going to miami

This is a friend's story of a bad date. Thanks CR!

After a particularly unhealthy series of weekends and weeks in college, along with the recent break up of a long time boyfriend, I decided I needed some serious detox.
I had heard about some type of health beverage and as I perused the health and vitamin store, clearly lost, a guy approached me and asked if I needed any help. Which I accepted, and he talked to me for about ten minutes or so before I realized that… this guy was wearing sweatpants. This guy did not WORK at the store.
In which case, he asks for my number. And I’ve spent this amount of time chatting with him, and accepted his advice and in the mindset of moving on, I gave it to him.
He calls and texts. I’m not so entirely into him, but it’s complicated to get rid of someone especially when, it helps to be interesting to someone new.
Finally, I agreed to go out with him.
Here’s the deal, I tell him, “I have to be somewhere tomorrow but I will have ONE DRINK with you.”
So he comes to pick me up at my house in Long Island. Now. The guy who comes to pick me up is NOT the same as the one I met in the vitamin store. This guy has got a shaved head. And a sports jacket. And tight jeans. And he’s shiny and tan. Like, really shiny. MIAMED out. Plucked eyebrows. He got READY for this date. All 5’ of him is decked out. And jacked.
We get in the car. He tells me that he’s taking me to a restaurant, that he knows the bartender, on the Jersey Shore which is half an hour away.
News flash: he’s 19. He’s independent because his mom is schizo. And more of this for half an hour.
ONE drink, I tell myself, and oh yeah, breathe.

The bartender is an old guy. We have a drink. He tells me then, that his best friend’s birthday is happening at a bar ten minutes away. That we should hit it up. That taking me all the way back home, half an hour away is just not really what I wanted to do, is it?
(it must be nice to live in the city…)
So this next bar, was awful. And his friends. Meatheads. A crowd of meatheads, all shaved and jacked, shiny and muscled.
“Feel my arms,” he would say, and place my hands on his biceps. He appeared to have shimmer lotion on. All over his body.


“She’s hot, she likes my muscles,” he told his friends. “I’m on this date with an amazingly beautiful woman.”
I’m right here.
And then. A girl from college who I cant particularly call my friend turns up.
“Oh my god,” she says, “He’s so hot.”
Ahhhhhhh. The worst thing ever!
It’s getting late. This is far more than one drink.
“Did I tell you that I’m a club promoter?” he asks. “We’re going to the club. That’s why I’m dressed up like this.” He gropes his muscles with my hand again.

“I am not going to the club tonight,” I told him. “I need to go home. You need to take me home.”
“Really?” he doesn’t seem to get it through all that shimmer lotion let alone into his head.
And I convince him to get out to the car and get on with the driving me home. This process involves him making phone calls to a number of people. And telling them about the date he’s on (currently) with this amazingly beautiful girl…
My driveway! I will never love the sight the way I did that night, four hours later than planned.
Dashing from the car, towards my front door, he catches up to me and sweeps me off my feet, carrying me the rest of the way to my door and depositing me on the doorstep.

Horrifically, I avoid any face contact and get the fuck inside.
* later, after I ignore phone calls and texts, he finally sends a text: did you want the bartender instead?
Really?

the difference between men and boys

Danielle: why is your boy trouble?

me: i was with s__ last week and he told me he hates ___ ___

and last night i had a missed call from ___ ___ and he didnt answer when i called...

but we txted today and i just know

that this is about S___

Danielle: i dont see why he would be getting into it

i mean so what if they dont like eachother

it doesnt mean you cant like both of them

or have to pick sides

me: hahaha

i know

but i will talk to him tonight and see what he has to tell me

maybe he is just calling to wish me happy birthday too

Danielle: exactly

you never know

how is s___?

me: he is a weirdo and i keep telling him that

he came over on sunday eve and we had a good time

he is crazy and i think he gets obsessive about things and it's me right now

Danielle: Oh!

me: i dont mind but i am also playing that card.... i told him there are guys in my life

and i was like,

.... is that a problem?

and he was like,

(blank stare, smile)

fine, thats fine

....

but they're all normal, right?

hahahah

so i think he htinks that he can out-strange them and capture me

but since he's been so bold and obvious about everything i am going to be coy

Danielle: well do you think he can?

me: i dont know

sure

but i have to tell you something....

