Monday, May 21, 2012
My girlfriend's popularity is crushing my soul
For some inane reason I have always loved getting the mail. When I was five years old it was especially thrilling despite the fact that I never got any mail for myself. When I was twelve there was an added element of intrigue as I tried to intercept a notice from school that I had actually been in detention (for using colorful language) instead of at a friend's house playing Warhammer after school the week before. When I was in college we received so little mail that each time there was something it was worth throwing a party for. In summation, I really like getting the mail.
I'm not sure if I would go quite as far as to say that I'm OCD about it but I'm definitely on the borderline. If I hear the mailman you can be damn sure I'll be running down with the mail key within the next five minutes to see what bounty he has brought. It is here that I encounter heartbreak day after day. We receive an ungodly amount of mail. Envelopes, letters, catalogs, bills, junk mail; we get it all. And every damn piece of it is addressed to my girlfriend.
What the hell did she do to become so popular? I know that a good portion of it is due to the bills being in her name but that only scratches the surface. Every single day she has at least 3 envelopes of mail. Sure, a lot of it is junk mail and bills but I feel so inadequate in terms of mail reception that I wouldn't mind getting those. She is so popular that she gets magazines that she doesn't even remember subscribing to. Then when she comes home and I point out that her mail pile is roughly as tall as I am she does nothing about it. HOW CAN SHE CONTAIN HERSELF?! I would leap into the pile gladly and rip open every envelope with reckless abandon as I reveled in the sheer volume of correspondence.
The question I should probably be asking is what have I done to make the world shun me in the mail department? When I moved it took weeks for me to get a single forwarded letter, maybe there is a secret vault at the post office where they are keeping all of my mail. I bet I have to undergo some sort of quest in order to prove my worth to obtain it. Ugh, who am I kidding. I have no mail. I use automatic bill pay. I have asked to go paperless. I brought it on myself. Yet I still get disappointed every single time I go through all 9 letters that we have only to find none with my name on it. I assure you that I fully understand how breathtakingly stupid it is for me to feel downtrodden because I didn't get a Restoration Hardware* catalog or a "letter" from the local State Farm agent wanting to sell me stuff. I just feel like every letter addressed to the lady is sticking it's tongue out at me and gloating because I'm not worthy of junk mail.
I figure that in order to save what is left of my self esteem I need to take one of two drastic measures. I can intercept all of my special lady's mail and change her address to somewhere in Siberia, thus we will get far less mail but it will all be for me. I'm sure this plan will backfire on me leading to a chain of events where I won't receive any mail at this address any more since I will be living elsewhere. So that's out, not changing anyone's address. Which leaves us with a more drastic solution, I will sign up for every free newsletter there is. I will get rid of my automatic bill pay. I will start sending weird fan letters to D list celebs with self addressed/stamped envelopes begging for singed head shots like I did with Tom Jones back in the day. I will start becoming pen pals with guys in the joint. Sooner or later I will be getting so much mail that it will be like the court scene in Miracle on 34th Street. It will be glorious. My self esteem will return and it will be a new day. HUZZAH!
Or, you know, I will do nothing and eventually learn to stop being neurotic about stupid shit. Something tells me that is far more likely.
*Have you seen this fucking thing? It makes the phone book look like a pamphlet. I was terrified that if I knocked it off the table it would fall through the floor into the basement, it's that heavy. What in the world can be in there? All they sell is crap. Sure, it's kitschy and fantastic crap but it's still crap. Why do they need to have the world's largest catalog?