There have been a few changes since my last post, some of them I'm saving for later posts. Primary among them is that I'm in something resembling a monogamous relationship with a woman unlike any that I'm used to. It's been almost three months now which is far longer any woman in a very long time has stayed around without me getting completely annoyed.
As is the case with any "relationship," there are things that require some getting used to. One of those things is actually using the term "girlfriend." It's a word I've taken for granted for many years now. I use it for sarcastic, humorous purposes most of the time, using it to mark women I know my friends hate, saying things like "Your little girlfriend over there's being an ass." It's actually rare for me to even use it in actual relationships. As someone who is used to degrees of commitment being agreed upon in coded language, short conversations and dark corners like drug dealers making distribution arrangements, I've been monogamous more often than I've actually been referred to as anyone's "boyfriend."
I know this is something not commonly associated with me now that I've actually said the word out loud. The first time was at work just this past weekend. It was almost quitting time and my coworkers and I were discussing movies. I mentioned the worst movie I'd seen all year (that's saying a lot considering that I also saw World War Z) and that She'd dragged me to it. The word sort tumbled off my tongue clumsily and "matter of fact" in a moment I wasn't actually conscious of. The conversation paused and shifted almost without me realizing it at first....
Coworker: Wait...huh?
Me: Oh, sorry, I skipped ahead. It's this stupid movie about....
Coworker: No, it's just that I didn't realize....YOU have a significant other?
(Sidenote: I'm still trying to figure out if he said "significant other" because he was trying to be work appropriate or because he thought I was gay all this time.)
Me: Oh. Ummm....well, yeah, it's evolved to an exclusive arrangement.
Coworker #2: Whoa, that didn't sound like the most enthusiastic answer.
Me: That's not what I....
Coworker: No, dude, that was practiced. That was the kind answer you get when you call customer care about phone service.
Boss: I've known Lennon for many years and you have to understand he hasn't been a conventional relationship in a while. He used to be a bit of a manwhore.
Me: Seriously?!
Boss: How many first dates did you go on?
Me: **sighs** A lot.
Boss: How many second dates?
Me: Some....
Boss: But not as many as the amount of first dates, right?
Me: .........
Boss: Right?
Me: That doesn't signify "whoring."
Boss: Uh-huh.
Me: I never lied. I nev...
Boss: ....never two-timed anyone. I've heard the hard sell.
Me: I'm just saying that it speaks less to my dating habits and more to the quality of woman that....
Boss: Okay, but the argument could be made that, due to the sheer number of.....
Often times, I fall asleep watching replays of the evening news talkers, so I wake up to MSNBC's Morning Joe which is usually a fairly competent morning talk show when they're not droning on about the latest issue of GQ. Anyway, there was a group of ladies having what appeared to be a lovely sewing circle, talking about the latest polls and job numbers indicating that a majority of women have better jobs than men even though they still make less money than their male counterparts. This isn't a big deal to me. After all, I came from a household where my mother made more money than my father (even then, we weren't exactly rolling in it) and I didn't turn out so bad.
I only raised an eyebrow when they proceeded to call contemporary men "unmarriagable," stating that women are starting to ask themselves why men are even there if they earn less.
A few things interested me about this conversation:
-This conversation went on for ten minutes and not once did I hear these women use words like "love", "we" or "compromise."
-There was only ONE man involved in this panel and it was Joe Scarborough, who, unlike his Republican colleagues, is a master at pandering to a large group of women, whining about how there are no good men other than his son.
-The discussion was ended by celebrating divorce rates being high in America.
It reminded me of a discussion I was in with a couple of dear female friends where we debated the "men ain't sh**" myth. Much like in the video, there were a lot of "I"s as if men were the Occupy Movement (times are hard/relationships are a team) and women were the Tea Party (goddamned hippies want all my stuff/men are just lazy freeloaders). Of course, in feverish disgreement, I protested that there are hard working men out there who go unappreciated and marginalized. As predicted, I was patted on the head and told that I was "the exception." This is usually the part where the choir goes right back to singing about how horrible men are.
Then, I thought of an average date these days. The women ask a lot about my day job, my side ventures, what my parents did, where they went to school, whether or not I have a car, etc. Very rarely is there any attempt to get a feel for mindset, personality, common interests. After that, there's a lot of her talking about herself. It sounds more like she's rattling off the bullet points of her resume at a job interview. It's very nice that you were in the peace corps for two years, worked for some premier law firm in Washington and made triage tents out of genuine alpaca in Somalia, but who the fuck are YOU?
