Moonlight Feels Right, Unless It's Wrong.

Women can form a friendship with a man very well; but to preserve it, a slight physical antipathy most probably helps.  --Nietzsche

Antipathy *would* help. Alas, there is nonesuch. 

An urgent message from The Offbeat Drummer and Her Heterosexually Progressive Female Pals: 

Hey, you guys. Listen. All of y'all. You collectively need to quit being so mind-blowingly hot. Or heart-crushingly cute. Or alluring. Or traditionally handsome. Or unconventionally bewitching. Or painfully beautiful. Or strapping and robust. Those of us who are young enough to still have hormones, which is, uh, all of my girlfriends (though I probably rank as the one with the fewest, but with the biggest, boldest mouth) are dying over here. Why are your eyelashes so naturally longer than ours, with your Atlantic Ocean blue or sweltering brown hues with which you gaze at us longingly?  (Not to disrespect the hazel and green-eyed men.  I just don't personally a) know any and b) I have a major thing for salt-and-pepper hair and blue or brown eyes.) And you all have such great hands. (I like hands a lot, myself. It's feet I can't stand.) 

And for the love of Christ, don't get new glasses that spark up your facial frame or like get in amazing shape or alter any other facet of your appearance without warning, that accentuate your genetically-predisposed sweltering hump-worthiness. 

Add to that charming, compassionate, witty, talented, rugged, humorous, cheeky, sensitive (most of you, anyway), lyrical, handy, helpful, wise, fit and/or strong, creatively gifted, with nice voices and interesting accents, generous, complimentary, bold, brazen, smart, crafty, seductive, older, younger or somewhere in the middle.

What am I trying to say in lots of words, and it's not just me being Me? Guys: sorry, but we want you.  You want us.  What is the big goddamn deal with that? I'm speaking as the 2nd in command in the Order of An Unfortunate Return to Virtual Virginity. I think Steven Hawking gets action more often than I do. 

Note: It's maddening. I don't need to ask for an "AMEN!" in the house of several of my girlfriends, because we're all on edge enough as it is. And, as my circle of friends of "all" genders* trade dunce caps in the giant ballroom with the sign at the entrance pointing to "IS THIS UTTER IRRATIONALITY?," I can't help but take to heart the wise words of a conversational exchange with an old Knox friend recently. He was an older, what Knox called "non-traditional" classmate of mine, who also majored in English. Actually, a few years older than Guy Friend. He lived through and enjoyed the free love of the 60's, remembers little of the 70's, and has continued to employ that philosophy in his life to the present day, even (and perhaps especially due to the fact) though he's happily married and for all intents and purposes, polyamory aside, lives a very comfortable, stable, "normal" and successful life and no, is not strung-out on booze or drugs.

WAIT. I HAVE A REALLY GOOD DIGRESSION. 

(*A female classmate of mine, who sat next to me in Ethics this week, whispered to me during the professor's lecture, "There are 5 genders." Random, but I guess fit in with the topic du'jour. I can think of 3....male, female or transgender. What am I missing? I guess you could be like Morrissey and claim to be asexual (a point totally lost on my younger readers). I don't mean to sound mutliculturally ignorant, God forbid, at my school, but I seriously should've asked her what she meant. Given our washrooms at school are "male identified" and "female identified," shouldn't we thus have at least one extra bathroom for the declared gender-free/gender-neutral, gender-denials? Ok, side note. On the 2 floors of the school, as you go down the hallway, there are the 2 allotted washrooms, one for each, er, sex, BUT! They're opposites directionally on either floor. Imagine my blushing when, in a hurry, I flew into what *had* to be the "male identified" washroom, which I swiftly deduced after seeing urinals in the mirror reflection, whereupon I bolted out with my eyes closed, I think, without anyone of any gender seeing me. Only in afterthought did I realize I honestly *could've* peed in that bathroom, just claiming that I was feeling particularly masculine that day, which would've been an utter fib, especially given the fact that I'm not anorexically emaciated anymore and seemingly, all the weight I gained zeroed into my ample-as-it-already-was bust, the part of my body of which I'm the most horrifically self-conscious. Sorry, no, Larry Flynt, I'm not posting pictures.)

