Love and Pepperoni.

In this, the age of information, we seem to be bombarded with a million options every time we have to make a choice. The grass isn’t necessarily always greener on the other side, but nonetheless our commitment phobic society tends to assume that, obviously, it must be greener somewhere. Not just any green, but a magical green that will solve all of life’s problems and make more people like you even more, if you just wait and wait and never choose, and never commit. It will all be handed to you.

“Sure, this seems like the right pair of boxer-briefs, but what if there’s another pair out there that massages my balls while I walk and makes my peen bigger?”

Honestly, if you set the bar high enough, you’ll never be happy with anything ever. In fact, you may never end up with anything period. Awesome. The one exception for most people, I guess, tends to be with food. People know what they like and where to get it from. They have all their brands and snacks and cheesies and pretznels and wundernips and frooble-dee-froo. Don’t get me wrong, people are still picky as shit when it comes to food decisions, but eventually when they make a choice, they actually stick to it, usually forever. This is especially true with pizza joints.

“Let’s get pizza. I know the best place. It’s the best. Oh man, I’m the man.”

Don’t get me started on the overuse of the word ‘best’ again (see: Best of the Best). The point is people have no problem committing to and trusting a food delivery place. I can’t imagine why that, when people can’t seem to commit to anything, this is what they are able to commit to. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just stuff like electronics and lederhosen that people were afraid of sticking to.

e.g.: “wait what there’s a new PiePhone? omg!!11 well shit, I NEED it, I can’t stick with this old shitty one, it doesn’t even automatically cook my turkey while I’m off skiing, if there’s a better one, then I need to have it ASAP, my want it, my wants, mommy mommy, my wants my new MyPhone, gimme gimme gimme” he texted to his mother from down the hall.

But it’s with relationships too! Sadly, nobody trusts anybody, and this is the real problem. I could deal with the attention deficit society if they didn’t apply the same spoiled brat adulescent childish ‘me-first’ generational behavior to love, lust and everything in between. I find it, well, strange that some people can call up pizza delivery restaurants and be giving a stranger their name, number, address and even credit card information, without batting an eyelash, but on another night have casual sex with a stranger, without wanting to divulge any one of those four. Unless of course they’ve managed to find a prostitute that accepts VISA, and then maybe one of those four could get satisfied. They could even have those portable little debit machines like they have in them fancy restaurants these days and bring it right to your bed.

“You can enter dollar amount or percentage for the tip, hun.”

“But, I already gave you more than the tip. Heyooooo!”

“Very funny, I already gave you the clap.”

“Can I get a receipt for that?”

But otherwise, in a non-professional scenario, the conversation after a typical adult themed casual encounter might go a little a something like a this.

“Yes, my name is uh… Dean. No, no last name, it’s just Dean, it’s like Cher or Eminem… and yes, I live here, at the Super 8, just call and ask for Dean, they know me here” he said politely to the woman who could have sworn last night he said his name was Dwayne, as he called a cab, and casually threw her underwear and khaki Capri pants out the window. “Wait, before you go, do you know the number for Domino’s?”

Brandon Toode (a.k.a. Dean or Dwayne) will give his real info to Domino's for handling his pepperoni, but can’t give it the woman who just handled his salami. What the hell kind of expression is casual sex anyways? In general, I have difficulty in seeing anything casual about penetration, of any kind. Try sticking your dick in some mashed potatoes and acting casual. Better yet, try sticking a cucumber up your ass and acting casual.

“Hey Pete, you catch Letterman’s Top Ten last night? Man, it was so-”

“Bill, umm, sorry to interrupt, but I believe that you’ve got a cucumber up your ass.”

“Oh, yeah, no big deal. I actually forgot it was there… Anyways, are you gonna finish those mashed potatoes?”

Honestly, anything that you can’t do in public without fear of arrest can’t be considered casual. Even simpler, if it involves your privates, it can’t be considered casual. Casual sex is just a way to disguise the term meaningless sex so that the people getting all random-sexied don’t feel meaningless afterwards. I guess they don’t really have privates, they have publics.

“It wasn’t meaningless! It was… casual.”

I guess paying a prostitute would be business casual.

It makes me wonder how these types could ever hold a steady job. I would have to assume most don’t make it past the first casual Friday, given their definition.

“I don’t know Trey, I mean, I got to work, grabbed my coffee, went to the morning meeting, dropped my pants, and then the next thing you know, I’m being escorted out. I mean, I thought it was casual Friday! I didn’t even have time to ask who wanted to get them some of this!”