This all concerns me because there seems to be no positive representation of good working class men anymore. You're either a CEO or you're Tiny Tim (although Tyler Perry might throw in the ex-convict trope just to shake things up). In fact, if an unsuspecting listener were to follow the logic laid out by their complaining, they would think the only things men are needed for are sex, buying dinner, the occasional Facebook photo and conceiving children. It sounds like those Greek myths of the Amazons who only used men to procreate and did away with them afterwards.
A male friend of mine pointed out how bizarre it is that "marrying up" seems to be a more conceivable concept to this sect of women as their tax bracket goes up. You would think it would become less relevant, but the dreaded double standard rears its ugly head. Now, it's fair to say that men have perpetuated double standards for ages, but it still doesn't make sense for a woman to assimilate those same double standards into their own ideology because it only makes them just as bad....not better. I'm always going on about how "Love is a grown up" but it's also two people SHARING their lives together regardless of status or annual income.
The sad truth is that the void these women describe in their lives, their requirements for commitment....they don't want a man. They want a concubine.
I haven't quite decided whether there's something being done to the water or pork (Pork's pretty big in the South), but I have come to the conclusion that a lot of women here in the city have all joined some kind of cult. Have you single people ever come to a point where you feel like you're having the same handful of conversations, being asked the same questions over and over again?
"So, what do you do?" "What's your family like?" "Are you religious?"
Well, be careful what you wish for because if you get it, there's always the chance you'll wish it came with a cyanide pill. I think there are secret meetings where these (not all, but several) women go and have the same Steve Harvey quotes tattooed to their ass. You've seen them a time or two. They sit at home on Facebook all seemingly posting the same "inspirational" quotes from whoever the latest self help magician is that week.
Take this bullshit for example.....
Now, for those of you thinking "Well, damn, Lennon...why is that bullshit?"...I'll tell you. For those of you who were not, I'll tell you anyway. According to the Steve Harvey School of "All Men Are Knuckle Dragging Cavemen," a woman should make a man wait 90 days before having sex with him.
First of all, the comedian doesn't understand how gold works. Gold is a precious metal. It's in most iPads, iPods, iWhatever, etc. If Steve Jobs has enslaved you to it, it probably has gold components in it. There are fraudsters on Fox News as we speak buying gold from gullible morons for peanuts. Have you ever sold a gold chain to a pawn shop? I have. Try it tomorrow and then tell me how precious gold is. Actually, gold, at it's current street value is very appropriate for where I'm going with this.
Statistically speaking, women globally outnumber men. The numbers may differ, depending on who you ask but that's just a fact. Last time I checked there's at least four women for every one man on the planet. I'm fairly certain that, of those four, all of them have vaginas. I'm not quite sure what exactly is so precious about something if there's four of them for every one of me. You mean to tell me you think it's rational to have a man wait 90 days for sex when the stats shows there's at least three more possibilities for him to get it sooner? It's reasonable to only have to wait five days to buy a gun and shoot someone, but not to perform a natural biological function? If pussy is like a gold mine, then gold mines are like Starbucks. There's one on every street and they're all trying to sell you something you can buy for two bucks cheaper at CVS....which is also on virtually every block.
Furthermore, there is NOTHING magical about 90 days. Nothing. The fact that a man hung around for 90 days until you decided to bestow your "gold mine" upon him doesn't automatically mean he's of a stronger moral fiber that wanted some action after a week. It just means that he's persistent. And persistence doesn't make him a good person either. Godzilla's persistent. Glenn Beck is persistent. The Taliban are persistent. For all you know, he could be having sex with other women while he's waiting. Depending on the state, he could buy a gun and shoot someone ten times over while he's waiting to have sex with you. If he was going to fuck you and leave after a week, a month, two months....he'll fuck you and leave you after 90 days.
Moral of the Story
Steve Harvey isn't teaching women how to obtain and keep a good man. He's teaching women how to hypothetically "train" and maintain a bad one. Because that's what men really find sexy: obedience school. I don't have to read books on how to survive in the Amazon. You know why? I already know how to survive in the Amazon: don't go to the fucking Amazon. If a man wants to fuck you after two days and you don't want to fuck him....then don't fuck him. He'll either masturbate or go find sex somewhere else and you'll be unfucked just like you wanted. Everyone wins.
