your current girlfriend if you were going to appear in a film your old girlfriend was making. you'd think. just in passing. just to keep things on the up and up. just to keep your ass from getting kicked. you know.

on the way home, i found out that yes, he had talked to her and was thinking about playing the priest, except that student films were such a pain in the ass, didn't pay and sucked up a whole weekend day. yes, he had known she was coming to the party. actually, had invited her. i was left wondering, why didn't he tell me? warn me? he just threw us together and made us clean up his mess. lucky for him she and i were both mature about it. when i asked why he hadn't mentioned talking to her or inviting her to the party, he said, annoyed, "oh, i can't pay attention to every little thing she's up to." lame! i'm sure.

anyway, he didn't do the film. i wouldn't have cared if he did. i would just have liked to have known about it. come to find out later through a friend of a friend that he had told victoria's secret girl that i wouldn't let him do the film. too jealous.

little did i know that desert storm was waging a pr blitz against me, the girl he supposedly loved. yes, he was creating a paper trail. the headline? "my girlfriend is too jealous"--this week on sally jesse raphael. he began to run the story in the press...complaining to his friends, even his neighbor. it was an ugly, ugly business going on under my nose and behind my back.

why the insanity? why? why?

as nick cage so eloquently put it in "moonstruck" (well, actually, credit should go to john patrick shanley):

a wolf will chew off its own paw to escape a trap...

tune in tomorrow to watch desert storm's mandibles go to work...

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