August 24, 2001
Condidit

 


 
I can hear Oregon Tim this morning ... all the way from Lake Oswego.

It's been well over a year since I've talked to the Ex-Boyfiend  --  he of the infamous *Jumping on the Lincoln Bed* incident of Spring 1998  --  but I don't need to pick up a phone or fire up an i.m. screen to know what he's saying this morning. I can hear him loud and clear.

He's saying "Condidit."

Always a big fan of the conservative talk radio brand of political "humor" -- he was in his ELEMENT during the "Little Willy/Monica Lewdinsky/Hilary Rotten Clitoris" days -- I'm sure that he has probably been having a field day, ever since the Chandra Levy story first broke. He's especially fond of any scandal involving a married penis and an unmarried set of ovaries. I'm sure that he's already tried, convicted, imprisoned and castrated Gary Condit with a rusty Lady Gillette Sensor, a bazillion times over already. And I'm sure that he watched the interview on TV last night -- in the darkness of his antiseptic little apartment, surrounded by his cats ...

... and that he said "Condidit." (And that he giggled when he said it.)

The thing is, I'm not so sure I would disagree with him on this one.

I don't mean that I would go along with him on the stoopid name-calling stuff. I don't believe in affixing instant labels to people that way.

  • Ex-Boyfiend: "Oh really?"
  • Cranky Denver Lady: "Is that a fact?"
  • Asshole Doc: "You coulda fooled me."
  • Constipated/Barely-Literate TPC Accounting Manager: "I think we needs discuss to! this with Jim."

What I mean is that if last night's interview was supposed to convince us that Gary Condit 1.) does not possess at least an *information molecule* or three about Chandra Levy's disappearance, 2.) isn't tap-dancing like crazy now simply in order to save his scuzzy political hide or 3.) is not oilier than my T-Zone at 4 p.m. ... then the interview failed, as far as I'm concerned. Thirty seconds into the show I was looking at this guy -- twitchy, evasive, hostile, spouting his "I've been married for thirty-four years" deflection rhetoric, like a well-trained prisoner of war -- and, god help me ...

... I said "Condidit."

Gack.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

A local radio station was espousing an interesting -- if somewhat implausible -- theory about the Chandra Levy case, not long ago.

According to them, Chandra is alive and well and living in seclusion somewhere in Northern California, with the aid of her parents and select family members and friends. The Levy family has staged this whole *mysterious disappearance* thing in order to bring about the fall of Congressman Condit, as payback for impregnating Chandra and then casting her aside like a used Trojan. Once his career is destroyed -- and the world sees him for the lying, cheating, hypocritical weasel he is -- Chandra is going to resurface, in a blaze of self-righteous and well-publicized glory, and the world in general (and Modesto, CA in particular) will once again be safe for women, female interns, and ovaries everywhere.

Or that's the theory, anyway.

Part of me would love for this to be true ... not only because it would mean that Chandra Levy isn't buried under a walnut tree somewhere (which we all hope is the case, of course, even though we know better) ... but also because it would give us a chance to witness the realization of the ULTIMATE revenge fantasy.

Think about it. Isn't there somebody in your past you secretly feel still deserves that well-placed karmic cattle-prod? I know *I* could name a few. I still haven't forgiven Larry Conway, for instance. In first grade, he chose Diana Higman to be The Cheese during "Farmer in the Dell" instead of me. In quiet moments I am still haunted by the trauma of that moment. I'm still ticked-off, too, about catching my tenth-grade boyfriend in a lip-lock with Roberta Borst before Biology class. Plus I have to admit I still harbor a certain amount of smoldering resentment, whenever I think about the Balding Aluminum Salesguy and those stoopid address labels.

Don't even get me started on the years between 1996 and 1998.

Part of me would love to concoct some fabulously convoluted, incredibly detailed revenge scheme, designed to vindicate Young (or Younger) Secra, embarrass/enlighten/vaguely-menace They Who Done Me Wrong, and restore karmic balance to the cosmos.

I know just how I would do it, too.

I would start out by getting sober. (That's right. No more middle-of-the-night long-distance phone calls, begging him to come to his senses and let me live in his attic.)  Once I'd been sober for a while, and had started feeling alive and clear-headed again, I would move to a new state -- someplace where I could drive around with the sunroof open all year long, maybe, or where I could go barefoot in December if I wanted to -- and I would make a fresh start for myself. I would get an interesting new job and double my salary. I would write every day. I would regularly contribute to the financial and emotional support of the three best Tots in the universe. After a while, I would start paying more attention to what I eat. I would buy a bicycle and incorporate a little exercise into my daily routine, and eventually I would drop a couple of dress sizes in six months. All of this, of course, would be fully documented -- with photos -- on my website.

And then I would cap the whole thing off by getting married to the man of my dreams and living happily ever after.

THAT would show 'em ... wouldn't it?

Have a great weekend, everybody!




p.s. countdown to jaymi and joel's visit: six days! [i certainly hope joel likes pam tillis ... ]



three years ago: haiku for a congested butterfly
[early draftervoi/secra stuff]

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