I've been meaning to update, to write, and I haven't. I was going to put up an UNDER CONSTRUCTION sign, but then it hit me. It's not the site that's "under construction", it's me.
I can write about tears, heart break, what if feels like to be alone, want love, anger, and hardship. Basically anything that might be hard for most people to express or feel comfortable saying out loud. I'm not normal in this sense. I'm very in touch with my emotional triggers that cause fear, pain, anguish, sadness. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE ABOUT BEING HAPPY. I don't how to put into words how great it feels to just be happy and content. What it feels like to be able to sleep at night and not worry about tomorrow. I have trouble finding words for what it feels like when someone else beings a smile to your face; what it feels like to feel cared for and taken care of. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE ABOUT BEING HAPPY. So I've hit a wall, I've connected to parts of myself that I've not yet really experienced and I'm still learning how to transfer them and express them...
I don't write about butterflies
but sometimes I see them
I don't write about silence in the morning
and how I love to sit in it
I don't write about the warmth and comfort of being held
but I love it
I don't write about how I laughingly force people to watch MY favorite shows
even when I know they hate them
I don't write about rainbows and kittens
but I do wish I had a cat
and rainbows really wouldn't match my apartment
I don't write about being happy
because I don't know how.
For now it's not just me and my ganja.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
2 Slices
She's Not in the Plane
I used to play in the backyard with my sister. Ever time a plane would fly by, I'd look to the sky, point and tell her that it was my aunt watching. Flying by just to check on us. She had a great job in a big city, so she couldn't come around anymore. My sister would always tell me I was wrong, it wasn't her, and she was not in that plane. She would say that my aunt didnt care, and that's why she stopped coming around. At 7 years old I knew I was right, my aunt was in that plane, she desperatly wanted to see us, but something was holding her back. At 24, I know I was wrong, my sister was right, and my aunt had cheased to care.
No Connections
I'm working a party in midtown Manhattan. A little boy showed me his Star Wars toy. Darth Vadar, his favorite, is the voice of James Earl Jones. He then tells me his grandmother used to date James Earl Jones. She wanted to marry him and he said no. It just hit me, this 6 year old has more connections then I do. My life sucks.
I used to play in the backyard with my sister. Ever time a plane would fly by, I'd look to the sky, point and tell her that it was my aunt watching. Flying by just to check on us. She had a great job in a big city, so she couldn't come around anymore. My sister would always tell me I was wrong, it wasn't her, and she was not in that plane. She would say that my aunt didnt care, and that's why she stopped coming around. At 7 years old I knew I was right, my aunt was in that plane, she desperatly wanted to see us, but something was holding her back. At 24, I know I was wrong, my sister was right, and my aunt had cheased to care.
No Connections
I'm working a party in midtown Manhattan. A little boy showed me his Star Wars toy. Darth Vadar, his favorite, is the voice of James Earl Jones. He then tells me his grandmother used to date James Earl Jones. She wanted to marry him and he said no. It just hit me, this 6 year old has more connections then I do. My life sucks.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
No Longer Seated
You've always sat there in your silence
Unnerved
Unmoved
But we all know you're just unstable
Too thoughtful to live
Too concerned to breathe
Unbelievable
And silent
It's this sad calmness
And I'll never see myself that way
Alone in the coner
You told me I'm the one that doesn't know
You just don't know me
I'm more found then lost
I'm louder then quieter
And more vengenful then possible
I'm crafty and possesive
I'm all knowing and careless
Isn't that what makes you want me
You've always sat there in your silence
Waiting for the right moment to rise
Be heard and no longer simply seen
So it begins
So it begins
Unnerved
Unmoved
But we all know you're just unstable
Too thoughtful to live
Too concerned to breathe
Unbelievable
And silent
It's this sad calmness
And I'll never see myself that way
Alone in the coner
You told me I'm the one that doesn't know
You just don't know me
I'm more found then lost
I'm louder then quieter
And more vengenful then possible
I'm crafty and possesive
I'm all knowing and careless
Isn't that what makes you want me
You've always sat there in your silence
Waiting for the right moment to rise
Be heard and no longer simply seen
So it begins
So it begins
Saturday, February 7, 2009
I'll Think About You, But I Won't Tell You
