Shanghai Vixen

New boy, new feelings, new music to express and explore it.

He’s been avoiding me. I made a big mucky mess about it by trying to demand communication, and now I’m avoiding him. He’s such a girl: he angsts over feelings and the future, I just want him to shut up and take off his shirt.

I equally feel that this is intense and scary, but right now is not the time to deal with that. Now is the time for long picnics and sweaty snogs. The rest will come in its own time - or not at all.

Out with Kazza last night, and partly with some friends mutual with Worm. I met the woman I suspect could be “Elsie” - the “someone else” he’s “seeing but not superserious”. Which I so so so can’t let myself sink into. Better to walk away and never see him again, purge my soul, than get sucked into that swamp of jealousy and insecurity and competition. Jifu put me through so much of that, the prospect and memory alone makes me cry. I love Kazza, but she feeds me booze and giddiness sometimes to excess. “Call him!” “I can’t.” “Call him!” “I won’t.” “Call him!” “No.” “Give me your phone, I’ll call him!” “Fuck off.” I’m afraid to check my phone now, afraid she may have drunk-dialed him while I was in the loo.

In the meanwhile, as I hide from Worm, music.

Stars - Tonight

come around and say you love me
hang your heart in lights above me
is that too much to ask for?
When the night descends upon us
take a shower dry your hair by the furnace
I’ll watch you from the corner

Telephones and old typewriters
words of love along the wires
Let’s make it work tonight
Telegraphs and birds that fly
through air so still you hear me sigh
Let’s make it work tonight
Tonight, tonight

Then furious you threw the picture
eye cap in hand an awful mixture
That kind of hard love is the worst
I try to speak but you don’t hear me
when you’re gone you still feel near me for a while for a little while

I’ve tried Telephones and old typewriters words of love along the wires
But nothing is working tonight
I’ve tried telegraphs and birds that fly through air so still you hear me sigh
But nothing is working tonight
Tonight, please let’s make it work tonight
Please let’s make it work tonight, tonight

Matchbox Twenty - If You’re Gone

I think I’ve already lost you
I think you’re already gone
I think I’m finally scared now
You think I’m weak - but I think you’re wrong
I think you’re already leaving
Feels like your hand is on the door
I thought this place was an empire
But now I’m relaxed - I can’t be sure

I think you’re so mean - I think we should try
I think I could need - this in my life
I think I’m just scared - I think too much
I know this is wrong it’s a problem I’m dealing

If you’re gone - maybe it’s time to go home
There’s an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you’re gone - baby you need to come home
Cuz there’s a little bit of something me
In everything in you

I bet you’re hard to get over
I bet the room just won’t shine
I bet my hands I can stay here
I bet you need - more than you mind

I think you’re so mean - I think we should try
I think I could need - this in my life
I think I’m just scared - that I know too much
I can’t relate and that’s a problem I’m feeling

If you’re gone - maybe it’s time to go home
There’s an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you’re gone - baby you need to come home
Cuz there’s a little bit of something me
In everything in you

I think you’re so mean - I think we should try
I think I could need - this in my life
I think I’m just scared - do I talk too much
I know this is wrong it’s a problem I’m dealing

If you’re gone - maybe it’s time to go home
There’s an awful lot of breathing room
But I can hardly move
If you’re gone - baby you need to come home
Cuz there’s a little bit of something me
In everything in you

And, two from Dido; mine:

Dido - Stoned

When you’re stoned, baby
And I am drunk
When we make love
It seems a little desolate
It’s hard sometimes not to look away
And think what’s the point
when I’m havin to hold this fire down
I think I’ll explode
if I can’t feel this free now
Cause if you won’t let me fall for you
Then you won’t see the best that
I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I’m bored of hangin out,
in your cold
When I feel loved, baby,
I join the road
And the world moves with me
When I feel lost I just slip away
Silently, quietly take my things and go
And think what’s the point,
think where’s the hope when coming home
Cause if you won’t let me fall for you
Then you won’t see the best that
I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I’m bored of hangin out,
in your cold
And if you find one day,
find some freedom and relief
With this freedom maybe,
maybe you will find some peace
And with this peace, baby,
I hope it brings you back to me
Bring you home, take me home
Cause if you won’t let me fall for you
Then you won’t see the best that
I would love to do for you
Instead you will be missing me when I go
Cause I’m bored of hangin out,
in your cold
Wha-oh…. take me home
Wha-oh…. take me home
When you’re stoned, baby… take me home

