"More than anything embrace yourself. Know you are perfect, even with all your flaws and all your pettiness. Include that. Say, 'I am a fool and I'm also magnificent.' We're the whole deal. Leave nothing out."*

   By this point, anyone who could possibly give a shit knows that Valerie Harper is dying. Rhoda Morgenstern has a rare form of brain cancer and maybe only months to live. Shit.

   I think it’s great that her outlook on life is so positive and reassuring. She says things like, “We’re all terminal,” and “None of us are getting out of this alive” as precursors to things like “We all need to live in infinite possibility,” and “Don’t go to the funeral until the day of the funeral. Live this day.”

   But I’m so sad.

Rhoda and Mary. (Photo Source)

   As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up watching Valerie as Rhoda on The Mary Tyler Moore Show. And no, I didn’t grow up in the 70’s, but I did grow up watching—predominantly—reruns. This kept my parents from worrying about Ousia and I hearing the f-bomb or seeing boob shots. TV shows couldn’t get away with anything that wasn’t subtle back then, so you had to have life experience to understand any kind of tacit sexual or drug reference. I was little, so I understood neither. Not until I re-watched Season 5 of MTM a few months back did I grasp that these girls weren’t the saintly knitters and coffee drinkers that I thought they were. Seriously. I didn’t even get it 5 years ago. I’m a moron.

   But the thing about Rhoda was this: she was the girl you could maybe someday be, even if you didn't happen to be beautiful and flawless.

   I never felt pretty—then or now (I know, it’s crazy, right? I’m sooooo beautiful)—and Rhoda was always depicted as pretty Mary’s funny, dumpy sidekick. And men always ignored Rhoda to talk to Mary, to ask Mary out on dates, to flirt with Mary. I remember one episode in the first season where Rhoda introduces herself to Mary’s date, Howard Arnell. She says, “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m another person in the room.”(Meanwhile, Rhoda's date consists of a man she hit with her car and his wife, whom Rhoda didn't know existed when she asked the guy out.)

   But Rhoda was so much more real than Mary. She had neither the poise nor the self-control that Mary had, but she was interesting and funny and smart and inventive. She made me believe that the funny friend could be just as awesome, if not more awesome, than the pretty leading lady. At least, sometimes she could. I was hopeful.

(Photo)

   Quick aside: Valerie/Rhoda wasn’t the ug-o that everyone on the show pretended she was. It wasn't super apparent, especially when they dressed her in tablecloths or curtains or bulky sweatshirts or caftans. When they actually let her dress in nice clothes, you could see that she had a banging body. And her face was (and still is) beautiful. But, when you’re watching a good sitcom, you just blindly accept whatever they tell you. Mary’s the Mary and Rhoda’s the Rhoda. Mary has it going on, Rhoda is a comedy of errors. Mary will marry a crown head of Europe, Rhoda will eat 300 peanut butter cups and die.

   What does it mean to be the Rhoda? On The Mary Tyler Moore Show it meant constant bad dates, incessant failed diets, annoying, prying parents, a dead-end job and endless self-deprecation. But it meant something different to me (and a buttload of other people, I'm sure). Rhoda always turned a terrible situation into something tolerable or even funny. She dressed only to please herself and looked amazing as often as she looked insane. Rhoda talked to her houseplants and painted her apartment fuchsia and kept different flavors of Manischewitz from her mom on the shelf in the kitchenette. To me, Rhoda was much more interesting than Mary: she had character and chutzpah and she was always, always funny, even when she was down.** And she messed up all the time. Sure, Mary messed up, too. But with Mary it was always so adorable. With Rhoda, when she messed up, you got the feeling that she was going to go to the 7/11 and buy a huge supply of garbage and go eat it out of her lap. It seemed so much more realistic than going to bed at 9:30 in shortie pajamas, after allowing oneself only a moment or two of shame.

   As I’m writing this, I’m feeling a painful bump on my chin, which will most likely erupt into a huge zit sometime tomorrow. That shit never happened to Mary. But even if it did, Mary wouldn’t mention it. Rhoda would enter the room proclaiming it. 

Rhoda finally gets into Lotus position...then can't get out of it. (Photo)

   I make fun of myself a lot and have referred to myself as "a Rhoda" in the past. I think that’s a good thing, though I hadn't intended it as such. It's hard to have friends that are exquisite looking and disciplined and successful when you are none of those things. It takes courage to be okay with being...hmmm...unique? (I'm searching for a word somewhere between "special" and "pathetic.") Anyway...here’s to the ladies who don’t have it all together, don’t look exactly perfect, and don’t feel too bad about it, either. Sometimes celebrating the imperfections make those same imperfections look pretty sort-of amazing. Rhoda did that for the ladies, and I think it shows...in television, in literature, in movies and in life. 

   As for Valerie…she will be missed. She was responsible for Rhoda, after all. I talk about Rhoda like she was an actual person, but that's just because Valerie is and was such a great actress. But I won’t talk about it anymore, since she ain’t dead yet, and I'm not supposed to.

*The title quote is Valerie Harper.

**Did you know Valerie isn't Jewish? It SHOCKED me. Mostly because she was my first idea of what it meant to be a Jew. And now, having known a lot of Jewish people, I realize that she did it pretty authentically. Nice.

