Saturday, November 14, 2009
Chapter 4 - The Prelude to Big Crazy
I met Big Crazy at Joe's Pub. Years ago. He was a model. I made it a rule to not date models right before I started dating a few models.
Good work, Jean.
I also made it a rule to not date Big Crazy at the same time that I started dating Big Crazy.
In my defense, right after I met him, heard his corny ass pick up line, took his stupid number on that stupid paper and vowed to never call him... I meant that shit. I meant it so fucking hard. I gave new meaning to "meant". That's not really a good defense, is it???
Let me explain.
The reason I ended up going out with Big Crazy, was Blackplanet.
Blackplanet and it's stupid ass dating results.
For about 2 months, I had been talking to a guy I met on Blackplanet. We seemed to click well, phone conversations were cool, all in all, I was interested. It's a pretty big deal if I'm even slightly interested, so ... it was a pretty big deal to go on a "date".
I'm not very good at "dates".. I mean, I have incredible date ideas.... elaborate plans.... I would like to be taken on dates.. I just end up not really GOING on very many dates.
Circumstances are always different in my relationships.
I had one boyfriend who was the king of dates.. It was a welcome experience. We would be thoroughly exhausted after all our "date" time though... Falling asleep at dinner, just... man... we were dating HARD.
He took dates to SCHOOL. Learned them... smacked them in the date mouth with a white dueling glove. This motherfucker could plan some motherfucking DATES.
I tried to match his "Master of Dates" status and plan a kick ass date when he came to NY. I failed miserably. He looked miserable. I was so angry.
That's another story though....
Back to Blackplanet.
So we had planned a date. Actually, no.. I had planned a date. It was a doozy of an evening. Well, it WOULD have been a doozy of an evening if I had went on the date with SOMEONE ELSE.
I really overestimated his.... well.. comprehension of EVERYTHING.
I don't know how he managed to play off intelligence on the internet, or on the phone. I like to think it was a Cyrano sort of situation and someone was feeding him lines to me. Where is THAT dude? I should have been on the date with that dude.
Having his fake intelligence and fake free spirit in mind, the date was planned like this:
Meet up at Union Square.
Go to very rare showing of "A Clockwork Orange" ( I KNOW!!! RIGHT?)
Stop by Remote Lounge for drinks and fun (Remote used to be fun as hell! Great concept bar until it got ruined).
Late night dinner at.. well.. any great late night downtown NYC eatery.
None of those things went right.
He showed up at Union Square as the 1.5 version of his Blackplanet/phone 8.0 version...................
"Oh..." I thought, "there's no way in hell I'm sitting through this fucking great movie with you." I thought.
"I'ma go inside and just see how tickets are looking right now" Is what I said.
Man, I came out of that building looking real disappointed. All Longface McNichols I was.
"No more tickets" said I.
I grabbed my fake sadness next to me and held it there for the remainder of the night.
Clutching that sadness made me feel slightly better. I held it to me.. close like a sad, outdated pocketbook.
"Duh." His face and body language said.
"Shut up." My body language, unreadable by the retarded, said back.
They had tickets. They had 29 tickets left. I remember the number, simply for the number.
"We have 29 tickets left" -them
"That's a damn shame" - me
I truly, deeply, wanted to see that movie on a big screen. Hopefully it will happen again. I just, I just couldn't even do it.
I really wasn't in the mood to go home yet. I had gotten ready for the night, date ready... all groomed and preened and other "eds". Fuck it.. let's just drink. It's quite possible that I could give him away at Remote, as well as find a new date. Okay, let's try that.
We take a cab down to Remote Lounge... I warn him.. yet again.. "yeah don't try and match me drink for drink.. you will lose... it will be awful..."
Fast forward 2 hours later...
We're in McDonald's. 22nd & 6th ave.
He is WASTED. Mostly because I told him- "yeah don't try and match me drink for drink.. you will lose... it will be awful..."
He didn't listen.
