Relationships are like Disneyland

No, sadly its not as optimistic and fantastical as you may well be imagining. The sad truth is, relationships are, in fact, just like a visit to Disneyland.

Relationships are tricky little conceptual entities that can tinker with the hearts and minds of even the strong-willed and implant a seed of jealousy deep into the core of the soul. Just like the fantasy that is Disneyland.

Disney uses those under-the-belt commercials - you know, the ones with the happy, cute little kids, the father that is [presumably] an insurance salesman, the mother that is [presumably] a stay-at-home mom, in the ginormous house that stays immaculate - and these commercials show the family's dreams of children wearing Mickey Mouse hats, taking pictures with Tinkerbell and the dad, who [presumably] hates his insurance job but is free to run and play as a kid when he is in this land of wonder. This is similar to the feelings relationships exude to us bachelors of the world. We see two people; two happy people. Even when they aren't happy, at least they have each other to be unhappy with. I imagine picnics in the park, romantic getaways, sharing the most intimate parts of oneself over a glass of wine and a gourmet dinner.

Then you get to Disneyland.

After the long obnoxious flight (or in the case of my childhood, a 14 hour caravan drive with two other families) you are greeted with absurd happiness. "This can't be real," you think to yourself. "Everything is so...so splendidly fabulous!" Then you pay $60 to $80 per person, just to get in for the day.

A slight pucker of the sphincter.

Then, after security screenings that make the airport look like a proverbial "Disneyland", you enter the gates to be welcomed by swarms of children wearing bright colored clothing, some on child leashes. Parents clothed in their vacationers best; Hawaiian shirts for the dads and "Proud to be a Disneyland Mom" tees for the moms, and both sexes have their shirts tucked in, for reasons still unknown to me. They talk on walkie-talkies in grand attempts to locate each other, though they are no more than 30 feet from one-another. But who can tell in a population dominated by corn dog vendors and suited characters - speaking of which, I didn't know Peter Pan was Asian... Your toes are repeatedly annihilated by the running over of stollers and their naive navigators, little children with stupid big-eared hate spill frozen lemonade all over your leg. You look at the little smart-ass who is now laughing at you and you want to smack that hat right off his head, maybe say something to the tune of: "Hey man. You're not a mouse. You don't need those big ears. Stop lying, be true to yourself. Stop living your life behind a mask. Because if you were a mouse, I'd set some cheese in the corner and when you got it, SNAP! would go the child-size mousetrap. You like cheese motherfucker?"

But then you find a ride you think you will enjoy. And you wait in line for two and a half hours. But the gurus of Disney have mastered the psychology of those lines. They weave and wind through hallways and duck and cross and go into rooms then back out into the open. They do it to tease you. So just when you think you are getting close, BAM, another hallway. Then you ride the ride for 36 seconds, all the while sitting next to a portly gentleman who reeks of Polish sausage and pipe tobacco. Then you find your family, who is exhausted from walking the endless grounds and riding Dumbo five times, so you go eat a $6 hot dog and a $4 cola. Each. And this continues. It's just about then you ask yourself, "Why in God's holy name did we buy a 4 day Park Hopper pass?" By two o'clock in the first afternoon, you are ready to return home. But, in reality, it is only just beginning.

By now you can probably see how this transfers to relationships. You see something that somebody makes look real nice. Like it will make you happy. You want to be happy. So you get one. You get into a relationship.But it's not that easy. First, you have to initiate the conversation. Get out of your comfort zone, make the girl laugh, maybe buy her a drink (if you're a sucker), and get her number. After a few days, sometimes weeks, of playing phone-tag and unofficial dates. You move on to a real dinner. Cha-ching. If you're lucky, she'll at least attempt to eat the steak and lobster she ordered.

Another pucker of the sphincter.

Next thing you know, you have none of that spending money you once had; her various problems have somehow become your own; you have deserted your friends to wait in line for that unfathomable ride, and after the all-too-brief period of ecstasy you get as your reward for such hard work, you just don't want to do it anymore.

A few long, drawn-out weeks later after the bickering has begun, she mentions the thought of having kids.

Your jealousy that was once so strong for the company of another has suddenly shifted directions. You now envy your buddies who told you to stay single all along. You watch them, longingly, as they go to a football game, or to the bar together. Your only thought; "You like cheese, motherfucker?"