Love and Trash: A Recycled Post Regarding Recycling (in a bad way)

You were unattainable. I was jealous of her for years. Your humble warm persona, creative silliness, and depth of character made you the man I wanted but couldn’t have. I didn’t plan on replacing her, after you broke it off. It just started happening. Those fantasy feelings became realized with every passing moment that we spent talking in the cozy diner, after the others had left.

I’ll never forget our 2am drive to Mt. Diablo, to view a lunar eclipse. You sang to me all the way there and back, as I faded into and out of a dreamlike state. When we got to the top of the mountain, we reclined on the hood of your car under a blanket of stars. You kept me warm with your arms and lips. We didn’t see the eclipse that hazy night, but it was so incredibly romantic that I cannot begin to reconcile it with your God damn annoying ass habits!

First: the Triple A Map folding tutorials. “It’s all in the corners. You’ve got to line them up just so,” you lectured. Why did you need a map any way, Mr. “I have an amazing sense of direction and can find my way out of any jungle in record time”? It must have been a fluke when you got lost driving through the Mojave Desert that night, which you claimed to know like the back of your hand. I just wanted a warm bed to sleep in. (Alone, preferably.) Instead, we were stuck in 3 feet of mud, with no cell phone reception or sign of life anywhere I looked - unless I counted you. And I didn’t. You offered me no comfort but two stale Oreos that you scrounged from the trunk. (Okay, that was actually rather sweet. But you’re missing the point here.)

There’s more, Kenny. Hear me out for a change. You demonstrated moral superiority via a boycott of all products made in Asia. This left us unable to purchase anything except USA Annually. And what a snoozer that publication is! Meanwhile, you insisted that I give you my car registration stickers, when the DMV mistakenly sent me a second set. Morality of convenience is rather convenient. Isn’t it, darling? What truly tipped the scales was not the night we spent stuck in the mud, the map-folding tutorials, or boycotting 99% of all products sold in the US. What marked your demise was that one astonishing moment when you reached into the dark recesses of my kitchen trashcan – I repeat: my kitchen trashcan- to pull out a recyclable milk carton. Did I mention that was my freakin’ kitchen trashcan?!

I loved you, but I forget why. I needed to boycott you, not Asia. So keep the recyclables. Keep folding your maps correctly. Keep every last version of US Annually. Keep it all. Just keep it all away from me, so I can get back to admiring you from afar. Or not.