Friday, December 31, 2010

dirty talk.

i just spoke to the girl i adore more than chocolate & cute boys. you know how people say they talked someone "down" from a mood or a decision or what have you, well, my e, she talks me up. up from whatever pile of existential shit i've found myself underneath. in my former life i must have been a french philosopher.

e isn't quite 30, but she is wise as the sky is endless. she has lived many lives already. when she's not being wise, she's being hilarious, and oftentimes she is both at once. her russian love is away at grad school and a frequent topic of our conversation. this evening she told me how she "tears his skin off at least once a week" on the phone, and how he tells her—in what i like to think is his count dracula accent bc i've yet to meet him—that to a man, the only difference between committing and not committing is "different p*ssy," and so the reason he doesn't cheat on her is that no other p*ssy is worth losing a girl with such fire. smart fella. i like him already. and speaking of the p-word, my e told me something else this evening, about luck and life, etc., courtesy of her brother: "if it was raining p*ssies, i'd be the one to get hit by a d*ck." i've yet to meet her brother, but i think he's an alright guy. plus i know he's covered in tattoos and likes pit bulls and is accordingly unruly...check, check, check....and if he didn't have a girl and a kid i would've hightailed it to southern wv many years ago to chase him around. will travel for boys. what? cynicism ain't gonna keep me warm at night forever.

anyhow, i started this evening under what i thought was an intractable cloud of grumpiness. then came my e, and a few p-words, and here i am now, totally fine sitting in the dark by myself, drinking coffee on nye instead of mingling w people who don't give a damn about me much anyway; nor i, them. mutual indifference is acceptable, you know. although in the south, indifference is a no-no, or at least the appearance of it. people act like they care, bc they think it's polite, that is, until it infringes on their right to party or do whatever else is more important than being considerate. oh, did i type that out loud. why yes, i did. my fingers took over. it happens to a writer. besides, i can be verbally expulsive about all sorts of taboos and then call it art. if i were a visual artist, i'd be like basquiat and draw people crudely, bc, as he explained to the reporter played by christopher walken, "most people are crude."

it's almost 11 pm now. i'm not sure how long i've been writing...i guess a few minutes after i hung up with e, after i wished her a safe trip to see the russian, after she told me she loves me more than i know. i kinda know, though. and the very best thing about this nye eve is, i did get my wish for something to happen to redeem this year. i realized that calendars are an affront to the natural movement of time. time doesn't respect the calendar. so neither should i. i also remembered the perfection of a good laugh w a good friend. it's better than a chocolate-covered cute boy. hey, do they sell those anywhere? i'd like one for valentine's day. who's got a pen? write that shit down.

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