My job often has cocktail receptions. I take advantage of these by getting as drunk as I can on free booze. Tonight was no different. Me and Matthews went down at 6 and got Kamikaze's. Instead of lime juice, triplesec and vodka served as a shot (as we expected) we were served OJ and some unidentified other flavor (possibly cranberry juice or grenadine) with vodka floating on the top. They were awful. As we drank those we snacked on hors d'ouvres. Then I started drinking champagne with great abandon. Monkeyfucker called and said we were meeting at a bar on the lower east side. He said to meet around 8. It was 7. I decided to stay for the additional hour. In between mingling with suits and my fellow paralegals I drank champagne as fast as the bartender refilled my glass. Monkeyfucker called back to say we should start going to the bar.
And then I woke up on the waterfront finishing a question to someone.
"...can you help me dude?"
"Don't call me dude, man!"
"Dude... I'm sorry."
"I SAID, don't call me Dude!"
He then punched me in the face. I staggered back and he grabbed my arm and threw me down. Still not being sure how I arrived at this place or how I became involved in this altercation I looked over at the person I think may have been a girl I was talking to and then hailed a cab. The cab got me to Brooklyn, though I didn't have enough money to pay for it. I stopped in a random conveinece store, took out money for the cabbie and then got on the subway.
When I arrived home I found out that I was filthy. My white shirt I was wearing had clearly found its way into the dirt at least once. I assumed it was from being thrown down. I went to bed.
The next day Monkeyfucker told me I was so drunk I couldn't stand and was trying to hit on girls but unable, he would take me away apoligetically and then I would go back. I got kicked out of the bar 3 times until I finally left. I wish someone had put me in a cab then. BAIMM played a message I left him informing him that I felt like I was on "The Wire" on the Baltimore waterfront and that I was sure someone would stab me. I also talked with my sister for 4 minutes that I can't remember. I called fasttalk but hung up after the phone rang. At least I could still make that decision.
10.25.2006
10.20.2006
Last Spring
The laundromat down the block has sock hops on the last Thursday of every month. There's about ten people who make it to most of them, but me and this girl Janine haven't missed any since the yellow flyer announcing the new tradition went up on all the telephone poles in the neighborhood, a year and a half ago. They flyered cars too. The mildewed paper is in sticky pieces all over my windshield; I forgot to take it off before I used the wipers one day, last spring.
Janine is this sort of plain brunette who alternates between pig and pony tails. I've learned surprisingly little about her, considering I've seen her at seventeen sock hops. She always does her laundry during the party. She uses the gentle cycle.
I've decided that tonight I'm gonna find some delicates at the bottom of my closet or wherever they may be hiding and bring them to the hop. I'll ask Janine if she wouldn't mind throwing them in with her wash—I'll contribute a few bucks—and maybe I'll get to talk to her a little. I don't know. Lately I've been thinking how sad it is that I see this girl so much and all we do is smile at each other across the row of dryers. She's shy. I can tell because whenever some guy comes up to flirt with her she runs her fingers through the holes in her laundry basket and looks back at the machine every few seconds. I decided a while ago that she comes every time thinking she should meet a nice man, but brings her laundry along in case she gets too nervous. I like to eat when I'm nervous at a party, but to each his or her own.
So I'm digging around my closet floor behind the dusty gym bags, watching the "Drew Carey Show" over my shoulder, when the phone rings. It's Derrick. He's been really low lately; just ended a thirteen-month relationship with this girl Denise because she's going to graduate school in England. I ask him how he is, he gives his usual "ok, I guess" before asking what I'm up to tonight. I'd made it a policy not to invite any friends to the sock hop up to this point. I thought of it as my time to get to know my neighbors, to bond and grumble about rent going up and how bad the courtyard between our buildings smells and what was that racket last night at two AM? Sounded like a dying elephant! Mostly, though, I sat on dryer number one while Bob or Joe or Nick talked about the latest James Bond movie or how they were looking at houses out in the suburbs—"when you hit 30, you and your missus will want the same thing, Charlie."
