I was twenty six when I started my relationship with Julia. She was more or less your average twenty something trying to make it in New York. A Southern transplant with dreams of acting, having a cute lifestyle, and smoking weed with celebrities, Julia was gregarious and charming. Recalling it now, I have no idea why she had any interest in me. Especially since I am quite sure that through a mutual friend she had heard the story of how I once declined a blowjob in favor of finishing the Jimmy Neutron movie. She was undoubtedly regaled with more stories of my foibles too, including but not limited to: the time I got a friend's dog high and tea-bagged it, the time that I made a mold of my penis using a make-your-own-dildo kit and gave it to a friend for her birthday, and the time that I tried to ice skate using my friend's boxers which were stained with skid marks.
Nevertheless, she approached me at a party and we hit it off. Well, perhaps that is jumping the gun a bit. She seemed to like me; I, however, was struck with doubt and serious trepidation. Julia was rather vapid, not in a personal or intellectual sense, but in a corporeal one. Julia was a ghost.
Now, I don't reckon myself a bigot; however, a childhood full of Scooby Doo and X-Files nurtured in me a healthy skepticism when it came to supernatural beings. For all I knew, Julia was actually somebody's creepy uncle dressing up as a ghost in order to scare me out of my apartment so he could buy the land and open up a vintage sex toy emporium. It's happened before. Even if she wasn't, I was as green as ectoplasm when it came to spectral dating. What if I offended her (do you have any idea how many "Boo" puns I tell)? What if I couldn't please her sexually? What if she wanted to haunt me?
Despite all this, Julia and I embarked upon a long friendship-cum-relationship-cum-affair-cum-cum. Things were not easy at first. We had to overcome the many obstacles familiar to interdeath relationships: the intolerance of a prejudiced society, the lack of shared physical sensation, my obsession with ghost yoga, and, most importantly, our differing opinions on the movie film Ghost (A movie I considered to be a cinematic triumph, but Julia lambasted as a vulgar appropriation of ghost culture). Still, we endured and those very points of contention which had once threatened to tear us apart worked to strengthen our relationship.
Things were great for a spell. Julia opened me up to an entire world of ethereal experiences I had never known before. We're talking ghost booze, ghost rolly backpacks, ghost lacrosse, and even ghost butt plugs. For my part, I tried to remind Julia of the finer points of life before death, i.e. unremitting suffering. However, just like a drunk novelist's charming tale about a pedophile, shit was about to get uncomfortable.
It is difficult to pin point when all the trouble started. Some said it was Julia's developing addiction to seltzer water and masturbating on chatroultette. Others claimed it was my obliviousness and general lack of enthusiasm for Ghost Food Not Ghost Bombs (Julia's favorite cause). Regardless, it all came to a head one night in late July. Julia had gone to a party while I stayed at home. Spun on adderall and a Black Snake Moan quintuple feature, I endeavored to wait up for my beloved phantom menace.
Sometime around 4 AM Julia returned home sloppy and blitz on a variety of ghost pills that would give pause even to the illegitimate child of Kesha and Hunter S. Thompson. I confronted her. In a series of escalating insults and emotional revelations, Julia and I had it out. She accused me of being an unsympathetic loser with a terrible butt. I brought up her self destructive behavior and our foundering sex life. "You never possess me anymore! Are you possessing other dudes on the side?!" I never got my answer. Crying and yelling Julia vanished. To this day, I do not know what became of Julia. Yet, occasionally I feel a chill in the air and find the majority of my personal belongings floating in my toilet.
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