I know this one woman in real life who is absolutely perfect in every conceivable way...I mean, funny, smart, easy to talk to...but when I dream of getting remarried or spending time with someone, I hardly ever dream of her. And then of course there are women like Britney Spears and Ananda Lewis, but I don't dream about them either, or even something really hot like Swedish Bikini Mud Wrestling. Whenever I dream about women, it's always Mary Tyler Moore in those little capri pants going "Ohh, Jooooohn...."

 

Which is doubly odd, because she's actually calling me John, and that's not even my real name.

 

I'm sure some fancy-schmancy psychologist would say that this is all about my identity and how I perceive myself. Or it might just be that I really really like Mary Tyler Moore.

 

It's different somehow than my pubescent obsession with Shirley Feeney on Laverne & Shirley, or even my crushes on Mary Ann or Jeannie. Those were kid stuff, and didn't mean anything.This is solid and real and based in actual, physical reality. Since my whole divorce thing started, I haven't even seen anyone casually, but when the time comes, it's going to be particularly difficult, not because I constantly compare her to my ex-wife, but because I will always be comparing her to Mary Tyler Moore.

 

Really, I'm just kidding.

 

Sort of.

 

People think I'm all shallow and into looks. But that is so totally not true. If it was, I would be all about Catwoman Julie Newmar.

 

The only one who even holds a candle to Mary Tyler Moore is Elinor Donahue on The Andy Griffith Show. She didn't take any crap from Andy, and she wasn't afraid to tell him he was wrong, but it still all came through in the end that she really cared about him.

 

I don't know how Andy went from her to Helen Crump. She was bitchy and jealous, she would get mad at Andy and not tell him why, and she wasn't even all that pretty. Andy would have even been better off with that mountain girl, Charlene Darling.

 

Maybe Andy had self-image problems and just couldn't allow himself to be happy. Maybe he didn't think he deserved any better than Helen Crump. It's the only reason I can think of that he wound up with her.

 

They say there's someone for everyone, but I don't know where that comes from. Based on what I've observed of unmarried adults over the age of 30, there's no one for anyone.

 

On TV it's different. On TV, everyone is paired off like it's Noah's Ark, and there's even someone for Barney Fife and Fred Flintstone. This is not as encouraging as TV people would have us think. Trust me, a single person doesn't look at Barney Fife and Thelma Lou and think "There's hope for me yet!" They think, "Damn, there's something wrong with me even more than what's wrong with Barney Fife!"

 

It's the same way with those circus acrobats from Argentina who look like werewolves, who you sometimes see on Maury Povich. These guys are mutants who are covered from head to toe with thick black hair, and they always make a point to say that these guys' father was a mutant, and his father was a mutant. So, in other words, John J. Doolittle can't make a marriage work, but at least three generations of Argentinian circus freaks aren't having any problems....

 

When I was a kid, it seems to me now, the only ones who showed me kindness were my oldest sisters. They always looked out for me and encouraged me and bought me presents on my birthday. I know they were trying to help me, but it didn't prepare me for the reality of what was out there. I mean, I think now I am like one of those dogs that was raised with kittens and learned to trust them, and now everytime he sees a cat he gets the crap scratched out of him because his instincts are to trust them.

 

It just sucks to be me.