Did I ever tell you the story about how I was stood up for a Mariah Carey show?
I mean, I’ve mentioned it before once or twice. But I’ve never actually told you about it, have I?
Well, here goes: I was stood up for a Mariah Carey show.
There. Now you know.
I was 18-years-old and just started college. I was really into this boy who went to high school with me. So I did what any normal teenager would do. I purchased two tickets to a Mariah Carey concert and invited him. He accepted my invitation.
I was ecstatic! We were going to get married and have babies because as my home girl, Mariah, sings, We Belong Together. I mean, I was in love. Or lust. Or whatever it is you feel when you’re awkward and a teen.
At that time, he didn’t have a cell phone. And this was all the way back in 2006. So while trying to coordinate, I had to always call his house. Yes, it was a bit awkward calling his house and talking to his sister. Or his dad. Or his mom. But, you guys, I was in love. Or lust. Or whatever it is you feel when you’re awkward and a teen.
We agreed on a time when he would pick me up. I was living in Downtown, Chicago for my first year of school in a dormitory. He said he’d swing by and pick me up and then we’d head over to the United Center, where Mariah was performing.
The day of the concert rolled around and I got all dolled up. I even put a braid in my hair. You guys, it was for real. Then I waited and waited. That son of a bitch never showed.
I even tried calling his house but his sister told me he wasn’t there.
I eventually ran into a friend and took her to the concert, nearly in tears. Mariah Carey, as always, was amazing. I, however, was in heartache.
That night, I received a voice message from him and he explained that he got “lost” while trying to come pick me up. Despite his stupidity, I was still in love with him. Or lust. Or whatever it is you feel when you’re awkward and a teen. And I was hoping he’d call me again to beg for my forgiveness. He didn’t.
I eventually called him. But I wasn’t very nice.
And that was that. I never heard from him again.
Last week, I thought of him for some reason. And I decided to look him up on Facebook (we used to be FB friends when FB first came out but then he, you know, stood me up for a Mariah Carey show and then I deleted his ass). The first thing I noticed was how much weight he’s gained. The second thing I noticed was the fast food uniform shirt he was wearing in his profile picture.
And then I smiled.
Now before I say anything else, I want you all to know that it’s not OK to degrade people for the type of work they do. It’s OK to work at a fast food restaurant. I used to work at one when I was in high school. It was awful. But I worked at one.
It’s also not OK to name call and call others fat.
Unless, of course, the person who you’re calling fat (behind his back and publicly on your blog) stood you up for a Mariah Carey show about 10 years ago.
Then, by all means, call him fat. Find every flaw about him in the brief information you find from his profile page and gloat because this is your moment.
I mean, he was hot in high school. Like, really hot. He was also very flirty and made me believe that we were something more than what we were.
But now he’s fat! Like, really fat!
Normally, I’m not this shallow. I know what it’s like to be called fat and made fun of because of weight. Trust me, I know. It’s not cool.
But I also know how awful I felt that night I was stood up. I felt unappreciated. I felt stupid. I felt embarrassed. So I owe it to that 18-year-old girl who was stood up that night to take pleasure in the fact that that son of bitch who stood her up is now fat. Like, really fat.
He’s so fat, when he gets in an elevator, it has to go down.
He’s so fat, he uses two buses for roller-blades.
He’s so fat, that he doesn’t eat with a fork, he eats with a forklift!
OK, fine, he’s not that fat (and I may have looked up “yo mama fat jokes” on the Internet to help with the fat insulting).
But, seriously, you guys, he’s fat. I’m pretty sure I saw some man boobs up in his picture.
OK, for real though, that night I was pretty heartbroken. It was like one of those bad 80s teeny movies. And I never thought that I would say this but I’m so glad he stood me up.
Because of that experience, I forced myself to start doing things alone. The next Mariah Carey concert I went to, I went alone. And then after that I went alone, again (and ended up chasing her car). Heck, I’m going to Vegas in a few months to see her. Alone. I even started going to other concerts alone. I started going to social events alone. I LOVE going to movies alone. Heck, I even went to Australia alone.
In a way, being stood up at 18-years-old taught me a lesson about how I should do things even if I have no one to do them with. Like go to concerts. Or traveling the world.
Sure, sometimes it’s more comfortable to do things with friends or a date. But when you have no one to go with are you just going to sit at home alone while Mariah Carey belts it out at the Chicago Theatre?
Are you not going to try that new restaurant you’ve been dying to try because you have no one to go with?
Are you not going to go on that trip or once in a life-time adventure because you have no one to go with?
Are you going to miss out on life because you don’t have anyone to go with?
What I’m trying to say is: Thank You, you fat son of a bitch for standing me up nearly 10 years ago. You’ve caused me heartache for a brief moment, but made me a more independent person in the long run.
P.S. You’re still fat.