I'll Think About You, But I Won't Tell You
It's true. I'll have opinions and stories to always share, but when it comes down to it, I write a lot of things to get them out of my body. I write and share a lot of things to simply release them, but almost in a passive aggressive way. What would happen I wonder if the people I choose to write about actually knew that I was, or what they would think if I actually told them to their faces what I think about them. It wouldn't be nearly as interesting, I mean, I'd probably come off an insane, and I can do that anyways. Mostly I write for the moment and I can't imagine calling these people every time I had a different emotion and exploding on them. I would probably label myself clinical at that point as well. On the same card though, I know a few people read this blog that specific bits are about. One of them asks me about them and I love it. I love that he would even read the things that are about him and still want to talk to me or be a part of my life. Although if someone were writing so openly about me I'd want to read it. I can also say, I've never posted anything on here to hurt anyone, or directed negatively towards someone. Have I wrote pieces like that, yes. Multiple times. Recently I wrote a blog about the worst blow job I've ever gotten. One of my friends called me and told me how I should post the guys picture next to it and exploit everything about him. Obviously, this is nothing I would ever do, but the idea made me laugh. I have a dark sense of humor, so it makes sense.
This is getting off track and basically what I mean to say is that although putting my thoughts out there is a great release, I think telling the people I write about the same way I feel would be even better. But I never will. I am obsessed with how people see me. Not in the way that I want to be any particular thing to anyone, but more so that I love to see and hear how people perceive me. It is usually pretty far off base from how I see myself, I think that's normal though. No one else can obviously hear the dialogue in ones head as well as the person having it. So with that said, I heard this song Chasing Pavements by Adele the other day, and it reminded me of all these things. Spacifically the lyrics below.
"If i tell the world,
I'll never say enough,
Cause it was not said to you,
And thats exactly what i need to do."
It's true. I'll have opinions and stories to always share, but when it comes down to it, I write a lot of things to get them out of my body. I write and share a lot of things to simply release them, but almost in a passive aggressive way. What would happen I wonder if the people I choose to write about actually knew that I was, or what they would think if I actually told them to their faces what I think about them. It wouldn't be nearly as interesting, I mean, I'd probably come off an insane, and I can do that anyways. Mostly I write for the moment and I can't imagine calling these people every time I had a different emotion and exploding on them. I would probably label myself clinical at that point as well. On the same card though, I know a few people read this blog that specific bits are about. One of them asks me about them and I love it. I love that he would even read the things that are about him and still want to talk to me or be a part of my life. Although if someone were writing so openly about me I'd want to read it. I can also say, I've never posted anything on here to hurt anyone, or directed negatively towards someone. Have I wrote pieces like that, yes. Multiple times. Recently I wrote a blog about the worst blow job I've ever gotten. One of my friends called me and told me how I should post the guys picture next to it and exploit everything about him. Obviously, this is nothing I would ever do, but the idea made me laugh. I have a dark sense of humor, so it makes sense.
This is getting off track and basically what I mean to say is that although putting my thoughts out there is a great release, I think telling the people I write about the same way I feel would be even better. But I never will. I am obsessed with how people see me. Not in the way that I want to be any particular thing to anyone, but more so that I love to see and hear how people perceive me. It is usually pretty far off base from how I see myself, I think that's normal though. No one else can obviously hear the dialogue in ones head as well as the person having it. So with that said, I heard this song Chasing Pavements by Adele the other day, and it reminded me of all these things. Spacifically the lyrics below.
"If i tell the world,
I'll never say enough,
Cause it was not said to you,
And thats exactly what i need to do."
New Blog, MeAndMySexBlog.com
In an effort to keep this blog separate from the new ideas I have, I have started a new one. And yes, it is all about sex. This blog will still be housing my poetry, pictures, paintings, blah blah. But feel free to check out the other as well.
