Jul/087
Save it till the morning after
A few weeks ago, I found myself in a messy studio apartment in the Richmond making out with an almost middle aged white dude. I hadn't engaged in this kind of thing in quite some time and trust me, this broad needed a fix. We met at a friend's party at the tail end of it and the pick up was so fast I barely remember it (seriously, don't ask me, I don't remember).
In any case, the following morning, I braced myself for the typical sobering post hook-up awkwardness, that same conversation I've had so many times before: what are you doing today, that was fun, damn was I drunk, I usually don't use Craigslist for this kind of thing, etc.
This particular morning after conversation would take the cake. Laying in bed next to me he says: "I wonder if anyone saw me leave with you. That wouldn't be very good for my reputation, after the whole vegansexual thing." "Vegansexual?", I ask. "Yeah", he says. I just wrote about vegansexuality for my column." I laughed. He was being 100% serious. (For those of you who aren't familiar, a "vegansexual" is a vegan who only has sex with other vegans. Me = not vegan. )
He was so serious that a while later, over cups of green tea, brewed for just the right amount of time (naturally, he was too good for coffee) he showed me the article. It has since been posted online, and I was able to get my most favorite passage:
Non-vegetarian bodies," said one female subject, "(are) literally sustained through carcasses – the murdered flesh of others." If you really are what you eat, then the body of a meat eater is, as one vegan commentator put it, "kind of a graveyard for animals." You don't need to be a certified sexpert to appreciate that some vegans would be turned off by the thought of exchanging bodily secretions (like sweat, spit, scents, and...well, you get the picture) with such walking culinary cemeteries.
I've always thought of myself as an adorable beacon of adorableness wrapped in a black hoodie and smelling faintly of dark chocolate, espresso, and sunflowers (or bourbon, but it depends on the time of day) but I guess "walking culinary cementary" works, too. The fact that he went so far as to show me the piece was off-putting. Why did he even invite me back here when the first thing I slurred at him was : "I'm totally NOT vegan, dude!"?
The kicker, however was really at the end:
Yet I persist in hoping because the heart wants what it wants, and I know, in my heart, that I want to be with someone with whom I can enjoy the ineffably unique bond that only exists in the coupled soul of two deeply bonded vegan lovers.
Except for you know, that unique bond that is shared between two hammered people at a party who talk to each other for 10 minutes and then decide to go home together. I mean, I get it. A drunk ho is a drunk ho whether or not she stuffs her face with goat cheese and fried chicken or Teese and Boca Burgers but if a dude can rise above eating steaks, can't he rise above the call of easy sex? I guess he can say that while his brain is vegan, his dick was merely vegan-flexible.
(Editor's note: I thought about linking back to the article in this piece a couple of times, but decided that it wasn't cool to call him out like that since I rarely use names when referring to dudes on this blog. Those of you who know who I am talking about, will know and those of you who don't, will just have to find it your own way.)