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(This monologue was written for a Sit & Spin piece and presented at The Comedy Central stage in 2003)
I want to be married but I like sex. And from what I understand marriage kinda cuts into that. Now, I don't wanna tell you how old I am, but for my last birthday I got that stamp on my uterus that says "best if used by." Which is probably why I suddenly wake up in my physically hot, emotionally cold, brilliant, often unemployed, green-card-needing Latin lover's arms and can't decide if I want to kiss him or punch him. "Happy Birthday Babe - blow me" he says, and I think to myself it might be time to make a change. But the problem is - I'm not good at casual sex. I can't even have a one-night stand that lasts less than two years. Secretly, I think when a man puts his penis in my body it pokes out my brain: Should I keep my maiden name? What would my name sound like with his last name? What's his last name again? I've had one one-night stand in the last ten years and it was totally hot. We wound up naked faster than I would have imagined. He was great in bed and even better in the pool. In the morning he brought me muffins and coffee in bed. I wandered half naked around his home and made fun of him for displaying his bowling trophies. He told me they're Emmy awards and I blew him on the spot. He told me he likes giving oral sex even better than he likes receiving it - hey, don't threaten me with a good time. Sure it's love, while we drive from his place to mine, I name our children. I name the girl Laurel and the boy Canyon. He dropped me off at home, kissed me goodbye and told me he'd call me tomorrow. He didn't call that day, or the day after that, or the day after that. I took to checking my machine twenty times a day. Why hadn't he called me? Don't men find that type of needy desperation appealing? Three months later after numerous failed attempts to give him botulism and scurvy with my Voodoo doll - I decided, that's it. It's over. I'm not seeing him anymore. I spend the next four years of my life in a committed, loving relationship with a very sweet man who is allergic to children. He lived like a boy scout and cooked like one, too. His favorite meal was adding mushrooms to Ramen noodles. By the way -I'm no expert but I know my way around the kitchen - and that's starting to be a real litmus test for me. Cooking as a measure of the man. Instant Noodles are quick but not satisfying kinda like my ex-boyfriend's flowery statements: "I love you more than anybody I've ever known. I'd do anything for you." Really? Would you go to therapy with me? Oh, no, no, no, not that. "But I'd do anything for you." When
I break up with him, it hurts like hell. And the hits just keep on coming
when I later find out his new girlfriend is my next door neighbor. Now,
if you date someone and then they get married to the person they date
immediately after - don't you think you should get a commission? You were
after all their personal trainer. Of course he's perfect, I fixed everything.
I decided to be mature and wish them well. She is where I was and I don't
want what she's about to get - except of course the cunnilingus and the
flowers. You know how men treat cars? They want to get in there, pull it apart, put it back together and see if it'll work better after they were there? Well, that's how I used to treat men. Why don't you drive over to my place, we'll pop your top, have a look under the hood, have a seat on my couch for the next couple of years and we'll see what we can do. You've got an addictive personality - no problem. Too much alcohol, pot, food, team sports, debt, mother issues, father issues, body issues, lie to yourself, lie to me, you got skeletons in the closet, heads in your refrigerator, you got baggage, carry on, cargo - hey, come on in. So it's official. That's it! I'm giving up repair jobs. I'm looking for a car that will go the distance. And what better way to look than to take a couple models out for a test drive? I meet the man my mother always thought I should marry; a nice, Jewish, conservative, lawyer looking to be married and have a family. We'll call him Marriage Man. Then, there's the man my mother always warned me about. He's hot, sexy, naughty, non-committal. Looking for a good time. We'll call him Lover Man. Marriage Man tells me I have a "Nice Tush." Lover Man tells me I have a "Hot Ass." Lover Man goes to the library. Marriage Man has a library. Marriage Mans first moves - a fumble on the sofa, his glasses fall off, he hits my head as he moves in for a kiss and we both fall off the couch. Lover Mans first moves - he calls me up, tells me not to wear any panties and does me on the kitchen table before he serves me a delectable dinner to Mozart. Marriage Man is on top of his career, his home, his life. Lover Man is on top of me. Lover Man brags about other women. Marriage Man brags about me. Marriage Man introduces me to producers he hopes I might want to work with. Lover Man introduces me to women he hopes I might want to sleep with. You know how most people have two or three recipes up their sleeve and then they kinda hit a wall? Well Lover Mans got about 20 of those. He is utterly fearless and creative in the kitchen. Of course, occasionally I wonder if that dinner was made for me or for someone else who didn't show up. Marriage
Man keeps saying "I should cook for you sometime" and even though
every time he says it I coo "Ooooh, I would love that" it never
happens. You see the kitchen talks. So I bring the problem to Tiffany. Tiffany - gives amazing bikini waxes. She doesn't just give bikini waxes, she turns your vagina into a work of art. She's been known to sculpt beautiful hearts, flowers even butterflies. I love and respect all artsits regardless of the form. Tiffany just happens to work in hot wax, rhinestones and pubic hair. My favorite part about a visit to Tiffany is her strategy for dealing with your pain. She tells you all the sordid details about her sex/romantic life as she rips hair from your body. "And I don't mind anal sex but not while we're visiting my parents - breath - rip - Ahhhh!" I feel oddly close to Tiffany - and not just cause she's got her head at my crotch for the last half hour - but because she's honest. Tells it like it is. So I lay my dilemma before her. "I understand completely" she says with the authority of someone whose studied ten years for this moment. "We'll split the difference right down the middle - literally." she says. "Today - I'm going to give you a straight and narrow Brazilian wax." It's gorgeous, a masterpiece. Picasso would be proud. I believe
women flaunt their jewelry for other women. But letting a stranger drip
hot wax on our pubic hairs and rip it off - that we do for men. My dad's
an expert car shopper. Here's his motto - "a yes is a yes, a no is
a no and a maybe--- is a no." I decide to adopt his theory. I resolve
to stay open and enjoy the ride. I don't care what a guy does or what
kind of car he drives as long as he's happy. But when I meet a man what
I really want to know is - what's he like in the kitchen? |