…and his:

Dido - Look No Further

I might have been a singer
Who sailed around the world

A gambler who wins milions
And spent it all on girls

I might have been a poet
Who walked upon the moon

A scientist
Who would tell the world
I discovered something new

I might have loved a king
Been the one to end a war

A criminal
Who drinks champagne
And never
Could be caught

But among your books
Among your clothes
Among the noise
And fuss
I’ve let it go

I can’t stop
And catch my breath
And look no further
For happiness
And I will not
Turn again
Cause my heart
Has found it’s home

Everyone
I’ll never meet
And the friends
I wont now make
The adventures
That they
Could have been
And the risks
I’ll never take

But among your books
Among your clothes
Among your noise
And fuss
I’ve let it go

I can’t stop
And catch my breath
And look no further
For happiness
And I will not
Turn again
Cause my heart
Has found it’s home

I in collapsable mode.

The Worm felt it, smelt it somehow. Rounded me up, fed me, held me.

Kissed me. Endlessly, deliciously.

Only, there must have been an end. He left, bequesting one last long drink of his delectible mouth. I, exhausted, fell asleep. Awakening only at 1 am. Cold and confused.

I took a long bath, listening to Sarah Maclaughlin. I was reluctant to rinse the smell of the Worm off myself, but even now it lingers. Ta de wenr.

“I love you, only not enough.” The Worm tells me, albeit in his slippery meandering under-breath way, indirectly, via his blog.

He wrote it the night he almost kissed me.

“I’m not strong enough to be with you, to be still with you. I’m afraid.”

Familiar refrain. Echos of Yaya, both in the passive-aggressive medium and the actual person. Tonky-Cali lads, not particularly attractive but big brains and bigger hearts, pulsing with angst and anger, with insecurity and immaturity. They are the sort of men I grew up with, and who constitute still my closest friends; combined with a certain sinofied factor, they feel like home. Otherwise, however, they could not be more different - Worm’s introspective sentimentality contrasts with Yaya’s macho swaggers.

I’ll always love Yaya, and miss him so much. I wish he still spoke to me, he would laugh laugh laugh at my dense little entanglement with The Worm.

(Entitled: Not what I know how to do)

 

The night gleams.
Silent, except for
The occasional roar
Of the semi-distant highway
And the computer’s hum.

It is 2 am, and I am
Tweaking another’s recollection
Of semi-distant tragedies.
Still fresh, brutal;
She asks to borrow
My neutral red pen.

No one is neutral;
History’s wounds
Shed collective blood.

What a petty generation
We are now. Petty,
Lazy, privileged.
Life’s little gusts
Devastate us
Unaccustomed to real storms.

The night gleams.
Remembering poets,
Martyrs for art and truth,
Shame my silly excuses
And pet problems.
I will try to deserve
What lingers of their shadow
In the gleaming Shanghai night.

Position open: Mr. Vixen. Auditions ongoing.

I’ve had enough of angsting over mediocre men. I shall go out, hunt, recruit, but ultimately THEY need to be convincing me. I’m a great gal with a great life; smart and successful, loving and beloved, sweet and sarcastic. I’m a great friend and a great girlfriend, and will make a great partner and parent.

I make a bad narcissus. I sell myself short. It is a fundamental structural flaw in my romantic paradigm. I pick a single recipient of affection and am rendered at the mercy of his moods.

It’s not a gender role, to pursue versus be pursued, thing. It’s practical: once you’re invested and involved, it’s another matter, but until then it’s an audition for the most appropriate candidate. But it should be more an interview than head (*dirty*) hunting: if they don’t want the gig, no matter how good of one it is, it’s their problem, not mine.

A gray winter gloom hung over Shanghai this morning, making the forklifting of myself out of bed even creakier than usual. A flu turned head cold that has vascillated through my system for a month returned with new phlemmy vengeance yesterday morning, repayment for my tiring myself out on the party I threw the night before.

