Last week an artist named Tei asked me to contribute an article to his website. He suggested that I write something relevant to men and women, something “serious.” It appears that ipod eulogies, dialogues with dead poets, and tributes to imaginary women named Dinah, (the stuff I know), wouldn’t appeal to his audience.
If Tei had asked me to write about crunchy Cheetos vs. puffy Cheetos, the top five mascaras, the benefits of sugar-free Red Bull, the difference between Burt’s Bees lip balm and Chapstick, plucking gray hairs and pretending that they never existed, finishing an undergraduate degree in eight years, getting home safely after ten rounds of tequila, reusing take-out containers as dinnerware, pretending to work at work, being conned by transsexual psychics, the first season of Fraggle Rock, or living almost entirely inside one’s mind, I would’ve been all over the article. I could have even written about Noah’s final days and how he suffered from dehydration (irrational fear of water), or the special kinds of thistle that make good floating baskets for babies, but something relevant for men and women, and I’m at a loss.
What do I know about non-platonic men/women relationships? Nada, Rien, ничего, Zilch, 没有, Nothing. My friend Tan has told me repeatedly that I’m a “late bloomer,” and clearly she means decades late (at first I thought she was talking about my breasts and hips, but now I know she means everything). I’m still struggling to learn something about “Love,” and it’s worse than third-grade fractions (never learned those either): Woman/Man + Conversation – Love = ? (Woman over man plus conversation minus love equals what?).
I could, at length, write articles about going home with strangers and watching Afrocentric movies, going home with strangers and drinking vodka, hitchhiking in the rain and getting a patdown, refusing to give it up to the best eye candy ever (and regretting it), refusing to give it up and not regretting it, having great first, second, and then “please lose my number” third dates, the inability to actually connect with men under sixty, drunk dialing tendencies which in the millenium has become drunk texting, ridiculous obsessions with guys who can’t like me, and my disease of over-flirting (flirting while under the influence).
Someday, I will write an article for Tei’s site, and hopefully it’s earth-shattering and rapture-filled, but first I have to learn something about relationships. So, here’s the plan (what’s written must manifest):
1) Move to Paris in August.
2) Reinvent myself as a “normal” person; stay quiet, very quiet.
3) Learn various smiles: mysterious, coquettish, “I have tricks up my sleeve,” “I’m so much fun, and not insane,” “You’re so amusing,” “I would speak, but this smile says it all.”
4) Start baking; it’s come to my attention that men like baked goods.
5) Borrow some of the vanilla extract from the brownies I’m gonna bake, and rub it all over me. It’s come to my attention that men like the scent of vanilla.
6) Hang out; it’s come to my attention that it’ll be easier to meet someone if I’m not snuggled up on the couch watching romantic comedies on Netflix.
7) Stop drinking tequila… it’d be nice to remember what goes down.