Archive for May, 2008

15
May

Craigslist Chronicles: The Biker Dude

So Wednesday is a good karaoke night at Levende Lounge, but Ed is busy and pretty much no one other than he and Maria will go to this particular venue, so it’s down to me and her. I’m kind of boring company on my own, plus the last time we went the staff thought we were on a date which was really embarrassing for her, so she decides to bring a Craigslist date. “What a cool idea,” I say, “I will do the same.”

After rejecting a slew of unworthy guys, Maria puts something together with some guy with a motorcycle. I, meanwhile, have no responses to my amazing post.

My amazing post:

About me: I’m tall and skinny and pasty but kind of handsome all the same. I’m shy but funny if you can put me at ease. You probably can’t. Oh well!

I need a date for karaoke tonight and I will not take no for an answer. I am amazingly good at karaoke so you don’t even need to look at this as a date so much as a free amazing show except you have to sit next to some dude but it’s alright cause he’s alright. I can also dance like a gypsy on fire so if there’s a dance song we can get up and dance to escape the boring conversation. The last time I danced with a girl I accidentally spit on her a little but I am pretty sure that was a one-time thing.

Act now, I won’t live forever.

The fact that this didn’t get me a date is depressing proof that all women are pigs, but let’s move on.

Without my own date to be nervous about, I started getting nervous about Maria’s date. “Motorcycle” sounds tough and big: What if he punches me? What if he’s like “who is this scrawny little man talking to my date?” and punches me? So I wear my leather jacket to look tough and ask Maria to tell him that I’m gay so that I will appear less threatening.

I arrive at Levende first, but that’s okay. It’s funny how I’m not cool with being alone at a bar, but if I’m alone at a bar and I know that friends are coming I’m totally fine with it. So I sit by myself, near the front, and sing a song or two. I’m really good at this, so despite being mostly empty I get some huge applause. Woo!

Eventually I spot him in the far corner of the bar. Big dude with a shaved head and a huge red goatee stands out in a place like Levende, which is full of metros and karaoke geeks. Maria asks me to go tell him she’ll be late, but he looks kind of intense, so I’m like “hell no!” because I do not like to be punched. I put go up to the sign-up list and request Rock Lobster so I can help cement the gay thing.

Anyway, Maria finally arrives, and invites me over the bar with them. I kind of politely introduce myself but barely. He makes a friendly face with his eyes and that helps. For most of the night I just sort of sit next to them, not really listening to what they’re saying, and only occasionally interjecting what’s relevant. I realize that fifth wheel is kind of the perfect role for me: It’s actually polite of me to half-ignore the people I’m with, but I am also not alone.

Plus it is kind of reassuring to see this big man of a dude doing all the same shit I do on dates. He runs out of things to say, he looks kind of nervous, et cetera. He actually seems kind of shy and sincere overall, which I want Maria to like, because if women do not like that then it is basically over for me.

Meanwhile, I am singing and rocking hard, and the crowd is really into me. When the KJ calls my name there’s a couple of people who are like “Wayne! Yeah!” which makes me feel like a rock star, I mean even a little more than normal. Maria thinks I should try hitting on whoever my biggest fan is but I figure out that it’s this really cute blond girl so the best I can manage is this shy wave as I run away from the stage. I pretty much ignore her after that.

Some time later, this humorous picture of Skeletor (a character from the 80s cartoon He-Man and the Masters of the Universe) in front of a mic comes up on screen, and the biker guy is like “yes! Skeletor!” Maria doesn’t know what this means, so I turn and I’m like “HELL YEAH!” in part to be reassuring, although mainly it’s just because I fucking love Skeletor and I identify with him so much. In any case it’s probably not very reassuring to have something in common with me.

Maria disappears to the restroom shortly after that. I think about trying to explain to this dude how he should not be embarrassed about his Skeletor moment, because Maria likes guys who are a little geeky, but I don’t know how to bring this up in a non-awkward way, and I’m not even sure that it is true. And suddenly I feel these big hands on my shoulders: “Why don’t you come be social with the group?” this large stranger says, in kind of an accusing way, and then heads out the front door.

