KNOCKDOWN, DRAG-OUT

I am IN love with men again. I always love men, even when the whole gender seems out to make me feel like utter refuse, but like all long-term relationships, one slips in and out of the passionate phases. However yesterday, I managed to rediscover my passion for men with a vengeance.

Simon and I keep circling each other and while he’s been allowing his intimidation to curtail our time together, I have nevertheless been perusing him shamelessly. However, he overstepped his bounds and blew off my boy J when my boy J (who is also his friend) needed friendly faces at this nightmare setup of a performance (J is a brilliant musical talent; he plays all instruments effortlessly but is most drawn to wind instruments and traditional folk music). That is unacceptable. I’m fine with Simon’s skittish games with me but J is, at best, collateral damage. And no one fucks with mine.

J had been invited to play at some bar and when we arrived Friday night, we discovered that the bar was, in point of fact, a death-metal bar (for those of you unfamiliar with “death-metal” it makes Metallica look like Britney Spears). Simon had declared he was coming out to see him play and while J and I were back and forth with his anxiety, J and Simon were back and forth about getting Simon and paper-perfect to the bar. And, what was a ten-minute wait at 9:30 for a 5-song set, turned into a 2-song set at 1 am. The whole time, my poor boy was hoping against hope that Simon and paper-perfect would show up. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that once paper-perfect took the phone from Simon and had a less-than-effortless conversation with one of the locals about directions, the boys would not be coming. I know precisely how little effort paper-perfect is willing to make about anything because he’s so beaten by life and now that I’m out from under the pressure to date him, I see precisely that it is his cowardice and refusal to risk anything that was the reason I could never feel for him.

I knew they would blow off J with paper-perfect’s pathetic, unwavering shrugging and go back to their drinking. Life happens and people can’t make appointments; I’m fine with that. This, however, wasn’t “life happens.” This was active, willful laziness with a duplicitous candy shell. This was “I’m too lazy to make the effort and too much of a coward to say ‘I don’t want to.” And, it wouldn’t make me nearly as crazy if I didn’t know for a fact that Simon needs to consider himself a decent friend to J. I could see it so clearly in my mind that it made me more than a little violent. However, I did my best to keep my mouth shut and only support J as this was his thing, not mine. J was, understandably, hurt when the jackasses blew him off by not sending him even a message to let him know they ultimately weren’t coming but J, being my boy, kept wondering if perhaps his expectations were too high.

Once I got home, I spent most of the night tossing and turning, pissed. So, at 7 the next morning, I sent Simon a rather strongly worded text message that called him to task and told him if he wanted to do the standup thing by apologizing, where he could find J. Around 10, I got an angry text message from him about how I wasn’t going to “pin this on” him. We had a brief back and forth mostly about him thinking I was “projecting” onto the situation and me thinking he lacked “common fucking courtesy,” but I would be lying if I didn’t confess to the fact that while we’re doing the text equivalent of screaming at each other, there wasn’t a part of my brain that was super happy to learn a few new curse words. But, that’s my special brand of crazy and there’s not much I can do about that.

Nevertheless, he put his foot down, presented his summation of things and asked that I not respond to his final message. I, being me, had to be the bitch and have the final word. So, I responded to his summation of what he feels my personal flaws are with, “Glad that works for you.”

And that was when I realized I had become a Dane Cook sketch because I was more than certain he was circling his apartment muttering, if not screaming the Irish equivalent of “You don’t even KNOW! You don’t even KNOW!”

My bitchiness aside, I was proud of the fact that through the whole fight, I didn’t get sucked into personal attacks. I stayed on issue and despite what he threw at me, I didn’t have to fight dirty.

I then called J to confess that I may have overstepped my bounds and apologized for the ensuing awkwardness he might experience with Simon but he’s my boy and no one treats him like that. I explained that I wasn’t fighting in lieu of him and Simon wasn’t under the impression I was doing his dirty work. I’ve tried to make it clear to all parties involved that I was acting alone. J, being J, forgave me and said not to worry about it.

We then arranged to go to Canada and Paris’s house (my married Francophile friends) for their barbeque. As I was going to meet my boy at the South Gate, I realized something; I was happy. I didn’t get caught up in distracting, petty squabbling. It didn’t devolve into attacking to simply wound. It was conflict to reach a resolution, not to hurt and I can live with that. My temper usually ends up consuming me and allowing me to say extraneous, irrelevant thing merely to hurt. Not this time. It felt and feels damned good. I’ve never managed to express precisely how furious I am while maintaining complete control of myself. It felt very precise and I love it… not that I want that everyday or even “occasionally” but I do quite like knowing it is now a talent I possess.

So, I waited for J in the kite park on the Southeast corner of the South side of the wall of Xi’An and felt more serene than I have in a long time. I sat under the warm sun with the cool breeze cutting across me and just watched the kites. It was one of those rare moments when my whole life became very still and my mind just embraced every sensation. It was delicious.