I like staying home over Chunjie, Chinese New Year. Quiet puttering about the house, catching up on cleaning and errands and emails, mellow hang-outs with friends. There’s not much I can do work-wise this week, with all offices closed and their staffers far flung to their native provinces, so it privides a rare moment to be still.

The party two days ago was a big success, only extra work since I departed from my usual cocktails only format and cooked up a storm, with people rambling in starting in the afternoon. I actually am a pretty good cook, and concoct the bulk of my meals at home, mostly out of fresh produce from one of the three wet markets in my neighborhood. However, I do not come off as a particularly domestic woman, my Cancerian core is hidden under the public face of the gadfly. So, it was nice to show off: my pumkin and feta pasta, my stuffed mushrooms and peppers and zucchini, my crustless quiche, and my salad…and I didn’t have a chance to make one of my excellent soups or curries.

Good crowd of about twenty people, mostly Shanghainese, including filmmakers, a rock star, a government cultural organizer, an art historian, an interior designer, a professional socialite, a photography curator…fun, food and many martinis were had by all.

My fuck buddy Gym Boy also showed up briefly, and although there was little language issue with the Sinophone crowd, he was intimidated and fled. My gay friends backslapped me for having a hot stud in waiting.

On Chinese New Year’s eve, right after I had run a bath and was deliciously plotting all the reading I’d get done that night, Gym Boy called suggesting we go to Longhua for the ringing in of the New Year. Not in the actual temple, that’s too expensive, but the area around it is known to be very lively.

He picked me up, dried my hair for me, and we headed over. It was actually pretty disappointing, very schlocky, cheaply commercial, and not at all the old style temple fair it reportedly used to be. Gym Boy bought us the ribbons to write our wishes on toss on the fortune tree. There were four: one each for health/longevity, work/money, love/family and luck. The first two were easy for me; the latter two stumped me. I still have them in a pouch on my desk.

Luck - that’s the thing with luck, it’s not for what you hope for or expect but what you chance upon. Otherwise, it’s not luck, right? It is more what La Turqa calls “gifts from the universe”. Surprise me, universe!

Love…I suspected Gym Boy was writing on his that I would finally cave and marry him. Sigh. What could I write? I didn’t want to write Net Boy while out on a date with Gym Boy, and I don’t even know if Net Boy is who and what I really want.

Because I don’t know who or what I want; I’ve never been opportunistic in love, I’m not out for a financial windfall. All I know is a vague outline: someone on my mental and emotional wavelength, someone I can really talk to, someone whose company I enjoy as much as my own, someone who “gets” me. Someone who fits me. The rest - looks, background, profession - are comparatively insignificant. Surprise me, universe?

“So, what WAS that?” I puzzle as I stalk the final half-block home. After the latest Hmm Net Boy has walked me most of the way home only to disperse suddenly into a taxi.

It was a six or seven hour coffee session; I missed the gym, and dinner. It is rare for me to have so much to talk about with someone, and afterwards the idea pings continue, the threads and jams that we didn’t get to as our riff rambled on.

On the first non-date, we discussed at length child-rearing. On this second non-date, we explored marriage and our respective aversion to traditional models thereof. Compromises, the challenges of being cultural hybrids, the sticky messes of our respective personal baggage claims.

Net Boy is a rare kindred spirit. A person I could spend endless hours rambling and dissecting and non-sequitoring with. On one hand, this is the sort of budding friendship I treasure too much to risk with the romantic aspect; on the other, he is too strong and striking a possibility for me to walk away from.

He initially reminded me of Yaya, the American man-boy in Shanghai, and of similar provenance. As I know him more, though, he seems like elements of Kazza but mostly a male, more angsty…me.

Our rambling conversations are these waltzes through intense emotional terrain set to a soundtrack of intellectual jazz riffs. Synchronized, synchopated.

Something is there, but flighty and frightened by…by what? My own fear, of another Yaya-type loss, of destroying a friendship I cherish. I do fear his baggage also, but have gotten over that; what terrifies me more is the opposite, that he feels too perfect (for all his imperfections), that my sensation of a “fit” is illusory. That I will fall for him and he will reject me and break my heart.

