off. My life is under control.
Do I sound bitter?
I try not to be. I try to stay focused. I try not to think too far ahead because as most ‘hipsters’ in my world will tell you, life is full of irony. Trying too hard just sets you up for failure.
Although, I would add that living in a dream world makes you a target.
This is just the simple truth. And lots of women my age don’t seem to get it. In search of their ‘soul mate’, my girlfriends dive deep, and disappear from sight for weeks at a time – sometimes months – when they think they’ve found ‘the one’. Only to re-surface, gasping, when they learn the truth about their latest amour. He’s drug-addicted. Or a cheater. Or allergic to adulthood.
Where are all the good ‘soul mates’, they all want to know?
What about me, you ask? Well, there was Sam, after college. He was going to be a doctor, and after he graduated from medical school discovered that there were myriads of girls far prettier and more pliable than yours truly -- who were just dying to become Mrs. Sam. So after a longish recovery period after getting dumped, I had er, ‘dates’ with guys who were too boring, or too old. Most recently – in fact until just last weekend -- there was Nick, the Serious Catholic.
Yes, that’s how I think of him. Tall, good-looking and out of his mind. Living on another planet. ‘Planet Vatican’, I call it. Goes to the Latin Mass.
If you can believe this, after three months, the guy would not sleep with me.
I am not kidding, either.
Of course, I thought he was gay. And I told him this, too. Why had he led me on like this, I wanted to know. Was he into some power thing, where you get the girl all hot and then you get your thrills from her throwing herself at you?
And do you know what he said to me?
“I’m not into the quid pro quo,” he said. He was sitting on my Ikea couch, looking hot and miserable all at the same time. My roommate was out. My elegantly-planned pass had failed.
“What the hell does that mean?” I was furious.
Then came this crazy explanation about how modern relationships were just too ‘thin’ and that there were all these hidden expectations that couldn’t be fulfilled and that unless there was a ‘sacrament’ it wasn’t valid anyway and he respected me more than that and he thought this might be different. Ad nauseum.
I mean, I’m ‘Catholic’ and all. Which is to say I made my First Communion, back in the days when Chad had a job and he and my mom were married. But of course all that evaporated.
Anyway, I threw him out. I mean, I’m not sure about the gay thing but what the hell kind of religion keeps people from doing what’s natural when they’re in love? Seems like classic denial to me.
For sure, there’s all kinds out there. Which is part of why I began to think it’s important that I share my hard-earned knowledge and perspective with my one sibling on this earth. So that’s why I called her. Melissa turned eighteen last month, and it has been about a year since we saw each other, so I asked her to dinner for Saturday night.
She drove up in her birthday gift, a lipstick-red Mustang convertible. (I drive a five year old Japanese sedan with low mileage – ‘new to me’, as they say.) She stepped out, clicked the lock with her flawless French manicure, and tossed her long mane of pale blond hair behind her back.
I kid you not; her dress had no back. And when I looked down when we air-kissed, I could see her thong. Needless to say, every male head turned as she walked by.
I mean, I’m okay-looking, I guess. Normal height. Normal weight. Thick auburn hair, like my mom’s. Sam used to say he liked my green eyes. But I never turned every male head in a swank restaurant in my entire life.
“So!” I said with false heartiness, when we had settled into our booth. Melissa seemed unfazed by all the attention. “You’re all grown up, now!”
Melissa glanced at me with an expression I instantly recognized: the ‘I’m here to humor you because you’re an adult relative and there might be something in it for me” look.
She didn’t look like she would be amenable to me asking any questions about her new ‘look’, either. Last time I saw her, she was running around in sweats, prepping for a triathalon. What had happened?
So, I was cautious. I asked all the usual questions, which she answered, apparently to humor me.
"Yes, that’s how I think of him. Tall, good-looking and out of his mind. Living on another planet. ‘Planet Vatican’, I call it. Goes to the Latin Mass."
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