All the best,
Thomas
http://www.MeAndMySexBlog.com
All the best,
Thomas
http://www.MeAndMySexBlog.com
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
You Suck
You Suck
Disillusionment lead me to compelling understanding
It took me a few broken bones
And a couple empty waterfalls
A few inreconizable gestures
And it all falls down to this
You suck
It's true
You suck
And it must suck to be you
You suck
It's true
Fuck, it sucks just to know you
You've got these ever grabbing chains
And something about you kinetic
Gripping and crippling
Honestly, I'd like to bash your head in
I'd like to see you in pain
Just to know you can feel something more then for yourself
And it all falls down to this
Where you tumbled off the wall and broke your little crown
You suck
It's true
You suck
And it must suck to be you
You suck
It's true
Fuck, it sucks just to know you
I think I'd like to kill you
Half the time I'd like to fuck you
Half the time you don't exist
A quarter of the time I think you're insensative and have no soul
All the time
All the time i'm in love with you
You suck
It's true
You suck
And it must suck to be you
You suck
It's true
You suck
Fuck, it sucks to even know you.
Disillusionment lead me to compelling understanding
It took me a few broken bones
And a couple empty waterfalls
A few inreconizable gestures
And it all falls down to this
You suck
It's true
You suck
And it must suck to be you
You suck
It's true
Fuck, it sucks just to know you
You've got these ever grabbing chains
And something about you kinetic
Gripping and crippling
Honestly, I'd like to bash your head in
I'd like to see you in pain
Just to know you can feel something more then for yourself
And it all falls down to this
Where you tumbled off the wall and broke your little crown
You suck
It's true
You suck
And it must suck to be you
You suck
It's true
Fuck, it sucks just to know you
I think I'd like to kill you
Half the time I'd like to fuck you
Half the time you don't exist
A quarter of the time I think you're insensative and have no soul
All the time
All the time i'm in love with you
You suck
It's true
You suck
And it must suck to be you
You suck
It's true
You suck
Fuck, it sucks to even know you.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
4th Grade
I recently posted a poem where I say something along the lines of "we're in 4th grade". On the phone the other day my sister asked me if this was about my 4th grade teacher. I was actually just making a reference to acting young, I could have said anything like we 10 years old, we cry like babies, blah blah. BUT, the funny thing is, I HATE MY 4TH GRADE TEACHER. She was such a fucking cunt to me. And to be honest, I don't know why. She would belittle me and make fun of me in class. Not in a flat out in your face way, but more so condescendingly. It is rather funny because she was introduced to me through my mom and dad who have known her for years. In fact, I think my sisters may have actually had her as a teacher as well before me. I HATED 4TH GRADE. I HATED HER. AND EVENTUALLY SHE WILL HAVE HER OWN CHAPTER IN MY BOOK, AND SHE CAN SUCK IT!!
All the best,
Thomas
All the best,
Thomas
Moving
Over the course of the last 5 and a half years I have lived in a ton of places in NYC. Some good, some bad, and now, alone.
Lexington and 23rd.
I was going to SVA at the time, sophomore year, and I had just broken up with my ex of a few years. It was my first time living alone, if you could call it that. I essentially lived in an 8x6 room with a bathroom and go kitchen. It was a dorm room style place, but dorms in NYC are unlike anywhere else in the us. People don't leave their doors open, there are no parties and everyone thinks they are an artist that is just to deep to breathe. Give me a fucking break. I hated that school, but I also meet some awesome people. Verena as there for me during my break up as I cried and essentially went through it for a couple months. The Philanthropy Girl was three for me during school, classes, Mexican Mondays, and all our ridiculous films. The apartment was gross, overpriced, had roaches and a plastic mattress. At the time, I loved it.
Long island city
After Lexington I moves to long island city for a brief time, maybe 3 months. I moved into a photographers loft and saved up for an apartment. I was working at David Barton gym selling gym memberships and hating every moment of it. I eventually got let go and got a job at Foodbar. The photographer and I ended up fighting a lot, turned into a weird situation and eventually I moves out, to jersey city...
