Shadow boxing is the art of flailing your fists at thin air, imagining you're going head-to-head with an invisible foe, a great warrior.
It’s a stellar cardio workout let me tell you, and a baffling spectacle for anyone who catches you in the act, especially if you're doing it in front of the shop window where your girl, J, is picking out new sexy lingerie for a special night. You might feel like Conan the Barbarian, but trust me, you look more like the other Conan, the O’Brien.
Now, the same way the origins of shadow boxing remained a mystery, there’s no telling when your girlfriend will decide she’s in a high-stakes sparring match with you. Let’s face it, being in a relationship is basically like shadow boxing, only instead of punching air, you’re dodging imaginary accusations. You’re up against the most formidable opponent you’ve ever known, her imagination. And depending on her mood and the alignment of the stars, you might find yourself dumped for something you never said or did.
I know, I know, you are thinking: "But, what did I do?" or "But, I did nothing!"
Exactly! Inaction is a crime punishable by death—or at least, a dramatic sigh and a piercing glare from her. The crucial thing to remember is that there’s no “normal” when it comes to how often she’s mad at you without you knowing.
It’s like living in a Jason Bourne Film, is a combination of punches, kicks, and explosions are coming your way, and this could happen at any given moment, having dinner (more likely, trying to guess what she wants for dinner), or while you are driving on 90 miles an hour in the 405.
PS: Asking J what she wants to eat is like trying to guess the ending of a Christopher Nolan movie—confusing, mind-bending, and you never see it coming.
I always feel like auditioning for a game show where the prize is not getting the silent treatment. Seriously, if I had a dollar for every time I guessed wrong about what J wanted for dinner, I could afford to hire a psychic chef.
Anyways, this past weekend, we were cruising down the highway, basking in the sun and the illusion of a peaceful drive, when suddenly, J screamed something unintelligible. Now, if there’s one thing you should never do while trying to figure out where the heck your exit is, it’s scream. Especially when said exit isn’t for another two miles and there’s no exit sign in sight. But scream she did, like we were in a horror movie and not a rom-com.
After a few moments of pure, unadulterated panic, I finally decoded her words:
"A kitty!" -she had screamed.
In a car?
No. On the side of the road.
And this is "How I Broke Up with Your Mother," the lesser-known spin-off of "How I Met Your Mother."
Naturally, we missed our exit while she kept yelling about a little kitty, not to me, mind you, but to the window. She was glued to it, her face practically pressed against the glass like a kid in a candy store, only this store was the highway, and the candy was a stray cat. There we were, speeding down the road, trying to find our exit, with J still half-hanging out the window, eyes fixated on the rapidly disappearing feline mumbling
"We have to turn around!"
I finally glanced at her and she shot me a look that could melt the polar ice caps and said
"We have to go back for the kitty."
I scanned the road, hoping for an obvious "busy freeway, 90 miles an hour" kind of explanation. But she kept fixed on my eyes, then the road, then me again.
Devastated, as if she’d lost a lifelong friend, I tried to console her, saying maybe it had found its way home or was picked up by someone else. She wasn’t buying it.
At some point, I attempted to lighten the mood and joked, “Maybe the cat’s gone off to join the circus”. - We just passed a big ad for the Circus of Soleil. She didn’t laugh. Not even a smirk. Tough crowd, I tell ya that. For the rest of the drive, she sat in silence, occasionally glancing back at the road, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of the cat we left behind. The GPS says we’re 10 minutes late, but I was dead upon arrival. Even my car’s air freshener was holding its breath.
We finally arrived at our destination with time enough to spare, ready to grab a drink and a bite to eat before J’s inner monster made its usual cameo:
“I’m haaangy.”
So there we were, nestled in a peculiar tiki bar, sipping on some fruity cocktails when a motley crew of characters began parading in front of us. At first, I thought maybe the circus was in town, but as the parade grew, so did the sheer weirdness, a little too much spandex, pirates, and who knows what else—is true that Tempus Fugit, but is Halloween already, and I didn’t notice? Had we stumbled into some alternate reality?
By the time the couple next to us started Googling "WTF IS GOING ON IN THIS TOWN?!" I knew this surreal parade of characters was my cue to escape, my golden ticket out of the awkwardness I was drowning in. When life gives you lemons, you make cosplay costume contest your fricking lemonade.
I started riffing on every costume that passed by, trying to inject some humor into the situation.
“Look, it’s Captain Underpants!
"And there goes Spandex Man, fighting crime one wedgie at a time!”
But my comedic genius was met with nothing but the sound of crickets chirping away in the background. It was like performing stand-up comedy in a room full of mannequins. So, I drowned my sorrows in another sip of my tropical drink and reconsidered abandoning myself to hard drugs and vodka.
