Here is a story that has a some common universals: love and stupidity. We have a girl’s heart eclipsing the brain which causes feelings to block the cerebral cortex. Removing the heart so the brain can think clearly is a painful process, common side effects are tears and realizations. It’s messy and painful but that’s love or at least one way of looking at it. Alright the guy, well, the guy in the story is just stupid, nothing really too ground breaking about a girl dating some jackass and if there was any doubt to that he isn’t, he goes ahead and plays the “No, you are!” card. You know that game? It’s where you accuse your girlfriend or boyfriend of doing exactly what you are doing to them. You beat them to it so in hopes that they can’t bust you out on it. It’s a pretty dumb thing to do, really transparent, and all you are setting yourself up for is a Spy Vs. Spy dynamic which is awesome if you are a comic strip but a really bad idea in a relationship.
Alright, I took a philosophy class 8 years ago so here is my theory:
Two constants: Love and Stupid. Love can be simple and is universal, stupid can be simple and is universal. Love can be stupid and stupid can be love and since both are universal, love and stupid can be a lot of things making both constants universally undefinable thus making neither love or stupid dependent on each other on each other for sole or any definition.
I think that theory works. Maybe not. Alright, I am going to go to a keg party in hopes that I run into a student of philosophical logic so I can get this checked out. In the meantime, here is a bad relationship story…
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I Know You Are But What Am I
I met him by 79th and State, asking for directions at a gas station. At 30, plump and brown, I was a spinster with a golden heart. I left with an unaccustomed fluttering feeling and no expectation of ever seeing him again. Two weeks later, I was driving in a gray downpour. I turned from Lawrence to Broadway. Serendipitously, he was standing outside Starbucks, steam emanating from a plastic cup in his hand. Conditioned by a lifetime of Bollywood movies, I fall in love instantaneously. We sit by the lake, read the concrete horoscopes in Chinatown, eat tofu barbecue from Soul Vegetarian. Do things lovestruck people in Chicago do. I love him ridiculously, with the naive ardor of first love. After three years, he wants to marry me. I want to marry him, too. But there are logistical issues. Things sort of end, but…