Crazy for being so Crazy

So I sort have been hanging out with a guy I met that runs the falafel cart at my school. I had been eying him for a while, he is quite handsome and sweet. Last summer he commented on a T shirt that I was wearing - a Roxy Music T shirt that depicted a girl in her under ware holding her hands over her breasts. I chatted with him for a couple minutes. He was told me he lived in Queens. I told him I did too. He came here recently from Egypt. Anyway, I was instantly attracted to him but I knew the whole thing was a bad idea. I've been down this path before - falling for a guy from another country who works insane hours, is just learning the language and the culture, etc, etc. It was a lot of fun, believe me, but it ultimately ended in heartbreak with my last boyfriend from Brazil. So I purposefully ignored him for the next 3 months, even though I passed by him once or twice a week when I was at school.

Then, in some dumb temptation of fate, this Valentine's Day I decided to stop by and say 'Hi'. 'M' greeted me with such friendliness it was as if no time had passed, he remembered my name and everything I had told him in our prior conversation 3 or 4 months before. He said he saw me walk by all the time and asked why I didn't come talk to him anymore. I told him I was shy. Which is part of the truth.

He asked me what I was doing that night and if I'd like to hang out. We went and got coffee later. He doesn't drink at all. (Awkward!) But he is really sexy. And speaking of sexy, I think he's got some weird hang ups about sex. Apparently Egyptian women are virgins until they get married. And they still practice female circumcision there! Horrifying. He genuinely seems like a sweet guy, not a horrible misogonystic, woman-oppressor (as many Muslim men are believed to be by western women) but he definitely seems conflicted about sex.

The other day, after several dates, he came over to my house. I offered him tea and put on a movie. After kissing me passionately and dragging me to my bedroom to rip off my shirt, he abruptly asked me if I wanted to finish my tea. We went back to the living room to finish our tea. He started kissing me again. Then he paused and started looking off into space. I asked him what was wrong, he suddenly said he had to go and meet with his lawyer over some fines he had. His ambivalence didn't surprise me. I told him no problem, he should go. Once again he started kissing me and trying to pull my pants off. He then suggested we arm wrestle - he using only two fingers to compensate for being stronger than me. If I won he would stay. By this point, I was over it, I had accepted that he was going to go. We arm wrested, he with his two fingers against my hand and he won. He then suggested a rematch - only one finger against my whole hand. He seemed to be vacillating as to whether he should stay or go. I already suspected that if we hooked up he would freak out and leave. So I sent him on his way.

The next morning he called. I didn't answer. But today, under some crazy compulsion, I had to stop by again to say hi. He greeted me with friendliness and openness. His cousin was there and he introduced us.

Why do we play these games? Why are men and women so bewildered by one another? I know the whole thing is a horrible idea and yet I keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again. There is something about the exotic thrill of foreign lands and foreign men. Their 'strange' customs and ways excite me, challenge me. Something about the smell and touch of their skin is enticing. I know this is futile. That my romanticism is overly optimistic at best and objectifying and ignorant at its worst. And yet I must follow my foolish impulses.

Carnival of Sadness

I happen to LOVE depressing movies. The best thing is to go see them alone. There are 3 reasons for this: one - so I can smuggle in food like burritos and sit in a dark corner in the very last row masticating my food in peace (and not eating the dreaded movie popcorn with fake butter - I hate that shit, it doesn't even tempt me!), two - so I can cry with abandon - mascara running down my face, a misty and tragic look in my eyes, and three - so I can devolve into a dream-like reality after watching the movie and walk around for the next hour feeling like everything is surreal, reflecting on the movie. I never have to deal with anyone turning to me preemptively, just after the credits start rolling, interrogating - 'So, what do you think'? Movies put me in a stupor, entrance me, I forget all about myself and my petty, re-occuring issues. Its nothing short of liberation.

Tonight I saw 'Biutiful' an extremely dark and depressing film set in Barcelona by the director of Amores Perros (one of my favorite films). It was sad as hell. In fact I had to go get a drink afterwards. Alone. At a bar close to my house. I sat there drinking a cheap beer and a shot - $5 for both, the beer was actually good, its made in Upstate NY- a bleak and lonely place, if ever there was one. But the truth is feeling bad makes me feel good sometimes. The bartender was playing Mazzy Star and old Motown. I was feeling lucky to live in such a free world that I can sit alone at a bar pontificating by myself - as a single woman, and no one bats an eye. I was also simultaneously cursing my independence - wishing I was with someone who loved me. Someone who I could talk about the cruelty of fate with, discuss how the immigrants in the movie struggled, discuss the unfairness of the world, the struggle to find meaning in anything.

The protagonist in the movie was dying of cancer. I wonder what would matter to me if I were dying. What is left that means anything?!

Wow. This is getting depressing. I didn't mean it that way. Life is just complicated. For all of us.