The crux of the problem is that if your government or Rush Limbaugh shouldn't be telling you how to be a woman, neither should a twice married comedian. Here's an idea. Instead of buying into every self-help fad or scribbling down lists of demands for mates/sexual partners....listen to your heart. Be a real person. If you actually want a twice married comedian who dresses like an evil used car salesman, then disregard this. Otherwise, you might be surprised how far you get listening to that little voice inside the media tells you to ignore and thinking like a grownup.
One thing a woman getting involved with me has to learn early on is that she CANNOT take anything I write on my Facebook page seriously. I'm as sarcastic and comical online as I am in real life. Why, you ask? I'm very open about the fact that I don't take the internet very seriously. It's the internet. It's the Matrix, where Keanu Reeves, one of the most wooden actors of our time, was a soft spoken, navel pondering, kung-fu fighting Techno Jesus. How can you take a forum where so many people aren't really themselves seriously? It's like getting emotional about professional wrestling after age 16. One day, I was talking to a very special cougar friend of mine from out of town (that's another post altogether) about one of our favorite shows, Girls, which is basically the post-grad version of Sex in the City. One of the characters, played by Brian Willams' sexy daughter, is a shallow, uptight, self involved thundercunt who broke up with her boyfriend for, essentially, being a good guy. My friend was explaining that "cunt karma" would probably come to her soon enough. I doubled over, laughing at this new term that totally deserves to be in Urban Dictionary and decided to quote her on my Facebook page.
Cunt Karma: the act of a woman getting her comeuppance after behaving badly and/or cunt-ish.
Ex: "I knew a chick who went into the bathroom, broke the mirror with her forehead and told the police that her boyfriend hit her. Cunt Karma caught up with her later."
One young lady in particular didn't find it amusing. A Little Background: She was a profoundly naive copy editor for a local university I'd met at work a couple of months ago. Commonly, I don't consort with copy editors. They tend to believe their opinions on grammar and syntax validate their opinions on anything else. Despite having an incredible ass, I didn't really have any interest in her, but we'd sparked conversation about a subject related to one of my writing projects, so I'd given her my email. She'd found my Facebook within the same two hours and was intrigued with my work and the people I knew in my field. "Oh my God, you know THE John Doe???"
Anyway, she sent me an inbox message to see how I was doing, tiptoeing around the real reason she'd reached out to me.
Her: Can I ask you a question?
Me: Sure.
Her: You may not like it.
Me: I'm used to questions I don't like. Go.
Her: What exactly is your beef with women? It seems like you take time to shit on one us a lot. I mean no offense by this. I'm just curious.
Me: I'm not offended. You're misinformed.
Her: I assure you I'm not misinformed. What else am I supposed to assume if you criticize things about women? Like that "Cunt Karma" thing? Isn't that a bit problematic?
Me: That wasn't even me. A dear friend....a woman, mind you...came up with that. I EVEN tagged her in the post, making it evident that is wasn't something I personally said. A friend said something funny and I posted it. This makes me a He-Man Woman Hater?
Her: So, if I'm reading this correctly....you're defending dehumanizing a woman because ANOTHER woman said it?
Me: No. A woman did something messed up. She got called a bad name for it. If I push you down a flight of stairs, I don't get to be mad when someone calls me a douchebag.
Her: "Douchebag" and "cunt" are not on the same level. And it's obvious why they aren't.
Me: Why? When you do something awful, you don't get to pick and choose what you're called. Solution...don't do awful things.
Her: I can't even bring myself to give a rebuttal to that.
Me: If it was me who got a woman arrested for something she didn't do, I have to live with the responsibility of whatever I'm called in the court of public opinion. That's what it means to have my "big boy pants" on. I posted something you don't like. Therefore, I have to live with the responsibility of you thinking that I'm some villainous woman hater. No matter how untrue it is.
Her: I can tell you're getting agitated....
Me: I'm not agitated. Again, I can't get agitated with someone who is so gravely misinformed. The point is I don't have a beef with women. The women I have a "beef" with bear that burden as individuals. I was talked down to and disrespected by a woman earlier this week, but I know all women aren't responsible. But by the "logic" that has led you to this line of questioning, the problem that I have with individual women means in that I take issue with all women. I don't care what gender a person is. I hold people accountable....men and women alike.