Jersey city
You know what, I'm bored with just writing this post. I can't imagine anyone would want to read it. Honestly, there is no huge pay off with this. I don't get my heart broken, chlamydia, aids, I don't beat anyone up and eventually I move into my own one bedroom in hell's kitchen. That's where I live now, love it.
The end.
Lexington and 23rd.
I was going to SVA at the time, sophomore year, and I had just broken up with my ex of a few years. It was my first time living alone, if you could call it that. I essentially lived in an 8x6 room with a bathroom and go kitchen. It was a dorm room style place, but dorms in NYC are unlike anywhere else in the us. People don't leave their doors open, there are no parties and everyone thinks they are an artist that is just to deep to breathe. Give me a fucking break. I hated that school, but I also meet some awesome people. Verena as there for me during my break up as I cried and essentially went through it for a couple months. The Philanthropy Girl was three for me during school, classes, Mexican Mondays, and all our ridiculous films. The apartment was gross, overpriced, had roaches and a plastic mattress. At the time, I loved it.
Long island city
After Lexington I moves to long island city for a brief time, maybe 3 months. I moved into a photographers loft and saved up for an apartment. I was working at David Barton gym selling gym memberships and hating every moment of it. I eventually got let go and got a job at Foodbar. The photographer and I ended up fighting a lot, turned into a weird situation and eventually I moves out, to jersey city...
Jersey city
You know what, I'm bored with just writing this post. I can't imagine anyone would want to read it. Honestly, there is no huge pay off with this. I don't get my heart broken, chlamydia, aids, I don't beat anyone up and eventually I move into my own one bedroom in hell's kitchen. That's where I live now, love it.
The end.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Ink
Ink
I'm in love with your ink
How it covers every inch of your arms
I wonder what you're hiding from
The way your hair always falls over your eyes
Always attached to your guitar
Strumming and stringing your stories
The veins in your neck explode as your words glide across my ears
It's not for me alone
But I feel every syllable
Each one a kiss
I want to heal you
I want to mirror you
Be etched on you like your ink
I want to be beautiful forever on your skin
Fading and still a part of
Spreading I'll never dissolve from you
I love the scruff on your face
You always scratch
Even right after you shave
Your arms hold me tighter then possible
You always hum in your sleep
Sometimes you sing
I can't imagine my life without you
I love your ring and the blue jewel
I love your hoodies
And pointless rhinestones
Your cowboy boots and high tops
Your ripped jeans and ratty brown leather coat
The necklaces you rarely take off
And watching you eat
I love your ink
How it's etched to your soul
I want to cling onto you forever
And I can't imagine myself anymore without you
Your strumming emerges in my dreams and keeps me comfort in your absence
It makes me cry and makes me feel nothing
I wonder what your hiding from
Your hair falling over your eyes
And the veins in your neck exploding
I'm in love with your ink
How it covers every inch of your arms
I wonder what you're hiding from
The way your hair always falls over your eyes
Always attached to your guitar
Strumming and stringing your stories
The veins in your neck explode as your words glide across my ears
It's not for me alone
But I feel every syllable
Each one a kiss
I want to heal you
I want to mirror you
Be etched on you like your ink
I want to be beautiful forever on your skin
Fading and still a part of
Spreading I'll never dissolve from you
I love the scruff on your face
You always scratch
Even right after you shave
Your arms hold me tighter then possible
You always hum in your sleep
Sometimes you sing
I can't imagine my life without you
I love your ring and the blue jewel
I love your hoodies
And pointless rhinestones
Your cowboy boots and high tops
Your ripped jeans and ratty brown leather coat
The necklaces you rarely take off
And watching you eat
I love your ink
How it's etched to your soul
I want to cling onto you forever
And I can't imagine myself anymore without you
Your strumming emerges in my dreams and keeps me comfort in your absence
It makes me cry and makes me feel nothing
I wonder what your hiding from
Your hair falling over your eyes
And the veins in your neck exploding
Monday, January 19, 2009
A Few of the Best Dates I've Ever Been On
These are a few of the best/most memorable dates I've been on. Not in an particular order, but just how I remember them.