it's a fascinating kind of observation of men in general

Danielle: ok

me: so he spent the night

obviously i am not going to have sex with him because it weirds me out

as you know

but he's taking his time

but ok... so i jerked him off

and he came so fast it was like he wasn't enjoying it

Danielle:hahaha and...

me: but he was, or did or whatev

Danielle: ehhh thats a bad sign

me: but it just was like, aha, so you have no self-control and you dont want to build up to something

it's like the difference between a boy and man, right there in my hand

Danielle: hahahaahaha

me: and i can tell this is why he has had issues with unwarranted pregnancies

Danielle: either that or he actually cant hold out evn if he wanted to

me: because he just goes whenever he goes and doesnt like to use a condom

so go figure

alas

Danielle: wait wait so are you saying its a physical premature ejaculation or mental... like if he wanted to he could last alot longer

me: oh i dont know

i am sure he doesnt have any control. won't condition that part of himself.

but thats just it dont you think?

ahhh

oh well

and let me be so blunt ... but it just didnt seem big enough

Danielle: hahahahahaha

well i then i think you know all yu need to know about him

me: exactly!

hahahaha

DJ broken finger

I met this guy at another showroom party, one that for some reason had hooked a few engineers and skewed the average amount of men at one of those types of parties.  Straight men at that!  To make matters even more interesting, the furniture showroom invited a DJ to man the mac and play some tunes to get people to dance.  We all love to dance.
In fact, those engineers turned out to be 1 in 3 single and not dancers.  However, the DJ was into me.  He was bad news, Andres was there to meet him and determined this.  But I agreed to go out on a date with him and we had some major chemistry, even if it bothered him that I was 6 years younger.
He was from DC originally, and had a gig there for a long weekend.  I had a feeling I would never see him again after that, mainly because although we were having a great time, riding bikes around and going to beginning-of-summer bbq's... something felt like my time was up.
"I'm back!" he exclaimed.  I was running out to get some beers around the corner from Brynne's and had missed his call on the bike ride to her apartment.  He'd texted me once or twice, both seeming like mass-texts to everyone back in NY, and only the first one did I respond to.
"I can't wait for those elbows," he said.  Yes, my incredible massage trick was to dig my pointy, bony elbows into the back and shoulders of anyone.  My hands weren't nearly strong enough, but those elbows...  So he did want to see me again.
"And the sex, wow!  Let's get together," he said.  "Tomorrow?  I'll get us on the list to a show at Union Pool. In the back room."
"I thought you didn't like it when I bit you," I said.  He had been covering my mouth, evidently I was being too loud.
Union Pool, the back room.  I hadn't been there as much as ever before since I met him and his apartment was within walking distance.  I can't say it was my favorite place to go, way too hipster for me.  But I agreed, and when I got back to Brynne's it was shocking to have such news.
"He's bad news!" was all Andres could say.
I showed up at the DJ's place after work on Friday, with an extra bag full of random stuff, not necessarily to stay over at his place but more because I'm a packrat and needed some stuff for the weekend that had been stashed at the office. Naturally, the party doesn't start until at least 9 or 10, so we hang out for awhile, drink a little, smoke a little.  Catch up on his crazy weekend.
We go to the bar, meet up with some of his friends, get wristbands into the back room.  We get some tacos from the taco truck in the courtyard.  The night is turning into a pretty typical night for us, where we drink too much and he gets outrageous with his friends and I just hang around looking pretty.
However, at Union Pool's back room, there is no shortage of guys, and everyone's dancing and I love to dance.  Before I know it, one of his (female) "best friends" showed up, all distraught and slightly drunk because she'd just broken up with her boyfriend of so so many years.  At this point, it's pretty clear that I'm on my own, even if I have been seeing this guy for 2 months.
So I dance with other guys.  There's one in particular who's rather aggressive.  He's strong and it's difficult to dance with him because I have to just let go and be tossed around.  Until I realize that I'm hurting, that my finger feels funny.  I stop, escape him to find the DJ and his friend.  I look at my hand, make a fist. The ring finger of my right hand unnaturally crosses over my middle finger, over my pointer.  It's not normal.  It's got to be broken.
"Stop doing that," said the DJ.  I passed out. Twice.  I'm not ok, I can tell that this is going to be a problem.  My finger is obviously broken, and although it isn't hurting too much and there's no blood or anything, I have to get out of here.  I'm drunk, but I leave the bar and go around the corner to the first bodega I find, the one on Metropolitan right outside of the train station.  It's raining now.
"Do you have any medical tape?" I ask.  There is a guy in the store, fascinated by me.  I seem pretty ok except for when I show him my fist, with my finger in the wrong place.  He attempts to "set it" and twist it back into place.  Nothing's working. I had tried that.
"How about some advil?" I said, assuming that if anything, the swelling would start soon, and pain.  The bodega guy gave me a couple packets, and a length of clear tape.  You know, the tape they use at the end of wrapping up a sandwich.  This stranger tapes my finger to my other finger.
I left the bodega (after getting that guy's card) and head back to the bar.  The bar is closing, and they won't let me in.  The DJ is not answering his phone.  I can only imagine that he's gone back to his apartment.  Presumably with his friend, to hook up? I wouldn't put it past him.  I walk under the BQE to his apartment and buzz and buzz until he responds via text.
"You can get whatever you left tomorrow."
I buzz and buzz until he finally lets me in.  I go upstairs, they are both trashed, I grab my things, exchange a few choice words and leave.
I hail a cab and get home.
"You think your night was bad? My finger's broken," I texted a good friend who I'd been text-commiserating with all evening.  He'd been on a bad date.  He called me the next morning and showed up in his roommie's car to take me to the ER at Methodist in Park Slope.  We were laughing the whole time, even if at first his face went white when he saw the swollen finger, it's dislocation, and the greenish bruise to my palm and wrist.
X-rays proved that it was a complex fracture with rotational complication.  Or something.  Basically, someone had taken my finger and twisted, then when it broke they'd kept twisting.  Then the tendons in my finger wouldn't let it go back.  I'd be having 3 pins surgically inserted to put it back on Thursday.  Happy mother's day weekend!