I’m mostly confused by this, because I’m not really sure which group he is talking about. I kind of figure out by process of elimination that he’s with a lot of karaoke regulars who I see all the time, and maybe he’s giving me a hard time for seeing these people so often without trying to get to know them. But I don’t feel like I’ve seen this guy in particular before, so that doesn’t quite make sense to me.

In any case, I find it a little upsetting. I mean, here I am being made to feel socially dysfunctional, and it’s not even my date!

But Maria sends me a text message from the bathroom: “He has a kid!”

So I go to the bathroom when she gets back and write: “At least you know he’s not a virgin!”

Some time later, Ed calls, sounding intense and drunk. He wants to come, and I check in with the KJ to make sure they’ll be running late enough for that to be worth his while. I let Maria know that she’ll be coming, and she seems to have a sense of foreboding about this. I can’t understand the reason for this at the time. Maria is much smarter than me.

I sing another song or two; Maria and the biker converse. And one point I overhear him say “the last thing I downloaded on bittorrent was 17 gigs of motorcycle manuals,” and I realize that things are going very well.

And then Ed arrives.

He comes stomping in, clearly on a mission. He comes right up to me, leans in close, and urgently explains the situation:

“Okay, so my friend Mia? You met her at my birthday party and she’s totally into you. She thinks you’re amazing, she says you’re out of her league. She obviously hasn’t read your blog, right?! She’s totally hot, though, I think you’ll want to do her. She’s coming here tonight, and I want to make this happen. But you are going to have competition. She’s on a date with this other guy, and they are in a cab literally right behind me. They will be here any second. Don’t worry Wayne, I will make this happen.”

I process everything that Ed has just told me with a mixture of excitement and horror. I mean, it is cool that anyone is into me. On the other hand, this sounds like the most awkward situation imaginable, and I am at this point way too drunk to handle it. Against Ed’s urging that I be here when she arrives I head to the bathroom, because I really need to use it, and because I really need to sort my head out.

When I get back, she and some kind of smallish guy are there. He looks like a college student, I mean he’s got this bag strapped to him and everything. And Mia: The moment I walk up, Ed grabs my hand and her hand and thrusts them together in a handshake. I am standing a few feet away at the time, so this requires yanking me forward like a rag doll, which he does with ease. Ed is a force of nature. The handshake is exceedingly awkward for obvious reasons (and also because she’s holding something in that hand), so I just laugh and smile too big (which is a bad idea with my teeth; someone could get hurt) and she basically does the same.

Ed buys us some Irish car bombs. There is a process to drinking them and I am not aware of it, but I try to follow their lead and end up spilling a lot on my hand but fortunately none on my coat. I excuse myself to go wash my hand; it is kind of a blessing to get the fuck out of there again anyway.

When I get back she is in a conversation with her date; he has a hand on her shoulder, which he moves down to her waist. I don’t know how he does this while still talking; I would almost certainly bite off my tongue if I tried.

“Why aren’t you talking to her?” Ed asks me. I point to the dude she is obviously currently talking to. “Do you want me to start talking to him?” Ed asks, and then he just sort of does it.

Mia looks back at me; I smile politely and look away. I stand away from the group for a little, but not for long. The KJ calls our names - Mia and I - and that forces the situation a little. Ed’s put in a duet for us; he asked and I told him Love Shack, because it’s an easy song for me and because it will make me seem gay, and less threatening to that guy she’s with. I still do not want to be punched.

Mia looks at me as we go up, worried about the song: “The only thing I know is ‘tin roof rusted,’” she says.

“Don’t worry,” I say, “that’s the only part that matters.” And this is true.

We go up there, and I am amazing, as usual. It is an easy song and I do a decent Fred Schneider, so even though I am very drunk I still totally kill. The Kate Pierson/Cindy Wilson harmonies, however, are somewhat more difficult. Particularly when you are only one person, and you do not know the song very well. So Mia bombed. Even her tin roof rusted, which I expected to be her moment of redemption, was weak and inquisitive. The song felt very long.

