Turning thirty was very exciting. Mostly because I wanted to shut my twenties down and say, there, that's fucking it. We're done with all that drama. But with thirty also came a rundown on the drama, the messes I got myself into with the people I'd really like to forget...like, every guy I've ever dated.
If I had to venture a guess, I'd say I've been serious with two men, both of whom were douchebags. Good guys, douchebag boyfriends, more like. Of the men I've casually dated, and I'd say there are about sixty, two of those have been nice guys who I forced myself to go out with. Six of them were drug dealers. One was an ex-con. Thirty were codependents with emasculating moms. Twenty were narcissists with no father figure, and one was a rapist.
That's my love life. Depressing.
Oh sure I've had some great sex, hippie sex, boat sex, rubber sex, toy sex, zoo sex, church sex, girl sex, girl church sex, girl girl sex, girl girl girl sex...I can't complain. And the hot tubs. I've defiled so very many hot tubs. The memories are good, but the mind can't linger forever on one thing, and eventually--much like the sex--the moment ends and I end up being forced to recall the relationship part of relationships, the stuff that happens between the sex.
Another day, another bunch of yin/yang bullshit going on in my thoughts:
Sex/relationships
Orgasms/Fights
Fucking/Head fucking
Aaaaah/Ewww
Don't stop!/I'm not your mother!
Harder!/Die in hell you cocksucker!
I look back, and I cringe. Then I dig some more, and there's retching. When I get to Troy, who had big brown eyes and a nice penis, and also told me that David Koresh was the great genius of our times, I never want to mate again. That's sort of what I've resolved to do as of late, not necessarily abstain from future mating like I'm some nun or something, but temporarily abstain from the kinds of lures that get me into trouble, and the bad relationships I'm recounting. The big brown eyes. The sex. The physical and frivolous things I've based crap unions on.
At thirty, I have decided to stop thinking with my dick.
Now, like most things I decide to do, I'm totally hot on them for about two weeks and then I find them difficult to maintain and I drop them, saying something to myself like, "Well, Bunny, that's just not you. It doesn't feel natural because it's not." But this particular leaf turning meant a lot to me. There were all those bad memories, a rap sheet with the names of 59 douchebags and a rapist. And the fights...Jesus H. Christ, the yelling and screaming has been enough for two lifetimes. Two Puerto Rican lifetimes, which is like three white lifetimes. In short, I wanted to stick with the program. No thinking with my dick. No getting all crazy about the wrong guy. No douchebags.
JUST SAY NO
I live at night. I work in various places, but mostly on the Lower East Side, from 3am to noon. You'll meet some interesting people in a café at those hours, and two nights ago was no different than any other night. My favorite place on the LES was nearly empty, save for three characters. They were higher than shit. Two of them were gay, and one was wearing plaid hipster pants. I asked if he minded me sitting next to him, not for any other reason than to be close to the one plug in the room. I plugged in my computer, looked him straight in the eye and said, "Thanks."
"Oh no problem."
Whoa.
Hot. Brown eyes. Amazing, fucking brown eyes, and the rest of his face was naughty in that way I love that puts me smack in the middle of some fun trouble again, some "meet me in the bathroom so I can cheat on my wife with you while we play with sharp pointy objects or satanic paraphernalia" trouble. Let's conjure demons trouble. He had a crooked smile. He flirted with me.
"You like that Macintosh?"
"Yep."
"You like that coffee?"
"Yep."
"You like to say 'Yep?'"
"Uh huh."
He had a good laugh, too. It was a throaty, deep laugh. It was confident, booming even. If you could say that laughter is ever booming.
Ayiyi, it was hard. I kept to myself, answering his flirtations with monosyllabic retorts, and trying hard not to smile while I did it, but finding myself unable to. He noticed this too. His buddies fell asleep after sampling the twenty plates of pastries they'd ordered, and he had nothing better to do than tease me.
"You can talk to me if you want. I'm not trying anything funny with you. I've got a wife and a kid."
What a relief. Look at me overanalyzing the situation yet again. He was a nice married guy, who not only owned up to having a child, but a wife, willingly. It was unsolicited, but he said it anyway. How nice.
So I opened up to him. We talked about a whole bunch of things, and it was nice, conversing with this great-looking guy who had no alternative plans, nothing evil in mind or anything like that. He just wanted to talk. How about that? Were there other men like him the world, ones who wanted to do what they said they wanted to do? Ones with honest intentions? How long had I been messing with the others, and in messing with a few bad ones, had I developed the wrong idea about the whole gender? I mean, could there be decent yet naughty guys out there? If so, were any of them single?
His buddies came to around sunup, and the lot of them left. He said, "It was nice meeting you," and went to pay the check and my check. So nice. What a pleasant experience. What a gentleman. Perhaps I didn't need my new, leaf-turn, I just needed to hang out with a more quality rake.
I went back to my work, and thought little of the encounter, until twenty minutes later, when he came back asking for my number, "to get together some time," twenty minutes later because he had to "drop off [his] brother in-law" before he could get it.
NO MEN! GAAAAHHH!
Posted by The Bunny at 1:39 PM