a loser at a sports bar

When Mollie and I got to the bar in Union Square, we were already toasted. I say toasted because it was still light out and therefore, etiquette won’t allow for one to be trashed before dark. Don’t ask.

Now the reason behind this is pretty simple. It was Sunday and we had met in Brooklyn to watch the Steelers Game. And we lost. And we saw it coming. So we just kept drinking. And nearing the end of it, Mollie decides that we’re heading out into the city for a birthday party. It seemed like a strange time to have a birthday party, a Sunday evening, not yet dark. And it seemed that she really didn’t want to go and unless I went with her she was probably not going to make it. But she wanted to go. In facebook terms, it was “complicated.” 

 So we hop the train and sure enough, as soon as we walk into the bar, he sees her, she sees him and she’s got to deal with it and be friendly and say “happy birthday” and all that. Lucky for us, her buddy is there already and she’s made some friends and gets us beers right away. Like we need any more. But hey, it’s not dark yet!

Now, we’ve left a sports bar in Brooklyn but showed up in another in Manhattan, so everyone there knows that we’re still losers. Because like true fans, we've got the gear on. So it’s still ok to be past toasted.

I somehow bow out of the shots that the guy in the top hat passes around. upon entering this bar I surrendered a bit, just that part where I know that no men are going to find me interesting, that my hair immediately gives me away that I’m too different and unique and complicated. Which is fine. that simple editing process is what saves me from more instances like these.
A bit later, I make my way to the back, to the restroom. And when I come out, the guy in the top hat stops me, as he waits in line. He wants to check out my hair. He makes me turn around.

“yes, it’s a swirl that starts here and goes around like that,” I explain, following the spine of my hair with my hand. “want to touch it?”
And he does. And he seems to like it.
“it’s so cool. It’s hot.” He says. “are you a lesbian?”
And here is where it gets a little murky in my memory: but of course I’m not, but it pisses me off so I make fun of his top hat.But then we make out. With drunken passion.
We pause for him to apparently get my number and add me as a friend on facebook on his i-phone.* Then I make my way back to the bar and resume my stool. Sip my beer.
Crickets look back at me when I meet the eyes of Mollie and K. and K’s 2 friends who had since joined us.
“what?”
Crickets. Blanks. 
“who was that? He’s cute!” says Mollie.
I giggled. They smirked, chortled. “yeah I kissed him.”
And they howl. K corrects me, “you aggressively made out with him.”
“ah,” I said and dissolved in giggles I’m sure. 

* this allows for one to go back and look at pictures of whoever they met the night before in drunkenness to consider without beer goggles whether or not they want to see them again. This helps both parties to recognize each other if they decide to meet again.