YOU HAVE TO ADMIT....THAT WAS A PRETTY GOOD DIGRESSION AS MY DIGRESSIONS GO.

Anyway, my Knox friend's largest point in our dialog was something that I must say, I have found to be sociologically and biologically tested and proven experimentally throughout the course of my life, with both positive and negative results working both in and out of my favor, which is the evolutionary, primal notion that humans, despite Adam and Eve (who were NEVER married, by the way...where the fuck do you think the term "living in sin" came from anyway?), were unequivocally never meant to, um, mate with one person for life. Some religious doctrines point you towards lifelong monogamy, steeped in legal and ethical vows you take in a house of worship, in front of God, your friends and families, and, if you're lucky, the ex you never got over who's still in love with you and actually cuts the ceremony off when the minister asks if anyone objects...while other religions openly endorse winging it. Polyamory is the big, secret exception to an old-fashioned Puritanical ideal of what's socially acceptable and, for lack of a better term, correct.

Knox guy said something, I think, about the very tenet of, gasp, adultery being a moral "law" that's out of date (like everything ELSE in the Old Testament).  Perhaps it's a by-product of lots of us having liberal arts educations, or being bohemian free spirits. It could pertain to a lot of our "we all survived immeasurable shit and goddamnit, we're going to ENJOY life." 

Maybe my ever-growing, merry band of artists, writers, musicians and even religious-but-non-conservatives is just a big, bloody slathering of amoral, hell-bound, misguided, judged, sinful, corrupt, disgraceful, degenerate, evil motherfuckers who are out to break hearts and commandments far and wide, who have zero respect for the sanctity of tradition towards those who disagree with the sluts and philanderers we all must be. Hey, it's a free country (at least for now). 

My best friend's #1 Rule: NEVER MAKE THE FIRST MOVE.

Ok. I didn't. I haven't. I flirt and woo, admittedly, but I leave the ball in the fella's court.

Nobody trips and falls into a new flirtationship alone. Eventually, you're hearing this: "Oh, I kissed you? I didn't mean to kiss you. But my lips just sort of landed on yours. You made me kiss you.  It was all your idea. I best get cleats just in case I slide across something and our DNA intersects more intimately next time, which would be a situation radically changing the entire course of our lives." Seduction and wooing are finely honed, deliberate attempts to surreptitiously intertwine what's actually an elating, steamy, fun and intense but different level of "friendship." That rush of passion could last a day or a few months. It could grow over the course of a few years. Sometimes, that level of, well, really super awesomeness can take almost 2 decades to explode outside of its eternal flame.

That's when things get complicated...having loving feelings for somebody who maybe appreciates us or thrillingly adores us more than what we're used to, who is shitpickles for us and hangs on our every word, while in our primary relationships, which may or may not be, generically, healthy and proper, the razor's edge of youthful love is but a memory, now settled into Sternenberg's Triangular Theory of Love...commitment but little physical intimacy, "complacent" or "companionate"  or even "empty love," of which I wrote some time ago. A lot of my friends are stuck in this rut, or were until their socks got knocked off by a new paramour. In the latter case, sometimes the object of such grand affection doesn't feel worthy of it, SO complacent in his/her (lack of) attractiveness and appreciation that they're lucky one or two people engage with them and make them smile on any given day.  The object of affection frequently underestimates how much the new person is attracted to them and has to process those feelings, often solitary. I certainly had that problem of low self-esteem and lack of confidence in my beauty, when Best Male Friend and I began our romance after many, many years as "just affectionate friends." We were openly affectionate towards one another and while we don't see one another very often, only a few times a year, we've at least shared a bed. To the average passerby, BMF and I, walking together, looked like young lovers ablaze with intrigue and I must say, as eluded to in the early paragraphs of this entry, Best Male Friend is One. Stunning. Looking. Man. Who. Is. Incredible. In. Every. Way. He is, next to Kate, the most interesting person I know. Still. I can't shake it.

