My Beautiful Green Eyes

I've never thought of myself as a jealous person. I remember hanging out with my girlfriend about two years ago when she had a few of her friends over who were asking all sorts of questions about this guy she used to date and was still in contact with and it didn't even phase me. Looking back, it should have really bothered me. This was a guy that she had dated seriously and was still very much a part of her life. For some reason, it didn't bother me at all. I was confident in myself I couldn't have cared less about this other guy. I was assured it wasn't an issue, and that was good enough for me. Maybe I was naive. Maybe I was too trusting.

Fast forward two years. I still remember that innocent, trusting person, but only vaguely. I was thinking about this as I watched the super bowl on Sunday. First of all, what an amazing game! How often do we get to see Goliath slain before our very eyes? I sat through the entire season watching the Patriots disregard every classic rule of sportsmanship and essentially roll through the league with both middle fingers raised high all the while hoping that they would be humbled at some point. They were defiant about their rule breaking, ran up the score at every opportunity and broke records that had been set by players I loved and respected. And with less than three minutes left in the game, it looked like their coronation as champs was nearly complete. There is no way they thought they would lose at that point, and that is what makes their defeat so wonderful. But I digress.

I have recently found myself hating everything about the Patriots and their golden boy quarterback, Prince Tom Brady. He makes millions. He dates supermodels. He has won three super bowls and just set about every single season passing record you could imagine. Shouldn't I be happy for him? He's most assuredly worked extremely hard to get where he's at. I should realize that his success and accomplishments embody the American Dream, proving that you can accomplish anything if you are willing to work for it. Why not give the man credit for becoming one of the best quarterbacks in the NFL despite not being pegged for professional success? He deserves it, right?

Wrong. My jealousy, previously non-existent or dormant, will not allow me to cheer for him. I hate him. I wish him harm. I hope that when he gets down on one knee to propose someday, that he will simultaneously be rejected and roundhouse kicked in his GQ mug. Harsh? Maybe. Fair? I think so. I'm sure Mr. Brady experiences hardships, such as his crushing defeat on Sunday, but it doesn't make me dislike him any less.

Don't get me wrong. My green eyes of jealousy do not fall on Tom Brady alone. I'm jealous of everyone that has money. I can't tell you how many cars I have mentally keyed, or how many times I have got in a fight with someone on campus only to realize that it didn't actually happen, but I just played out the events in my mind. I hate Mr. Darcy. That's right. He's a pompous a--hole who finally acts like a normal human being at the end of the movie, but because he's so rich and good looking, girls adore him like he is a saint. Zac Efron and his perfectly groomed swoopbangs deserve a beatdown. I think I even have some pent up hatred of Jonathan Taylor Thomas. Not really sure why on that one, because I think the man is like five foot two. I was giddy inside when Tony Romo and his 67 million dollar contract choked at the end of the season and in the playoffs. Viva la Jessica! Don't even get me started on Jim from The Office. (Interestingly enough, I love Brad Pitt. Maybe there is some latent homosexuality there, but this is neither the time nor the place for that discussion.)

Why all the negativity? Why so much animosity for people I've never met? I'll tell you why. These men are ruining my life. With every touchdown pass, smooth line in a movie, or benevolent onscreen act they make me look like a bigger tool. And it's not just me. If any guys are reading this, which outside of the magicman would be news to me, you are also looking bad. Women don't want a boyfriend or a husband. They want a Victorian millionaire whose lines are scripted. They want the singing basketball star that spends as much time on his hair as they do. They want the office heartthrob with no faults who is endlessly witty, while at the same time appearing vulnerable. They want Prince Tom. The problem is I can never be those things. Nobody can. I am witty, but most of the time I'm just myself. I've never even been to a salon. I don't play a musical instrument, and I have never led any game winning drives in the NFL. I don't have money. I'm just a nice guy who wants a simple life with someone he loves. I want to watch movies together as we cuddle on a weekday night. I want to make dinner together and laugh when things turn out horribly wrong. I want to see the look on her face when she opens the gift I picked out for her birthday. I want her to be excited to see me when I get home after a rough day of work. I want her to feel completely at home in my arms, not caring that I can't afford to take her to Europe or put a rock on her hand as big as a softball. I want her to love me for being me.

Is this possible? Who knows. The me from two years ago still thinks so, and I desperately hope he's right. I guess only time will tell. Until that day, my green eyes will continue to look longingly at everything I want but don't have.

Because unrefrained jealousy is the new American Dream.