The Urban Celibate - “An International Comedown”

Posted on 04. Nov, 2008 by in Lifestyle

by Mz. Moxy

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months. The dates of the dusty wall calendar were crossed off with an angry red pen, and tumbleweeds blew across my bedroom floor.. I realized my extended period of nonsexual activity had a name, and that there were others like me. Claiming my celibacy was not something I had planned, but as time would have it, it proved an unavoidable realization. In the spirit of child experts that have no kids, I endeavor to advise, through the clarity of my heightened awareness and distanced perspective. Sister Spinster at your service.

Will I be ‘tempted by the fruit of another?’  1091 days…and counting. But not for much longer, according to the frank wisdom of my Magic Eight Ball. When asked if the Urban Celibate might end the spell of abstinence, it answered: “All Signs Point to Yes”. After a second opinion from the Oujia board, I’m sure to match undergarments from now on, it’s high alert.

What starts off as a chance meeting at the discothèque in London with no expectations might just quickly turn into a charged scenario. A friend warned me: “When you have a long distance relationship, you don’t really get to experience life with that person on a realistic level. Emotions are heightened, and these relationships don’t usually last. You’re missing the normal everyday things like paying the bills and taking out the trash.” 

Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened, and keep your arms and legs in the vehicle at all times. You are about to board the oldest rollercoaster known to modern traveler, the long distance relationship, a.k.a., the L.D.R. ‘No shame’ is the game as multiple calls are placed to airlines, national health services, and travel agents in begged efforts to extend your trip and spend more time with your foreign sweetheart. After you’ve exhausted your travel cash and ignored all responsibilities on your home turf, you realize there is no choice but to get on the plane and resume life as you knew it. The packed suitcase and tearful ‘see you soon’ is, in reverse dramatic form, just the beginning. 

The resulting temporary insanity is par for the course, and the flight crew returning you to the clutches of doldrums will have their work cut out for them. It is now that I would like to confess and apologize to Pauline at British Airways for my scandalous behavior on flight 023 from Heathrow to Los Angeles.  I know it wasn’t Pauline’s fault that I was being ripped from the lip lock of the Beautiful British Boy, but her loveless attitude didn’t help matters. 

By the time I boarded the plane back to the States, I had been awake for three solid days. Prolonged lack of sleep has been known to cause psychosis, and citing this loosely based fact, I cannot be held responsible for my actions. Exhausted, I was unable to move as everyone stood in line to board the aircraft. I waited until I was able to glide in, after luggage was stowed and my fellow passengers were safely funneled into their seats. I soon fell asleep and sometime later I woke up to an odoriferous assault of the senses. 

The German woman sitting in front of me had spewed bratwurst all over her row and my computer bag was caught in the crossfire. I made a spontaneous executive decision and cuddled up (in what I felt was my rightful place) in a bed by the window in the plush Club Class section. I had barely kicked off my Go Go boots when I made the mistake of flagging down a stewardess to explain my situation. My designer computer bag was vomited on, which, in a bizarre domino effect made me feel nauseous as well – but there was no cause for concern, as I had worked out my own accommodations

Color me surprised when she didn’t thank me for my quick thinking - and actually sent me back to my original seat. This was a British crew, and I still maintain that if they had been American (and thus, more aware of possible litigious grounds), I would have been fed frozen grapes in the cockpit. 

The second time I crashed the Club section, I drifted into the most serendipitous dream of eating chocolate in an English garden with my beautiful British boy. I was jarred awake by the sharp poke of an overzealous male flight attendant who seemed to take my shenanigans personally, like he owned the friggin’ plane. “You’ve been asked to leave the Club section once before. This is the second time. One more time, and we will alert the captain,” he snipped. Tattletale. Jeez, Louise. I grabbed my things and reached for the plush Club section comforter and he quickly defended the integrity of the blanket. “That blanket belongs here. In Club Class.” Even though I was grifting my way through the eleven hour flight, frankly, I did not care for his brand of customer service. Even though my actions were shameful, I feel I earned my place in Club Class by simply providing several hours of in-flight live entertainment and fodder for future team-building gossip sessions. 

Clearly I did not deserve such persecution, and was in fact, entitled to some kind of congratulatory guest experience. I felt I was doing my part for global relations with my L.D.R. The gentleman I was courting was a citizen of an allied country, and international bonds were strengthened with my mission as an ambassador of love. 

I hereby offer my apologies to Pauline, the flight crew, and fellow passengers for my emotional free fall on flight 023. Cruising at high altitudes of emotions and physical heights is not without its dips and falls. What I don’t regret is riding this ride. The L.D.R may be dramatic, intense, and unreal, but sometimes an opportunity is taken simply because it is too exciting to pass up. For even the most cynical, such romantic possibilities are irresistible to explore. Sometimes the most crucial goal is to open the heart, and however that happens is irrelevant in the end. The long distance romance may not be relationship by numbers, but I can live without someone taking out the trash.  

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