"Can we, as a country, all
: February 2005 : I Love Las Vegas
so my last column? The one wherein
I listed what I wanted from a
male partner and then solicited
resumes? Well, it was clearly
incomplete. I got many wonderful
for coffee dates, caring critiques
of my value system, concerned
advice and pats on the back, but
what was obvious in the end was
that this love nut is a lot harder
to crack than I made it out to
Ultimately it was the Hottest
Chick in Town who--in the dressing
room--made evident the error of
"Oh, Viva! If they would just
LIE and say, 'Honey, I just outran
the cops today.' Or something!
They have to be BAAAAD. Or they
have to lie."
My God, I thought, she's right.
Then I thought about my shrink
who repeatedly asks me to examine
my fondness for dating criminals.
"I admire them," I say. "I feel
they are at odds with a fundamentally
fucked-up and unjust system, and
I worship them for it."
Said shrink thinks I lack the
capacity to read people, like
the last guy I dated who was missing
a handful of teeth and who tried
harder to procure a doctor's note
saying he was RETARDED than he
ever did trying to get a decent
One of my applicants for partnership
called foul on my whole list.
He deconstructed every line to
show that my mating requirements
were merely the usual What-Every-Woman-Wants:
a hot, rich guitar player who
gives her head for hours (see
pg. 22). He said my list was "at
best coded and incomplete and
at worst utter bullshit." Well,
In the end it's all star signs
and love potions. Men are from
Mars, women are from Venus. Or,
as my darling Scorpio supplicant
put it, riffing on Tom Arnold,
are crazy. All men are stupid."
Or, as my Brooklyn roommate
is wont to say, "Chemistry is
so important to you girls."
Isn't chemistry important to
guys? Obviously they are less
discriminating and can fuck
a cold cantaloupe and get off
happily, but aren't certain
cantaloupes more to their liking
Every ostensibly "good" relationship
I've bailed on I've done so
due to lack of chemistry. If
I'm not totally turned on by
you, sex feels sweaty, sticky,
uncomfortable and, ultimately,
not unlike rape. Conversely,
if I am into you--you ASSHOLE--you
could hit me and, as the Phil
Spector song goes, it would
feel like a kiss.
So obviously there's a new list.
A continuance. A second page.
Dear Male Partner Prospect,
You must be a criminal. You
must not treat me too well or
I will not respect you. You
must push me up against the
wall of the shower on occasion
and stick your tongue down my
throat. Most importantly, I
must really and thoroughly enjoy
this. Otherwise you are going
Goddamnit I don't know. A lot
of this boils down to hero worship.
I've got to respect and admire
you in order to get hot for
you and most of you are so ugh!
I've done a lot with my life.
I've lived--alone--on four continents
and in six states. I am an athlete,
an artist and an intellectual.
I play four instruments and
speak five languages. I bathe
frequently and I like to fuck.
I have wonderful friendships
with hot chicks and I volunteer
time and money to charitable
causes. I've recorded seven
albums, appeared in countless
movies, documentaries and music
videos, and seen publication
of my writing in national periodicals.
Not to toot my own horn or anything,
but it's getting harder and
harder for you to impress me.
But then again how hard can
it be? I'm a girl who's impressed
by the bums on street corners.
My last boyfriend didn't have
a job or teeth! But in the end
I run with wolves and you simply
have to keep up.
What you can bring to my life
are the things I can't create
on my own--that sweet easy feeling
that everything is gonna be
alright, that it's only life
after all, that we're gonna
rock out with our cocks out
until they put us in the ground.
And, on occasion, push me up
against the wall of the shower,
stick your tongue down my throat,
and tell me you just outran
|© 2005 Xmag, LLC. All rights reserved. copyright | trademark | legal notices