Sex Is Stupid

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I didn’t feel particularly ruttish. On the contrary, I felt rather passionless. But I also felt despondent and wanted physical attention. People get like that, right? It was probably a mistake. It was a mistake. I wasn’t attracted to this girl. Not at all. I mean, she was okay. She was cute-ish. I liked her body. I was drinking steadily.




Matt and Jesse and Neil met me at this little spot at 8:15. That itself was quite taxing. Why do plans not just make themselves? Emails turn into such goofy threads. I suck at finding spots to eat. I’m the worst. It happened though, thank god. The possibility of having no plans puts me on the verge of tears.

I wanted to drop off this stupid plastic bag from Staples that I had in my hands. I mean, my house was two blocks away, literally. But I didn’t want to be late, and whatever. So this bag is in my hands because I didn’t want to carry an actual bag around, and because I couldn’t rationalize taking it home real quick. I mention this because it will come up later. Oh, and just to quickly mention, the contents of the bag were a reel of 16mm film (of the cloudy sky for 3 minutes), a work print of that film (which I’m excited to load into my projector), and a binder from Staples, in which to put my thesis paper and a CD of my MFA work, which I have to turn in to my department soon. So, it’s like physical and mental baggage, in a way.

There was a birthday crew of eight at the table adjacent to ours. They kept looking over at us. There was a gay guy there who was quite the instigator. Seems like gay guys always figure that all straight people should hook up, all the time. They might have something there. They’re right. I figured so, apparently. It’s my birthday soon too, and my friends told the waiter, which was nice – this sort of lead to the whole mingling of the tables.

This birthday group followed us to this other bar. I told them where we were headed, so I suppose a part of me wanted this. But really, I just felt like it was something to say to cut through the awkwardness of these two groups of people being made a match. The gay guy told us birthday folk to kiss. Awkward.

There’s this other girl. She’s tops. Really pretty and down to earth and cool and stylish, in a dressed down way, and into what I’m into. I know that because she goes to my school and we talk and I can tell. Don’t start on the dating-people-at-school thing. I don’t care if they’re undergrads and I’m not. Regardless, I am really looking forward to getting to know this girl. I’m excited. Nervous. I’m not ready. I don’t care I’ll get ready I’m tired of waiting and I’m over this melancholy it’s time to live thelifeiwant!

She texted me. I was eating. I didn’t notice the text because Jesse and I switched seats on account of me being left-handed and him being right-handed, but we deliberately didn’t switch our jackets; I made a point of us leaving said jackets on the backs of the wrong chairs for some reason, thus somehow sabotaging myself, in a way. Sort of. Maybe I’m reading into that. I can always point to these little decisions I make that lead to greater consequences.

If I got the text earlier, maybe I could have planned better to meet her instead of deciding with my friends, which then included Kristen and Nora, to go to a nearby bar. So it was like, in motion by the time I saw the text. Also, the girl was in Manhattan; there was just messy energy around it somehow, from me, perhaps. One of those situations where I’m showing Nora the whole text conversation to see how to play it. I know I know it shouldn’t be 'played,' like a game / do what you want / no rules / etc. but it was complicated, okay? Also, again, I decided to bring with me that plastic bag with my stuff, after asking people what they thought I should do. I was hoping someone would say “Run it home! You’ll just be a minute! It’s clearly bothering you!” But no one did because it's actually a weird tick to fret so much about it maybe, and it's my responsibility to take care of myself and my things and so I brought it to the bar because whatever!

Neil was bringing great energy and conversation, of course. He was chatting up everyone. He had his eye on one girl in particular, who had eyed me earlier but what did I care? Not for any of these people, that’s for sure. Though I engaged in all that typical banter and stuff. Questions about work and birthdays and such nonsense, like where did you grow up / tell me all about it. Not only did I not want to answer that question, but I never wanted to answer another meet-and-greet question or see any of these people again for the rest of my life. That's a quote, btw.

Moving on, I felt conflicted because I wanted to meet the girl, but it didn’t feel clear or smooth enough. I felt kind of like a deer might feel when headlights are bearing down on it, cos it felt like time was passing, and my window for any decision was narrowing, but I was also just plain stuck in something. If this group from the bar didn’t show up, it would almost be easier. I felt more bound to them than my actual friends, for some stupid reason that I don’t understand. Plus, I had this plastic bag, and I definitely didn’t want to go to Manhattan with it. But the F train was right by this bar, so then it seemed silly to run it home at that point. It really put me in a pickle. It’s a trite thing to let ruin my mental flow, but I guess that’s kind of what this story is about.

