There’s a few reliable ways for me to get excited. One is Googling something that really turns me on, like women in bikinis, or cupcakes filled with peanut butter. Another is thinking back on some of mythrilling personal memories, like the first time I slept with a woman, or the day I learned how to strap sunglasses to my kitty cat. But when I’m feeling the most lonely, the most in need of scintillating female companionship, I always turn to the same thing. When I want to get a little naughty, I turn to the naughtiest place of all: MSNBC, weeknights at 9pm. That’s where I find The Rachel Maddow Show, where I can watch the girl of my dreams deliver the news and make me swoon. Then, probably, have a cupcake.
Now I know what you’re thinking: Rachel Maddow is a lesbian and I am a jackass. Both true. However, over the years, Ray Ray and I have grown closer than you’d ever imagine. (We have this cute little thing where I call her “Ray Ray” and she continues then sentence she’s in the middle of, as if she didn’t hear me through the TV screen. Couldn’t you just die?!) In fact, this all began as merely a political relationship. Ever since she was given her own show in 2008, Rachel was my kind of reporter. She researched her opinions thoroughly, she didn’t take crap from either side, and she looked outstanding in horned-rimmed glasses. Sure it helps that we have similar politics, but it’s easy for progressives to come off as hysterical (Paging Al Sharpton! Reverend Al Sharpton!). Maddow, however, only gets heated when the situation requires, and I respect that. Plus, you know, the glasses. But at the beginning, I loved the way she reported the news, no more no less. I was so innocent then…
As time passed, our not-relationship progressed. We developed a schedule together: we’d talk for an hour every night (minus commercials, with her never responding to my remarks, salutations, or advances — because she’s a PROFESSIONAL). If we missed a day, we’d be sure to catch up on podcast the following afternoon at the gym. Also, I would send emails to her show, which she never responded to, but I could tell touched her just the same. A bond was being built. Rachel was becoming a woman I could trust, and in turn, told me things she told no one else. OK fine, she told them to everyone else who happened to have their TV on at the time, but still, it felt special.
What I love about Rachel is the same thing that everyone loves in their admittedly more real mates: spontaneity. Honestly, you never know what Maddow will do next. Sometimes serious, sometimes funny. Sometimes sexy, sometimes very sexy. I mean, you should hear her discuss her passion for infrastructure spending — it’s the kind of eroticism late-night Cinemax can only dream of. She loves to dot her show with moments of whimsy. Perhaps it’s a silly voice or a goofy joke, whatever it takes to knock her viewers off their feet. It’s always charming, though almost never funny — which is comforting, because it’s nice to know that even Ray Ray has faults. And she loves the Boston Red Sox. If that doesn’t describe the perfect woman, I don’t know what does.
Now of course there are a few problems. How can I fall in love with a woman who’s married, uninterested in my entire gender, AND doesn’t know I exist? A fair question. I mean, lesbians and straight dudes do not have an extensive track record of romantic success. I will point out however, that neither did the Montagues and Capulets until Romeo and Juliet came along. I mean, what’s less likely, that two hot 14-year-olds from feuding families would fall in love, or that a blogger who spends too much time watching Nashville would win the heart of a sophisticated newswoman who has a wife of 14 years. OK, don’t answer that. I know our love is star-crossed, but it’s more than skin or what genitals we may or may not have deep. What Rachel and I have is real.
Look, I’m not delusional. I know that it’s a competitive field for her heart, but it’s a battle I’m willing to fight. I’m a Rachel Maddow man, even if a man is not what Rachel Maddow wants.