Afterward, she is upset with me. “You didn’t bail me out!” she says. “You should have danced more!” I felt like I was dancing the whole time, but I apologized anyway.

“I’m going to have to do some T. Rex to redeem myself,” she says.

“Did you say T. Rex?” I’m not a huge fan of the band, but being a Bowie fan I have a certain obligatory appreciation for them. Also, I love the dinosaur.

“I’m going to have to do some T. Rex to redeem myself,” she just repeats.

So that’s kind of hot, but I look over her shoulder, and I see her date. It is kind of clear that the guy has figured out what is happening, and I can see too much in his face right now. It is blank and still, rendered useless by a humiliation that can not be expressed. I have felt the muscles in my face go dead like that too many times. I do not want to play a part in this.

Ed gets called to the stage, and Mia wanders over to watch. Maria looks at me: “We should leave while we have the chance.” Her biker dude is already gone, I notice, so there is nothing to hold us back.

We make our way out into the world. I ask what she thinks of her date, and it sounds like things went well. I am glad for that. And Ed keeps calling and texting me, very upset with me for leaving when he was trying to play matchmaker. I try to explain my position, which is I think a fair one, and try to give him the encouragement that this Mia thing is a good idea, just left for another time.

I wonder about that on the way home, though. Tonight I had an excuse to be aloof, a reason to leave too soon. I look back at the dates where I didn’t have that, and how they went. Tonight may have been the best thing.

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14
May

One True Love for a Guy Like Me

It is time that I make a confession. I have been going on these dates, and though I do have certain personal hopes and expectations in them, I have really just been going on them so that I have something to write about. The truth is that I have already found the love of my life.

I am in love with the prettiest girl on the bus.

I see her almost every day, and she is somebody different almost every time. That is one of the things I like about her. Every once in a while she is somebody I have seen before, and I like that, too. It feels good to get a surprise.

Whenever I board, the first thing I do is look for her. These days I ride the train mostly, but I still think of her as the prettiest girl on the bus. It is the name by which we were introduced, so many years ago. So I board and I look for her, and if I find her, I sit somewhere near her. Not too close, and not next to her, unless I can’t help it. The prettiest girl on the bus likes to have her space, and I respect that.

If I do not see her, though, I do not worry. I know that she will come eventually. I trust her. She so rarely lets me down. I sit in a space where there are a lot of seats open, so that she will have options to suit her many moods. When she boards I see her right away, and she almost always comes to me. Sometimes she will even sit right down next to me, sometimes even when she doesn’t have to. I find this so flattering, but I don’t let it show. If I did she might feel embarrassed.

And we ride together, and it feels so nice to be near her, even when she is several seats away. I don’t say anything to her: She doesn’t want me to say anything, and that is so perfect because I have nothing to say. And she doesn’t say anything to me and that is perfect too, because I do not care what she thinks. I am superficial in that way, but she accepts this about me. She does not judge. I never give her anything to judge.

And we ride together, and I notice her. I do not look at her directly, because she is not comfortable with that, and I respect her boundaries. I do not look at her in reflections, either; over the years she has noticed that men do this, and so this makes her uncomfortable, too. But I notice her, from the corner of my eye, or as my vision incidentally crosses her. And sometimes I even notice her notice me too, and it feels so good to be so together. To be doing the same thing at the same time.

And we ride together, and if she is sitting next to me her hip may be pressed against mine, or her elbow may lightly brush against mine as she reaches into her purse. And her touch is always so tender, and so nice. I always pull away from her just enough to be polite. She does not mind that I like her touch a little but she does not want me to seek it out. It is only okay if it is a mistake.

It has taken me years to learn all these things about her. Her tastes, her habits. I feel so good for having noticed. I feel like I have given her the attention she deserves.