Her: I am not misinformed. There's nothing wrong with holding people accountable for wrongdoings, but there's a lot wrong with dehumanizing them. "Cunt" is dehumanizing because it reduces a woman to one function.
Me: That's what insults are for. And what about the man she had arrested?
Her: What are you talking about?
Me: Read that post closely....like you should have originally. That woman was recounting the story of an old friend who broke a mirror over her head and called the cops, telling them her boyfriend did it. She had him arrested. Have you ever been arrested?
Her: No.
Me: For a black man in America, being arrested AND being accused of physical abuse is pretty goddamned dehumanizing, too. But I don't see you inbox trolling in his defense.
Her: .......
Me: So you'll pardon me if I'm having trouble amassing sympathy for the woman whose rights you seem so determined to defend.
Her: I apologize for asking you that question and it's the last time you'll hear me ask you anything regarding your feelings about women. I'm sorry, Lennon.
You see, if only she'd read the premise more carefully, she wouldn't have had to get so upset and put on her Wonder Woman bracelets to enter a battle of wits so woefully unarmed. She wasn't really mad at me. She was mad at herself for being so deeply stupid.
One of the reasons I usually hate Valentine's Season (January 14th - February 14th) isn't the force-fed feelings and capitalism. I understand the necessity of that. If nothing else, I expect America to excel at squeeze every and any penny fathomable out of every societal comfort we take. My issue has always been with the people who take time out of their day to make fun of the lonely. Often times, I look around and I see turmoil and sadness. I see people drowning in their own depression, choking on it. Periodically, despite the apparent concensus that I'm some hateful cynic, I like to send messages out, spread some positivity and remind people that they have value with or without someone to buy chocolates for. Of course, this inevitably brings me to my overbearing-former-almost-romance.
As it turns out, the relationship she was in when we last saw each other didn't work out. I don't know why and even if I did care, it's not my concern. The result is these her falling into a state of despair that leaves her posting a lot of what a friend of mine refers to a "lonely girl" status updates on Facebook. You've seen lonely girl statuses before.
"Rain is perfect cuddle weather. Wish I had someone to cuddle with. Oh, well...I'll settle for this wine and candles."
"I cooked the hell out of this dinner. Can't wait to cook for my husband...wherever he is."
"I can't wait to be married" (This is actually a real one)
Anyway, on Valentine's Day, I'd just come home from work and was having dinner when I noticed her posting particularly vague, sad statuses that left me genuinely concerned. Despite what happened (or didn't happen) between us, I still consider her a dear friend whom I'd do anything for. I reached out to offer some support and the following ensued.
Me: You okay?
Her: I am just tired. That's all.
Me: I think that's true of us all at one point or another.
Her: Yeah.
Me: That shit passes, though. Live your life as best you can. If you really want what you want, you'll have it. You're a lovely woman with a big heart, one of the best I know. My status yesterday meant you, too. You are worthy. You have value.
Her: Thanks, but I couldn't even get you to love me so I'm just done.
This moment is the entire problem with dating and relationships. She, like many people, wanted something and needed a vessel through which to gain it the same way some people choose surrogates to have children for them when they themselves are unable. Instead of people getting to know each other, sharing lives, trying to figure out whether a union between the two of them makes sense, we have people treating courtship like gambling at a racetrack.
"I want money and this horse is going to win it for me if I have to ride the fucker like Zorro" is the same as saying...... "I want to a marriage. I want flowers and tea sandwiches and dancing and 50 Facebook albums of the wedding and guess what, motherfucker? YOU are going to give it to me even if I have to strap you to my back and carry you across the altar. YOU."
Related Fun Facts:
-Symbiosis: a close and often long-term interaction between two or more different biological species. -Parasite: is a non-mutual relationship between organisms of different species where one organism, the parasite, benefits at the expense of the other, the host.
The sad truth is that somewhere along the way, she's convinced herself that relationships don't require two interested parties as long as one of them wants it badly enough. For her, love has become a prize to be won at the end of an imaginary finish line. She's got the rest of her life with another independent, sentient being planned out in her head....and a cookie cutter space where the other person is supposed to be. She doesn't want to be married. She wants a wedding, a tangible symbol of "maturity" and accomplishment to parade in front of her friends.
