dialogue

Wolfie and I sat up late last night, doing lines, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and feeling sorry for ourselves.

The Wolf Man is hung up on this girl named Allison.

"She called you last week?"

"Yeah, she called me. Her dad died. She's totally upset."

"And she called you?"

"Out of nowhere. We haven't spoken in months... since I was playing with The Nine."

"Did you talk to her or did she leave a message?"

"She left a message. I haven't decided to call her back yet."

"I say don't call her back."

"I know, I know... but I probably will."

Wolfie leaned over to inhale a rail.

"I can't judge you, man. It's not like I'm any better."

"I don't know what it is. I just want to be with her."

"Is it just the sex that you dig? 'Cause she seems to treat you pretty badly."

"It's not just the sex, although I gotta admit the sex is what keeps me stupid. She knows what she's doing. She's a master manipulator."

"You have to exercise some self-control. It's easier said than done, but it's what you have to do in order to retain a shred of dignity. However, she did call you, so it sounds like she still cares for you."

"Yeah, but so what? If this is the way she expresses caring, then I don't want to care about her, know what I mean?"

"All too well."

"And I don't want her to love me either, if this is how it's going to be. Why do girls do that shit anyway? They fuck the ones they don't love and they don't fuck the ones they love. I don't get it."

"Literally and figuratively."

We both laughed. I did my line. As I slapped my nostrils around, The Wolf continued to howl.

"But you know what I'm getting at. Just once I'd like her to be my dirty little whore. But then she stops giving it out to me. Then I think I fucked up somehow."

"Only explanation I can offer is that sometimes a girl wants to know if a guy thinks of her as more than a sex object."

"I do think of her as more than sex object."

"Yeah, well, girls don't seem to understand that about us. Just like we don't understand how they can blow 50 guys and not love a single one of them. We see it as being a slut or a whore, but think about this: out of those 50 guys, how many do you think would fall in love with her after the deed is done?"

"Depends on the guy."

"True, true. Let's assume that half the 50 guys are the type to get whipped at the drop of a dime. That's 25 guys who now want to marry the bitch, and she doesn't like ANY of them."

"She liked them enough to suck their dicks!"

"Don't get carried away, bro-- it's all rhetorical. And in this case, the imaginary girl in question doesn't like them, remember? That's why she sucked them off in the first place. So imagine that now she has 25 guys who think she's the best thing to come around since the cel phone, and they were all supposed to be temporary fuck-arounds. How would you feel if every dirty snatch you ever balled came back after you with a wedding veil on their heads and a bouquet in their arms?"

"I'd fucking freak out, that's what!"

"Right. It's a double-standard, and unfortunately guys like you and me... we're trapped by it. But girls feel it worse, because it's never an insult to a man to be called a whore or a sex maniac."

"So you're saying you'd be cool if your girl went out and fucked a million guys."

"Fuck no! But, at the same time, I'd know deep down that she must be pretty empty inside to fuck a million guys like that. Any girl who can do that and not bat an eye-- they're the ones we need to stay away from. Do you think Allison is like that?"

"Sometimes. I don't know. She's got daddy issues. Can't I just meet one decent chick who doesn't have an extreme hang-up over her dad?"

Wolf finished dicing up another round of powder. We stopped talking long enough to indulge.

I said, "Good luck trying to find a woman like that. They all have issues. But so do we. Every guy wants to feel like he's sowed enough seed to clone himself 70 different ways 'til Tuesday. It's never enough. If we ever meet a girl who is freaky enough for us, we get scared and call her a whore. But they get jealous of us just as much as we get jealous of them."

"Allison totally gets jealous. I kind of dig it."

"Right. Now think about that. Wouldn't you be mad if you knew for a fact that she was enjoying your misery right now?"

A pause. Reflection. Silence. A snort.

"Yeah, I would be. I'm a scumbag, what can I say?"

We both laugh. I know deep down inside that The Wolf isn't really a scumbag. He is just like every other single guy I know: completely insecure and a bit upset that the cretins and assholes and jerks of the world get to enjoy the spoils of the hunt while the "nice" guys like us are ignored.

I often have to remind guys like Wolfie (and myself as well) that we're not really nice guys. Truly nice guys don't complain about being stepped all over. Truly nice guys don't get mad when other guys get the girls.

I contend that all those "nice" guys out there are not nice at all-- they just pretend to be, so long as the prospects look good. But the minute things don't go their way, then the lurking asshole beneath the nice-guy facade reveals itself.

Wolf is one of those guys who wishes he had a girlfriend who was submissive and loyal, the kind of girl that wears a T-shirt that says I LOVE MY BOYFRIEND and would bring another girl into their bed to please him. But Wolf has had girls like that before, and he dumped them because they were "too weak".

So he goes after heartbreakers like this girl Allison, and is surprised when they turn out to be just as bad, if not worse, than the "clingy" ones.

So, if guys like Wolfie and I are not scumbags and not nice, then what are we?

Confused?

Frustrated?

Stressed out?

Fickle?

Or just plain human?

And doesn't the same go for girls like Allison, who look perfect on the outside but feel ugly on the inside because of what life has put them through, because what life has made them out to be, because what life has divined as their path and their fate?

I told Wolf that he should feel good that she called him when her father passed away. That means that she sought him out at a time of crisis. That means that, even though she may act like she doesn't need him, deep down inside she does. And he should see it for what it is, not for what he thinks it is.

At the same time, however, he needs to get over her and move on.

Such contradictory arguments make our heads spin, even more than the illicit substances we ingest.

At least with the drugs we can moderate our intake.

It was nearly 1 AM when I finally told The Wolf Man that he had to skeedaddle. He obliged happily, grateful for my bended ear. I was grateful for the high and for the lively conversation, as I always am.

I don't know how I got to sleep after all that partying, but I did. And I didn't have any dreams.