As for what’s going on in his head, I’m at a loss. I think I am being pretty obvious, but I do oblivious better than obvious, perhaps. Perhaps these long coffees are cautious explorations of healing hearts, risk assessing. Perhaps I am overanalyzing, looking for meaning where none exists.

Its a still life water color,
Of a now late afternoon,
As the sun shines through the curtained lace
And shadows wash the room.
And we sit and drink our coffee
Couched in our indifference,
Like shells upon the shore
You can hear the ocean roar
In the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

And you read your emily dickinson,
And I my robert frost,
And we note our place with bookmarkers
That measure what weve lost.
Like a poem poorly written
We are verses out of rhythm,
Couplets out of rhyme,
In syncopated time
Lost in the dangling conversation
And the superficial sighs,
Are the borders of our lives.

Yes, we speak of things that matter,
With words that must be said,
Can analysis be worthwhile?
Is the theater really dead?
And how the room is softly faded
And I only kiss your shadow,
I cannot feel your hand,
Youre a stranger now unto me
Lost in the dangling conversation.
And the superficial sighs,
In the borders of our lives.

Ah Ren is safely dispatched back to his native shores, albeit not without fair shakes of awkwards. From the night he first arrived back, briefly, into my life - when I was having a party organizer, and a co-organizer unwittingly brought along Belt, an old photographer friend who I hooked up with in the throas of the Yaya summer of 2007 and who had avoided me since - it was a succession of situations.

We went out the following Friday night, to an opening and then to dinner, and Ah Ren wielded me as a shield against a mutual acquaintence who has always liked him and is very, very aggressive with men she likes. She sulked accross the table; we had a nice yammer. The next night we met up at another opening, Kazza and his sidekick along, and then parted as he wanted a power nap; we met up later at Shelter.

I knew Little Building would be there, and sure enough he was, albeit very busy. It was a quick and nice hello, but he doesn’t seem scared of me from the last time. All good.

I hung out with Ah Ren and sidekick for part of the night, circling the block as the lads needed feeding, then returning. Another friend of mine showed up and as I was talking with her, he wandered off. He looked rather lost in the crowd, suddenly seeming rather old and professorial; since I dragged him there I felt rather badly. So I ducked through the seething Eurotrash after him, eventually catching up. “Do you want to join me dancing with C?” “No. I don’t dance.” I see that… “Do you want to go to the conversational audio area in the back?” “No. I just want to walk around.” “But you look like a big dork,” I thought, didn’t say. Instead, “Okay, have fun.”

I went back to C. “I was just totally blown off.” It was rather brutally obvious that he had had enough Vixen for one night. Perhaps telling him I have a crush on Little Building was ill-advised, but hey, it came up randomly - it wasn’t like I was being random manipulative psycho bitch about it. I don’t come with that function. Just with the too-honest, babble when awkward/nervous setting.

I left shortly thereafter. I sent him a text that I was tired, and neither of my crushes were being entertaining.  He did not respond. I have not sent the email in the previous post; I debate whether I will. Instead, I sent him a light note to the extent of: Sorry if I was clingy, didn’t register at first that you wanted solitude. Yes, I’ve always had a crush on you, I know it’s very oppressive but am sure you’ll soldier through. Ah Ren replied similarly jokingly. Yes, it’s painful! I’m flattered, and good getting to know you better. Then he suggested that we say our farewells for this visit at a mutual friend’s upcoming birthday party - which I was not technically invited to, although neither he nor our friend registered that. I compromised by showing up very late - busy work day - and leaving early. But, there was no awkward. He informed he’ll be back in town pretty soon.

I still don’t know what to make of it. I’m usually pretty oblivious, but there definitely is something going on there, and more than just mutual light affection. He’s very Mr. Darcy, hot-cold confusing. *Shrug* I try, and then I shrug. I just don’t understand these “Western” men. They’re so strange.

Anyhow, I look forward to having him back soon. Despite the headache-inducement, he’s a good reminder that there are good men out there - and someday I will find one who IS into me.

I had two dreams about him last night, both weird. In the first, we were married with kids and contemplating buying a house in I think Australia (where the fuck did that come from?). Yet another mutual “friend” visits us to check out the house, and while there “accidentally” almost kills me.

