52: Slut-Devil

In 52 days I turn 30

“It’s coming closer
The flames are reaching my body
Please won’t you help me
I feel like I’m slipping away
It’s hard to breath
And my chest is a-heaving

Lord have mercy,
I’m burning a hole where I lay
‘Cause your kisses lift me higher
Like the sweet song of a choir
You light my morning sky
With burning love”

Sings Elvis to an apparently Satanic woman he can’t help but love.

 

Matthew McConaughey plays a womanizing, charming, gorgeous marketing executive who is challenged to a bet by his co-workers: Date one woman for ten days or else lose your high-earning accounts.

Kate Hudson plays a sexy, cool-girl journalist who has challenged herself to “lose a guy in ten days” for the sake of an article she is writing entitled “How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days” which will supposedly be her ticket to writing more “Serious” editorial.

They meet.

They date.

They lie.

Kate Hudson acts “Crazy”.

Matthew McConaughey behaves with charm and ease.

She tells her friends that he is “adorable” while shoving a cheeseburger into her perfectly pink mouth and sits crammed into a cubicle with two other women.

He, holding a pool cue, leaning over a billiards table that is inexplicably yet acceptably present in his office, tells his work buddies, “She’s probably bi polar”.

 

I tell M that I have Bi Polar disorder.

We aren’t dating anymore. He came over casually. I tell him as we sit by the window discussing our current love struggles with People Who Aren’t Here Right Now.

Of course his response has nothing to do with me.

He says, “Yeah, probably. I probably have it to.”

“No no, I was diagnosed ten years ago.” I suddenly need him to accept me. “I have been medicated. I need to be medicated or else I can’t function properly.”

“But you’re still crazy.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re fucking crazy in bed, though.”

I can feel my eyebrows. They are incredulous.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.” He ends the conversation.

 

“You prob’ly think that you are

Better now, Better now

You only say that ’cause I’m 

Not around, Not around

You know I never meant to 

Let you down, Let you down

Could have gave you anything

Could have gave you everything”

Raps Post Malone to a woman who doesn’t need him anymore.

 

Calvin Harris is supposed to be here.

I do notreally know who Calvin Harris “is”. My friend asked me to come with her to this “show”.

Is that him on stage? Impossible to know. I can’t ask my friend because she is nowhere insight.

I stand, smiling. My feet hurt. My dress hurts.  I am standing in a crowd of very excited people. There are a million, two million, maybe even three million people here. I have had three coffees and at least five ounces of whisky. I nod my head towards the guy beside me. He is surrounded by “buddies”. Drunk buddies. Buddies holding each other’s shoulders. Buddies from school. Buddies from work. Buddies did you see that, do you see her, who is this, what is she doing–

“Do you make out with people?” I stare at the buddy beside me, my eyes possessed with tomorrow, my body insisting on Right Now. I ask again with drunk devil slurs,”do you do you makeoutwith? People?”

“WHAT?” He can’t hear me but his buddy says, “dude she wants to kiss you,” and pushes buddy buddy buddy into my face.

 

Julia Roberts loves Dermot Mulroney. He is her best friend.

Dermot Mulroney is engaged to Cameron Diaz.

Julia Roberts has large, curly hair, strange eyebrows and a huge smile.

Cameron Diaz is blonde and somehow uncomfortably plain.

Julia Roberts ruins her best friend’s engagement.

Cameron Diaz is crying in a bathroom.

Dermot Mulroney is clueless. All he wants is for the two women he most admires to remain in his life and make him feel really important for the compartmentalized reasons that he has delegated and that he insists are factually arranged.

The women scream and cry.

The men sing, smile and wave.

 

“You don’t want to be with me, I’m crazy”

Raps Cardi B. to Adam Levine as he sings

“I spent last night
On the last flight to you
Took a whole day up
Trying to get way up, ooh ooh
We spent the daylight
Trying to make things right between us
And now it’s all good baby”

 

My friend and I used to go to Clinton’s for Nineties Night on Fridays. Hip people took over. We haven’t been in eight or so years.

I used to wear a lot of makeup.

I used to wear unbuttoned small shirts.

I used to make out with strange men.

I look at the line to get into Clinton’s on a Saturday night. Sweet girls and handsy boys wait for their turn to grind with each other while Run DMC raps about an age they know nothing about. Everyone is wearing a tank top. Lipstick highlights the stupid lips of slut-like young women.

The boys are just waiting.

 

“I was gonna cancel then took a sec to realize
All the disappointment that would trail behind,
I was gonna cancel then you reminded me of who I am,
Everything is clearer than a mirror is to woman
Just the same as a dog is to man.”

Kylie Minogue sings to a man she was very close to not seeing this evening.

 

“Do you want to get drunk and make out.”

I no longer have a use for Tinder but it remains on my phone perhaps so I will have something to write about or perhaps because it takes a real Reason for me to delete an app.

“You’re already drunk,” I write.

“Yep.” He confirms.

We talk for a while because I can’t sleep.

Later he will tell me that, all kidding aside, he never drinks on first dates, “women like it when you offer them literally anything other than a drink on a first date.”

I suppose his initiatory comment was insincere. Getting drunk and making out must be of no interest to him.

“It’s comments like that from men like you that make drinking mandatory on a first date.” I add, “haha”.

“I mean, maybe if I get too drunk I’ll just mansplain more.”

I find myself continuously typing “haha”.

“Haha well I have a zero tolerance policy for condescending explanations about women to me, A Woman. I will shit on you if you mansplain. haha”

By the end of this conversation he will ask me for my number.

I almost do it, against my will, but then I write “tbh I don’t feel comfortable giving my number out to people I haven’t met in person.”

A simple No would have been fine.

I tell him three stories. I reveal three undignified incidents between me and a few of the strangers who happened to ask me for my number. I tell him the stories as if I am reiterating “ha ha ha ha hahahahahahahah” and I say,  “just telling you so you know it isn’t personal”.

He says, “Then I guess I’ll have to take you out”

I give myself permission to delete the app.

 

Renée Zellweger has run out of her flat wearing nothing but underwear.

It is snowing.

Colin Firth finds her, shields her with his coat, kisses her.

She sinks into his grip.

 

“I think I have something too.  I don’t know what it is but it’s something. Maybe bi polar.” M smokes his way through an admission of fear.

“Have you ever been afraid of yourself?”

“Maybe. But, no one else thinks I’m crazy so I’m fine.”

 

“I give my hand to you with all my heart
I can’t wait to live my life with you
I can’t wait to start
You and I will never be apart
My dreams came true because of you

From this moment as long as I live
I will love you, I promise you this
There is nothing I wouldn’t give
From this moment on”

Shania sings to a man who makes her feel normal for a single fucking moment.

 

Thank you so much for reading! If you like my work and you’d like to contribute, I have a show in the Toronto Fringe festival that needs your support!

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All the best, calm calm peace,

-R