It may just be me, but you shouldn't try to MAKE someone love you. People either love you or they don't. It's organic. If there's one thing that I learned from my picked scab of a former romance, it's that love isn't one person trudging uphill pulling the other person's carriage. Love is just two people who make sense even if it's only to each other.
Well, I know I've been away for a while, but there's a specific reason for that. I make it my business to disappear at least a month prior to Valentine's Day. Though I do, at the very least, keep contact with women I'm seeing (sleeping with), I don't go out on dates or anything that could be considered a date until February 16. In my experiences, going out with a woman more than once too close to Feb. 14 can sometimes present the wrong idea: that they're getting something special for Valentine's Day. And this is going to sound awful, but....it's just not going to happen. It's not that I'm "too good" to do something special. If I were in a committed relationship and my partner wanted something special, I'd almost certainly oblige. For all I care, we could have rooftop candlelight dinner with origami cranes hanging off the moon and a private concert from Prince. But outside of relationships, me doing anything special just ends badly later. The upside of to this year's "cuffing season" is that it ended with the coming of All Star Weekend.
For those of you that don't follow basketball....once a year, the best players in the NBA are assembled into two teams representing the East and the West who play each other for a couple of hours while celebrities from everywhere get their pictures taken being...well...celebrities. This year, these events took place here in Houston. What did this mean for the common people? A few things.....
1). Any club that a celebrity makes an appearance in will automatically have a $50 cover charge. In case you asked....yes, people actually pay this much money. No, the celebrities don't give you a complimentary rimjob upon entry. And yes, people STILL pay this much money. Because people are stupid.
2). Historically, an assembly of rich athletes such as this one almost certainly attracts (some...not all) women willing to sleep with them just for being famous. Try to imagine the Running of the Bulls in Spain, but instead of bulls, the streets are flooded with golddiggers and groupies.
3). This many desperate women on the prowl means that there's a pretty good chance that plenty of everyday men who play their cards right can get lucky.
4). Since All Star Weekend gave me plenty of material to expound upon, I'll have plenty to share with you all for the next couple of entries.
Well, Valentine's Day is upon us and love is in the air....or is that capitalism? I can never tell around this time of year. Anyway, I'm sure there are plenty of fellas out there who've been roped into making an event out of V-Day and while I won't be participating this year, I can at least advocate that you do it right. Here, I've given a suggestion or two for something you last minute planners might do, eclectic songs to set the mood and even a few decent lines for your card. Because I care. Enjoy.
My Picks:
Things to Do (in Houston, at least)......
Chthulu: A Puppet Play- Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like it is. You know the basic outline of an H.P. Lovecraft horror story? Lovecraftian horror goes as follows: Something (usually with tentacles) evil is locked away and it wants to get out and destroy the world. If you've ever read one of his novels, I know you thought, just as I did, that it would make a divine puppet show. Your prayers have been answered. This is something slightly out of the box that would be suitable for those who want to do something unconventional yet memorable. Not a bad way to spend ten bucks.
Music Picks:
Erykah Badu "Orange Moon" Anthony Hamilton "Change Your World" Lauryn Hill and Bob Marley "Turn Your Lights Down Low"
Michael Jackson "One More Chance"
Amy Winehouse "To Know Him is to Love Him" (acoustic version)
The Foreign Exchange "Daykeeper"
Jill Scott "Easy Conversation"
Poetry Quotes for Your Card: “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving.” ~Pablo Neruda
“I love you because no two snowflakes are alike, and it is possible, if you stand tippy-toe, to walk between the raindrops. ” ~Nikki Giovanni
“Where there is a woman there is magic. If there is a moon falling from her mouth, she is a woman who knows her magic, who can share or not share her powers. A woman with a moon falling from her mouth, roses between her legs and tiaras of Spanish moss, this woman is a consort of the spirits.” ~Ntozake Shange
Sometimes, when I can't get to sleep just yet and it's late enough that I recognize I have to be up to go to work the next day, the quickest way to make my eyelids a little heavier is to open my laptop and spend a few minutes navigating the treacherous safari that is the internet after hours. I've had a Twitter account for almost a year now and it didn't take me very long to discover that being on the site after 11:30 at night is the equivalent of being on the wrong side of town after dark. Don't believe me? Look up @Super_Soaker69 and get back to me. I apologize in advance. So, I was wandering the dystopian frontier of bathroom glamour shots and Justin Bieber jokes when I heard from a lady friend of mine who just came back from spending some family time abroad. She's a fun, curvy young woman who can be a bit of an airhead when she wants to although sometimes, I think it's an act. We've never slept together or even been on a date, but I'd be lying if I didn't want to (sleep with her, I mean). She seems to think of me (despite me protests) the same way women thought of Sean Connery when he was James Bond. For the record, I am nowhere near the realm of Sean Connery. Nobody is. I know this. She doesn't. I sent a nice welcome back message and she sent back the following reply, this week's quote of the week. "You must get into panties in record time, huh?!!!"
