You ever look at something that’s been in your life forever and suddenly think “I don’t even like _______ !” and it’s sort of huge revelation because it hadn’t ever occurred to you before to question your allegiance to said thing? Liking it was just a given; something you took for granted. How much of personal taste is actual enjoyment and how much is habit? Does the comfort of partaking in something habitually somehow make up for its lack of actual redeeming value? Well, don’t look at me – I don’t fucking know. What do I look like, an anthropologist?
In addition to various friends and boyfriends, here are five things that I used to think I loved but DON’T. Not even a little bit!
1. “Mexican” Food. As a typical Midwestern family in the 80′s, our foray into international cuisine was limited to Chinese, Italian, Pizza and Mexican. And by Mexican, I mean Tex-Mex. My parents LOVE them some Tex-Mex! Huge platters of flour tortilla wrapped things with a side of deep fried something or other, all slathered in refried beans. Big steaming piles of slop, prefaced with endless baskets of greasy chips and bland salsa, all accompanied by neon green margaritas in cactus shaped goblets. As a young adult, my friends and I would go to Southwest Detroit and eat at the least authentic Mexican places we could find. You ever try a chimichanga? It’s like a deepfried log stuffed with Velveeta. Finally, one Christmas in my late 20′s, Mom and I decided to skip the traditional fare and get Mexican takeout. As Mumsie ooh’ed and ahh’ed over the food, I looked at mine and suddenly, it hit me: I don’t fucking like Tex-Mex. In fact, I never have. I think it’s disgusting. All those years of mindlessly shoveling that stuff into my mouth when, in fact, I never really enjoyed it and certainly wasn’t keen on the days of resulting gut rot. No amount of “But they make the guacamole right there at the table for you!“s will ever convince me to assault my innerds with that stuff again.
2. The Big Lebowski. Like most dudes, my ex-boyf was obsessed with The Big Lebowski, the movie that I always confuse with Roadhouse due to the fact that Sam Elliot and Ben Gazzara play essentially the same characters in both. The first time I saw TBL was with my guy and we were probably drunk at the time. I didn’t love it or LOL at any point. But, I mean, it was ok. I liked watching him enjoy it, I guess. THIS, my friends, was the closest I have ever come in my life to disingenuously adopting a man’s interest as my own…except I had no idea I was doing it! I kind of just assumed I liked it, too. We’d play it on a loop in the dive bar where I worked and serve “Caucasians” because everybody loved it so much. But, I don’t like it at all. I never did! It’s dumb. “The Dude” is a giant pathetic infant and that doesn’t make me laugh; it grosses me out. If you could extract my dream husband John Goodman and Julianne Moore and just make their scenes into a movie, I’d be IN. But until then, eff The Big Lebowski.
3. Cake. In case you somehow didn’t already know this, I’m a sugar junkie. As I type this, a bag of plain M&M’s is disappearing into my face. I love sweets in all forms…candy, pie, candy, ice cream, candy, etc! So, obviously, I’ve eaten mountains of cake in my lifetime, almost always accompanied by ice cream. I work in a restaurant. When you bring a cake to a restaurant for a birthday or whatnot and give it to them to cut, they take it in the back and do exactly that, saving the hunk of leftover uncut cake for you to take when you leave. In LA, where everybody is anorexic oops I mean health conscious, people almost always leave the excess cake behind. This means that in the past 1 1/2 years, I have eaten SO MUCH CAKE. From so many bakeries, in so many different flavors. And guess what? 95% of cake without ice cream is not delicious! It’s just meh. Dry, bland and the crimes committed against the integrity of frosting are HEINOUS. And have you ever tried those cake pop things? They’re like lollipops, but cake, which seems like such a good idea but is actually super weird and gross. I think if I ever get married, instead of having a cake, I’ll just roll out troughs filled with Tootsie Rolls.
4. Nerds. As a single lady, I get asked constantly what my “type” is by basically everyone. I think that might be code for “Are you a lesbian?” but whatevs. For years, my answer was: “nerds”. I TAKE THAT BACK! Nowadays, there are two kinds of nerds: 1. Actual nerds 2. Faux nerds who think that wearing glasses or googling something sciencey makes them smart and therefore, a nerd. First of all, let me say this: YOU ARE NOT A NERD, 95% OF ALL PEOPLE READING THIS. Surfing the Internet, doing something besides getting wasted for once in your life, getting an online degree or taking an interest in something outside of reality television does not elevate you to the perceived intellectual level of a nerd. Internet anthropologist (and one of my dream besties) Katie Notopoulos has curated an amazing Tumblr that addresses this issue: Hot Chicks Misidentifying As Nerds. Ok. So now, let’s talk about the other kind of nerd- the Actual Nerd. After taking a pro-nerd stance and actually dating a handful of them, I have finally come to terms with the fact that…I’m not into nerds. I am into super intelligent, clever men but ones who also have strong personalities, charm, a little bit of sophistication, sense of adventure and other manly type qualities that a lot of nerds seem to lack. A real nerd is socially awkward, terrible at conversation, possibly afflicted with Asberger’s and has little or no interest in doing anything outside of whatever he’s nerding out over. That is just not my cup of tea. Is all this a generalization? Well, yeah. But I think I’ve earned the right to speak on it, considering my disastrous history of trying to date these dudes.
5. Beer. I drank more beer in my 20′s than most people will in their lifetime. So. Much. Beer. It tastes pretty okay but developing a palate for wine and spirits has alerted me to the fact that there’s a ton of stuff out there that tastes BETTER than okay! Beer makes me feel bloated and full. It goes down faster and has a lower alcohol content which sometimes results in consuming a higher volume of liquid, only adding to the zillion trips to the bathroom and already constant need to unbutton my jeans. Toodles brewdles!
What about you dudez? Any similar “I never loved you!” epiphanies or am I the only one who’s been living a goddamn lie?