At this point, I'm like... "Say man.... umm.. lemme buy you a cheeseburger or something to soak your liquor up"
We are never going to a level PAST McDonalds.... so I figure this is a nice gesture.
Dude is not standing on line with me. Dude is at the seats in the front passed out.
OH NO... PASSED THE FUCK OUT.
I try and wake him up.. I stood on that line for 15 fucking dumb ass minutes getting him some fucking food.
He is not getting up.
I don't even half ass try.... I genuinely try to wake him up... Grab his face, stuff it in the bag... ......Nothing. Lift his arms and smack his face with his own hands.. Nothing.
Ok, well fuck it then.. It is 1: 07 am... I sir, am STILL not done with my dating evening.
I then make a choice that I consider a hard, tough choice in my dating career.
I should leave him.
In the McDonalds.
I contemplate this outside, while dragging hard on my cigarette... randomly turning around to see if anyone has started messing with him yet and sucking my teeth every time I look.
Good Jean says: What if someone tries to kill him??? He's not from Manhattan!!!! What if he gets robbed??? You could just put him in a cab.
Normal Jean says: Yeah, well....prolly should have thought all those amazing thoughts before you decided that you could have 4 dirty martinis. Seriously... FOUR??? That's ALL?? That is a grown man. I, Jean am not responsible for some strangers mishaps. Plus, he was a total crap date. Even before passing out. There wasn't much difference between him being conscious and comatose. Just leave him there with the food.
I flicked my stog across the street and walked to the payphone. I didn't turn around again.
Same pocketbook from the night I met Big Crazy.
I was out, I was sure he'd be out..... why not..
"Hey.. it's Jean.. HI! Umm.. what are you doing?"
to be cont.........
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Chapter 3 - Perfectly Shitty, Harp Playing Angels
He was hot. He was a really hot guy.
We used to watch him in the park. Grouped together, giggling at his steaminess.
He played ball.. I think..
Maybe he just wore a lot of jerseys.
I didn't really care. He looked hot in the jerseys. He could have been the worst basketball player ever.
He could have played cricket, for all I care. I sincerely doubt that though. Not too many cricket players in .. wait, where was he from? I'm sure I knew what borough he was from at the time, but years have passed and insignificant details like that tend to pour right out of my mind. His last name, things he liked to do, hist first na--- kidding... but, irrelevant things like that.
I keep the good info, like he was hot. Or, the super bad bullshit, which I'll get to.
One day while sitting, doing steaminess giggling, the moment happened. OOOOHH!!
Is he walking over here?? Is he smiling at me??? OOOooooOh!!!!
My girlfriends giggled harder, mumbled a bunch of "Oh shit, bitch.. he's coming over here" like quotes, while elbowing me in the sides. It wasn't subtle. You don't know how to be workably subtle at 21. It's a learned skill. They might has well have just ripped my top off and thrust me forward into his path while dancing around going - " OoOoOGA BOOGA MAAAN GOOOD!!"
So, by the time I had finished directing the scene where he walked in slow motion towards me, smiling, teeth glinting in the afternoon sun, women throwing their underwear as he dodged it..... he had already been standing there for about a minute.
Stupid face me.
My friends weren't any help. Their jaws on the floor, oozing drool into the park grates. We must have looked insanely retarded.
"Hey, " he said. It snapped me out of my dream sequence and back to the park.
"Ooh. Heeeeey. Hi. Hi there. Hi." I gushed my words ineptly. "Hey, man." Why was I continuing to say "Hi?"
SHUT UP ME!!
"What's ya name?" said Sexytron McSexface.
I had no idea what my name was. All I could hear in my head was "whatever you liiiike" from Coming To America.
No, don't answer with that.
Umm, what the fuck is my name again?? Stacey? Susie? Oh no.. I have to say something back. Uh.. uh...
"Yeah." I finally responded. "Yeah, my name." DOH!!!!
He cocked his head to the side quizzically and frowned his perfect eyebrows to form the cutest isosceles triangle between his perfect long lashed eyes. Perfect.
