Here’s one episode from a monologue that I wrote long ago titled The Male Perspective. It was one show out of many that I had created for Playfilm.net, my online production company together with my cinematographer friend Scott. It was probably one of the few online webseries pre-YouTube. The formatting would not transfer onto this page properly, so excuse the mess. This show was about the complex relationship between Greg and his girlfriend, but from a male perspective as the title so aptly suggests. What makes this monologue fun is that it’s written by me, so inadvertently it’s about how I perceive men in relationships. It’s split into short rant-type monologues, which makes for a quick, fun read. How does this connect with The Diary of a Wrinkle? Well, it still involves women’s issues that we can easily relate to.
“Prooning and Grooming”
INT. KITCHEN – DAY
GREG, mid-30s, handsome, black hair and a goatee, leans back into his seat in front of a kitchen table. One hand holds onto a cup of coffee resting on the table, while his other hand fidgets with a half-eaten toast.
I’m so tired, just so damn eye-burning, mouth-yawning tired.Didn’t sleep all night; the girlfriend of course had to pick a fight. Just when my body relaxed a bit and I was ready to shut down for the night. What is it with women who have to fight, just when you’re about to fall asleep, or when you’re sitting on the toilet, or when you’re about to eat. All right, you want to know what she was moaning about? We were foolin’ around for a change–the usual kind of stuff…
… na, I won’t get into it, we didn’t invent anything new; you’ve either heard it all before, seen it, done it, and there was nothing unpleasant about it either, it was pleasurable, definitely not great and certainly nothing that’ll be etched in my memory for longer than a day. It was fine.
Then, after we both reached a satisfactory state, which included sighing, increased-blink-rate, eyelids fluttering, wincing –locked eyes — all of those sounds and facial expressions that are a complete turn-off any other given time, or even a telltale sign of deception, or stress, or bad constipation — we casually rolled over to our assigned spaces on the bed, and that’s when I opened my big mouth.
That moment right after, when you feel emotionally liberated and the most stupid and unthinkable things spill out of your mouth. What? Yeah yeah, it’s that exact moment when really all you want to do is sleep. I’m talking about those few idyllic seconds, when your body’s totally relaxed and your mind has turned off, your penis is happy but languid and you’re seconds away from drifting off. Only seconds away! But then, something disrupts this pattern, and it’s not the car alarm, smoke alarm, or cell phone. But it gets your attention. Boom! you’re wide awake –trapped.
Is wanting to sleep right after sex too much to ask for? What? No, she didn’t say anything really…
… I was the one who said something. It was just a comment; it should’ve been taken lightly. It was more like a suggestion really. But it had to blow up into an emotionally explosive argument instead. What did I say? What the hell did I say? I’m so damn tired. No, I didn’t say that, but that’s how I feel right now.
I told her that I would prefer that she shaved…
… you know, shave. I ask you, is there anything wrong with a man wanting a little bit of landscaping around his castle? And let me tell you something, her garden needs a lot of trimming, and she knows I have a preference for a cleaner, tidier look. I wear a goatee even though I find it to be rather itchy, but she says she likes it so I keep it.
But I should’ve known better; instantly, it turned into another “you don’t really really love me” episode, and frankly, I’m tired.
Tired of every single thing that I say twisted and turned, analyzed to death, harped on for days and sometimes remembered a few months later. “Even ugly girls have someone who loves them,” she said, twice, waiting to hear a heartfelt “sorry” from me. Or an affirmation of my love for her, and possibly another validation of her beauty.
I wasn’t really sure what she was after,I thought I knew…
… but I wasn’t sure. I lost my confidence. I wasn’t all there; I had just been forced out of that euphoric state of moments away from after-sex sleep and bombarded with a polemic. We argue and fight, a lot, so I had an idea of where this was leading. But I don’t like to be pressured into saying things she wants to hear, even when I’m tired. And it’s not because I end up saying things that aren’t true. You know, the truth is I just didn’t know what she wanted.
No, I didn’t apologize, and no, she’s not ugly, of course not, definitely not. But this is what I mean, it always reverts back to her self-esteem issues. I’m not being sexist; she has self-esteem issues, I’m convinced. I don’t suffer from any of that shit even though I think my ass is a little too big for my body, I’m not a fan, but I don’t let that keep me from walking naked in front of her, you know. At least it’s hairless.
I just wanted her to shave — it’s that simple, and nothing permanent, nothing like a piercing or a tattoo. The hair will grow back eventually…
(hands clenched together and thumbs rubbing up and down against each other)
… you really think I was wrong to tell her how I felt?…
… really? I don’t know, just picture yourself living in this magnificent home; you’re in your bedroom, it happens to be your favorite room even though it’s a one-bedroom, but in this room you have a really nice view of rolling hills and a verdant garden, with colorful roses and a few long bougainvillea vines breaking a tableau of green. Sounds nice so far doesn’t it? Makes you forget about he high rent — it’s all about location or a great view in the end.
Except this garden’s been neglected and the beautiful rose bushes and bougainvillea that used to adorn the area have vanished, swallowed up and covered by tall, stubborn weeds. Would you be able to enjoy this sight?…
… psst, you know what, I don’t care what you think. I don’t need your approval. I have to get some sleep…
… no, no way! I won’t come over to mow your lawn. Who the hell do you think I am?