There are three things in this world I love more than my children. Oprah and red wine are the obvious first two. The third is the Great White shark. I’m not sure whether it’s because they sometimes eat humans by accident or that they can’t be kept in captivity or that they’ve been around since the dinosaurs, but any of those things is reason enough. I have honestly lived with my obsession for as long as I can remember, so naturally I underwent past life regression hypnosis to uncover that I was indeed a Great White shark in a past life, but it turns out that I was just a soldier that got himself eviscerated in medieval times. Not exactly what one hopes for when they explore these types of things. But I did learn something
albeit centuries too late: when you’re at battle axe camp you need to pay attention.
So I went to another source to figure out what it all means and explored animal totems. I don’t know what the point of a totem is besides having a reason to tattoo yourself to seem super spiritual and weird. So I am considering it. But what I’m trying to say is that it must mean something that me and Jaws are closer than Oprah and
my arch-nemesis Gayle, so I looked up what it means to have the shark as a totem and it’s really as complicated and spiritual as you might imagine, but I’ll do my best to net it out in lay terms: having a shark as my totem means that I’m just about as awesome as awesome gets. And that works for me.
So you might imagine my pure, fucking glee when Shark Week comes around every August. I’m convinced it’s the only reason why August exists anymore. Shark Week. I mean, just typing the words send shivers up my spine. There has never been a week of programming more beautiful than Discovery’s thoughtful and poignant programming during Shark Week, including such classics as “Air Jaws” and “When Fish Attack III”, “The Summer of the Shark” and “Top Five Eaten Alive” between commercials that are about conserving the shark population. Yeah, I don’t really get it either, but I can’t look away. My Tivo smokes that week with all the action it gets for Shark Week.
And why? Fun fact: Great White sharks can not be held in captivity. Nowhere in this world will you find a Great White in an aquarium or in a Disney World resort lagoon. Not even Donald Trump has been able to capture a Great White, mount a laser beam on its head, and have them swim around the grounds of his magnificent estate waiting for the next Celebrity Apprentice to get fired. So the only way I can appropriately feed my Great White obsession is to
see Shark Night 3D on September 2 go see one in real life.
This is why the number one thing on my list of shit to do before I die
of the inoperable brain tumor I’m sure is growing deep in my brain as we speak is to get my ass in one of those shark cages and act as bait so I can pet a Great White shark.
My goal however, is fraught with a few challenges. Like: I hate being in the water unless I am in a shower. I hate being in boats in the ocean that are not larger the island of Oahu
unless Andy Samberg and T-Pain are involved. Scuba diving seems impossible not only because it requires being submerged in water, but because my asthma is so bad that my lung capacity rivals that of a dying hamster who has tuberculosis and a collapsed lung. Being caged is another problem for me. Not a fan of confinement, much like my buddy, the Great White. (Or any gorilla I have ever seen at a zoo. You know they’d rip your head off if they ever got the chance. Those mother fuckers are angry. Right? I know.)
But, back to shit I hate: getting in one of those wetsuit things would only exacerbate the concavity of my little peanut boobs (which, by the way, have somehow found away to sink even further into my chest since the Great-guilty-3rd-child-breastfeeding-experiment-of-2010. Not recommended.) I also could do without sea sickness, chum and sailors.
Yeah. So, I might have some obstacles to overcome before seeing my shark in real life. But I’m telling you, if I can get over them, seeing that huge, 20 foot long fucking fish swim by me a few times and then have it attack my cage try to eat me in two bites with that ginormous mouth full of hundreds of teeth? OMG. OMG! OMG! OMG!
Let’s all take a minute to honor the orgasm I just had.
Okay, we’re good.
Ultimately, I will be afraid to go in that cage because there is a good chance I will die. But not because of the shark. Because of the panic attack I’ll have as soon as I am submerged 2-3 feet under water. It wouldn’t be the first time. Ask my 4-year-old to tell you about what happened at the neighborhood pool last week. I almost died. It was totally serious. I mean, they just let kids jump in the damn pool whenever and wherever the hell they want and the splash travels like 5 feet. You’d freak out too if the splash got your face and hair wet. It’s fucking traumatic.
Anyway, I think it is time I get around to the point of my story. Next fall, BD and I celebrate our 10th anniversary (assuming he doesn’t star in a Lifetime movie with LeAnn Rimes before then) and I turn 36 and we are taking a diving trip off Guadalupe Island in Mexico to see the most exquisite animal on this planet so I can die without regret and earn the right to a cool shark tattoo that is totally spiritual and meaningful. I mean, I haven’t actually told him this yet, but saying it so matter of factly makes me feel like it’s totally going to happen. And you give power to what you focus on, so I’m going to forget about my aversion to boats, water, Scuba, cages, chum, sailors and I’m going to focus on the orgasm I just had two paragraphs ago imagining being attacked by a Great White shark.
Love is on the way, Jaws. Wait for me…