My buddies all know about the sock hops, so I don't need to explain the whole deal to Derrick. I invite him because I feel bad. I know he's been spending most nights lying on his couch flipping between reruns on Fox and the WB, considering thinking about reading or writing or making a nice diorama to send to Denise. He's taken up jogging, but only because he saw a movie, "Chongking Express", where a character goes jogging so he doesn't have any water left in his body for tears.
Derrick says ok, with an "uuuuhhhh" thrown in beforehand so he doesn't sound so desperate. I find this shiny blue shirt with gold buttons under a pair of sneakers I thought I'd thrown out during the Monica Lewinsky era. I remember buying the shirt, my dueling shirt I call it because that's what it looks like, because a girl told me I'd be her hero if I did. I think I wore it once.
I also find a pair of silk boxers that have Charlotte Hornets all over them. Very classy.
Derrick gets to my place in fifteen minutes, impressive unless he took a cab, which he does more often that he'd like to admit. He's clearly wearing cologne or after shave, and he's got a button-down shirt in his hand, "in case I get cold" he says. I turn off The Swan or Average Joe or...whatever's come on while I was one-upping Derrick with some after-shave, cologne, and Old Spice. The triple threat. I grab my dueling shirt and boxers, my excuses for talking to Janine, and we head out.
"Lookin' good," I say.
"Thanks. You too."
"Getting back on the wagon tonight, are we?"
"Well, last I checked, the old wagon capsized in the Atlantic." Derrick laughs a little. He always laughs at his own jokes. He's a funny guy though, so I can see how it'd be hard even for him to resist himself.
We get outside and it's not cold at all but Derrick puts on his shirt, buttons up, and fixes the collar. There's a woman in a black shirt in the laundromat window; her back is pressed against the glass. As we get closer I see the familiar glass bowl of punch by the cash register, red stains forming on the white cloth underneath. Larry, the owner, could get in a lot of trouble with the city if he or anyone else spiked the punch, but he looked the other way if people brought flasks and freshened their own drinks. I realize I forgot mine, but good old Derrick whips his out of his front pocket.
"Jack Daniels?" I ask.
"Bushmills. Tonight is special."
I open the door and the same Fifties' mix tape that Larry has used at every one of these things is playing once again. I don't know any of the songs except "In the Still of the Night" and "My Girl", but they all sound the same to me anyway. Temptations or Pips or whoever, they really know how to set the mood. Janine isn't here yet, just a few couples slow dancing by the rules and regulations poster and a guy in a green vest sitting on my usual dryer, smiling at his cup. Derrick looks at me like I'm a real loser for coming to these things for so long, but I let him know that the night is young and he has nothing better to do anyway.
Larry is standing guard by the punch, so I go over and shake his hand.
"How's business?"
"Well Charlie, not much change in supply and demand when it comes to laundry. It's a solid investment—you should think about getting in. That way I'd have more money and your mattress wouldn't have so many crumpled bills under it."
"Yea, I have been sleeping a little lopsided lately. If I get to the point where I'm begging for a chiropractor, I'll come to you instead. How's that?"
I look at Derrick. He's got his head against the vending machine, his hands locked behind his neck.
"Well, my friend's starting to go catatonic, so I better go revive him. Nice to see you, Larry." He's got one of the firmest handshakes I've ever experienced. Maybe that's why I'm always so eager to come over and make bad jokes with him.
I sit down next to Derrick and pat him on the shoulder, then take the flask out of his pocket and fix my punch.
"Charlie, I miss her." He shakes his head a little, like he's embarrassed to admit this.
"I know you do. But hey, there's plenty of girls out there for you. And in here even, for that matter. You just wait an hour."
"The last time we saw each other, I couldn't even touch her. I thought it would make things harder." He rips off a piece of his plastic cup and massages it between his thumb and forefinger. "But what I wouldn't give now just to hold her, just for one minute."
"But you know that after that minute you'd want more. And you'd be right back where you started."
"I know." He sits up. "Doesn't it bother you though, how nothing is ever enough?"
