maybe you'll love me when i fade to black

Love is a strange thing. There’s no easy way to write on it and there’s no easy way helping your friends through it, and fug trying to help yourself through it. In just the past week I’ve seen co-workers, friends and even myself run the gauntlet of feelings from elation to downright hate-filled frustration. The confusion, even when things are going good, can leave you strung out and weak and yet running back for more abuse of the heart.

Love is an enigma wrapped in bologna wrapped in a mystery and then buried in a Dairy Queen Blizzard at the bottom of mashed potatoes, corn, potato wedges topped with fried chicken, cheese and gravy, in that order. (Just to recap that’s: enigma>bologna>mystery>blizzard>mashed potatoes>corn>potato wedges>fried chicken>cheese>gravy.) It’s that deep, kinda like the stuff we bring to you hear on the regular. (Funny aside, the other week at the Skinny I was berated by the bartender for using the phrase, ‘on the regular’. Look: Mara, Yes I was raised in the suburbs of Detroit and yes I like to use soul slang from time to time and no I don’t care if you think I’m corny. And, yeah, I’ll have two more PBRs with a side of verbal abuse. Thank you)

Look, here’s the point (I think): Love is like bobsledding - you meet up with your partner at the top of the track where you’re both on top of the world and you breathe in the fresh air and think about how awesome it is to be on top of the world with this one person who you’re going to go through some crazy shit with and who you’re excited to have all close to you like seconds away from touching you in happy places but you’re trying to play it all cool-like cause you’re only wearing a semi-see-through spandex full body suit and getting all excited in that would be embarrassing….er….where was I? Oh right, so you’re on top of the world and then you say ‘GO!’ and off you go. Straight downhill where you’ll eventually either crash or just reach the end. Um, maybe you get married one day but I have no idea of what the bobsled equivalent of that is. I guess that’s like coming in fourth (unless you find a trophy wife/husband) and then coming back to the Olympics four years later in a six man bobsled or something.

Sing the theme song: Love is cold, like an icy track/and once you start there just ain’t no, turning back/You slide and turn, through tunnels and shit/it’s the bobsled of love, just try not to crash it/ ohhhhhhhhhh, yeeeeaaahhhh/ singing bout the bobsled of love, said I’m/ loving the bobsled of love/ and there’s a captain in my pants.