Best Male Friend and his primary have an unwritten agreement about my role in his life. She does, though I don't like it really, refer to me as "his girlfriend."  He has his obligations, and as long as he keeps bringing home the bacon and respects his primary relationship, she really doesn't give too many shits about her husband being closely linked with someone else. And I wouldn't dream to fuck up what he's got at home. My best friend thinks I *could,* if I really, really wanted to, but I'm not so sure. Sure, we talk about running away together and have toyed with me moving closer to him to be with him, but I wouldn't uproot my own child's life for a lover any more than he would. On that we can agree, our fantasies in the clouds. 

I told Best Male Friend that I was going out the other evening with Guy Friend. I was irrationally nervous (mostly because of the overly-busty top I ended up covering with a long sweater, though I DID have my come-hither punk boots on, which Guy commented on for the second time...) and had to wait until pretty late in the evening for him to emerge from work to pick me up. Was chatting with BMF about Guy and tattooing, and how late Guy was running, and texted a couple girlfriends as I waited patiently, telling them that I had every intention of coming home with a new tattoo after dinner and would attempt to charm my way into it. BMF friend would once again complain about Guy the next day, shooting me an insulting text. BMF told me to play this song in the car for Guy, though this is really one of mine and BMF's signature songs, mostly because we both think it's really, really funny, especially the singer's sinister, laughing "Heh heh heh" at the end of every verse.

(Naturally, I had made a new CD for Guy Friend, but in the flurry of mild friendly petting when I got home, I forgot to give it to him. My brain sort of stops functioning in such situations. It's a great CD. Lou Barlow would love it. Next time.) 

Analyzing our evening in hindsight, I can almost objectively pick out nuances and the obvious. We went Ethiopian, for food, in the same neighborhood as the tattoo studio. (Food was strange but decent, I guess. And you eat with your hands, so there's a lot of strange finger-licking goodness to the experience.) I was surprised that he picked me up having changed out of his dress shirt from work, which would've been entirely fine at the restaurant. He actually wore the same shirt that I told him I liked, which he wore when he met BMF. (And yes, he was wearing new glasses which looked very nice. I think he's just crazy cute.) Distracted probably by hunger, tiredness and whatnot, neither of us touched one another until I asked him for a hug in the parking lot when we got to the restaurant, over which he cooed, but he always does that and I'm not sure he's aware of it or not.  Dinner and chatting with us is never a problem. It's a LOT of fun, and we have a lot to talk about, except now we have a whole other level of discussion topics that center around our careers and my study as a mental health provider, both of us being in the "helping professions." I can talk to him about reading a journal article on Factor V Leiden, a rare blood disorder my ex-husband has, and logically explain the genetics of it, and my son's predisposition to present with the illness in his lifetime. All very interesting stuff that frankly, BMF and I couldn't talk about, so I can see right there the "you-get-me-this-certain-way" mechanic that Guy fulfills that BMF can't. Likewise, BMF and I have a ton of stuff Guy would never understand to talk about. 

Surprisingly, Guy asked me if, during my graduate studies, I'll take a course on sexuality. I nearly choked hearing THAT word come out of HIS mouth. I said no, but that LGBTQ rights were spread across the spectrum of the school's curriculum, and I wasn't sure how to answer his question:  1) Why do you ask? Do you HONESTLY think I *need* a class on sexuality? 2) And this is important WHY, exactly? 3) I think you need another beer. 4) Sexuality is a pretty broad term. Could you narrow your question down? and finally, "I'm pretty sure I've had imaginary, mind-blowing sex with you in my dreams, in fact I'm sure I have, but I'd never tell you that to your face" and besides, I quite honestly haven't even ventured into thinking much about that remote chance of experience in the context of Guy, who all my friends tell me it's factual that he most likely has or had similar fantasies during the years we've known one another. (Like he'd ever admit to that either! May God strike him down!) Best Male Friend is, um, a LOT more communicative and open about what he envisions or wants, so at least it's not a guessing game of pure speculation and me wondering if he finds me attractive, because I know BMF totally does.

