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And if she was mildly deranged I wasn't gonna hold that against her, seeing as we all have our little things.

Still, I was acting jealous, but I wasn't feeling it. Like those fellows on Melrose Place: They look great, but they're not even fooling themselves.

And her irate states, fine, I won't deny they were a bit strange - O.K., annoying - but is love always little walks in the parks?

Oh, I was so jealous, I was ecstatic. I was happy like I'd just discovered... America, or sex.

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Back When I Dated a Jealous Woman            July 1, 2000

NEW!   Audio File   The real bad awful truth about jealousy

by Jandro

Email to a FriendYou never know what you're gonna learn from a woman. They all have something to teach you, it's funny. Funny because you usually don't suspect it. Sure, later on you'll tell your friends you knew she was going to teach you that, but it's so not true. Lying just makes you feel less like, well, a moron. But if you're like me, you don't take it personally. I look on the bright sunny side of things, I do.

So back when I dated the jealous woman is a perfect example. You should have seen her, she was pretty jealous. I knew it right from when our streets first collided. It happened at the bar where I play darts to pass the time on my nights off. I was learning a thing or two - I forget which exactly - about underhand throws, when one of my feathered missiles took a lucky bounce off the ceiling lamp and landed in her Bass Ale. I walked over to her all like a bashful sheep. She delivered the soggy projectile to my hand and pulled my ear to her mouth. 'Don't ever look at another guuurl when you're with me,' she told me.

Needless to say, but so as you don't misunderstand what happened next, she took me to her S.U.V. and showed me how to operate all four of its imported-leather bucket recliners. She insisted I repeat her name very loudly, and if she didn't hear me ('I can't hear you, dammit!') I'd get knocked on the melon ('Take that, baby!'). Or if I closed my eyes she would scream, 'Look at me you cheating bastard!' or, 'Look at me you lousy prick!'

Next morning she moved me - on a temporary basis pending my good behavior - into her swanky town house. Which is up near Diamond Heights where the better half lives. She gave me one of those vibrating beepers to accessorize my daily wear, and suggested I'd best answer the fucker (i.e., as in, the beeper) before it throbbed me three times. Each night she came home and sniffed up my garments in case I'd been getting too close to another female. Because that was a major no-no, as was looking at - and not to even mention talking to - another woman older than ten or younger than ninety.

She was so jealous she reminded me of those Greek goddesses like Aphrodite who were always lusting after mortal men and turning them into ugly creatures with the butt-end of one animal and the head of another. But I didn't mind her jealousy. It even made me feel important. And if she was mildly deranged I wasn't gonna hold that against her, seeing as we all have our little things.

Our relationship was going swell - until she discovered I wasn't jealous of her. Not one bit. 'Not one stinking bit!' as she explained to her friends. I told her that I trusted her, that I was very self-confident and secure. She took that badly. 'You're losing me,' she warned while we enjoyed our weekly all-you-can-eat candlelit dinner buffet at Lubby's. Later, when the valet parker returned her keys, she asked me, 'Can't you see that monkey wants me?' I tried to placate her, but I kept screwing up good. 'You're deaf and blind and less than a man,' is what I got, after I said I didn't think it was likely that every other man on Earth was trying to seduce her.

'Maybe this isn't meant to be,' she told me one day. 'Course it is,' I assured her. I promised to be more jealous of her. My friends thought that was crazy. 'You're crazy,' one said. 'Your relationship with that woman is frightening,' he added. 'I'm not afraid,' I replied with my chest full of air, 'I can be jealous too.' I practiced jealous looks in the mirror, narrowing my eyes and flaring my nose holes as I imagined other men messing up the seat controls in her S.U.V. And whenever her boss drove her home I'd ask, 'Who was that?' Still, I was acting jealous, but I wasn't feeling it. Sort of like those fellows on the Melrose Place TV show: They look great, but they're not even fooling themselves.