During those two short weeks where it seemed like anything might happen with Kaye, I did not see the prettiest girl on the bus. Or if she was there, I did not notice: While I rode I saw only people, and thought: “Oh, this person is less pretty than Kaye, if only Kaye were here to look at.” It was a lonely time. I saw Kaye so rarely, and when I did it was nervous and complicated, and in between I just felt isolated and confused. But that is over now. Kaye is done, and the prettiest girl on the bus and I are back together again. Everything is as it should be. I do not even feel guilty about having left her, because she has never cared that I was there anyway.

It is good enough for me and it is the best thing.

And when the ride is over she gets off, or I get off. If she has been noticing me I will usually look directly at her as she leaves, or as I leave, and she will sometimes blush a little. “He was noticing me, too, after all,” she might be thinking. I cannot be sure.

And I am heartbroken a little once we are apart, but this passes quickly. “It’s okay,” I remind myself, “you were never really that close anyway.” And I go on with my day and it is fine after all. By the next time I board, I will have forgotten all about her, and we will get to meet each other again, and it will be as fresh and new as the very first time.

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12
May

Three Steves in January

I actually imagine that all lower case, as a friend decided that would be the new name of his band after I told him about the three guys I dated in January.  All named Steve.  As it turned out he wasn’t even in a band, he would just lie to people when he was out drinking and trying to get laid… “we’re in a band - haven’t you heard of us? Yeah, three steves in january.”

Anyway, so my account of the Steve from craigslist reminded me of the two other guys I dated that January.  In case you don’t want to read the whole post, the gist of the thing is that they all turned out to be losers.  But I’ll elaborate a little in case you have another 10 minutes to kill while the vicodin kicks in.

I was unemployed, Steve II was a result of a job hunt.  I applied for a job that I was completely overqualified for, and he was the hiring manager.  He called after my interview and told me they had decided to “hire in another direction.”  Oh, but… but would I like to go out for lunch sometime?  Yeah, fuck I was unemployed and broke so lunch sounded like a good idea.

Lunch got pushed back, and it ended up being a drink, then three.  At that level of intoxication I wasn’t totally opposed to making out with him against the gate in front of my TL apartment.  Even though he was shorter than me and I really wasn’t attracted to him - I know tons of women do it, let guys take them out even if they aren’t interested in but I always got stuck at that part at the end of the night when they wanted to make out, and I fucking hated it.

The truth is, I’m really not into kissing.

I like it with certain people.  But there have been plenty of times in my life when I have wanted to have sex with people without really wanting to have to kiss them.  Sort of like a prostitute.  But without getting paid.

So for some stupid fucking reason I decided to go on a second date with Steve.  And at this point I look back over what I’ve written and what the fuck?  Why, Jessica?  Let me digress enough to say that I have done entirely too much dating/fucking in my life based solely on novelty appeal.

Desperation (of the financial variety) can make Thai food with some random guy seem awfully appealing.  We had a bottle of wine and some duck, and he spent the whole time gazing into my eyes and talking about how he could see himself spending so much time with me, wanting to talk about family and life and dreams and aspirations.  At the end of the night he drove me home and *surprise!* wanted to get all up on me.

I ended up letting him kiss me in the kitchen, up against the wall feeling nothing but annoyance.  He was a pushy fucker, wheedling his way in with some lines straight from an After School Special, “come on baby, you know you want to.”  He had taken his shirt off and was pressing his chest against mine, getting really into it, and I was thinking about my job interview the next day and how to get Steve out of my fucking apartment.  He came in his pants, I herded him out the door and went online to send out more resumes.

I decided to call it off the next time we spoke, you know, let him know I wanted to be dating in another direction.  Then on Thursday night I got a voice mail from him:

“Hey babe, it’s me.  I was just thinking about what we should do tomorrow night.  I’m thinking we could rent a movie, hang out at my place, you know, maybe have some pizza… anyway, call me.”

Oh HELL NO douchebag.  Hell.  No. I’m sure he assumed I was a weak, pliable woman type who would shiver with delight at a voice mail that so strongly asserted, “hey babe, it’s me,” but weak and pliable I am not (unless red curry duck is involved, stop judging me!!!).  Did he think there was anything subtle in the third date offering of “pizza and a movie” at his place?  I know, I know, I should have never made out with him on the second date in my kitchen, I should never even have let it get to the second date.  Poverty leads to ugly desperation.

