Monday, January 23, 2006

The Mo

for starters, his real name is Marlin, not Momo, which is just my nickname for him. he's a guy i went to high school with, whom i seriously disliked in high school, regarding him as a "brooding asshole" while he sat across campus regarding me as a "goth bitch." my girlfriends tell me the mere mention of his name would cause my eyes to roll. but we had too many friends in common to avoid each other, both in high school and after, so at weddings, parties and dinners, our paths would intersect.

i'd think nothing of it, still acting like my standoffish self until that one party early last year when i found myself uncontrollably drawn to him. it spooked me, but i brushed it off because i'm cool like dat. i did tell my girlfriends about it at that time and they reminded me of my distaste for him, saying i could never date him because it would be like "recycling" men, something i advocated against. i agreed and we laughed it off, but something about it still unsettled me.

six weeks later came a dinner i knew he'd be at. and when our group was seated at the fancy restaurant, Marlin and I found ourselves sitting directly across from each other. i couldn't even look at him for the first 10 minutes, talking to everyone else around me while secretly wondering why i spent so much damn time primping for this dinner and if i had settled on the right outfit -- after changing it half a dozen times. i was nervous as all fuck.

finally, i turned to face him. he looked damn good. we began speaking. it was electric. but then our conversation took a nasty turn and became an argument. our friends eyeballed each other. i rolled my eyes. it was the same brooding asshole from high school and i must be the same goth bitch. minutes later, we stepped outside for a smoke, where we made peace and continued talking. the electric din buzzed all around us. i wished he would kiss me. but he was talking about architecture while sucking down his cigarette. our friends joined us outside. dinner was over.

another six weeks pass. i thought about him, but the absurdity of the situation prevented me from taking action. i resolved to regard the whole thing as a fluke and to carry on as a polyamorous single chick. then i got the email from Marlin who confessed to masquerading as commentator "Chris Knight" on my blog for the past year. suddenly it all made sense.

days later, we met for dinner, igniting the fiery relationship with its subsequent breakup and eventual reconcile. six months later, it's still fiery. in fact, everything about our interaction -- the bliss, the sex, the arguments -- is imbued with an intensity i have not known before. together, we are a house on fire and i am in love. fuck yeah!

but what is love truly? i took a psych(o) class in college, which defined love as something rather selfish, its focus being on the way you feel about yourself when you're with your beloved. and with Mo, i feel pretty extraordinary -- not good or great or adequate, but extraordinary. i still get butterflies when i see his name pop up on my phone. i can't stand next to him without slipping my hand into his. he makes food taste better and the sun shine brighter.

plus, i can't get enough of his conversation. we've seen very few movies together and we rarely watch television. we just don't need to. our most natural state is sitting engrossed in conversation for hours on end, talking about smart shit and stupid shit alike, our mitts entwined, dumb smiles across our faces. (our second most natural state is sleeping soundly while folded up in the most impossible Twister-esque embraces.)

who knew i'd be so much like the brooding asshole from my high school? the one whose tortured artist mystique used to annoy me, but that i now find irresistible. how is it that we share so many sensibilities? how did we both become so opinionated and affectionate and self-righteous and cynical? Mo keeps me on my toes, calling me on my shit, making me laugh until i'm in tears and pissing me off like no one else can. he never ever bores me -- and most men do.

so the Mo is the man. my man. my match. and i'm thrilled.

(check out his blog, on which i am often mentioned as "Pearl Girl.")

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