It's the Delusional Show starring Moxie Lady!

Color me delusional. I always have been. I attribute this to being raised as an only child and being forced to create my own entertainment most of the time. This provided me with a huge imagination. When you're little, imagination is cute and exuberant. When you get to be my age, it's called delusion.

Case in point: Crush #1,456,567
Name: Michelangelo Scorsese

He's an artist and a filmmaker. He works for corporate during the day. He shops at thrift stores. He drinks Hoegardens. He laughed when I made a bukkake joke.

To a normal person, this means nothing. He's just another interesting human being. But to a delusional person this can only mean one thing: He's The One.

And when I say "The One" I don't mean like Jesus is the one for me, I mean the man of my dreams. Believe it, people, Moxie is Barbie and she has envisioned the perfect Ken. And this Ken is so cuuuuuute.

All crushes are. That is why they are crushes. I remember my first crush. His name shall remain nameless, but his last name fell right before mine in the class roster. He and I were in the same classes a majority of elementary school. Because our names fell sequentially in the roster, I found myself assigned to either the same desk row, or reading group, or recess group with him. We even got in the same line for lunch. He was perfect. Great smile. Beautiful smooth skin. Big, brown eyes. Small problem: He made fun of me all the time. I was a total loser to him. He "dated" the cooler girls in class. But that didn't stop me from daydreaming and fantasizing about the day he would wake up and realize how awesome I was. At some magical instant (and it was always different depending on what I felt like), whether it be afterschool, or during reading circle, he would pass me a note and ask me to be his girlfriend. Ultimately, my keen reading skills and sweet lunchbox would win him over.

It never did. Ever. I remember running into him years and years later. I was downtown. He was waiting around the square with some friends. I recognized him instantly and before I knew it, I was walking towards him. I said,"You don't remember me, maybe you do. But your name is ____ and I went to school with you. I remember I used to be absolutely in love with you and you always made fun of me. Now you look like such an asshole. I don't know what I was thinking." He just looked at me. Turns out he did remember me and he thought I was cute...now. Well, too fucking late.



I remember the times when the people of my dreams did realize how awesome I was and we dated. Obviously, none of those people are in my reality now and they were more nightmarish than dreamy. There is one ex in particular that I have delusions/fantasies about. He's married now. But I still picture the day when he will come to the conclusion that his wife sucks and he looks me up. He will ask me out for coffee and he will break the news to me that he and his wife divorced. I, of course, will look fabulous (I have had this delusion for years, so depending on the season, I have on various outfits or wear different hairstyles) and I will coolly say, "Oh, that sucks to hear that. Why are you telling me?" And from there, he will ingratiate himself and confess that I was the one for him the whole time. I haven't decided yet if I will take him back, leave him at the coffee shop, or keep him around for sex (because that part was really good).



There is the alternate one where I can become famous for some reason--a book signing or autograph signing--and he comes to see me. He tries to get up close, but security won't let him. And he tells them his name and claims to know me. I see him struggle with security and he yells, "Moxie, tell them you know me! We go way back!" And I sigh and walk over and tell security, "Yes, I know him." And he will get smug like he always has been, but then I go, "And you are to never let him near me. Ever." And like five bouncers haul him out and throw him to the ground. Then this is followed up with an appearance I make on either Conan or Leno and I make fun of him and say what a douchebag he was when we dated.

My delusions about crushees follow a pattern: I meet them or see them for the first time. Something sparks in me (like they say "hello" to me) and I am hooked. Then every piece of information that I learn about them becomes fodder for my fantasies. I picture the moment we first kiss. Maybe I will think about the first time we have sex. Then I think about the moment when we decide to be together forever. (I don't necessarily have a wedding fantasy for each person. I have engagement fantasies. I have a set wedding fantasy in which the crushee is then placed.)



And I can do all this within a matter of minutes, hours, days of meeting them. Now, I will stop and say that many women do this. It's crazy, but it's the result of screwed up socialization. But what makes my fantasies slightly more deranged is that I also fantasize about the arguments, even the one where we almost break up. Their parents and how we will have a disagreement about which side dish to bring to this year's Thanksgiving dinner. Detailed delusions.

Now take Mike Scorsese. So far, I have only met him THREE times in the span of THREE months. Once per month. This has not afforded me the opportunity to build much of a fantasy around him because I don't know that much about him. But so far, I have attended the screening of one of his films. Go to all his art shows. We've definitely made out. We go for coffee a lot. He has visited me at work. Oh, and I skipped over a bunch of steps and we're looking at an old Victorian that is some sort of rustic red. We hold hands a lot. We laugh a lot. Three times over three months and this is how much we've progressed: we have a mortgage.

And as with every delusion, there comes a time when they come crashing horribly to the ground. When reality is the cold shower, cool hand slap, and steaming hot cup of black coffee that wakes you up. For me, this is either the break up, meeting his/her girlfriend/wife/fiancee, the crushees professed dislike of me...stuff like that. All those brain hours wasted.

The sad part is that the reality phase is simply followed by revenge/vindication fantasy. That will continue until a new crushee appears. Sometimes *whisper* sometimes, the new crushee becomes part of my revenge/vindication fantasy. Because they are better so the ultimate revenge is seeing the old crush and you're looking fabulous AND with a new hottie...looking at Victorian houses. Whatever. Like, Miss Fixx-It: the emotionally unavailable lesbian. I will see her and I will be with Mike Scorsese and because lesbians sometimes feel inadequate standing next to a real man, I will simply say, "Oh, hey. This is my boyfriend Mike. He has a real penis. Something no lesbian has ever been able to give me." And he will go, "Hi." And she will run out of the room/bar/party crying, drowned in her inability to measure up. Take that!



I would spend more time waxing poetic about Mike Scorsese, but I don't even know enough about him to tell you. We exchanged an email, which I am proud to say I've only read it five times. I have, though, fantasized about my next encounter with him at least 15 times. Not too bad....I'm not sure when the reality moment will hit. I'm thinking it's going to be when he turns me down cold when I ask him out. But how that will happen is still wide open for creation.

But, But, BUT, what if he doesn't and we do end up going out? What do I wear? Will I spill wine/coffee/water all over my dress/jeans/pants? When we kiss, will he like my lip gloss/Burt's Bees/lipstick? Will we be at my house, or his house when we have sex? When we merge Netflix queues, what if he picks bad movies? What if his parents don't like me????

Are we on the same page about kids? I hope he likes dogs....what if he's a cat person, or a Leo?

What if, we get far along and I share my blog addy with him and he reads this post?