First off, I don't like animals. I am sorry. I know in theory this makes me a shitty person with no soul who will never really love anything or anyone, but I am OK with that. I am happy to live out my smelly creature-free existence in my beautiful, childless home. I will spend my time not going to zoos, soccer games, or PTA meetings, as well as not picking up feces. I will also dodge marriage counseling, wondering 'if he still loves me,' and toilet paper left irritatingly NEXT to the wrung. I am tired of feeling bad about all of this...NO, I don't want to go to the zoo, I will say next time I am asked, because I get nothing out of watching caged animals lounge while children cough on me and the entire world around me smells like poo. NO, I don't want kids either, because of how many zoos and the like I will have to go to. And frankly, I hate sleeping next to people, and I don't picture any man tolerating a separate bedroom in our first house together. "Um, yeah, that wedding night sex was awesome...however sleeping next to you makes my skin crawl and so I have already made arrangements for another hotel room. Call me when you wake up...that is, if it is in the afternoon."
Cats, you were officially my last hope to like animals. However, two cats live in the apartment below me. Their names are Gerome and Kitler. Kitler has a little dark spot under his nose. I know. It's fucking precious.
Gerome I hated from the start. Sitting outside, meowing incessantly while he stares at you for some unknown, maddening reason. As if you could give some kind of response. "Why, yes, Gerome, the free market economy DOES have its limitations, but are you really advocating such omnipresent governmental control on industry? STOP FUCKING MEOWING!!!!!"
So Gerome is a lost cause. He clearly has no common sense nor respect, but Kitler, on the other hand...he seemed marginally tolerable. He is definitely the cuter of the two, and I am superficial. But he also managed to spare me the meowing. The meowing, and the staring. In fact, for the most part, he spared me all contact, just walked by, minding his business, not demanding anything and gaining MY respect because he has his own goddamn life to get to. However...the other day...GAAAAHHHH.
Sitting on my neighbor's porch. Awaiting my ride to rehearsal. Gerome. Kitler. Circling me. Rubbing their New Orleans soaked paws on my brand new dress. Covering me with fur. Making me sneeze. MEOWING. Both of them. Looking to me for answers. I DON'T HAVE THEM, CATS!
So cats, unless you have "keyboard" in front of your name, I simply have no time for you. I enjoyed Emma's cat Violet, but only because she was a total bitch, and that, I can respect.
Moving on...
I had something profound to say in this blog, but I may have lost it. Fuckin' cats.
Ah yes, monogamy. The more I sit and wonder about every experience I have had in my life (which I don't recommend), I wonder about monogamy. I wonder if it is what I really want, or just something I have been made to want. I have experienced infidelity on varying levels, and I know I have done damage to people and have had damage done to me. But why, I wonder. Once I love someone, I will always love them, and the state of my body does not alter that. Yet, I know it has disturbed me to my very core when I have felt "betrayed." But what is betrayal, really? I tried to understand this further, so I spoke to a married person. Why would infidelity hurt you?
"Because," she explained, "It has nothing to do with sex. It has to do with the fact that for that moment, you don't exist in their mind. They no longer care about you as a person so they can follow their sexual urge. They keep something from you, after making a promise to you based on trust, because of something sexual they 'have' to do."
Fair. I see that. However, no matter what relationship I wind up in, it will not trouble me if my partner, when I am not there, looks at porn. If I am there, however...well, depends on the porn. I'm not into golden showers nor tentacles.
But seriously, that does not bother me. Looking at someone else, bringing his body to orgasm at the thought of someone else's body, and keeping it from me: not a problem. If he lied about it, that is one thing. But deciding to announce, "Why hello, Meredith. I just had a gushing orgasm because I was imagining this young blonde woman with her mouth around my genitals, and the prospect of ejaculating on her face. Coffee?"
Not necessary. (Though once I find the person who talks like that, I might be happy forever.) Honestly, though, it just does not bother me. However, when the person becomes three dimensional, when the sexual act becomes real, when the someone on a screen changes to someone with a personality, a life, the possibility of taking him away from me...
There's the rub (pun intended). The problem with infidelity, for me, is not the act, really. We all want people outside of our relationship while in one, that is hard to argue with. Infidelity is scary, because you know that once someone you are with sleeps with someone else, they could like it more, want them more, and fall in love with them. It is interesting how we don't usually have the same worry when our partner comes home and says, "My, what a conversationalist that Betty from accounting is!" because to us, the betrayal hasn't happened until something is inserted somewhere else. But what is love, really, without the desire for the person you love to truly be happy? As much as loving someone who sleeps with someone else would hurt me, and perhaps the eventual decision to be with someone else would destroy me, what would kill me more would be knowing that someone was with me, and it was making them unhappy. I think I always know I really love someone when I realize no matter who they are with, me, or anyone else, their happiness is more important to me than any commitment.
Which is another reason I don't fit into society: I just don't know how anyone maintains a relationship with the knowledge that on some level, you are holding the other one back. It is worth it to people, and I realize that. Not sleeping with someone else is hardly a sacrifice for a loving partnership. I understand, people who are about to respond. My point is that wouldn't it be wonderful, on some magical planet, if infidelity was never an issue because you could separate your body from your heart? I know it is impossible, because they are so strongly linked. But, coming from someone whose urges and emotions can be fleeting but her love never is, I just wonder about the radical. I wonder if all of this energy toward radical feminism, politics, etc., could translate into a radical theory of love. I think the only way to consider societal mores is to compare them with the impossible, the radical, the unfeasible; because that is the only way they are checked. It gets complicated with love because it is so ingrained in us to want monogamy, so important for us to maintain love. But why not question it? How can I not really believe in marriage for myself, but have my wedding planned out? These things should be questioned!
Or maybe I am wrong and Chris O'Donnell in Kinsey is right. You just shouldn't mess with sex.