The Kiwi
I went on a date with a Kiwi. A Kiwi is someone from New Zealand. I learned that amongst other things that night. It was our first date, and our only date. I met him downtown and had no idea what he had planned for the evening. We ended up taking a ferry trip around lower Manhattan to see the waterfall art installation that was up and then out to a New Zealand restaurant. I wrote in detail about this night in a blog called “Waterfalls and Kiwi’s”. I learned all about a bunch of things from him that I didn’t’ know about and we had a great time. There really wasn’t any initial attraction and we didn’t go out again, but I still had a great time. It was awesome to have someone put so much thought into a first date and really try to show me himself. I’ve dated people for months that told me less about them then I learned about him that night.
Anne Rice and Thai Food
It was Feb of a few years ago when I had my first date with someone that was a surprise. He was deeper then I thought he would be. We went to a Thai restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen and talked about books the entire time. Our favorite authors, places we had visited and places we wanted to go to. I love talking about books and its rare that you find someone in NY that actually reads a lot. I think his favorite author may have been Anne Rice, which I’ve never been able to get into. I picked up one of her books after that date, The Witching Hour, and I’ve never been able to get past the first ten pages. After dinner I walked him to some bar tending gig he had and we didn’t kiss. Generally if I really like someone, I won’t kiss on the first date. Is that weird? It’s like I’d rather hold off and just wait. When we did eventually kiss, it was worth the wait. I remember I was so nervous for our first date, on the subway I was listening to “Tonight, Tonight” by the Smashing Pumpkins, if my memory stands, I listened to that song before every date I had with him. I’m not sure why, but I know that every time I hear it, I think of him.
Madonna
I had been seeing Madonna for a while. Not the “real” Madonna, but rather someone that calls himself Madonna all the time. It’s always semi irritated me, but it kind of makes me like him more now. We had a “date night” and we would take turns picking out restaurants and planning the night. On this particular night we went to the Waverly Inn and had an amazing meal. The mac and cheese there is a hundred dollars a plate and well worth it. We sat in the back garden room and he moved his chair to the side of the table, next to the fireplace, so he could sit next to me. We drank wine and eat our faces off. It was ridiculously romantic and I felt special. It was awesome to have someone be so attentive and beautiful. On our way out we saw Meg Ryan eating and of course, the paparazzi outside didn’t give a fuck who we were, but one flash would have been nice. ☺ We then had drinks at a random bar that I’d never been to and then went back to his place. He has always been one of the best cuddlers I’ve ever had. The timing was wrong in our lives, but we actually had a ton of great dates and I’m sure one day he will make someone very happy. He will always have a special place in my heart.
Celebrating 20 Years of Sadness
I had been seeing this guy for a few weeks, and I had gotten us front row tickets to see The Smashing Pumpkins. He arrived late from work and we rushed up to the theater. It was way up on something like 170th street. It was a beautiful concert hall that I believe had once been a church. The architecture was beautiful. We started drinking beer and he whipped out his camera and insisted on taking tons of pictures. We got to our sets and stood the entire time. We danced, drank, kissed, held hands, and had an amazing time. I remember at one point, he simply leaned over and kissed my forehead, such a simple gesture and yet so wonderful. He was a horrible dancer, and it just made me like him more. After the concert we hopped in a cab where we cuddled the entire way downtown to a diner. We stuffed our faces, drank cheap champagne and talked about everything. He had to work in the morning, so he hopped in a cab and headed home after that. A little while after he sent me a text to tell me how he had such a great time and how awesome I am. On the way home I was listening to this song called “The Boy” by the Smashing Pumpkins, “I can't stop, I can't breathe, I can't think, I'm in love again
I don't need, I don't eat, I don't sleep, I'm in love again.” That night I told a few of my friends, “I’m absolutely falling in love with him.” We never saw each other again.