First of all, no matter how strong the desire to understand the opposite gender or boil them down to a science is, no guy should really want to be the guy who ALWAYS get tons of assorted ass. I mean, sure, you're the guy who gets tons of assorted ass, but I've never seen things end well when that guy tries to have a serious interaction with someone. I don't prefer being that guy. Also, not to brag or even jinx the matter, but 90 percent of the time (in my own experiences, of course), when a woman has made the assumption that I got laid often....we usually ended up having sex somewhere not too far down the line. I've never quite understood this phenomenon. Some days, I hear women screaming furious platitudes about men being objectifying, sex-crazed vultures. Other days, being a sex-crazed vulture is some kind of endearing quality that sparks some dormant curiosity in women. I can't help but think that this could be problematic in some young lady's dating/sex life.
Having said that, it's not the segue I was hoping for, but I'll take it.
So, there's this new kid at my job. That's not a term of endearment, either. He's literally a high school senior. There is just nothing that will make you feel old faster than a kid five inches taller than you wearing a varsity jacket from the high school you graduated from ten years earlier. I am convinced that the athletics program there has resorted to just sticking the students in tubes and feeding them hormones intraveneously. He's a nice enough kid, smart, funny and girl crazy in the way that grade school jocks tend to be. I came in work slightly perturbed about my cranky, bedless friend from my last entry and I mentioned to him that there are some women in this world who are, for lack of a better word, insane. The following conversation ensued:
Kid: That sounds like a love thing.
Me: Believe me, kid. It's not.
Kid: Love isn't your thing?
Me: No, I don't do that.
Kid: Everybody does that, don't they?
Me: **sigh** Okay. I've done it before. I've loved two women in my life. In the adult sense, anyway.
Kid: How'd that work out?
Me: One was a rollercoaster that ended halfway amicably. She's a lovely, ambitious, intelligent woman and I wish her the best.
Kid: And the other one?
Coworker: (walks by) We don't talk about her. Ever.
Me: What he said.
Kid: Wow. That sounds serious. I tell girls that I love them, but I don't really mean it. I just say it to...
Now, this is the moment in which my mind was blown. I could see the legitimate lacksidasical innocence in his eyes as he shrugged at his own statement, hear the naivete in his voice. He really didn't see the built in trapdoor of his folly. He had no clue.
Me: Kid, I'm going to tell you something. If you don't remember anything else in this life, I want you to remember this. Listen closely. Write it down and put it in your pocket because later you're going to think I'm a genius.
Kid: Okay.
Me: Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever tell a woman you love her when you don't. No excuses, under no circumstances.....
Kid: Really?
Me: If the fate of the world depends on you telling a woman that you love her when you don't....let the fucker burn.
Kid: What'll happen?
Me: Well, a scorned woman is nothing to fuck with, so it's a little unpredictable depending on the woman. It's Thunderdome. Two enter...she leaves.
Kid: Okay, for example....
Me: Have you ever been waterboarded?
Kid: What?
Me: Try to imagine being bound to a chair with a towel thrown over your face. Your feet are raised and your head is lowered. Someone then begins to pour water on your face. You're flailing with waves and waves of water coming down on you. Your brain knows where you are at first, but as you start to choke, your mouth and nose flooded with water, your brain begins to forget. Your feet can't feel the ground. Your eyes are covered. It's like vertigo. Who's to say where you are anymore? As far as your neurological impulses are concerned, you're drowning.
Kid: .........
Me: Now, think about telling a girl you love when you don't. Let's say she says it first. You say "I love you, too." No harm, right? I mean, you know what you signed up for: pussy. But you didn't think about the things you DIDN'T sign up for. Then, there's that towel over your face as you're hit with waves and waves hand holding, phone calls instead of text messages, public displays of affection, talks you don't really want to have about the "Facebook relationship status situation." Pictures of the two of you together will pop up online and you didn't even know pictures were being taken. You get bombarded. You don't know how it got to this point. You don't know which way is up. It's like vertigo. You're drowning.
