03 March 2002 ~ Why Helena will never, ever have sex with her friend Aaron...

There is maybe nothing funnier in the whole wide world than seeing a performance of "Hamlet" done in 20 minutes. Nothing funnier, that is, except going to a comedy show in which they play "Laura's Theme" through one of the skits and discuss how swallowing cum gives you "that feeling of having eaten too many Skittles." And except maybe Douglass and Ziller making me spit on the floor last night during their performance by mentioning Your Favorite Cold War Politician And Mine, J.F. Dulles. Those guys are such assholes. Assholes, but lovable assholes.

I've rarely laughed so hard in my life.

The mood is gone now though, for the most part.

I'm a little homesick, a little disillusioned, and a little bored. And unbelievably frustrated with my work -- my book, that is, for those of you who haven't been paying attention... And there are fruitflies all over my room, and I'm not sure why. Ew.

On to tonight's topic... We're going to discuss Aaron tonight.

(Helena gulps a mouthful of alcohol to set her mood... It might be noted that Helena is drinking alone in her room. This depresses Helena. This is our mood.)

I could never, ever sleep with Aaron. I decided this today. It came to me as a miniature revelation as I was walking to the Housing Community Center (HCC) to check my mail. Just hit me like a board: I, Helena Thomas, will never, ever, EVER sleep with my friend Aaron Jesús Leroy.

Why?

Well, let's talk about Aaron and me first.

I miss Aaron a lot sometimes. Particularly when I'm hanging out with Douglass, and we're driving somewhere in his shitty old car (which is named Gertrude, as Aaron's car is named... well, whatever the fuck it's named, but his mom's car is named Mina...), listening to classic rock and insulting every ethnic group we can think of. Douglass is pretty good with Pollack jokes. And there was one particularly awful joke -- something about having Asian chicks up the yin-yang or something? Sometimes I really love nice people who are intentional assholes. That's why Aaron and I have gotten along for so long. That's why I spend so much of my time letting Ziller and Douglass beat up on me.

Some of my absolute favorite times -- ever -- have been with Aaron. Driving around the back hills of Vestal Center, pissing in weird places, and having that on-going argument about whether or not white-tailed deer lick pavement as a source of sodium-intake. (They do, dammit... I've SEEN it...) Trying to explain the Denny's temperature change and the consequent spasm that one has whilst stepping out the door of a Denny's. Walking ALL the way down Clinton Street one night from Johnson City. Getting stoned -- by accident -- at The Studio. [Aaron, I've never, ever missed you more than the other night when Dracor was in my room, looked up at the blue desk-lamp over my bed, and stated, "wow, everything's so blue," as you did the night we accidentally got stoned...] Digging through dumpsters at the Indian Hills Apartments or whatever they're called. Getting into near-car-accidents. And... the List.

["That would be bad. As bad as losing the List..." --Saturday Night Live]

I have to explain about the List. Aaron, I'm sorry, but I've got to explain. It's imperative to the rest of this entry. I'm going to try to be gentle, because I bet some of you are going to think this is really pretty crude. And it is. But what the fuck; if you're offended, so be it.

The List was started many years ago by two folks we'll call Jeff and Anthony. We were in a Denny's, and they decided to write down the names of the people they'd had sex with. Henceforth, the List became known as The Denny's List. "The List," for short. I introduced this idea to Aaron about a year later, and the to of us set about compiling our Lists.

Mine is ten people long. I won't discuss Aaron's in any detail, except to say that he's got one. eventually, the List became a little bit boring. There are only so many times you can write down the same list of names (especially when you only have ten or so, unlike Jeff and Anthony, who were into the forties or fifties even then...), so Aaron and I changed our List. We bought a blank book, and wrote down different "activities," so to speak, on each page. Then we listed people we'd performed that activity with. Yeah, it's a little fucked up, but hey -- so's the Purity Test.

And this is why I couldn't sleep with Aaron... The List. I could not sleep with Aaron because of the List.

Because it seems to me that everyone keeps a List. Maybe it's not as extensive or well-organized as the List that Aaron and I made. Maybe it's not even written down. But everybody has a List. Before I knew what flavor of ice cream my room-mate at Evergreen liked best, I knew how many people she'd slept with. I knew, my first night here, that Douglass was a virgin, Dracor had only been with one person, and the girl at the end of my hall had never had sex with a man. My FIRST NIGHT HERE. We've all got Lists, and we're all fairly willing to talk about it under the right circumstances. It's just a fact of life and sex, I guess.

Hell, even Laura Palmer made a List.

For your viewing pleasure, my List (the basic version, using the initials of their journal-pseudonyms...):

1.) E.
2.) P.
3.) A.
4.) M.
5.) D.
6.) C.
7.) N.
8.) B.
9.) M.
10.) D.

So... Check out my list. Are you trying to figure out who people are? Yeah, I figured. Now, the thing that's really disturbing about the List is not WHO the people are, nor the number of people, but the numbers NEXT TO the people's names. You just get assigned a number, according to where you are, chronologically speaking, in the List-maker's sex life.

...Which, I think, is really, really fucked up. I mean, whatever -- I've still got my List, you know? But I think it's fucked up. Like I think capitalism is fucked up, but I go along with it anyway.

So... back to Aaron. Why couldn't I ever have sex with Aaron? Because then I'd be on Aaron's List. And once I was on Aaron's List, I could never again NOT be on Aaron's List. Once I was on there, it would be final.

