Bill’s post asking the excellent question, “Dane Cook: seriously, WTF?” reminded me that I’ve been meaning to share the trailer for Good Luck Chuck here. Enough misogyny and fatphobia to last a lifetime, conveniently packed into two minutes and nineteen seconds!
I caught the second half of this trailer playing on a DVD player or computer monitor or something at Fry’s a couple weeks ago. I walked past just as they zoomed in on the fat chick in a bikini scratching herself, so of course I was instantly transfixed with rage. My boyfriend, Al, realized what was going on and was like, “Don’t look! JUST DON’T LOOK! WALK AWAY!” (Translation: “Please, please do not go on about this for the entire ride home, because I, too, would prefer that Dane Cook fall off a cliff, and there’s really nothing I can do about it. PLEASE DON’T SCREAM AT ME!”)
I think you can all guess how I feel about a movie based on the premise that women would fuck Dane Cook just to find a husband, the plot of which hinges on the assumption that no one would ever marry a fat woman. (Not to mention the laffs mined from how those nasty fat chicks have not gotten the memo that society finds them aesthetically displeasing, have absolutely zero self-awareness, and routinely eat like starving tigers. Ouch! My knee is killing me from all the slapping! IT’S SO TRUE!) So I won’t even belabor that here — although I certainly invite you to belabor it in comments.
I’ll just say this: the last guy I dated before Al was a “Good Luck Chuck.” The last two women he’d dated before me found their future husbands and got hitched within a year of breaking up with him. He was actually starting to get a complex about it — and because I am both classy and compassionate like this, I even said to him near the end, “Well, at least I know that all I have to do to find a guy I want to marry is break up with you.” Lo and behold, I met Al 2 months after I broke up with that last guy, and we are almost certainly in it for the long haul — so dude’s approaching the trifecta.
And here’s my personal theory on why that is: that particular guy was the fucking nadir of relationships for all three of us women. His entire life revolved around work, whiskey, TV, and playing guitar badly — and work only because it paid for the whiskey, TV and guitars. He had absolutely no interest — and admitted it in so many words — in acting like an adult. (He was 35.) He had no real desire to participate in a relationship, but he was a serial monogamist because he was too lazy to find different women to fuck. He was the kind of guy who, when you said, “I love you,” replied, “I know. I’m sorry.”
So when I walked away from that relationship, I was officially done with That Guy, once and for all. I was finally done with tolerating any whiff of That Guy, in fact. I was prepared to be alone for the rest of my life rather than date That Guy ever again.
But the thing is, once you clear away the clutter of all the That Guys in the world, it becomes much easier to spot the guys you do want to be with. And you have a whole new apprecation for them. The night I met Al, I was on a first date with a complete douche, and in what was possibly the most uncharacteristic move I’ve ever made in my life, I walked away from the douche long enough to tell Al I had a crush on him and wanted to talk to him more. Because I knew from talking to him for ten minutes that he was vastly different from every guy I’d dated previously — and I finally realized that was exactly what I was looking for.
So there’s my anecdotal, wholly unscientific assessment of why some guys seem to consistently be the last stop before marriage for the women they date: they’re such stunning examples of adolescent dickshinery, the women who date them can’t help but be permanently turned off by anyone who remotely resembles them — and are therefore more likely to find themselves attracted to emotionally available, grown-up men.
And Dane Cook isn’t doing anything to make me question that theory. Is all I’m sayin’.