So Steve II was a fail, as Steve III ended up being.  Being a happy slut isn’t always easy.  But January is a cold month.

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12
May

My Hot Date with Gilbert Gottfried

so okay. as i talked about previously, i placed an ad on craigslist looking for dates. it was mainly a joke and if wayne hadn’t been so stoked on doing it and actually following though (i am a woman of ideas, i am not a woman of action), i totally would have flaked out. but i didn’t. balls to the wall in 2008, motherfuckers. in response to my ad, i received a few penis shots, several dudes asking me if their dick was vegan (uh yeah but i still don’t give head!), and three decent responses. it was flagged in less than 24 hours (FUCK YOU CRAIGSLIST) but still, 3 pretty good responses to my one insane ad?

Let’s do this.

I sent emails off to each of these potential husbands (also, when i say husbands, i say it with the knowledge and understanding that i will never, ever get married and not only because i don’t want to but because i am also completely insane and would require a wedding so extravagant that now man, beast or jew could afford). The first person I scheduled a date with was a man who’s name I don’t feel ethically comfortable publishing but is a name par excellence, similar to your JFK or your gilbert godfried. I mean, the dude has an amazing name. A name a girl could fall in love with, even if the guy had a club foot, a cleft pallete or was hugely racist. Well, maybe not the cleft pallete, those things are fucking freaky. Anyway, he responded with an email and pic, per my request. The email? Short, cute, to the point. The photo? HE’S WEARING A STRAW HAT IN IT. Now, if this were someone else’s boyfriend, i would immediately start referring to him as, “country homosexual” and that would be that. the fact that this guy could potentially be my boyfriend/husband/seen in public with me = major problem. A problem so insurmountable that i almost didn’t contact him. It didn’t help that many of my friends (oh yeah, i super forward all of my business to a close network of 50 around the world) made disparaging remarks ranging from, “GAY!” to “GAY!” to “IS THAT A FUCKING STRAW HAT? GAY!”

So, i make a date with the local yokel with the amazing name. We plan to meet at the lone palm which is perfect for a couple of reasons: it’s a really fantastic, dog friendly bar and most importantly, it’s about three blocks from my house. I am lazy, above all else. We agree to meet late in the day after a fairly chaotic work day which culminated in a good friend of mine having to put her dog down. It truly sucked ass. I was in a bad mood, I hadn’t showered and I’d been up for 24 hours straight. In other words, i’ve never looked better and i’m ready to rock this bitch. i don’t even know what that means and i think that’s pretty obvious. on the walk down the hill (DOWN HILL! YES!), I try to call some of my friends to see if they can talk me either in or out of doing this. i can’t reach any of these lousy bitches and so i’m left on my own. i decide to go for it simply because by the time i’ve unsuccessfully tried to reach the last person, i’m standing in front of the bar and gilbert godfriend is standing right in front of me. in fact, i pretty much walk straight into him. i recognize him without the hat (i was seriously worried i wouldn’t. it’s like being in a photo with a walrus riding a unicorn and expecting anyone to even look at you. not gonna happen.) and he kinda looked like matthew broderick had a baby with john waters. But less gay. because it’s cosmically impossible to be more gay than the baby of john waters and matthew broderick.

He introduces himself: “Hi, I’m Gilbert Gottfried”. I introduce myself by my full less amazing name. We decide that the lone palm is far too crowded for polite conversation (and also because i think i spot someone i never want to see again so long as we both shall live) and so we decide to head up the hill (UP HILL! BOO!) to a bar even closer to my place (SCORE). We talk about what he does (he’s a writer. man, fuck that.) and we talk about what else i don’t know, all kinds of first date bullshit. actually, all i remember because i’m an asshole who really only cares about two things: 1) money, pussy, power and 2) where my next meal is coming from. What i did retain: that he is from the south, he has a cute accent, he’s nice to look at, he isn’t a homo but his roommates are and um…oh! he obviously thinks i am the most rad which isn’t hard because i am super hot, smart and easy but it counts for something. actually, no, it doesn’t count for anything. any man would be happy to date me. Especially if that man had say, once been a woman or even worse, had sent out pictures of himself donning the hat of a scare row and had parents who were double first cousins (it’s as gross as it sounds).

