Saturday, January 2, 2016

CRAIG EDWARD KELSO: La Cuca versus Lovely


It’s rare life hands you a control, a scientific experiment in real time.

Most scientific experiments suffer from being artificial: they’re in a lab, sterile, and without messy variables like real people doing real things.

Over a two week period, life gave me the perfect experiment.

Two women, both vying for my affection (I know that reads like bragging, but I swear it’s true).

La Cucaracha versus Lovely.

La Cucaracha returned with blazing speed. She is a hurricane of emotion.

Lovely is methodical, careful. She is all about reason.

La Cucaracha PROMISED undying love.

Lovely cautiously EXPLAINED to me she doesn’t know what love is.

La Cucaracha’s day is watching movies, shopping, and texting/Facebooking any guy who will give her even the slightest attention. Seriously. The guy could be 75 or 15 and smile at her. She’ll then beg for his attention. Fucking strange. Her smart phone is with her at all times. She must, MUST know when a guy will give her the tiniest nod.

Lovely’s day is spent in contemplation, long walks, and quality conversations with people. She hasn’t any need for EVERY guy’s attention, but instead narrows down her circle to quality people. She weighs the prospects of allowing a person into her world.

La Cucaracha is incredibly lonely and shallow. She’d call me and launch into hysterical tears, heaving and sobbing about her mother, about her brother, and about her lack of something to do. This went on for almost every conversation, at least at some point.

Lovely isn’t perfect, and is emotional too. But she isn’t lonely. She calls me to speak with ME, not because no one else will speak with her. She has real friends because she makes sure they’re quality first. Her family is NOT her. They’re important to her, of course, but they’re not an excuse for her to act poorly.

La Cucaracha MUST see me right now. Right away. I tell her no, that I am not sure about her. I can’t exactly tell her everything wrong about her personality, that’s terribly forward, so I drop hints. Oh, she does NOT like a mirror held up to her. She instantly panics and wants to get off the phone.

Lovely and I talk about La Cucaracha. There isn’t any way I could bring Lovely up to La Cucaracha (La Cucaracha is too busy talking about all of La Cucaracha’s problems – stupid, little girl problems). Lovely sighs. She says she feels so badly for La Cucaracha. She tells me it’s a good idea not to see her because superficial women confuse looks with love. I found that very perceptive.

La Cucaracha can’t hold onto female friends for very long. She taxes them emotionally, and her friends try to get away from her when they find out how obsessed she is with having the attention of every guy. La Cucaracha sees females as competition. La Cucaracha craves approval.

Lovely has many female friends. Sure, a few guys are mixed in there, but she doesn’t hang all over them, sleep at their houses, sit on their laps, kiss them, and so forth. They’re actual friends.

La Cucaracha is nice looking. Pleasant. Someone, by complete accident, showed me recent photos of her. She’s pretty enough. But her look manifests itself from the turmoil inside. She can’t decide who she is, and it shows. She has no idea how to put on makeup. With makeup she looks like a drag queen. She doesn’t know how to wear a dress. It hangs on her awkwardly. If I saw her and didn’t know her, I would not give her a second thought.

Lovely is a work of art from head to toe. She takes great pride in her appearance. Some people would say that’s not important. I strongly disagree. Lovely gives me chills. From how her hair sits, to the earrings she wears (or doesn’t), to her shoes, every element of her is conscious, involved, and concerned. She buys from thrift stores and exchanges, yet manages to look as if she’d just stepped off a Parisian runway. She could wear shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes, and she would make that drab ensemble glorious. I can’t not notice her.

La Cucaracha is part of the 99 percent.

Lovely is part of the 1 percent.

La Cucaracha depends on everyone else, and doesn’t even have a driver’s license. Pathetic.

Lovely is her own woman. Admirable.

La Cucaracha spends money like water (and guys, let me tell you, no matter how good she is at sucking your dick, a woman who doesn’t respect money is a piece of garbage – that shit will not be cute, fast).

Lovely is a saver.

La Cucaracha lives off of the government. Her family lives off the productivity of others. Their housing is paid for by your taxes. Their food is paid for by your taxes. Her schooling is paid for by your taxes. La Cucaracha doesn’t see any problem with this at all. She and her family refuse to use this cushion as a way to get out of dependency and poverty. No. Instead, they buy expensive clothes, breast implants, dinners, and entertainment. I ask La Cucaracha if that is a life. She doesn’t understand the question.

Lovely works, and has worked as long as she has been able. She refuses, out of principle, to take money from people. Her family also lives off the government, but this DISGUSTS Lovely. She is ashamed of them. She makes an effort to live in opposition. She likes to window shop. She doesn’t poo-poo material wealth. She respects it, the way she does quality of any kind. She wants to earn her way, that’s all.

La Cucaracha interrupts me to tell me yes, she does save money. She took one hundred dollars from three hundred dollars and saved it. That’s ten percent, she said dismissively, confidently. No, baby, I tell her, there are three hundreds in three hundred dollars, so if she is saving one of those three, that’s THIRTY THREE PERCENT. Rather than realize she is a fucking idiot, she changes the subject. I mute the phone because I am laughing my ass off.

Lovely busts a long, deep laugh when I tell her about La Cucaracha’s orientation to something as fundamental as money. Lovely tells me she’s never really thought much about money. It’s not a prime motivation for her, she says. But she always hated people who would tell her money cannot buy happiness or that money didn’t matter. She tells me she just doesn’t want to have to rely on OTHER people for what she needs or wants. I am silent for too long because I cannot believe how fucking rad Lovely is.

La Cucaracha loses my respect, and loses it fast. I went from almost idealizing her and our past to thinking considerably less and less of her the more we spoke. I can write with complete confidence I do not respect her. And if I don’t respect a woman, nothing will happen. NOTHING. I will get so fed up I’ll start to vocalize my hatred. I dread this eventuality with La Cucaracha, and I plot how to get her not to call me anymore.

Lovely reminds me how heroic humans are. Lovely is, again, far from perfect. I don’t want to over-do her good qualities, but she is good. She is borderline great. She is worth my time. She is worth my mind. She is worth the prospect. I feel no pity toward her. I learn from her. We’re growing a friendship together. She is a partner in my life.

La Cucaracha is running scared. Even in quick conversations, I push a mirror up to her actions. Her voice cracks. I can hear her irritation, her anger. I’ll call you tomorrow, she says. She doesn’t call! Ding dong, the fantasy is dead. Finally. I figured out how to get her not to WANT to call me. I’ve told her, commanded her, not to call or contact me. That never worked, obviously. I had to SHOW her she is not good enough for me. I had to prove it. Done.   

Lovely gets a call from me, and she is surprised. While I do call her from time to time, I don’t call nearly as much as I should. Wow, she says excitedly, I thought about you today. I bought you some shirts, and I know you’d get mad at me. But I know you need them, so you’re getting them, mister. I laugh. When you get enough money, you can take me out and thank me properly, she demands. Don’t be stubborn, she laughs back at me, don’t be a burro!

In one woman, I’d have to constantly be ill at ease, unsure, and go from crisis to crisis.

In the other woman, I have a friend. I have someone who adds to my life.

Game. Set. Match.


And I mean it.


Craig Edward Kelso is a felon, father, husband, controversialist, living in Southern California with his adorable family.


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