Meantime, people were speaking nasty things of her. 'You don't know her,' I told them. They didn't understand her. They couldn't see behind her quirky moods. Like I did. I saw that jealousy made her beautiful. Naive people just assume jealousy is bad because other naive people (but worse that the first naive people) are always blaming jealousy for crimes of passion and deadly sinning and making it out like a green (my favorite color, by the way) monster or using words like suspicion and envy and jaundiced (which comes from the French word jaune, and means yellow, a color I don't like so much) and rivalry, and so forth, etcetera.

But jealousy is good! It makes the world go round, I promise you. Jealousy is a part of everything between two lovers. It's the only proof of true love! Keeps you off-balance, it does. Like a back itch you can't reach - it makes you realize you can't take love for granted. And the best part is, jealousy is very natural. Territorial survival instinct. Dogs have it, and even cats. For instance, the jealous woman, the one I've been telling you about, had three pussies that experienced acute animosities towards me from the day I moved in. They loved to jump me when we were doing the missionary - naturally seeing it was my most vulnerable angle. And did I hold that against them? Not even once.

Some people don't like to admit jealousy is so of the essence because they prefer to see things the wrong way. When they say, 'Oh, if only my husband wasn't so jealous,' I flare my nose holes and squint because they don't value how jealousy has made them happy. Here they are with their massive supplies of jealousy and all they can do is whine and 'lord-oh-lord, what have you done to me?' It causes anger in me. I mean, if I had a huge derringer would I go around all negative and crying about it? No sir.

Other more reasonable persons agree that jealousy is super, though they say my woman has too much of a good thing. Can you believe that? I know that my sweet angel meant nothing wicked by cheating on me. Sure, it looked bad. But she was trying to help me be jealous, knowing how vital it was to our relationship. And her irate states, fine, I won't deny they were a bit strange - O.K., annoying - but is love always little walks in the parks?

Unfortunately, my woman was not so understanding of my lack of jealousness. She wasn't buying any of my act, either. 'You disgust me you're such a fake,' she screamed one day when I complained she hadn't called to say she was working late. She didn't believe I was really serious about my jealousy. I said I wanted to suffer through the days, like she did, every minute wondering whether she was polishing her buttocks on the boss man's private conference table, or chasing sweaty rugby players through the Financial District (one of her special-secret fantasies). I even nearly told her about my own secret dream where the Wizard of Oz came down for dinner one day and gave me a jealous heart, like with the Tin Man.

In the end, it turned out we weren't right for each other. She said as much, though in that straight-shootin' talk of hers I had come to love. It was one of those fast endings. 'Get out,' she wrote in her last Hello Kitty refrigerator note. 'Don't let me find a frickin' trace of you when I get back.' It had become clear to her suddenly. She was leaving me for another man, a real man that was very jealous of her. So who was I to keep her from bliss?

I was kind of down for a time, which is not so easy with my cheery personality. I went back to my darts but even blindfolded I couldn't land them in some other lady's beer. I was having a brand new feeling: I felt like some of those people who fail at something. Maybe you've felt that way too. It sucks donkey, as I say. Then I bumped into her. She had this scumbag draped over her and when she saw me so sad she told me it had all been a put-on. 'I was just using you to make Niles jealous. I never gave a frickin' lousy shit about you.'

Wow! It was magic. Let me tell you, like MA-GIC, she removed the wool from my dumb-ass face, she gave me back my lost insecurities and stomped all over my so-called self-confidence that was no more. My eyes were slits and my nose holes ferocious. You could tell I was raging. Raging furious. Couldn't stop looking at that Niles punk like the pile of vomit he really was, sliming his blond arms all over my chickie's boobs and grinding his hips into hers. As if she could possibly enjoy that (I could tell she was only pretending).

Then I saw that this freak Niles was a jealous man too, because he sneered at me even as he kept on with that grinding I just described, and though I hated him, I had to respect him given as he was only staking out his territory. But that was less on my list of worries anyway since I was realizing I was quite so very jealous. Oh, I was so jealous, I was ecstatic. I was happy like I'd just discovered... America, or sex. And so the last thing I'm not going to do is sit here and lie to you and say I knew it all along. That she would be the one to teach me how to be jealous. Even if, granted, I did know it all along.

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