...And once you've had sex with somebody, you can never, ever really be "just friends" with them, ever again. And often, you can't even be friends anymore. It's over. You're on the List: you're conquered, so to speak, and you've been assigned your number. What use is friendship anymore, once the number has been pinned onto your shirt with a little sticky note and a little gold pin? People who sleep with you stop talking to you. People who sleep with you stop bothering with you. It's all a matter of getting you on that List, and once you're on it, there's no need for going out to Denny's anymore. There's no need for long walks, long talks, long evenings telling secrets. There's no need for kissing. No need for holding hands. No need for emails. No need for phone calls. No need to really care much at all anymore. Once you're on the List, you're on the List, and you're really of no use anymore. It's back to the Scavenger Hunt then.

I'm speaking very generally here, and it must be said that I'm NOT talking about all men, or all women, or all of everybody. I'm talking about MY List. I'm not talking about ALL of it, either. Just a lot of it. You know how many people on that List above that I actually talk to? Four. Know how many I talk to more than once every few months? Two, if you count Dracor, who practically lives next-door. Know how many I'd still LIKE to talk to? All of them. But fuck it; once you've been given that number, you ARE a number, and you're history.

I've only ever met one person who didn't have a List. Or who CLAIMED not to have a List. He happens to be the one person on MY List who still speaks to me pretty regularly (other than Dracor, who speaks to me because we slam into each other on a fairly regular basis coming in and out of the elevators).

Once you're on the List, there's no curiousity left. People stop caring about who you are once they've fucked you. Even the ones you stay friends with for awhile. Even the ones you date for awhile. You stop going out. You stop trying to impress the other. You really don't matter anymore. No -- I'm NOT talking about every case. I AM saying it's a significant risk, and one I don't particularly like.

And I could NOT let that happen with my friend Aaron. Never.

What if we has sex and then we stopped going to Denny's? What if we had sex and we stopped driving around in the middle of nowhere? What if we stopped arguing about whether deer lick roads? What if we never again had that stupid "I bet Philip Glass's inspirations all come from an ant-farm" conversation again? What if we stopped plotting to take shit over? What if we had sex and could never, ever again be "just friends." What if we just ended up being a part of one another's histories?

I will never let that happen. I'm sorry, Aaron. I do actually think you're sexy, though I don't really think of you as "sexy" very often because I prefer to think of you as my friend... And your friendship is something I value a thousand times more than having another name to add to my List.

Was thinking about all of this this afternoon. Because I miss Aaron. Because I miss Norman, who is an exception to ALL of the above. Because I miss Dracor, whom I had sex with, and who no longer speaks to me with the same sort of merriness and friendship with which he spoke to me a month or so ago. As a matter of fact, Dracor thinks *I* need to back off. He thinks I need to be less "attached." How did this suddenly go so horribly wrong?

The thing is, I'm NOT "too attached." I just wanted to stay FRIENDS, dammit. I tried to keep things the same way they were before. I tried to include my FRIEND in things we'd ALWAYS done together. I don't love him any more now than I ever did, haven't become more or less "attached" than I ever was. I just want somebody who'll tell me stories, smoke with me outside, laugh at my stupid jokes, have dinner with me when everybody else is doing something else. And Dracor and I -- I thought -- had something kind of special going on, because I don't think he's (too) crazy for talking to dragons and fairies, and he doesn't think I'm crazy even after he heard the basic premise of my book. I wanted to keep him as a friend for THAT at least; and besides, he IS a pretty fascinating character. But Dracor no longer stops by my room just to say hello. He no longer wants me to sort of cuddle up to him on the couch in the lounge, at least not while anybody's looking. Many of the things that were really important to me about Dracor are just gone, because he wants it that way. Because most of the stuff that's ALWAYS happened between us is now a signal that I'm "too attached."

Essentially, I think he's just realized he HAS a List. And I think he's just figured out that I'm now a part of ancient history, because I'm ON the List. Dracor perhaps thinks there's not much more to be learned from me. Nothing left to be curious about. Nothing more about me that's really important to who I am or to who I could be in relation to him. He's fucked me; what else could be important?

Too attached. Bah.

I want somebody to fucking TALK to, dammit. I want a FRIEND. Why is that too much to ask for once you've been added to the List? Why is it that you're completely used-up after that?

So I was thinking about this today, after Dracor told me last night that I need to be "less attached" to him.

I was thinking I ought to get some of my stuff back that's in his room.

I was thinking that I ought to just stop bothering at all with him except to say "I'm sorry" when we run into each other stepping in and out of the elevators. I was thinking that I've served my purpose, and that now I ought to move on and leave him alone so he doesn't get the stupid, fucking misguided, arrogant impression that I care "too much."

I was thinking that I will NEVER, EVER, EVER risk such a thing happening between me and Aaron. Never.

And I mentioned some of this -- the condensed version -- to Ziller and Douglass this evening. Douglass said: "Yeah? Well, Dracor's a player. At least he thinks he is." And Ziller said: "Dracor's an asshole. Not like Douglass and me. We're intentional assholes. Dracor... well... yeah."

I said: "Hm." I smiled. And then I sat back, watched the abridged "Hamlet," laughed my ass off, and went home.

The moon is bright.

I'm alone in my room now.

Me and a bottle of lambrusco.

...er... half a bottle of lambrusco.

Nobody else is around.

Sometimes, I really have no idea what it takes to keep a friend.

Rest assured, I'll never sleep with one again. Just strangers. Just beautiful strangers.

Helena is so lonely.....