"There are plenty of rolls in the bakery, so stop pressing your nose against the window!"*

   It occurred to me for the 4000^th time the other day that I’ve got a terrible dating track record. It came to me when I was cleaning out my inbox (a treasure trove, that) and found one of the many psychotic emails one of my ex’s sent me. What’s really unfortunate here is that the people I date seem to get WORSE as the years go on, not better. You’d think that as I got older my tastes would improve, become more refined. Maybe I’d start dating richer men or more educated ones. Maybe I’d date a guy who knew a lot about wine or loved to travel—even to places outside of California (that’s right, a trip to Joshua Tree doesn’t count, guy) or the immediate surrounding states (neither does Las Vegas). But I keep meeting tortured artist types who have no money and no real drive; who insist they’re cultured but have never been to a play let alone a foreign country; who brag about their accomplishments while managing to spend every night at home watching movies pirated from Netflix. (Is pirating DVD's an accomplishment? I'm pretty sure it's a crime.) But do you know what they all have in common? Me. They all dated me. I guess that makes me the crazy one.

   In the interest of taking a metaphorical deep breath and expunging some of the pent-up Ex Gunk from my lungs, I’ve decided to write a letter to an amalgam of all my boyfriends past. Not all of them were awful, but even some of the not-awful ones occasionally did insane and or annoying things. They could all stand to have a read, were I able to force them at gunpoint.

Dear Ex-Boyfriend/Guy I Dated for a While,

   Remember that time you got mad at me for being taller than you? That was a fun night! And what a useful, thought-provoking conversation that was.

   Or the time you cried on our second date? And then I kept going out with you anyway and you cried more? Yeah, cry in front of me once, shame on you. Cry in front of me dozens of times, shame on me.

   It was kind of annoying to listen to you complain about being an ethnic minority: not because you experienced racism but because you were embarrassed you weren’t white. Who exactly is the racist in that scenario?

   I’m pretty sure you were trying to make me fat so that no other guys would like me. Joke’s on you because LOTS of guys like chubsters. And there is a difference between “cooking” and “frying.”

   When you wore socks and sandals, I should’ve walked. That one’s definitely on me. I don’t care who you are or what you’re doing: you can’t ever do that. Ever. I know you say it was so you could take the garbage out without making your feet cold. I don't care. It's not okay. It's really not. I was equally upset that you cut your own hair. I didn’t say it then, but you looked like a freaking moron.

   You know how you never left a good tip anywhere? You’re a jackass. Please let me pay for my half. I offered, and if it means we won’t be screwing over the waitress, I’d rather pay for myself. Also it was getting difficult to secretely sneak money onto the table when your back was turned.

   You are ugly. Also you are fat. I thought you were funny and that kind of made up for it, but then you stopped being funny.

   You laugh like a girl. That would be okay if you weren't so ugly and fat.

   Remember how you begged me to be your girlfriend and I finally agreed (out of desperation, it would appear) and a month later you stopped taking my calls because you'd used your free time to get a new girlfriend? I thought that was kind of a jerk move.

   How about the time you took your rectal suppository while we were in the middle of an argument? That felt inappropriate of you, somehow.

   You know how you repeatedly let doors fall shut in my face? Any normal, self-respecting woman wouldn't have let that slide as long as I did. Just so you know. This may be another one that's totally my bad.

   Thanks for not mentioning your kid until our second date. That was a fun surprise!

   I don't care about the fact that you're bald, but maybe you should consider shaving your back. Even Wolverine can’t compare to you. And you don’t have Hugh Jackman’s body. If you did, we might still be together.

   Consider getting a job. I'm just saying. Your next girlfriend will appreciate it.

   I said your War Hammer figurines were cool. I was lying.

   I also didn’t appreciate having to watch VH1: Behind the Music’s Metallica episode every week because you were too stoned to remember you’d already seen it.

   You know how when I broke up with you, you told me no one would ever love me as much as you did, and even though we were breaking up I would always be your girl? Yeah well that ended up not being the case, just so you know.

   Thanks for the memories. Knowing you really taught me a lot.

                                        Sincerely,

                                          Lacey

   You know what? Now that I’ve been forced (albeit forced by myself) to dredge up memories of superbly ungentlemanly behavior, it doesn’t seem as bad as it did in my mind. I never dated any violent guys or any with severe drug problems. I never dated a guy who was secretly gay and sleeping with men behind my back (that I know of). I have a friend who dated a guy without a job, car or cell phone. And he would borrow her car and her cell phone and then complain about how well they did or did not perform. Hey, guy, get your own fucking cell phone!

   I'll meet my dream man one day. And he will be a cowboy/pirate who lassos and rides dragons. And instead of the dragon breathing fire, my boyfriend will breathe fire. And he will be grizzled and handsome in a sort of John Wayne kind of way: you know, attractive but not too attractive. Also he'll be rich and successful and have his own place. And he'll have a good name. Not "Chance" or "Preston" but something solid like "Benjamin" or "Horace." And he'll look like this:

Yeehaw! And also Arrrgghhh!

Disclaimer: I actually dated a couple really awesome guys that really didn’t do anything wrong. They were handsome, smart, and kind. They just weren’t right for me. Or they weren’t that into me. And based on the information above, I wouldn’t trust them much if they were.

*Quote from Pillow Talk (Michael Gordon, 1959). Rock Hudson says this to Doris Day with the implication being that there are plenty of other men out there so she should quit stalking him. I'd like to say the same to a few of my ex-boyfriends.