Sunday, July 12, 2009

Sex Vets or I Just Want To Get Back To Doing Something Useful

So I know what everyone’s thinking: What happened? I had been faithful and devoted to the blog, then went off on a tangent about comics, then went off another random tangent before quitting entirely for a month. I’ve been having a “Wonder Boys” moment as of late, where I had to take a step back and realize I haven’t really been writing. I’d like to say I was “doing life research” instead but that’s a bit of a copout. I do have notes though. I’m not going to bore the internet by writing about trying to write. But I just updated my Twitter for the first time in 16 days, and I want to say that…I getting there. Where there is, I don’t know, there isn’t a road map to my life right now. But I’m getting out of the rotary, so there’s a start.

Anyway, this is a piece (slightly abridged) that wrote a while ago. It’s probably not relevant to everyone, but again it’s a start and it’s something that’ll help me formulate my own ideas again, instead of obsessively reading other people’s. Sidenote: I wrote this in college where everything's gender-neutral. So there.

WWE: The Sex-Vets

In life, and especially in college, you will find that there are people who have mastered the fine art of promiscuity. They possess an acute sexual radar, own several outfits designed to maximize their availability, and can disrobe at a moment’s notice. You would think that these people exude sexual confidence, that they know exactly what they’re doing. The harsh truth is that these people aren’t necessarily comfortable with their sexualities. They’re probably just sex-veterans.

“What is a sex vet?” you ask. And moreover, what makes them different from sluts? Sex veterans aren’t out to have the best time possible; they’re really out to fill a void (no pun intended). See at the core of it all, all sex-vets seek to pay it forward, to right some sort of vindication.

Here it is: the birth of a sex-vet. Please feel free to stop me if you’ve heard this story before. With the help of some social lubrication (i.e. alcohol), you meet someone. You proceed to have a sexual encounter. You question your behavior and motivations the day after. Some time passes and you inadvertently meet this person again. There is another sexual episode. Feelings begin to blossom: they take root, sprout leaves, develop a healthy green stem. A deliberate third encounter happens and things seem on track. You want this “thing” to be out in the open; you invite the person to do something during the day. No response. Cut to a week or two later—you’re told that this isn’t working out. Common phrases include: “It’s not you, it’s me” or “This isn’t a good time in my life to settle down” or “I’m sorry but I have to be a [pejorative word here] about this.”

This leaves two options, which aren’t necessarily exclusive. Option 1: spend some time in the realm of depression, abusing substances (be it food or drugs) and listening to whiny music until a better prospect comes along. Option 2: Re-invent yourself, refine your radar and proceed to hook up without discretion. If you’ve chosen Option 2, congratulations, you’re on your way to becoming a sex veteran.

So you’ve picked Option 2 and you’re nerves are still raw. You are in extreme rebound mode and your friends have advised you against doing some rash. Against your better judgment, you down a couple of shots and notice the girl/guy/trans across the room you vaguely recognize from that Introduction to Religion class. You two end up talking about nothing in particular, but up the sexual tension to epic proportions. A surge of confidence runs through you; you make a move. And the next thing you know, you’re leaving the party, arm-in-arm with your reset button. Something happens (possibly sex, but your mileage may vary), you wake up relieved. After all, someone found you attractive enough to put her tongue in your mouth. Then the doubt sets in. “Am I really that hot? Could I get away with this again?”

Thus the sex-vet is born. Like a vampire, he lives to prey on intimacy. He raises his guard, makes sure to develop only the skills necessary to capture and ensnare a potential hook-up. He spends weeks obsessing about why he is unloved and yet is incapable of truly loving another. He cannot look at himself in the mirror. God forbid he actually takes a hard look at himself and realizes that (gasp!) he is actually as hurt about his former rejection as he feared.

Why are all these emotions being brought up now? This actually has nothing to do with me. To be completely honest, this is a topic that would fit better if I were still in college. And yet this sort of thing does still happen in the real world. I just spent an hour listening to a friend complain about how he was completely stood up by a girl he went on two wonderful dates with. Before that I was talking to a sex-vet about her dating policies. About multiple-night stands she said: “It’s okay if we hook up twice, but beyond that I feel like you’re just stifling me.”

Well I guess I chose this topic because for all you other vamps out there, hiding from the light, you’re not alone. Everyone goes through the cycle of vengeance and uncertainty associated with the sex-vet status. Even I was converted for about a year (and no I will not share any of my escapades). I will tell you this: instead of finding a warm body, buy yourself a teddy bear and some ice cream. Take stock of your life and figure what you really want. Look before you leap into the arms of a possibly crazy person. And never, ever resort to watching Lifetime; it's too cliche.