The Best of The Worst
This date is exactly the opposite of a great date, I think that’s why it sticks out and is one of the best I’ve ever had. It makes for a good story. This would be the first date of the second time this guy and I had started seeing each other. It had been probably a year since we had stopped seeing each other. Word from the wise, if it didn’t work the first time, it won’t the second. And generally, you will be reminded of exactly why it didn’t work the first time pretty fucking quickly. We met at his place, and then walked to what is one of my favorite restaurants in NY. Also, I recommend using the same restaurant with different dates. Is it just bad karma or setting yourself up for the same disappointment? I’m not sure, but I’ve stopped taking people to the same places. Honestly, this is NY, there are restaurants everywhere, so there really is no excuse. The first thing he said when he opened the door is, “wow, you are wearing a lot of colors..” in which I responded, “great to see you too.” Being the loud obnoxious guy he is, I brushed it off, and besides, he is pretty hot. I sat down on the couch while he finished getting ready, before we left he came over, wrapped his arms around me waist and kissed me. Then as he released he laughed and said, “How big is your waist, like 24?” At this point, I should have gotten up and walked out, but I didn’t. I kind of smirked, pushed him off me and said lets go to the restaurant. On the way to the restaurant, I was telling him how I had seen Christina Ricci recently and almost choked. She is one of my favorite actors and I didn’t say anything to her because I was too nervous. His response was something along the lines of, “Really? Christina Ricci and Alanis Morissette, we need to find you some new people to look up to.” We ate dinner and eventually after we went back to his place and had sex. Of course we still had sex, he was hot. And I think I like the battles a little bit. I didn’t call him the next day, or the next week. Eventually he sent me a text asking how I was and wanted me to go out with him again. I declined, and he couldn’t understand why. So I told him. He apologized, and I said I’d talk to him later. I never made the effort. Possibly one of the worst dates ever, and I still had sex with him? What was I thinking? I think I was thinking that even though he was an asshole, I still wanted him to want me. I was maybe 21 at the time and I had a void of a recent break up and he happened to fill the void for an evening. I think he will always be that kind of person, amazingly attractive, loud, and critical of everyone else. I’m sure he always gets what he wants, but I think inside he is probably just as sad as a lot of people and just as hurt, and also a lot better at covering it up.
The Kiwi
I went on a date with a Kiwi. A Kiwi is someone from New Zealand. I learned that amongst other things that night. It was our first date, and our only date. I met him downtown and had no idea what he had planned for the evening. We ended up taking a ferry trip around lower Manhattan to see the waterfall art installation that was up and then out to a New Zealand restaurant. I wrote in detail about this night in a blog called “Waterfalls and Kiwi’s”. I learned all about a bunch of things from him that I didn’t’ know about and we had a great time. There really wasn’t any initial attraction and we didn’t go out again, but I still had a great time. It was awesome to have someone put so much thought into a first date and really try to show me himself. I’ve dated people for months that told me less about them then I learned about him that night.
Anne Rice and Thai Food
It was Feb of a few years ago when I had my first date with someone that was a surprise. He was deeper then I thought he would be. We went to a Thai restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen and talked about books the entire time. Our favorite authors, places we had visited and places we wanted to go to. I love talking about books and its rare that you find someone in NY that actually reads a lot. I think his favorite author may have been Anne Rice, which I’ve never been able to get into. I picked up one of her books after that date, The Witching Hour, and I’ve never been able to get past the first ten pages. After dinner I walked him to some bar tending gig he had and we didn’t kiss. Generally if I really like someone, I won’t kiss on the first date. Is that weird? It’s like I’d rather hold off and just wait. When we did eventually kiss, it was worth the wait. I remember I was so nervous for our first date, on the subway I was listening to “Tonight, Tonight” by the Smashing Pumpkins, if my memory stands, I listened to that song before every date I had with him. I’m not sure why, but I know that every time I hear it, I think of him.
