The Phantom of the Opera

Last night, I was supposed to go to the Opera in Central Park with my permanent new best friend, Ms. Whitney Bates. Whitney who once claimed that New York's Whitney Museum was named after her, can be quite the bundle of joy. I'm sure I would have had a great time in the presence of Witty Whit.

However, as I often do to her, I bailed out, making me (and I apologize ahead of time for this) the real Phantom of the Opera. I felt really bad about missing out, especially since by doing so I set a new world record for most times breaking plans with one person, i.e. the Cheesecake Factory, 3 seperate Adelphi plays, my Memorial Day BBQ, her birthday, her fuck work party, and now the Opera.

I know that by bailing out, I come off looking like a jerk but I'm okay with that. I had to look out for old number one. You see, if I had gone I almost surely would have gottten the shit kicked out of me on the subway for carrying around a picnic basket and blanket like Yogi the Bear.

But seriously my reasoning for bailing was simple. The Opera is the kind of 'whipped activity' that you do, if and only if, you know your going to get sex out of it. It's a girlfriend/fiance/wife kind of thing, right up there with the philharmonic, plays, musicals, museums, dress shopping, and watching reruns of Sex and the City. It's not and I repeat not, a friend activity, nor a voluntary expression of my desire to become more cultural. I can read the New York Times for that.

So Whitney, I'm sorry for bailing on you but I just couldn't bring myself to commit to any activity that would give off the perception that I was whipped by a girl . I vowed after my ex gf Katie dragged me to a Christina Augieliera concert, that I would never get whipped again. And by holding myself to ridiciliously high standards in the four years since then, I've made that vow hold up. And I'm not about to stop now.....