ethics over gin

so last night i saw little children. that movie gave me a mindfuck so bad i couldn't even move afterwards. it just laid on top of me for hours.

afterwards matthew and i went for a drink at a local bar: tony c's. it's a nice little spot, chock full of that trying hard to be a semi-nice new york dive bar, but ultimately failing. it's aplace for a strong drink and a smoke indoors...if that's your thing. which it is. so i dig it.

When we get there, over the calming burn of a cigarette, matthew and i begin talking ethics. specifically, we were discussing the ethics of the movie, but it was really justone of those conversations where we both knew we were covertly applying it to our own lives. (it's something you can't help but do as a thoughtful person). eventually we get to the topic of having children and whether or not its selfish to have a child if you're unwilling to sacrifice your own pleasure. i agree with that statement: yes, of course it's selfish to do that. do people do it anyway? of course. people have children all the time for all of the wrong reason: somebody to love them,to save a relationship, for pity or privilidge. but moreover, i realized, i can never get to that point.

matt and i have this realization at the same moment:

we are both undeniably, ridiculous, and hopelessly selfish people. both incapable of putting aside our own wants for another person. and yes, wants...not wants and needs. i never really go for what i need. do i get it? nine times out of ten, no. do i try in vain anyway? indeed i do. yessireebob.

at this point, taylor arrives at the bar interrupting the all-too-intense self realizations and quelling our thoughts with a shot of tequila. smart people can be so dumb sometimes. especially in the face tuesday night that's revealed their own callous hearts. and we begin discussing relationships.

oh joy of joys. two ex-boyfriends who i happen to be friends with discussing their sex lives and how our waitress fills out her pants well. not that i care all that much, but sometimes, when a girl has gotten all dooded up for a night on the town (regardless of whether or not she's going with someone who is a potential date/romp in the hay), she just wants all attention on her. it's the girly side of me that i surpress so hard until it comes roaring out with a: hey. you know what would be fun? if you wore those jeans that make your ass look good tonight. and i say, "thank you girly thoughts. i think i will do that."

alas, those nights are never the ones that get me laid. it's when i'm sweatered out at a skeezy bar, smoking my last cigarette, and playing erotic photo hunt: babes edition.

in any case, we're discussing the girls at the bar that they find attractive. all butterfaces, but ya know, generic hottness (and p.s. does that come in a bottle somewhere? am i missing something?) and i simply sit there in wonder, astonishment even.

in my head all i think is: i am sitting at a table with two ex-boyfriends who are assessing the asses of the girls around us and i just casually cross my arms lean back and accept it.

i am a goddamn goddess. my patience is near zen-like. and perhaps this is why my relationships never work.

after pondering my unique and rare ability to maintain friendships with dicks i've had sex with i snap out of it, grab another cigarette, and sip my jack and ginger...secretly biting down on the straw and hoping the teeth marks stick. i offer to buy us all another drink. and do.

and for a little while, over the cheers and clinking of glasses to no toast, i think to myself: and i'm going to miss these twoand their conversations more than anyone.

and suddenly...california...was real.