My First Girlfriend and How We Broke Up

Last night I was at a party with a mixed group of people. Mixed in every way: age, sexual identity, and interests. I spoke with a young man of about twenty-two who dated a girl that I met some time ago. She was arrogant and rude when I met her. I asked how it went, and being a chivalrous fellow, he declined to say anything bad about her despite the poor outcome of the date. Fortunately for this column, your Pen Gaaghi has no such constraints!

My first girlfriend. That bitch. I met her when I was twenty-two at a Jewish singles party in Phoenix back in 1987. Lets call her Gillian. We ended up going out for about two years and even considered marriage (at her urging). This woman nagged the hell out of me and made my life miserable. Especially work issues. I had to be striving for Donald Trump status or else she was all over me. Money – career. Career – money. She constantly attacked my parents (verbally). It seemed that anything I did wasn’t good enough for her. Please note these despicable traits are not unique to Jewish women, for I’ve known many others to be this way. Nor are all Jewish women money-hungry gaaghis.

Gillian wasn’t the best looking woman. Far from it. Quite heavy, not that pretty, and definitely not the swimsuit calendar type. Looks didn’t really matter to me (til I met Jon Dean) so this wasn’t an issue. Ever since my high school days, I just wanted someone nice. I’m only mentioning this for illustrative purposes. A few years ago I looked her up on the internet and found a recent picture of her. Girl, you have to get to the gym and start a diet, just for your self respect.

So you are probably thinking: Alan, if she was so bad, why did you go out with her in the first place? At the time, I was like a catfish. Taking whatever scraps of womanhood available on the bottom of the ocean. You have to understand that your Pen Gaaghi, despite being very good looking and fit, is 5’6” in height and not blessed with money or a desirable occupation (like being a doctor or titan of industry). Couple these facts with the Arizona dating scene and the result was a lot of Saturday nights watching tv.

The best memory I have of her was how we broke up. I call this Independence Day. She started nagging me about my failure to get a job where she worked (Best Western corporate headquarters) as a reservation agent. I didn’t even want the job, but merely tried to please her. One particular day I was watching some old episodes of the Three Stooges on VHS and she told me to turn it off, and get serious with my life.

That was the final straw. I’m not kidding. You can put me down, put down my parents, nag me to hell, but do not mess with the Stooges. I have loved those guys since I was a little kid and always will. To me, it was like messing with someone’s religion. “Stooges, oh akbar” to paraphrase the Muslims. In the name of Moe, Larry and Curly, I terminate this relationship.