In the last 12 hours I have had five men I have slept with call and leave messages for me, seeking connection and company. And I complain about the lack of good men in this town. Four of them are actually truly good men, even if they were one way or another not well suited for a relationship with me. If I could get over myself, I think I could admit the fifth guy is a good man, too.
"Who has time for more friends?" I used to say either flippantly or defensively, but somehow here are four (ok, fine, five) men who, for one reason or another, have made the slide from lover to friend without fanfare or drama, and they've all called me, and the four who are currently in good standing with me, may just all end up at my birthday Happy Hour tomorrow evening.
That's just absurd.
Isn't it?
I've been tricked into being one of those loosey-goosey, anything-goes Santa Cruz women. It's such an incestuous, touchy-feely, love everyone, forgive-all kind of place, that even a bordering-on-cynical, sarcastic, skeptic such as myself was unable to resist the force of this culture.
For shit's sake, since moving here I've found God, joined a church choir, and slept with (at least) five men who I've flipped into friends. Despite resisting it, despite all my wrestling with the platitude-laden New Agey-ness of both Santa Cruz itself and my own church community, I have fallen so in love with the way beauty and vulnerability and divinity show up in my life, that it took five voicemails from five former lovers to tell me that I'm no longer who I thought I was going to be.
And that (fuck yeah!) all five of those men are still vibing off my amazing self.
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