After dinner, we pit stopped (er, I did, I don't know if he did) and I begged him to take me to the Tattoo Factory, which he denied me. I played the spoiled brat card. Didn't work. I played the "I'm not leaving this restaurant!" card. Wouldn't budge. In the washroom, I ripped off my nicotine patch and whether he liked it or not, and I hate to smoke in front of him, I lit up because I was MIFFED in the moment. He tried explaining that it was simply too late, he was too tired, and that he'd need to both mentally and physically prepare to go there with me again, but that perhaps we could do it in early October, which I said was a decent compromise. Then I said, "Really? With all of my womanly charms, you still won't go?" 

He laughed and said, "I thought we were just friends." As I was smoking, I think I said something like, "We are just friends. Yeah, Guy, I'm so sure."  He laughed more. We were both unwilling to elaborate and "Ha ha ha'd" our way through the issue. "That'll be, like, decades' worth of more therapy for THAT part of it, Guy," I replied. He laughed more.  He wanted to know the specifics of my next tattoo, so I told him what it would be, where it was going, that it'd be black, and what it meant to me. (The Sanskrit symbol/word for "mindfulness.") I didn't realize my body art was up for a peer review, but I told him anyway. 

We had a philosophical discussion about Christianity, religion, and a woman's right to choose (which he's all for, even as a Catholic), as I mentioned there'd been some tension in my world about at the moment, about socio-political opinions, on our way home. Pulled into my alley, when he intertwined my hand in his in my lap. He was talking about my life philosophy of seizing the day or the moment, because tomorrow's not a guarantee, in the context of his own life and mostly, his career, from which he still garners a lot of satisfaction even when maybe only 1 or 2 people will seem to have been helped by him on any given day. I said I never disputed his happiness (and whether he meant it in a broader sense to include his personal life, I don't know) nor did I demand that he change to meet my needs. I do, in fact, have no desire to de-stabilize the life he's leading. If anything, I just want to (and I think I already do) augment it.

My life and that of my close friends is nothing if not utterly fascinating to Guy Friend, because it's SO different from what his life is like. I like to invite Guy into my culture and expose him to new things and while he said he has to be "mentally and physically prepared" to go to the Tattoo Factory, at least he's willing to take me again. He said, "You'll get it either with or without me." I said, "But I want to get it with YOU," which was a larger, open-ended statement in which I reaffirmed how I felt about him. Yes, there are a number of people I could venture into Uptown with, like Pastor Dave and his niece, who want to go, but scheduling with them is really rough and Guy knows I want to hold his hand the most. 

Best Male Friend was inquired about, but I only spoke of him briefly at dinner, and intimated before I got out of Guy's car that pretty much everyone who knows me (including Best Male Friend) can't figure out why I haven't run off with BMF yet, and continue to want to be around a guy like Guy. It's not just a distance thing, though that is a mitigating factor. I don't just love Guy because he lives closer. The two men are at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and would probably agree on one thing alone: that they both love me and want me to be happy. (Well, that and that they think I'm cute, probably. I honestly don't know.) 

Regaled some of my experience further with the swinging Knox friend, who's coming to town soon, incidentally, who, like everyone else, thinks Guy is confused and afraid (though he forgot guilty), which is OK. Talk to me about it. Affectionate friends negotiate. Not that I'm sleeping with EITHER of these guys, nor is that on the table, Knox guy said of both Guy and Best Male Friends, "Women fuck who they want. Men fuck whoever lets them. Given the situation, I'd say either he can't see what's in front of his face, or he's afraid. The other true statement? A woman chases a man until he catches her. So if Guy is not catching, he ain't payin' attention." 

Pretty much. He did kiss me. I should've kissed him again. Great. Next time he picks me up, he'll be wearing a suit of armor.