I don't catch a break! Instead, I created my very own version of the Dos X TV commercial:
I don't always drink vodka, but when I do,
my memory becomes a choose-your-own-adventure.
For me drinking Vodka is like having My superpower. I can turn a sip of vodka into a time machine that skips ahead 12 hours.
In my defense, I thought I was drinking Tequila. Anyway, we made it home safe, with J at the wheel of the truck, laughing at my tumultuous relationship with Vodka. It can make my memories disappear faster than a sale item on Black Friday. You see, while I thought I was having an amazing time watching a lineup of punk-rock bands at some legendary venue, thanks to my vodka-fueled blackout problem, I couldn't tell you the name of a single band or even where the venue was located. So, I woke up the next morning with more questions than answers.
Punk is Not Dead but relationship is. And that’s when I discovered J had broken up with me the night before. Wait, WHAT? Yes, doing a recap of last nite events, I found out J broke up with me, and via text.
How did I miss that?
Well, while I was busy tearing up the dance floor like a wild pongo monkey to the rhythm of punk rock, in reality, I was shadowboxing with an invisible enemy—J was texting her closest chat friends (Hoes before Bros), telling them she was breaking up with me for not stopping in the middle of the 405 to save a little kitty. Obviously, her friends were quick to take her side (I guess Laura is still mad with me from last weekend, resentful you might say).
As I delved deeper into the whole situation, J shared with me her trauma with abandoned animals, especially kitties. Since she was very little, back in her small town in Nebraska, she used to rescue all kinds of animals,— she’d bring them home, hoping to nurse them back to health, but it was always the same tragic story—they checked into the J Hotel but never checked out.
Some starved because J’s cooking skills at age eight were about as refined as a toddler’s finger painting. Others succumbed to allergies because who knew a cat could be lactose intolerant? Yes, apparently, even kittens can have dietary restrictions. And a few crafty escape artists pulled off Houdini-level stunts, vanishing into the great Nebraska wilderness, likely forming a gang of renegade strays plotting their next escape.
So to me what happened with that kitty is like that moment when a girl is walking alone in the streets of Los Angeles in the early morning hours, and then a car pulls up and the driver offers her a ride. For a few seconds, she considers getting inside the car, but then the driver just drives off. Weeks later you see the pic of the driver, a serial killer, in the news. So, I politely pointed out to her that the poor cat managed to escape and lived to tell another day.
See, in every relationship, fiction and reality can coexist. What is true for me might be fiction for her, and vice versa. And amidst all the drama, arguments on her mind, and missed exits, one thing remains certain—J could easily be Starr in the next Netflix documentary:
"Hello Kitty" or "Kitty Krueger"—not sure about the title yet.
PS: Anyways, If you wanna learn her version of the events, these are her words, not mine:
"So I’ve been dating this guy for approximately 8 months now. We’ve been stuck in a vehicle for a 7+hr road trip together, experienced a whirlwind of a trip traveling to Spain, AND took a little trip down the psychedelic path on. One of us on a special type of mushroom, the other of us on… vodka (but strangely enough, gives him the same experience as being high as a kite but possibly more entertaining…for me).
Not one argument, disagreement, fight, spat, lovers quarrel, nothing. All smooth sailing. Except for the time I was "angry" in Spain and he asked me a 3rd time what I was hungry for. But he quickly resolved it by shoving me into the first restaurant we stumbled upon. Which I quickly rejected. I may not have known what I was hungry for but I knew it wasn’t that. So across the street, we found a Ramen place and he swiftly stormed in with me in tow and announced, “I need a bowl of ramen, doesn’t matter what kind just make it quick.” And a few short minutes later I was beginning to become human again.
Any whoodles, this past weekend we were cruising down the highway off to our next adventure. Then all of a sudden, I see a tiny little creature attempting to jump over the cement wall on the side of the road. At first, I thought it was a lost bunny. I leaned in closer to the window to see what kind of baby creature was lost. And as we passed by, in slow motion, a little kitten sat and turned its head towards me. “a kitty” I screamed. Assuming he’d understand that meant to pull over immediately and I’d run back to save the little guy. But no, he kept on driving. Didn’t try to slow down, get over, or take the next exit to backtrack. Nothing!!!
I’m crushed, and as my heart breaks while I slump in my seat I notice he doesn’t even realize how upset I am. The devastation he has caused. The pure joy I felt when I saw the little kitten and thought, finally, the cat distribution system has at last chosen me. And in a split second that joy was ripped away from me.
For several miles, I contemplated breaking up with him. For he had shown his true colors and I didn’t quite like the monster sitting next to me. Fortunately for him, I realized the irrational behavior I was experiencing and how oblivious he was to the one-sided fight I was having with him. So I did my best to let it go and he was none the wiser"
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