I was reading texts and thinking hard about this girl – this real girl that I actually like – in the middle of this supposed conversation I was having with the birthday girl. She was boring. There was no spark. No sexual chemistry in the air. None. Maybe from across the room as a corollary to Neil’s enthusiasm – Neilthusiasm. The birthday girl was watching me text. I resolved to stay in Brooklyn, with this awkward situation on my hands, instead of bringing my awkwardness to Manhattan. But I couldn’t very well tell her what was going on, because that would be rude. I mean, I ended up taking this girl home, after all.

So after all, I ended up taking this girl home. I didn’t want to. I wanted to go to her place, if anything. But like I said, my place was two or three blocks away, literally. She reminded me of this point when I asked where she lived, which was, like, a cab ride away. A cab ride we should have taken. I say so because I tend to do much better in a new environment, sexually and socially. In my own place, I feel the mental clutter of my whole life weighing on me, all the past energy the room has accumulated, which I wouldn't be as sensitive to in a new place. Like, just get down to business, right? Plus, we should have gone to her’s because she ended up vomiting all night in my bathroom and really killed the mood, which probably should have been killed anyway. If we were at her’s, I would have gladly left then and there.

We had french kissed in the bar and I felt her body and it was nice to be reminded of other women’s bodies... I’m alluding with subtext there to the girl I’ve really loved and been trying not to think about this whole time, because it’s really her body that I want to be feeling, her face I want to be kissing, her I want to be meeting. Well anyway, I probably should have left this person at the bar, left it at a silly public make-out sesh. It would have been enough for her; I mean, she was elated to be kissing me. I know this sounds arrogant, but seriously, this girl was very lucky to be with me here. Her friend, the one with Neil, told me so as we left, in the form of “Thanks for making her birthday!” Something like that. It would have sufficed for me, to leave it at a drunken bar-level mistake, but I guess I really needed more validation, or destruction. People need these things sometimes, right?

I didn’t have any real desire for this girl. We got naked and all that, but it’s like I’ve known before: Sex is stupid if it’s not genuine. Love makes it. There was no love here. It made me sick. It made her really sick. My roommate complained via a note at my door about the vile smell in the bathroom. I wanted this girl to take a cab home immediately! but of course she ended up spending the night. I was getting tired while she was throwing up so I started dozing off and told her to just get some rest before going home so that I could fall asleep without worrying about her. Instead, though, as she eventually passed out effortlessly, I thought about the girl I should stop thinking about, about how this unattractive stranger was defiling the bed I’d shared with my love, how the whole scene was sick, and how it would be much better if I was pursuing the girl – the real girl – the one I was texting with, slowly, maturely, all that /

I guess this is why people say you should just be alone, avoid the whole complicated mess. I mean, I had plans today. That Staples binder, for instance. Instead, I cleaned up the bathroom after much avoidance of reality to the tune of five hours in my bed watching Netflix and Hulu and YouTube. Five hours is a long time. I woke up at 7:30am (!) because that’s what happens sometimes when you share a bed with someone with whom you’re not comfortable. I couldn’t fall back asleep, even though I had only slept for three and a half hours. I could have had sex with her then, in the morning daylight, which was uncharacteristically cruel. Wasn’t feeling it though. You understand. I laid there thinking, ruminating: what would make me feel better? Sex? No sex? Getting this person out of here as quickly as possible or being nice/ignoring her sudden hideousness? She rolled over on top of me and in my head I kept repeating, “I’m not feeling this. Please leave.” I couldn’t say that though. I wanted to, believe me. But it’s hard. So I got up and she followed and I showed her the door, then got back in bed. I mean, I need rest. I got very little on the eve of this story because street sweeping started at 9:30 so I had to sit in my car for an hour and a half. That's how the big day started. I had a book. Don’t start with the whole issue of Why’d I park on the wrong side of the street. Mistakes are made, okay? It was an excellent parking spot, otherwise. After that, I took a really long nap on the couch before picking up my film and going to a great art reception and then Staples, but regardless, I’m tired.

Couldn’t fall back to sleep after all this though. This odd morning-insomnia didn’t stop me from my pattern of avoidance; I tried masturbating, of course, but it was really, really difficult. Lousy orgasm, too.