After a couple of drinks, he walked me back to my place (aprox 50 paces) and we awkwardly stood out front for a minute until i had the brilliant idea of putting him to work walking dogs. This was actually the cutest part of the date as he was very good with the dogs, even when bloodhound tried to hump him and hazel tried to eat his face. adorable. when we got back to my place, i bid him adieu with his full amazing name and he did the same with my less amazing name. The next morning he emailed me back and that’s when things get a whole lot weirder. more on that in a subsequent post but let’s just say it’s not as bad as bestiality but worse than murder. AH, LIFE!

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11
May

Usher, Karaoke, and the Bridesmaid’s Friend

It was a beautiful Sunday morning when I decided to throw my responsibilities to the floor and partake in alcoholic beverages for 9 hours straight at our local karaoke dive bar, because I am a reasonable and humble man devoted to the fruits of the labor on the Lord’s Day.

Lo and behold, on that fateful Sunday afternoon, I find myself choice surrounded by TWO (count them, TWO) bachelorette parties. And I think to myself, “if I cannot score tonight surrounded by 30 women and no men except for that totally gay hipster guy, and the FTM tranny karaoke jockey, then by god help me, I will never sleep with any woman ever again.” So I sit and really do nothing except sulk in my own alcoholic stew of self-hatred.

But, unlike actual “words” that you have to “create” to make “conversation” so you can “communicate” with “people”, I find my courage through double vodka collins (from here on out known as DVCs) and the karaoke microphone. And I sing that totally skanky Usher song from my high school days (see video below, with convenient karoake-esque words across screen, and pictures of Usher in various stages of undress - YES!)

So some girl starts talking to me, and it turns out she is a friend of one of the bridesmaids. I can tell she is way out of my league, but at the same time, she is mesmerized by my smooth voice and hip hop beats (thank you, Usher!) and a short compliment turns into a joke back & forth which turns into a drink or two which turns into a cab ride to her place.

We get into her apartment, both have a drink of water, and she tells me she has to go to the bathroom, and to entertain myself on her computer. Her apartment, by the way, was small and kind of messy, which I always like because I hate the idea of people living in museums of modern art, and smelled of green tea and peaches. I also noticed she had an IBM and a Microsoft Zune which I was happy about because I hate the iTunes software with the fiery passion of one thousand destructive volcanoes (and how strange is it that in San Francisco, PCs and Microsoft products are seen as the less mainstream brands?).

After twittering my potential hookup out on BLAST from her computer (I am so tarded), she gets out and we kind of do the awkward talk before making out thing that you always do before someone just shuts up and goes in and suddenly lips are touching and hands are moving all around. And the night was good.

I must say, I love sex, but I hate the actual act of sex. I don’t like being sweaty, I don’t like the noises that bodies make, I don’t like being naked. This stems from years of body dysmorphic issues and probably something traumatic during adolescence, and also the fact that I hate what I look like, but I am not one to allow these issues to stop me from my ultimate goal, which is YAY SEX BOOM FUN HORNY GIRL!!!!

Anyways, the sex was good. Pleasant, even. I wasn’t sweaty. I hadn’t gotten any in a long time so it made me hornier and more active than usual. And our bodies just kind of moved together right. Like, we were a wave of water or something. And, you know, I didn’t feel bad about what I looked like. I felt like Usher. In my mind, I looked like this:

The next morning, I woke up hungover, late for work, and searching for a lost Vespa. I left her a note on Microsoft Word on her computer. “Hey, I had a great time with you last night. I would like to see you again, if you want to. Give me a call. Love, Ed”.

She called a day later. I think she likes me. :D

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