Let There Be Hope!

Not too long ago, I couldn't recognize a booty call when it was looking me straight in the eye.

Yes, I was An Innocent. Truly. Let me digress: so many of us are innocent, no matter how many men we've slept with, hearts we've broken, years we've spent in a relationship. This is why (one reason out of many) the Subject of Love fascinates: we never get it right (not quite) and there are a hundred (thousand, million) variations on the theme. Is Love biological or spiritual? Is it somehow both? And does it matter? Is your Love better or truer than mine? (a question someone in their darkest moments might ask) How do I find it, keep it, nourish it? What happens when I fall out of it?

Well, anyway, there are so many things to say, ask and wonder. As long as I have the time to write, I don't think this blog will die.

But back to Innocence: I've always been the sort to keep my cards close to the chest. I've played it cool, partly out of nervousness (no one would guess) and partly out of not being interested in 99% of the guys I met. And then I fell for ... Reggie (not his name). This was six years ago, and though he was tall and so very cute, I have no idea why I stayed with him for seven long months. (In fact, I was just thinking about this today!) We had nothing in common except a sense of humor. This was 2004, during the election, and Reggie was a dyed-in-the-wool Bush-lover (we're talking George, of course) and I was the polar opposite. (I've wanted to write something about it: "Love in the Time of Bush.") I've never been so angry, argumentative and awful. (Of course, it didn't help that my father died unexpectedly one week after the election. Poor Reggie.) Anyway, months after we broke up, Reggie would come around to "hang out" and I never realized that a booty call by any other name is still a booty call. What an idiot.

I've gained wisdom these last brief years, thanks in part to Evan Marc Katz. I still don't wear my heart on my sleeve and I still make mistakes (see TOTGA), but I can spot a booty call at 10 paces. And I don't have fairytale illusions about love. Love is a part of life (let's hope) and life is imperfect. It follows that Love will be, too. And I'm OK with that.