Kid: I didn't think about that.
Me: I know. In fact, I'll tell you what. One of the girls is going to come through here and grab her cigarettes before she takes her smoke break. I want you to ask her what she thinks. When you do, note the way her face changes. You ever seen Lord of the Rings?
Kid: Sure.
Me: It's a lot like the way Uncle Bilbo's face changed when he saw the One Ring again.
Kid: It seems like you're being a bit dramatic.
Me: Then, ask her. Prove me wrong.
A minute or so later, like clockwork, she came by with her smokes like I predicted. It's important to point out that the kid happens to have a big crush on this coworker (who has a small crush on me, unbeknownst to him) in particular. It would be cute if he didn't have the slight arrogance and entitlement that comes with being a high school senior and a jock. She, being my age and particularly bitter about men, doesn't find that attractive, so I knew how this would go. Yes, it was a bit dirty and a bit unfair, but with children, you have to make sure you're being heard clearly.
Coworker: Hey, Len.
Me: Hello, darlin.
Kid: May I ask you something? I'm trying to settle a bet between me and a classmate.
Coworker: Sure. What's up?
Kid: So, if this girl tells a guy she loves him, should he say it back?
Coworker: Does the guy love her?
Kid: No, but she's willing to give him the...."goods."
Coworker: (Uncle Bilbo face) NO!!!! NEVER DO THAT!!!! DID YOU DO THAT A GIRL?!
Kid: What? No! Just a wager with a friend. Totally hypothetical.
Coworker: (normal face) Oh. Okay. (walks out)
Kid: How the hell could you know that was going to happen?
I think one thing many writers have in common when blogging is that they use venues like this to express themselves in ways they can't (or aren't allowed to) anywhere else. I recognize this now from personal experience. Despite the lifestyle I live and the outgoing exploits I engage in, where my circle of friends are concerned, I am a bit of an outlier. Most of my opinions and viewpoints are often unwelcome They're in committed relationships and that doesn't really cause a rift between us as much as the fact that I'm single (and happy that way). They make no secret of the fact that they don't find me to be much of a "real man." I respect women, I don't lie to them (no matter how convenient it might be), I take people at their word when they earn such privileges, I express my feelings when appropriate and I don't apologize for it. If something wounds me, I say it.
There seems to be a lingering misconception about me that because I like sex and don't care for relationships, that obviously means I don't believe in the dignity of virtue. This, in my opinion, is a misnomer. Sex and virtue don't have to be mutually exclusive. In fact, I believe them to have almost nothing to do with each other. If I have sex with a woman I have no interest in committing and then see her the next day stranded on the side of the road, am I obligated to pass her by because I don't want to hold hands in the park afterwards?
After a nigh-Trojan end of my Transformers movie of a romance (Get it...because it was all pretty explosions even in the face of making no fucking sense), I was left in pretty bad shape. To make a long story short, not only was the wench running off with the other guy, she was marrying him. I did a lot of drinking, I hardly left the house (other than walking to the liquor store) and I was fairly unpleasant to be around if any did have the misfortune of running into me. One day, a friend reached out to me, getting me out of the house, texting each day with an encouraging request for me not to drink. We'd stay up late at her apartment, watching movies and having pillow fights. You know a heterosexual man's having a good time with you if he's actively engaged in a completely non sexual pillow fight. I think the only place I'd ever heard of an actual pillow fight taking place was an episode of Grey's Anatomy and maybe a commercial about underwear.
From time to time, she'd ask if I wanted to talk about my recent heartbreak. It was nice to have an outlet from someone that wasn't necessarily trying to fix the problem so much as understand the nature of the person. Well, that was the way it seemed at the time. Eventually, somewhere along the way, she confessed to having some feelings for me and wondered if I'd ever be able to feel for her what I felt for The Walking Tumor (the ex). In truth, I was attracted to her and greatly enjoyed her company. I mean, come on....pillow fights. She was a lovely woman and sincere to a certain degree. But I wasn't past the hurt of what I'd endured. Violations like that ran deep with me. I told her to give me time and we could see where we ended up. In short, this ended badly. She just ended up not being terribly compatible with me. In fact, as sweet as she is in some ways, in most other facets of courtship, she's only compatible in the way that tag team partners are compatible in professional wrestling. Bossy, argumentative, moody....she was a trifecta of intellectual castration. I may as have been having dinner with a bulldozer.