"Yeah," he smiled - "your name?"
I was okay. I could handle this. I mean, I'm ME! Pull it together.... spit some game..
"Tsidi," I managed to get it out with a smile, followed by a flirty point -"You?"
Alright now.. let's scale back on the burlesque hand point.... just answering questions is good.. no need to choreograph and act like someone is going to throw me a top hat and a cane.
"Steve." (not his name).
I think the sky opened to reveal angels playing harps on clouds when we... well.. you know. Well, I doubt it would be the same experience now, but I was young and... I was young.
Other than that, Steve was boring. Boring, insipid, and dumb. Dumb, insipid and boring.
I can't actually recall any conversation of value ever being held between us. I tried not to talk too much, so as not to hurt his mind. I swear I heard bits of it imploding when we were close. Just vanishing, right out of his beautiful skull. *THWAP* Gone.
Tiny puffs of smoke wafting out of his perfectly crafted ears, hanging in the air just long enough for me to blow them away, pat him on the head and say -"shhh."
Yeah, Steve and I had no future. I endured the (yeah RIGHT, ENDURED, HA) physical relationship for as long as I could, without feeling like I was losing brain cells just being around him. I had to end it. I was pretty sure he wouldn't be heartbroken, or know how to spell heartbroken, so it wasn't a big deal .
Just one more time and I would be ready to say "buuhhhh bye".
The morning after my decided END, I got up and went to get a coffee and some cigarettes from the deli downstairs. I ended up smoking and walking around the block once, practicing my "this just isn't going to work" speech.
I was feeling good about my fake sad face, deliberate words and general false melancholy by the time I got back upstairs.
I opened the door, looked around.. Where's Steve?
At this time I was living in what I dubbed, my "Studio Duplex". A small studio apartment in Chelsea with a giant loft bed. You could indeed swing a cat in there, but the cat wouldn't make it past the first wall. This to say, that if he was there, I would have known immediately.
Hmm.. ok.. well.. this is weird. No note, no call to my cell to say he was leaving...
I was relieved and annoyed at the same time.
Okay, so .. I don't have to make this dumb ass speech? Great... but.. did he just... break up with ME FIRST???
Heeeeey Steve... saaaaay man...
I went in the bathroom to wash my hands and........
Get the fuck out of here.
My toilet is full of log.
Not just one log. Two. Two giant logs hugged up on each other.
Oh, fucking no. I look away and cry out "AGGGHHHHH" and flush.... TRY to flush... handle just jiggles about. You're kidding.
Yo.. did he ..... Did he just shit logs, break my toilet and bounce???
I run out of the bathroom repulsed, grab my cell and call my friend, while running out of my door.
I tell her the whole story quickly as I take the stairs two at a time down to the lobby to find the handyman.
I also realize that I feel like I have to explain how the logs are not my property. I don't even see how things that size could come out of a human body. I do not want the handyman thinking I have a super human sized anus. Or colon. Oh God.
My story sounds suspect...
Sure.. sure.. some guys shits in your toilet and leaves.. Yeah, happens all the time. Sure miss.
Sigh. I think I saw Steve a couple years later. He did not look as spectacular. I didn't really know how to bring up the logs.
"Hey.. uh.. what was the deal with you shitting and breaking my facilities and then just leaving? Not calling me? I was breaking up with YOU!!! YOU ASSHOLE!!"
I wanted to say that, part of me... I just felt that, at that point, the story had enriched my life. I didn't care as to why he did it. In fact I'm sure that HE doesn't know why he did it.
Or maybe I underestimated Steve.
Maybe Steve is and was, truly diabolical....had grown tired of my stupid WORDS and THOUGHTS.
Maybe Steve hated spending time with me as much as I hated spending time with him.
Maybe, Steve had devised this plan all along and was just waiting for the right time when I left the house to put it all into action.
Maybe Steve has been telling this story to all his friends over the years, mocking me, laughing.
Heeeey.. wait a minute.
Fuck You, Steve!
(especially if you're reading this).