Soundtrack to Mary

I don’t know what the exact clinical classification would be of my particular personality defect, I’m a person who regrets nothing and yet dreads everything. Maybe there isn’t even a name for it, and one day I could have this dysfunction named after me. “Yep, we finally had our aunt committed due to her lifelong struggle with Manic Lucia.”
My close friends know me well enough not to take offense when I cancel last-minute plans. I’ve even gotten so comfortable that I no longer feel the need to make up fake excuses. To be my friend, you have to understand that when I say that, while, yes, I did excitedly RSVP months ago to attend your daughter’s first birthday party, now that the actual date is here, I’d rather open-mouth kiss David Gest, and then jump through a flaming hoop of dog crap, nothing personal though. And I should explain that it doesn’t matter how appealing the plans are. I could have a date to get free highlights with Steven Tyler, eat lobster, and have hundred dollar bills shoved into my pockets. Yet somehow when it comes time to actually jump into the toxic twin’s limo, I’d really rather stay home, troll around on Ebay for hours looking for red lampshades, then turn the ringer off and curl up with Psychopharmacology for Idiots or some other light reading.
To add to the twistedness of this, when I do follow through with plans, I usually have a fine time. Hence the “no regrets” aspect of my Manic Lucia. I’m not proud of the fact that some people have nicknamed me “Anne Frank” due to my infrequent social outings. On the rare occasion I do make it out to a show, I know I have to be prepared to answer the question, “Do you still live in town?”—and that’s coming from my own sister.
Listen, I’m not an entirely undesirable pal. Say you want the kind of friend who, when you call, you know you’ll always get the machine. A friend who will never actually see the inside of your apartment. If you’re looking for someone who you can easily bail out of dinner plans with at the last minute, I’m your man. You can take comfort in knowing that we won’t hook up next week, and I won’t call you later.

Send birthday party invitations and/or flaming hoops of dog crap to Mary Lucia at popularcreeps@yahoo.com.