"Sometimes," I say, looking at the door because Janine's just walked in, guy with black-rimmed glasses holding her hand, no laundry basket in sight.
Janine is this sort of plain brunette who alternates between pig and pony tails. I've learned surprisingly little about her, considering I've seen her at seventeen sock hops. She always does her laundry during the party. She uses the gentle cycle.
I've decided that tonight I'm gonna find some delicates at the bottom of my closet or wherever they may be hiding and bring them to the hop. I'll ask Janine if she wouldn't mind throwing them in with her wash—I'll contribute a few bucks—and maybe I'll get to talk to her a little. I don't know. Lately I've been thinking how sad it is that I see this girl so much and all we do is smile at each other across the row of dryers. She's shy. I can tell because whenever some guy comes up to flirt with her she runs her fingers through the holes in her laundry basket and looks back at the machine every few seconds. I decided a while ago that she comes every time thinking she should meet a nice man, but brings her laundry along in case she gets too nervous. I like to eat when I'm nervous at a party, but to each his or her own.
So I'm digging around my closet floor behind the dusty gym bags, watching the "Drew Carey Show" over my shoulder, when the phone rings. It's Derrick. He's been really low lately; just ended a thirteen-month relationship with this girl Denise because she's going to graduate school in England. I ask him how he is, he gives his usual "ok, I guess" before asking what I'm up to tonight. I'd made it a policy not to invite any friends to the sock hop up to this point. I thought of it as my time to get to know my neighbors, to bond and grumble about rent going up and how bad the courtyard between our buildings smells and what was that racket last night at two AM? Sounded like a dying elephant! Mostly, though, I sat on dryer number one while Bob or Joe or Nick talked about the latest James Bond movie or how they were looking at houses out in the suburbs—"when you hit 30, you and your missus will want the same thing, Charlie."
My buddies all know about the sock hops, so I don't need to explain the whole deal to Derrick. I invite him because I feel bad. I know he's been spending most nights lying on his couch flipping between reruns on Fox and the WB, considering thinking about reading or writing or making a nice diorama to send to Denise. He's taken up jogging, but only because he saw a movie, "Chongking Express", where a character goes jogging so he doesn't have any water left in his body for tears.
Derrick says ok, with an "uuuuhhhh" thrown in beforehand so he doesn't sound so desperate. I find this shiny blue shirt with gold buttons under a pair of sneakers I thought I'd thrown out during the Monica Lewinsky era. I remember buying the shirt, my dueling shirt I call it because that's what it looks like, because a girl told me I'd be her hero if I did. I think I wore it once.
I also find a pair of silk boxers that have Charlotte Hornets all over them. Very classy.
Derrick gets to my place in fifteen minutes, impressive unless he took a cab, which he does more often that he'd like to admit. He's clearly wearing cologne or after shave, and he's got a button-down shirt in his hand, "in case I get cold" he says. I turn off The Swan or Average Joe or...whatever's come on while I was one-upping Derrick with some after-shave, cologne, and Old Spice. The triple threat. I grab my dueling shirt and boxers, my excuses for talking to Janine, and we head out.
"Lookin' good," I say.
"Thanks. You too."
"Getting back on the wagon tonight, are we?"
"Well, last I checked, the old wagon capsized in the Atlantic." Derrick laughs a little. He always laughs at his own jokes. He's a funny guy though, so I can see how it'd be hard even for him to resist himself.
We get outside and it's not cold at all but Derrick puts on his shirt, buttons up, and fixes the collar. There's a woman in a black shirt in the laundromat window; her back is pressed against the glass. As we get closer I see the familiar glass bowl of punch by the cash register, red stains forming on the white cloth underneath. Larry, the owner, could get in a lot of trouble with the city if he or anyone else spiked the punch, but he looked the other way if people brought flasks and freshened their own drinks. I realize I forgot mine, but good old Derrick whips his out of his front pocket.
"Jack Daniels?" I ask.
"Bushmills. Tonight is special."