Eventually, some dude who works for Amway (it’s HUGE here in China) interrupted my peace and tried to force me to speak Chinese with him but I just kept insisting I didn’t speak any Chinese and he finally left me alone.

J showed up and we were off to Canada and Paris’s.

When we arrived, paper-perfect was there and looking beat. Paper-perfect and Simon had apparently been out all night and he crawled his ass to barbeque. Simon, knowing I would be at the party, did not show up… for reasons I assume are perfectly lucid. It may have been my projection but there seemed to be something extra attentive, extra puppy-dog-ish in paper-perfect. He didn’t stay for very long, begging off with having to go to a birthday party. Not surprisingly, Canada later told me she felt he would be perfect for me. It was all I could do not to laugh.

Anyway, a bunch of new people showed up at the barbeque a little later in the afternoon. Clearly all collegiate oriented, some of the folks were mid-twenties, some of the folks were younger but they were all fun. There was a band of fabulous gay men who I am madly in love with and with whom I shall be spending a fair bit of time; we’ve mutually decided to collect each other. There were also two boys; both of whom were clearly interested in being my lover. However, one was 26 and one was 19. The 19 year old, who I will call “Waffle House,” was sweetly, adorably, loquaciously desperate to get my attention. It was nonstop, “You’re beautiful,” “You’re brilliant” and “You’re polished” from such a sweet, silly, innocent boy trying to puff up his chest. Were I ten years younger, I would have been madly in love and utterly shattered when he flitted on to the next piece of ass. The 26 year old, who I will call “Puma,” was smooth, sweet, confident and charming in that down-home-southern boy way that Matthew McConaughey only dreams he could muster. That he has the faintest air of a broken heart about him makes him all the more appealing. I’m not the girl who looks to “fix” or save the bad boys (personally, I prefer them “bad”). Instead, that “fix-it” energy gets channeled into boys who are perfectly fine on their own two feet but have some element of melancholy lurking about them. I’m not interested in men who are hobbled by life but I am interested in men I can clearly make happier, provided they’re not exploiting said melancholy. Exploitation is just gross, predatory and ultimately, worst of all, lazy.

Nevertheless, we spent a lot of the evening in the basement pool hall and I spent my time on the couch as I can’t play pool to save my life.

J would come in from having chatted with some of his Spanish speaking friends to check on me every once and a while. I just maintained my domain of the couch and the boys came and went. To Waffle House’s credit, whenever the gay boys were piled up with me giggling, he would just sit on one of their laps. It was highly appealing to watch such comfort from a straight, southern boy. And, when Puma would come over, he always sat with me but his tenderness, affection and protectiveness for the gay boys was so touching and, frankly, startling coming from a southern Marine (because I’m aware I’m an elitist New Yorker with her own “Southern Boy” hang ups).

Paris and Puma started playing a few games of pool and, to be totally honest, I was weak at all the masculine concentration and swagger. Poor Waffle House was trying desperately to explain the massive love bite on his neck away and I was having none of it.

“I would have stopped her but it wasn’t during foreplay,” Waffle House tried to explain, “and I don’t want to interrupt a girl while she’s in the middle of all that.”

“I don’t know, I’d like to think if I got out of line in bed, he’d have the wherewithal to put me in my place.”

Which shut Waffle House up for a moment, while my boys started hollerin’ “Ooh, giiiirl!” and Paris and Puma just snickered and nodded knowingly.

“Hey, look, I’m very giving but she was a pain in the ass…”

“Or neck” I cut him off

“Touché.” Waffle House replied and without missing a beat continued, “and when we were done all she wanted to do was fucking cuddle!”

“What’s wrong with you that you haven’t learned the ‘hug and roll’?” I laughed, referencing the move guys do while they wait for women to fall asleep in the nook between their shoulder and their chest, pull the girl into a hug, rock her up on to their body and then roll her back onto the other side of the bed so they can get some sleep.

“I know the ‘hug and roll’! She just wanted to cuddle and talk.”

“Fuck, have some fucking patience, jackass. I know the urge to sleep is strong but you need to step up and manage that.”

“I do but she wouldn’t go to sleep. We were fucking for five hours and after, she wouldn’t shut up.”

Which gave me pause. Frankly, the idea of sex for “hours” on end just seems unappealing. I don’t know what other people having going on down south but south of my Mason Dixon, I’m a sensitive girl. “Hours” just seems like it would lead to a lot of pain and bruising and who needs that? “Wait a minute, you fucked for five hours and she just wanted to talk? Baby, you ain’t hittin’ it. I can tell you, you hit it right, it’s 20 minutes tops and I can assure I don’t want to cuddle much less talk after. Just put me to bed.” To which the boys playing pool started snickering again.

Which made Waffle House defensive. “I was hittin’ it right.”

Which made Puma speak up, to me, “Have you ever given a man a hickey?”

