Friday, December 18, 2009


Lately, I've been dating. Dating, dating, dating. So ... strange. For a long time, a really long time, I didn't date anybody. Broken heart and all that. But, hey, I'm a "Soldier of Love," and it's the Wild, Wild West, right? ("I'm still alive ...")

It's been sort of strange. Because I'm not a kid anymore. And the men aren't boys anymore. So the game is different. And it's not entirely clear how to play it. If it weren't for Wendy and Lydia, I'd probably never do it, but they regularly deliver swift kicks to my ass, and so it goes.

Mostly, in this illustrious career of mine, I have long avoided writing about my personal life. In part, that's because I was spending my professional time around pornographers, pimps, and sometimes rapists, and you kind of want to desexualize when you're in that situation. You don't want to be the target. You want to blend into the wallpaper. Disappear.

Dating, though, is nerve-wracking. As I informed one poor soul who had the misfortune of taking me out, I feel way more comfortable in a random apartment with a pimp who's showing me his AK-47 than I do on a date. Oh, the vulnerability! The wretched misreadability. It's all so unfuckingclear. I don't know if I speak the language.

One thing I know for sure: I love men. Women are my BFFs, and I love them, too, but I would rather chop off my head than date one. Way too fucking complicated. I love men. Everything about them. Their enigmatic-ness, and their strangeness, and their foreign-ness.

For a long time, after some shit happened, and everything got kind of wiped out, I felt sort of dead. Mostly, men make me feel more alive. So, I'm a soldier of love, right?