I open the door and the same Fifties' mix tape that Larry has used at every one of these things is playing once again. I don't know any of the songs except "In the Still of the Night" and "My Girl", but they all sound the same to me anyway. Temptations or Pips or whoever, they really know how to set the mood. Janine isn't here yet, just a few couples slow dancing by the rules and regulations poster and a guy in a green vest sitting on my usual dryer, smiling at his cup. Derrick looks at me like I'm a real loser for coming to these things for so long, but I let him know that the night is young and he has nothing better to do anyway.
Larry is standing guard by the punch, so I go over and shake his hand.
"How's business?"
"Well Charlie, not much change in supply and demand when it comes to laundry. It's a solid investment—you should think about getting in. That way I'd have more money and your mattress wouldn't have so many crumpled bills under it."
"Yea, I have been sleeping a little lopsided lately. If I get to the point where I'm begging for a chiropractor, I'll come to you instead. How's that?"
I look at Derrick. He's got his head against the vending machine, his hands locked behind his neck.
"Well, my friend's starting to go catatonic, so I better go revive him. Nice to see you, Larry." He's got one of the firmest handshakes I've ever experienced. Maybe that's why I'm always so eager to come over and make bad jokes with him.
I sit down next to Derrick and pat him on the shoulder, then take the flask out of his pocket and fix my punch.
"Charlie, I miss her." He shakes his head a little, like he's embarrassed to admit this.
"I know you do. But hey, there's plenty of girls out there for you. And in here even, for that matter. You just wait an hour."
"The last time we saw each other, I couldn't even touch her. I thought it would make things harder." He rips off a piece of his plastic cup and massages it between his thumb and forefinger. "But what I wouldn't give now just to hold her, just for one minute."
"But you know that after that minute you'd want more. And you'd be right back where you started."
"I know." He sits up. "Doesn't it bother you though, how nothing is ever enough?"
"Sometimes," I say, looking at the door because Janine's just walked in, guy with black-rimmed glasses holding her hand, no laundry basket in sight.
10.13.2006
The incident of the horrible fucked up situation in my love life
Her is Fasttalk.
Her - What r u doing
6:49pm 10/8/06
Me - I'm actually at work, at least for a bit
6:50pm 10/8/06
Her - i got a fancy movie idea i wanted to c if ud b into that tomorowish-esq
6:55pm 10/8/06
Her - Nonstop of course, surealist film bring whomeve Film Forum
7:00pm 10/8/06
Me - What's the deal with the movie? I'm working late but can probably get out by 7
5:43pm 10/9/06
Her - Call me when ur out-
6:24pm 10/9/06
Me - (I call, we make vague plans to get together tomorrow
7:17pm 10/9/06 (2minute 46sec conversation)
Her - Theres no bf at up state. nt that u had a bunch to bother about that. right. asta muchos
12:50am 10/10/06
Her - i dont want to sleep with u anymore
12:59am 10/10/06
Her - Whats going on wit u?
1:04am 10/10/06
Her - your wrong about everything anyway
1:13am 10/10/06
Her - mama mia. lik i ws sayn- i meant nothn real bi frgn out. temping workn and voulentern and passn a sicknesr and sic heart iz all beat. i may b lame bt' i really like u
9:09pm 10/11/06
Her - I like you im nt in any direct way clearly expressing what i mean latly
7:03am 10/12/06
That night was a total, complete and utter disaster. I was going out with Sunbolicious in Park Slope. I was drunk. I had been drinking champagne at a work cocktail party since 5:30.
Her - I want to see u! call me call me!
7:06pm 10/12/06
Her - Buttsup? evrythng cool?
7:15pm 10/12/06
I left after this. I needed to try and figure out my situation with Fasttalk. I called. Nothing was resolved. The night wore on in typical fashion. I went out. Sunbolicious' friend Sara G. joined us at one point and I made vague attempts to talk to her, but Sunbolicious was far more aggressive in talking than I was. Around 10 I sent a text message to Fasttalk.
Fair's fair why you given me such fucked up shit?