“No”

Puma nodded, knowing that already for some reason. “And what would make you bite a man like that?”

“I have no idea. Hickeys are disgusting.”

“Exactly. But have you ever left a mark like that on a man’s body?”

“I usually leave a scratch mark or two but those are, uh… unintentional. Intentionally, only ever on his ass as I was kicking him out of my place after not having hit it right.” I then demonstrated with my foot, “Get out!”

“Exactly. It’s a mark of frustration.” He smiled at me.

“No, no, no, no. See…” Waffle House started in but then Puma cut him off immediately.

And then Puma went from “hot, quiet man with a hot swagger” to “man with fist-sentences.” “Boy, you need to shut the hell up. You have the answers to everything in front of you right here” Puma good-naturedly started to scold Waffle House and then snapped his hand towards me in a gesture of ‘voila’ “and she’s telling you everything you will ever need to know AND she answers questions. The only time you need to be talking is to ask her questions. You need to be all ears and suck it all up like a sponge. If I was you, I would shut the fuck up and listen to every little thing that comes out of her mouth. Memorize that shit. And thank her. Fucking worship her.”

With that, Waffle House immediately rolled over and spoke directly and earnestly to Puma, “You know what? You’re right. You’re the god. You’re the man. I need to listen to you. You’re the god.”

To which Puma was clearly getting irritated so I interjected. “Actually, that would be me. I would be the god.”

While Waffle House was explaining the difference between me being the “goddess” and Puma being the “god” Puma just thanked me.

And in that moment, Puma went on my radar.

I then started to notice every time Puma and I were having a really good moment together, he would mention his girlfriend (which everyone else has informed me is “not working out”), but never by name… only the titular “my girlfriend.”

His girlfriend aside, we really got on, me and my Puma. He’s great fun to talk with; smart, compassionate, funny and he chose to stay sitting with me on that couch than to go out to a club with Waffle House and the rest of my (new) gays. I’m always a fan of a man who is willing to change his plans to hang out with me.

As I was beginning to sober up (it’s not a good sign that I started drinking at 3, was drunk by 7 and was sober by midnight), Puma was finally beginning to relax and drank a bit too much. And, he was just silly. The fact that he started calling me “Boo-boo” was super cute too. And we talked about everything and nothing.

Suddenly, he started talking all sorts of crazy, silly shit about “his” reality, how he would take me to “his” reality and got all super flamboyant. It was cute to watching him perform for the lot of us still there on the couch.

As it was after midnight, J and I decided to call it a night. Which prompted everyone else to call it a night. So, Puma came with us and as J, Puma, an Austrian friend and I piled into a cab, Puma started talking silly again for me.

As we drove along, Puma started to get a little serious as we went through a “Baghdad” street.

“But, baby, we’re in China. Ain’t no Baghdad in China. That’s the nice thing about China.” I explained gently because, frankly, there are no men more fragile than super heroes.

He looked at me as I looked at him earnestly and gently and I could see the joking defensiveness drop. “I know that. No one knows that better than me.”

He took a deep breath, looked around at the open boulevard we were traveling on closed his eyes and rested his head forward.

“Do you need some air?” I asked softly. No one needs kindness like people who pay for the rest of us to talk a big game.

He looked up at me, studied my face for a moment and shook his head, clearly relaxing a little.

“Are you sure?” I pushed.

He smiled through his haze and nodded.

“Okay.” I said.

After another moment, he went on to lay out his perspective on what people are “supposed” to do; the standard “get married,” “have kids,” step c, step d etc etc bullshit. It all sounded rather bleak.

“Am I right or am I right?” He asked when he was done laying out what one is supposed to do with their life. He sounded remarkably defeated by it all.

“I dunno. I’d say you sound very Christian.”

This pierced his haze and he perked up a little. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. It just sounds sort of bleak and you Christians always have this bleak haze over you.”

“We do?” He asked with hope. “What do you think it should be like?”

“I think it should about love. And I’m not talking rainbows and puppy dogs and bliss, I mean real love. The shit you have to work for and it gets ugly sometimes but it’s real and it’s beautiful. I think family should come organically from love, not dictated by obligation.”

This made him very quiet and not ten seconds later we arrived at his house to drop him off.

He got out of the cab and scooted over to make it possible for me to get out with him. I wanted to make sure he got home okay. He seemed incredibly vulnerable going off into the night in that condition.

“You going to get home okay?” I asked.

He nodded and we all said our goodbyes. I watched his hulking frame disappear around the corner as he headed home and we headed off to drop of J.

J then checked a message he had gotten while he was talking with his girl in Spain and I was talking with Puma. Laughing to himself, he then turned to me, “Girl, you know how to get shit DONE.”

“Huh?” I asked utterly confused.

J then showed me the text message he had on his mobile. There was a very long message from Simon apologizing for the night before and what had happened.

There may be nothing sexier than men willing to step up.