“So, let me get this straight, they call it casual Friday, but you didn’t even get laid?”

No, he got laid off. Say, I wonder if that’s how that term came to be.

So, regardless of how often the pizza came late, the toppings were wrong, the pizza was terrible, the delivery guy was rude or even the pizza never came at all, we all still go back for more. Now, I know, you’re thinking, that’s because pizza is awesome. And you’re right, pizza is awesome. It’s the king of the culinary kingdom, housing all seven food groups in one delicious package: Dough, Sauce, Pepperoni, Fire, Crispy, Cheesy and Grease. Who wouldn’t want to hit the hut? If you get a hungry enough person, I bet you could lay a log of dump on top of a slice a pizza and sprinkle some extra cheese on it, and still, blindfolded, they’d eat the shit outta that shit.

“This is some good shit! What’s this pan crust?”

“You don’t know the half of it. Let’s call it bedpan crust. Those are homemade toppings too.”

But, where is that commitment and tenacity when it comes to love? Why did you break up with him/her?

“I don’t know, I mean he called my cell at 10:13 AM, like, that’s weird. I don’t know if I could be with someone that makes phone calls on odd numbered minutes.”

“She texted ‘haha’ and I’m more of an ‘lol’ kind of guy.”

“I mean, sure, her boobs were big, but they weren’t super giganto-big.”

“He only had like 37 friends on Farcebook. Oh Em Gee. I can’t be with a complete loser.”

“She didn’t wanna take shit on my chest. What a prude?”

“His name is Jeremy, and I’ve always seen myself with more of a Dean, or a Brandon.”

“It just wasn’t a love connection.”

Maybe you’re line is down. Maybe reception is just bad because you’ve built some hefty walls around you. Dating really seems to have gotten to the point where people treat it like shopping, or worse, real estate.

“Now’s not the time to buy, now’s the time to rent” claimed Brandon Toode.

The problem with ol’ Tooder’s attitude is that years of renting and moving around both repeatedly and frequently has damaged all of his furniture and left him completely bankrupt. Lost in the metaphor? Broken furniture and bankruptcy equals a busted wiener and the herpes. Shopping online for dates is kind of like browsing with a real estate agent. Paying for dating opportunities, much like the commission you might pay a real estate agent. Hookers and/or gigolos are more like a motel though, and the pimp is the guy at the front desk. Be careful! A really cheap motel could have crabs on the toilet seat and man juice on the sheets. Lost in the metaphor again? Crabs are, well, crabs. Toilet seat is... whatever you want it to be. You know what? Forget it.

People tend to lose sight of the fact that, much like a new apartment, no relationship will feel like home right from the start. Some things will be surprising, unexpected, different and maybe even scary (or simply not what you are used to). It takes time before you realize what you have could be something special, and that you have found where you belong. You’re home. Then again, some places do have rats and bugs. But maybe you’re into that.

Now I’m not suggesting that, whether we are talking real estate or relationships, you settle down prematurely. That just creates bad relationships, bad breakups and bad marriage statistics (I would say bad mortgage, bad credit, but I’m done with the analogy, starting... now). By all means, play the field for as long as you want or feel you need to. Just be sure to never lead anyone on into thinking that you are being exclusive if you have no intention on halting the sale of your particular brand of magical delights and treats at other retail locations.

“Exclusive? Nah, let’s be inclusive, baby, I will include you in the list of people I am seeing.”

“No thanks, please exclude me from your life forever.”

The pretend committers are often the same people that eventually become the actual cheaters. The delusion that you could cheat and never have your spouse or partner find out is almost as stupid as cheating in the first place. If you cheat on your diet, your spouse will find out. Go to the grocery store, buy a pepperoni stick, eat it on the way home, who’s gonna know? They will, every time. They’ll spot the sausage casing stuck in your teeth, smell it on your breath, in your car, on your clothes. Oh, you’ll try chewing gum, washing your hands, driving with the windows down, but still, they’ll know. Now, if they can pick up on the light guilt and fragrance that comes with speed-eating a Slim Jim and ruining your appetite, imagine if you’ve been eating or frequenting COCK OR PUSSY. I’m pretty sure those smell at least as strong as beef jerky or a good Colby cheese.

All this to say, if you feel like you’re ready to settle down, then stop being afraid and start giving things a real chance. You might get hurt, you might get happy, but get out there, and find the right pepperoni pizza for you. Find one so good, that pepperoni sticks don’t even tempt you anymore. Seriously, what am I even talking about at this point?

That’s it. I have to finish this kielbasa before my wife gets home.