10:11pm 10/12/06
Then kept drinking. Trying to forget about why my life is what it is. Around 11:30 I got the response.
I nevr wantd to start somethn i couldnt finish and i lost all my cool, pior to and during passive agression-whici is nt me nt cool nt goal
11:13pm 10/12/06
I left the bar. Drunk as I was I called her. I yelled, screamed, was not in the mood to deal with this girl who is jerking me left and right every way but in a direction that makes any sense to anyone most importantly to myself because i've done that before and old stupid (other) Alex might be the one to go back and deal with it and forgive and forget but new (other) Alex is a bitter hardened bad person who will not deal with it in a reasonable manner.
11:20pm 10/12/06
25:54
Her - Yo listen ass hole the passive agression ws me thinkn about fuking when i ws too drunk and feeling awsome. i never wantd that for us i only wanted the best. this has beeneating me up why i didnt get it right- u knw? i m sorry. call me when ur out if ur up for it. mao i hate these superficial texts. im sori bout that too.
12:00am 10/13/06
I arrived home and apparently called two other friends for 3:16 minutes a piece. I'm not sure what I talked about. I'm probably going to see one this weekend. I woke up to 2 voicemails (one apologizing, one near tears about how I'm a bad person but she doesn't hate me) and 7 text messages. All recieved at 8:49am when I woke up.
I dont evr want to sleep w sone who doesnt knw me. u met someone else, desperation alone. Fasttalk nt Talk
Its really the ages thats fubed this up and all the worlds good will wont change that. im an old fuk about life. im nt perfect i ws a jerk to u. im sorry.
We need to talk in person- whenevr this is crazy just call this phone.
Im gona need somegrnbeand, monkeyfucker's friends catnip, because i cant sleep
I mean please. thanx. if u wont mind.
I ws wrong i ws wrong try n forget about it. i enjoyd every minute of it and u most of. whats wrong with me? too many things. u r amazing just like u r i really enjoy u. end. really this is a fuked up and hurt way to say i love you. sorry?
8:49am 10/12/06
The morning was bright and cold. A man on the subway was playing trumpet along with prerecorded sound. Another was passing out a pamphlet with "The road to Heaven" on it. I wanted to tell him that even if I accepted Jesus I'd never make the cut.
Her - What r u doing
6:49pm 10/8/06
Me - I'm actually at work, at least for a bit
6:50pm 10/8/06
Her - i got a fancy movie idea i wanted to c if ud b into that tomorowish-esq
6:55pm 10/8/06
Her - Nonstop of course, surealist film bring whomeve Film Forum
7:00pm 10/8/06
Me - What's the deal with the movie? I'm working late but can probably get out by 7
5:43pm 10/9/06
Her - Call me when ur out-
6:24pm 10/9/06
Me - (I call, we make vague plans to get together tomorrow
7:17pm 10/9/06 (2minute 46sec conversation)
Her - Theres no bf at up state. nt that u had a bunch to bother about that. right. asta muchos
12:50am 10/10/06
Her - i dont want to sleep with u anymore
12:59am 10/10/06
Her - Whats going on wit u?
1:04am 10/10/06
Her - your wrong about everything anyway
1:13am 10/10/06
Her - mama mia. lik i ws sayn- i meant nothn real bi frgn out. temping workn and voulentern and passn a sicknesr and sic heart iz all beat. i may b lame bt' i really like u
9:09pm 10/11/06
Her - I like you im nt in any direct way clearly expressing what i mean latly
7:03am 10/12/06
That night was a total, complete and utter disaster. I was going out with Sunbolicious in Park Slope. I was drunk. I had been drinking champagne at a work cocktail party since 5:30.
Her - I want to see u! call me call me!
7:06pm 10/12/06
Her - Buttsup? evrythng cool?
7:15pm 10/12/06
I left after this. I needed to try and figure out my situation with Fasttalk. I called. Nothing was resolved. The night wore on in typical fashion. I went out. Sunbolicious' friend Sara G. joined us at one point and I made vague attempts to talk to her, but Sunbolicious was far more aggressive in talking than I was. Around 10 I sent a text message to Fasttalk.
