While I ignore celebrity news except when it hits the news stands at an “Aliens Invade Earth” frenzy, I have always found Mariah Carey to be fascinating. The Cinderella-like rise to the top of the charts with record mogul Tommy Mottola ‘tween her legs… the crazy concert exploits… the bizarre and unhinged phone messages to her fans… and an all-time favorite, the Mariahisms (here).
(The glossary of Mariahisms ain’t exactly Esperanto, but anyone who communicates with these words is on a whole different level. For instance: BING BONG!: Used to quickly end an argument or conversation while still able to be funny. If I was exchanging of words with someone, and they suddenly said “Bing Bong!” and walked away, I don’t think I’d find it very funny. Grounds for a bitch slap.)
Anyway, a friend and I were recently discussing the concept of “the one that got away.” We’ve all had that prospective soul mate with whom, due to mitigating circumstances, a relationship was impossible. Mine was a guy named Jeff with I worked with at Cumberland Farms in college. He was an earnest Western MA local who lived in a large party house with seven other men, and liked drinking beers and listening to classic rock. We had nothing in common except a rather misanthropic and sarcastic view of life, yet fondness ensued over many nights clerking the busy convenience store and the few times we went out to a bar afterwards. Despite moments of tension in his car when he’d drop me off after a going out, it never happened. I started dating a guy who shared my love for old school punk music. Jeff dropped off my radar when he quit Cumbys sometime thereafter, but I sometimes wonder… what might have been.
So we all have people like that, even Mariah Carey, who regrets not hooking up with Tupac Shakur: “[Mariah] still thinks he could have been the love of her life if she’d only acted on instinct and dumped her husband Tommy Mottola to be with the late rap icon (here)”. Mariah and Tupac. Yeah, that fits.
