The Universal Bullshit Translator has feasted on Elizabeth Gilbert bullshit (of Eat, Pray, Love fame) since the early days of this blog. Frankly, anyone who addresses their readers as “Dear Ones” deserves to have their prose shoved down a chipper shredder with a stick.
YOU DON’T KNOW ME, Elizabeth! ENOUGH WITH LOVEBOMBING!
(Says the woman who calls her readers “chumps.”)
Anywho, I’m sure it will surprise none of you, who have followed Gilbert’s complicated love rhombus, that she’s found bliss. Again. And again, and again, and again… And no, it’s not an ashram you cannot afford, nor is it a bowl of beautiful, beautiful Napolese pasta.
Dear ones, it’s a man. From her instagram. (Where a rakish octogenarian appears to be nuzzling a toothy blonde.)
“Please meet my sweetheart, Mr. Simon MacArthur. He’s a photographer from the U.K. — a beautiful man who has been a friend of mine for years. (Even more touchingly, Simon was a beloved friend of Rayya’s for decades. They lived together in London over 30 years ago, and they adored each other forever like siblings. This, as you can imagine, means the world to me.).”
No one is ever less than beautiful. Nothing ever means less than the whole world to Elizabeth. And those in her circle ADORE each other. Heck, you yourself are dear to her.
Do you adore your children? With their sticky fingers and loose bowels? Do you fill with rapture at the very thought of them? No? Then you do not love as much and as deeply as Elizabeth Gilbert.
Stop being churlish, Tracy. Elizabeth wants to tell us about her beloved squish mallow, Simon.
“Of late, Simon and I have found our way to each other’s arms. And now here we are, and his heart has been such a warm place for me to land.
Hang on. I thought you landed in his arms. But it was in a puddle of hot organ meat instead? Eww.
I share this news publicly,
Of course you do. Have you considered skywriting? Maybe hacking a Western democracy? A troll farm propaganda campaign? Just some brand amplification suggestions, E.
despite the fact that our love story is so new and young and tender,
Unlike Simon the Pensioner, old and ropey and overcooked.
for a few reasons. For one thing, I just want to say: If you see me walking around with a tall handsome man on my arm, don’t be buggin’.
OMG, I am SO JEALOUS. Where’d you meet? PlentyOCadavers.com?
Oh, sorry, I think you meant I’m supposed to be scandalized that you like dick again. Oh, yes. Thanks for letting down the hairy-legged lesbian liberationist sisterhood. It’s always tragic when one leaves our ranks to suck the patriarchy. But we’ll rebuild. (sob)
Just know that your girl is happy, and following her heart.
Well, your happiness is the most important thing, Elizabeth.
But also this: I will always share anything personal about my life, if it could help someone else feel more normal about their life.
Your million dollar book deals and Italian palazzos make me feel much more normal about my life. Thank you.
SO…if you have lost a loved one to death, and you thought you’d never love again, but you are feeling a pull of attraction toward someone new, and you’re not sure if that’s OK? Let me normalize it for you. Let me say: It’s Ok.
I’m glad we’re losing our loved ones to death now and now a nebulous ennui that compels one to journey to distant lands to find sexy gem merchants.
As break-up strategies go, death is ethical. I’ll give you that.
Your heart is a giant cathedral. Let it open. Let it love.
Are there organ fugues? Because I really enjoy a good organ fugue.
Do not let your gorgeous loyalty to the deceased stop you
Can my loyalty be anything less than gorgeous? What if it clangs around in my heart like a dull ache and wants to live in its pajamas?
from experiencing the marvels and terrors of your short, mortal, precious life.
My heart is Quasimodo and it lives in a terrible cathedral.
It’s OK to live, and to love. Or…if you are falling in love in middle age and it’s terrifying, because you feel just as dumb and crazy and excited and insecure as you did at 16? Well, let me normalize this for you. It’s OK. You will always feel 16 when you are falling in love.
I sincerely hope not. At 16 I was a virginal sack of self-loathing. I’ve made a lot of progress since 16, Elizabeth. You’re freaking me the fuck out.
If I should be as fortunate as you, to find an octogenarian love muppet (after my beloved has died of course, and I’m glistening with exquisite grief) — I should hope it feels mature. And safe. Like, we go pick out medical alert bracelets on the weekend and renew our AARP subscriptions.
Or…if you once loved a man,and then you loved a woman, and then you loved a man, and you’re wondering if that’s ok?
If you need tracking software to figure out your love life… maybe not so okay, Elizabeth.
Well, darling. Let me normalize THAT for you. It’s OK.
Everything is okay! I love how you don’t judge me Elizabeth. EVERY. FUCKING. THING. IS. ACCEPTABLE! Because… happiness!
Love who you love. It’s all OK,
IT’S ALL OKAY!
(What about all those other people you used to love?)
(Did they get fucked over?)
BEAUTIFUL JOURNEY OF SELF-DISCOVERY! OKAY!
and it’s all impossible to control, and it’s all an adventure that I would not miss. That’s all I wanted to say. Onward, and I love you all. LG.”
I wonder when someone’s impossible-to-control adventure runs you over like a mack track… would you be okay? Or is it onward to the next sparkly thing?
Adorbs. Kisses. Treacle pudding!
I love you ALL. Okay?