Madonna
I had been seeing Madonna for a while. Not the “real” Madonna, but rather someone that calls himself Madonna all the time. It’s always semi irritated me, but it kind of makes me like him more now. We had a “date night” and we would take turns picking out restaurants and planning the night. On this particular night we went to the Waverly Inn and had an amazing meal. The mac and cheese there is a hundred dollars a plate and well worth it. We sat in the back garden room and he moved his chair to the side of the table, next to the fireplace, so he could sit next to me. We drank wine and eat our faces off. It was ridiculously romantic and I felt special. It was awesome to have someone be so attentive and beautiful. On our way out we saw Meg Ryan eating and of course, the paparazzi outside didn’t give a fuck who we were, but one flash would have been nice. ☺ We then had drinks at a random bar that I’d never been to and then went back to his place. He has always been one of the best cuddlers I’ve ever had. The timing was wrong in our lives, but we actually had a ton of great dates and I’m sure one day he will make someone very happy. He will always have a special place in my heart.
Celebrating 20 Years of Sadness
I had been seeing this guy for a few weeks, and I had gotten us front row tickets to see The Smashing Pumpkins. He arrived late from work and we rushed up to the theater. It was way up on something like 170th street. It was a beautiful concert hall that I believe had once been a church. The architecture was beautiful. We started drinking beer and he whipped out his camera and insisted on taking tons of pictures. We got to our sets and stood the entire time. We danced, drank, kissed, held hands, and had an amazing time. I remember at one point, he simply leaned over and kissed my forehead, such a simple gesture and yet so wonderful. He was a horrible dancer, and it just made me like him more. After the concert we hopped in a cab where we cuddled the entire way downtown to a diner. We stuffed our faces, drank cheap champagne and talked about everything. He had to work in the morning, so he hopped in a cab and headed home after that. A little while after he sent me a text to tell me how he had such a great time and how awesome I am. On the way home I was listening to this song called “The Boy” by the Smashing Pumpkins, “I can't stop, I can't breathe, I can't think, I'm in love again
I don't need, I don't eat, I don't sleep, I'm in love again.” That night I told a few of my friends, “I’m absolutely falling in love with him.” We never saw each other again.
The Best of The Worst
This date is exactly the opposite of a great date, I think that’s why it sticks out and is one of the best I’ve ever had. It makes for a good story. This would be the first date of the second time this guy and I had started seeing each other. It had been probably a year since we had stopped seeing each other. Word from the wise, if it didn’t work the first time, it won’t the second. And generally, you will be reminded of exactly why it didn’t work the first time pretty fucking quickly. We met at his place, and then walked to what is one of my favorite restaurants in NY. Also, I recommend using the same restaurant with different dates. Is it just bad karma or setting yourself up for the same disappointment? I’m not sure, but I’ve stopped taking people to the same places. Honestly, this is NY, there are restaurants everywhere, so there really is no excuse. The first thing he said when he opened the door is, “wow, you are wearing a lot of colors..” in which I responded, “great to see you too.” Being the loud obnoxious guy he is, I brushed it off, and besides, he is pretty hot. I sat down on the couch while he finished getting ready, before we left he came over, wrapped his arms around me waist and kissed me. Then as he released he laughed and said, “How big is your waist, like 24?” At this point, I should have gotten up and walked out, but I didn’t. I kind of smirked, pushed him off me and said lets go to the restaurant. On the way to the restaurant, I was telling him how I had seen Christina Ricci recently and almost choked. She is one of my favorite actors and I didn’t say anything to her because I was too nervous. His response was something along the lines of, “Really? Christina Ricci and Alanis Morissette, we need to find you some new people to look up to.” We ate dinner and eventually after we went back to his place and had sex. Of course we still had sex, he was hot. And I think I like the battles a little bit. I didn’t call him the next day, or the next week. Eventually he sent me a text asking how I was and wanted me to go out with him again. I declined, and he couldn’t understand why. So I told him. He apologized, and I said I’d talk to him later. I never made the effort. Possibly one of the worst dates ever, and I still had sex with him? What was I thinking? I think I was thinking that even though he was an asshole, I still wanted him to want me. I was maybe 21 at the time and I had a void of a recent break up and he happened to fill the void for an evening. I think he will always be that kind of person, amazingly attractive, loud, and critical of everyone else. I’m sure he always gets what he wants, but I think inside he is probably just as sad as a lot of people and just as hurt, and also a lot better at covering it up.
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