In the second, I was in Los Angeles, and with past/present/future LA-based guy friends Dodo, King Yellow and Cali Boy (old crush turned casual buddy who I still quite like). We were all staying together, and Ah Ren also came to visit, but also in town and around was a woman called Nita who is a dream fictionalization but was a composite of several rather bitchy, backstabbing, dumb and opportunistic Huaqiao women I know China. Somehow my Lala Lads all knew and loathed her too, and had had their own bad experiences with her. I was trying the usual to figure out WTF was up with Ah Ren and his semi-flirting, and found in the living room a subtexted note that had fallen out of his things during arrival. I had a bad suspicion about it, and sure enough Nita showed up, cattily claimed the note, the Christmas present from him it had fallen out of, and the boy himself. 

In the dream, Ah Ren lingered to half-apologize. I was all, “Really?! Rejection I can take, but that you would pick her over me?! You have horrible taste in women. Who even are you?” He looked sheepish, lamely apologized that for now he’s seeing her, but maybe…, and then shuffled out.

I walked back down the hallway, arm in comforting arm with Dodo and King. Even my subconscious remembers who always has my back. ”Oops, wrong species of men, that,” one of us remarked, all still stunned.

I think these have more to my subconscious’ reactions to certain recent social situations with “friends”/frenemies - many of whom I share with Ah Ren - than to him. Nonetheless, they put me in an odd mood today.

I should work more on that delicious yoga teacher who’s been flirting with me. Yeah. The thing is, ultimately I like ‘em kinda complicated. Not JUST pretty.

Dear Ah Ren, [yes, he's back, briefly]

Vixen

Okay, so once the exhaustion and beer wore off, I feel very silly for getting all angsty about a Hmm - not even a crush, just a potential crush. Sometimes the best way to make a fool of myself is to worry about making a fool of myself.

I was working very late last night, too many stories with too little leeway between events and deadlines. Today made up for it though. A was one of my best friends in high school, and we’re still close. She had a big house with a nice pool, and with tolerant parents it was where we often had huge slumber parties, especially on New Year’s Eves and after school dances. We did wild, scandalous things at those parties, unmentionables like…board games. Math contests. Elaborate, twisted puns that went on to their silly extremes. Oh man I miss high school.

It was also at A’s house that I fell in love for the first time.

A’s parents are very cool, a lawyer and a sociologist, and they were always gorgeously tolerant about having a horde of adolescent nerds giddily screeching about the place. I last saw them five years ago, at A’s wedding, and had a nice catch-up. A few years ago, A warned me that they were contemplating a trip to China, and today finally they materialized.

It was great, great fun taking them around, showing someone from my past “my” Shanghai. We didn’t make it to our initial targets of the Old City and the Yangpu Jewish Ghetto, too far away, just tooled about the French Concession, eating and shopping and mostly observing. That is what Shanghai is best for. We even, rather awkwardly, bumped into Diamond Ho - who is always odd to see out of context, although it makes her seem more human than her usual positionings.

The Parental As had odd shopping desires: a suitcase, an umbrella, a DVD. They are impressive bargainers, mowing down the Shaanxi Lu guy where they found their suitcase even better than I could. Lihai lao ren! We started out at my house, which they found pretty easily, then walked to a great nearby xiaolongbao place. Then headed to Taikang Lu for the rest of lunch and some poking around. From there, we walked up to the Sun Yat-sen residence, and I was impressed with how well they know the Chinese history basics. 

We then poked around Fazujie some more, hacking some old mansions and window shopping in a criss-cross between Changle and Nanchang Lus. After the suitcase, we went to Garden Books, always pleasant, and then to Meilongzhen at their request. I’d never been, I was a bit bewildered by the banquety options, but we managed to get a good meal for only slightly more than they’d paid for the suitcase. It meant skipping the hairy crabs they wanted to try - at 200 RMB a pop. Nah. I would have rather taken them to Grape or Paul’s, with their mellower menus, but hey, we were already there. And I’m glad I tried the place. 

But I’m gladder for having reconnected with them. I think they were amused, ”Oh, so THIS is what became of [Shanghai Vixen]!” It takes seeing me in action to figure out, I think.

And now to drag myself to a rock concert; I would so rather stay home…