Monday, January 02, 2006

Bonjour 2006, Sucez les Os de la Dinde de mon Frère, Si Vous Plait.

I stood among champagne and music as I had an epiphany this New Years Eve. There I was in blue silk, leather boots, a fur wrap, my mom's old eelskin belt and my new purple eyeshadow, with the fading remnants of pot and alcohol in my brain. I was having fun. In the company of friends, dancing, laughing, and merriment, my mind took a moment and in a few seconds the commotion disintegrated to a blur as something occurred to me. I do not like being alone.

I do not like admitting that I do not like being alone. What I have often mistaken for a ravenous libido and good luck among the sea of fishes now seemed to me to be less about being boycrazy and more about just plain desire for male company. For a long time I have thought that admitting this, that I do not like being alone, would mean that I am not a free and independent woman. Because, yes, I am happy, generally. No, I don't need a man. But I guess I wholeheartedly enjoy a good one.

Much has been waxed philosophical about the greatness of a good woman, what with movies like Scent of a Woman, and morals of the story where men romantically discuss how much they love women for all their complicated ways, though we all know they discuss the details of their ass and tits more often than not. But what about a great man? I just broke up with a boyfriend. And before that I had another, and before that another. And for all four years of high school I dated countless guys. In fact this past year I wasn't happy unless I was dating at least 3 or 4 at a time, rotating my litter on a monthly basis. And of course my obligatory reclarification, I didn't sleep with pretty much any of them. The quantity of "partners" I enjoy is just about the only thing I am conservative about.

I love a good man. Of all the things that could be compared to a fine glass of wine, a good man is the most pleasant. This is not to say that I like them in all shapes and sizes. I don't. If I am not instantly attracted to a man- if there's no chemistry- there is no amount of wining, dining, gift buying, or making me see his clever ways that will do. Such a man with whom there is no chemistry makes a great friend. But each one can be quite different and wonderful. With his own personal variety of music, oddities towards certain foods, beat up jeans, ideas about who they are and who they are going to be, hidden talents, dirty secrets, lovable faults. I love a good man, and scorn him when he ends up doing something weird with his penis making me never want to talk to him again. Lord knows I've got good horror stories about that. But such stories belong to the spoken word. Such filth should never disgrace not even this blog, it makes for witty and disarming drunken banter instead.

It's easy to love being in love, and when you're fresh out of it, you definitely feel an emptiness where something once was. But I know better than to seek it out from the past. One of the greatest pieces of wisdom a woman can have in dealing with a man is to know that you cannot change him. And you should not. The only harmless woman influence is to help him dress better. And of course if he's a good one, he will learn from you and you will learn from him to both be better. But never ever push against a man's nature. If you don't like him, or your situation with him, as is, don't bother liking him at all. If he'll ever change, let him do on his own time, and out of his own volition.

And with those thoughts I embrace the future and tell myself it's ok to feel a little lonely sometimes, especially when you're not in the mood to shove your tongue down anyone's mouth on New Year's Eve. Nothing an afternoon in SoHo and movies on the couch can't cure. That is when your lady friends are busy anyways ...

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