The Joys of Switching

So much to say, so little time.

I’m marveling at my health. So grateful for it! The Frenchman makes me rest, lets me rest, never pushes me to do anything I don’t want to do. This weekend we had one of our typical tradeoffs that make our relationship so wonderful. We had planned to spend some time with my oldest friends here in L.A. as a send-off, but decided to meet at Malediction Society instead of dinner. The Frenchman put on a poofy shirt, black eye liner and leather boots — not exactly his usual garb — and danced with me on the spooky dancefloor as we celebrated the coming year with the Marquise and the King of the Nachoheads. (They might be meeting up with us in Aix, or vice versa in Brittany.) The Marquise has exquisite taste in jewelry and owns a few pieces from Antiquarius, where the Frenchman bought my ring. She was absolutely knocked out by the tourmaline. She’s never, ever liked anyone I’ve dated, but she’s now ecstatic for me. The Frenchman twice said he was having fun, and I believed him. I know it’s not his favorite music, but some of it he really liked. I was especially pleased to have gotten to see Xian, who runs the club, and to introduce her to The Frenchman.

Sunday we switched, and not just in BDSM: I donned a blue French soccer shirt and jeans with the Frenchman and went to the Staples Center where we had V.I.P. tickets and our own suite above the stadium to watch the France vs. Korea World Cup game. The French were outnumbered by the Koreans in the Staples Center 20,000 to 20. I got what I could only describe as a tribal, pre-war adrenaline rush looking down on the thousands of Koreans dressed in red, faces painted, heads tied with red bandanas, slamming together what looked like inflatable white baguettes as they chanted and yelled. When France scored the first goal (there were TWO goals, goddammit), the entire stadium quieted except for us, their baguettes drooping sadly. The 20 or so French people stood in their V.I.P. booths and cheered. After a moment, I turned to the Frenchman and said, “We’d better sit down. I think they’re going to kill us.” Of course, that wouldn’t happen. The Korean people are incredibly sweet. But still.

Yes, the French were robbed of a goal. It was fucking ridiculous what happened. For some reason, they don’t use instant replay to make calls. If the refs miss it, it’s missed. That nonsense aside, I must say that, as someone who isn’t a fan of sports at all, I can’t get over how amazing soccer is to watch. It takes more skill, dexterity and grace than any American sport. Basketball comes very close, as well as hockey. But football? Baseball? We simply must get over ourselves. These sports are dull as drying paint in comparison. The things I’ve seen these soccer men do with their feet and heads is worthy of adoration. Not to mention that they’re insanely hot, too. One of the Korean players was gorgeous. Thousands of women shrieked at the top of their lungs when he’d appear on the screen. Wow! I was almost one of them.

And more happened, but I don’t have time to type it.

Now, to pack.

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