Fair's fair why you given me such fucked up shit?
10:11pm 10/12/06
Then kept drinking. Trying to forget about why my life is what it is. Around 11:30 I got the response.
I nevr wantd to start somethn i couldnt finish and i lost all my cool, pior to and during passive agression-whici is nt me nt cool nt goal
11:13pm 10/12/06
I left the bar. Drunk as I was I called her. I yelled, screamed, was not in the mood to deal with this girl who is jerking me left and right every way but in a direction that makes any sense to anyone most importantly to myself because i've done that before and old stupid (other) Alex might be the one to go back and deal with it and forgive and forget but new (other) Alex is a bitter hardened bad person who will not deal with it in a reasonable manner.
11:20pm 10/12/06
25:54
Her - Yo listen ass hole the passive agression ws me thinkn about fuking when i ws too drunk and feeling awsome. i never wantd that for us i only wanted the best. this has beeneating me up why i didnt get it right- u knw? i m sorry. call me when ur out if ur up for it. mao i hate these superficial texts. im sori bout that too.
12:00am 10/13/06
I arrived home and apparently called two other friends for 3:16 minutes a piece. I'm not sure what I talked about. I'm probably going to see one this weekend. I woke up to 2 voicemails (one apologizing, one near tears about how I'm a bad person but she doesn't hate me) and 7 text messages. All recieved at 8:49am when I woke up.
I dont evr want to sleep w sone who doesnt knw me. u met someone else, desperation alone. Fasttalk nt Talk
Its really the ages thats fubed this up and all the worlds good will wont change that. im an old fuk about life. im nt perfect i ws a jerk to u. im sorry.
We need to talk in person- whenevr this is crazy just call this phone.
Im gona need somegrnbeand, monkeyfucker's friends catnip, because i cant sleep
I mean please. thanx. if u wont mind.
I ws wrong i ws wrong try n forget about it. i enjoyd every minute of it and u most of. whats wrong with me? too many things. u r amazing just like u r i really enjoy u. end. really this is a fuked up and hurt way to say i love you. sorry?
8:49am 10/12/06
The morning was bright and cold. A man on the subway was playing trumpet along with prerecorded sound. Another was passing out a pamphlet with "The road to Heaven" on it. I wanted to tell him that even if I accepted Jesus I'd never make the cut.
10.09.2006
king of queens my ass
you know what really grinds my gears? how every show on tv stars a fat ugly guy married to a hot woman. maybe in LA every decent looking guy is gay?
well, my show is going to star a fat disgusting woman married to a handsome man. i'm thinking rosanne and ashton kutcher. and rosanne will have all sorts of affairs on the side - maybe a special guest hunk she could do every week. is rosanne still alive? maybe linda tripp would be more into the idea.
jonh goodman in drag?
well, my show is going to star a fat disgusting woman married to a handsome man. i'm thinking rosanne and ashton kutcher. and rosanne will have all sorts of affairs on the side - maybe a special guest hunk she could do every week. is rosanne still alive? maybe linda tripp would be more into the idea.
jonh goodman in drag?
10.08.2006
what's in a name besides letters and sounds that are formed by the mouth in recognition of those letters because that's how language works?
loyal reader,
what do you think the legal policy is regarding definite articles in a person's middle name? i think i'd like my future kid's middle name to
be "the..."something. dylan "the stud" murphy. lisa "the hotness"
murphy. eh? EH!!? maybe something not about how hot they are. we have
a society to run here.
dylan "the accountant" murphy?
lisa the middle manager?
love always,
by austin "the ombudsman" i meant married
what do you think the legal policy is regarding definite articles in a person's middle name? i think i'd like my future kid's middle name to
be "the..."something. dylan "the stud" murphy. lisa "the hotness"
murphy. eh? EH!!? maybe something not about how hot they are. we have
a society to run here.
dylan "the accountant" murphy?
lisa the middle manager?
love always,
by austin "the ombudsman" i meant married
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