One notable point of conflict came from the fact that she didn't have any furniture. I'm not talking about an absence of lamps and bookshelves. The woman didn't have a bed or a couch. She was in Houston for school and, by her admission, just never got around to it because she didn't intend to be there very long. It's worth mentioning that this was a conclusion she came to almost four years ago. She'd accumulated dvds, board games, cds, a flat screen television, a car and a dog. A bed never crossed her mind. Then again, I can go months without ever changing the batteries in my smoke alarm (as evident by the constant beep in my home), so maybe I'm being judgmental. Spending the night at her place (which she wanted me to do constantly) was problematic because her floor was not comfortable or designed for sleep. It was cold and itchy. Also, it was not practical for cuddling which she insisted upon. You think your arm goes numb with a woman laying on it in bed. Try this on a carpet that feels like those scratchy metal things you scrub dishes with. This led to me being strategic about how many times a week I slept over.
Eventually, she moved back to Austin and found herself a nice boyfriend, so we let things end that way with amicable goodbyes and well wishes. We don't keep in touch as often as either of us would like, but we check in from time to time. If two close friends subscribed to each other's social networking accounts don't communicate at some point, it's because they like it that way. A couple of nights ago, I was up late writing and noticed that, according to a post on her Facebook account, she was upset about something. Even now, I don't know exactly what the source of the problem was. I reached out to her via inbox message to see if everything was okay. The following conversation ensued:
Me: What's the matter?
Her: Life sucks sometimes.
Me: Well, that's true, but I meant a bit more specific. Is it about the interview you had coming up? Did that fall through?
Her: No, that went fine. Just lonely.
Me: I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure it's not any sort of consolation, but Im having a similar moment.
Her: Oh. Sorry.
Me: Eh. These things happen. I'd come stay up with you if I were there and watch Blade Runner.
Her: Then I would have to get up and take you home. You would be doing me no favors.
Me: I meant I'd stay the night.
Her: Yeah. Right.
I know it's common advice not to read emotion into digital communication without clarification, but I know this woman. That was meant to sound exactly like it seemed. Sarcastic, dismissive and slightly condescending. I presented the situation to one of my cohorts and she replied "Well, she's probably still salty because you two didn't end up together." Really? For the purposes of this entry, I'm going to glaze over the fact that she HAS A BOYFRIEND and hope that the fact I put it in caps conveys my confusion appropriately. Besides, there's a larger point to make here.
Let's say she'd been stabbed. Don't worry about the reason. It doesn't matter why. In the era of long range rifles and drone bombings, there's no good reason to stab someone. She's stabbed and bleeding in the street. Onlookers start to panic, dialing 911, calling for help. It just so happens that I see her, my old dear friend, as I pass by and I have some medical training in this area that could save her life (I really don't). I rush over and ensure everyone I can help. Does "If you don't intend to be with me, don't bother saving me" really amount to any incarnation of rational sense?
I have friends (although this is an frequently circulated ideology) who submit that people you're not in a relationship with "don't owe you anything." The few men I associate with would have you believe that unless you seek to make a woman your mate, she doesn't deserve to know you. "Deserve?" Is spending the rest of your life fucking and going to the movies with the same person really the highest premium we can possibly put on our treatment of our fellow man (or woman)? We can't teach our children to be the best they can be...."unless it's someone you're just fucking. Then, you just leave the money at the door and bounce." At what juncture did life come to revolve around an "all or nothing" death race to the altar?
How did we get to a point where we glorify monogamy so effortlessly that we vilify those who don't adhere to its principles? Put simply, if I want to have sex, it's not because I view women as objects. It's because I like sex. If I choose not to commit (which I am open and honest about), it's not because I hate women. It's because monogamous relationships carry certain burdens I choose not to have in my private life at this time. I can only speak for myself, but if I go to the store after a rendezvous, I'm going to ask if she'd like anything. If we sleep together and I'm hungry, I'm going to ask if she's hungry. I submit that we cannot spend so much time trying to adequate mates that we reject ourselves. It's totally okay to be a significant other AND a real human being.
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