I spend my days below 14th St. and generally above Canal. I’ve had girlfriends. I’ve been in love. I’ve had my heart ripped out and handed to me by numerous women. I’ve done my share of ripping too. These are stories of my New York.
I do this thing. Actually whenever I meet a woman I do one of two things. The first is a relatively simple song and dance: say something funny and maybe a little risque, steer the conversation toward sex, keep everything light, and hopefully end up making out on a deserted East Village street. The second is an involved process reserved more for actual dates or happy accidents. I had one of the latter last night and ended up in full blown second behavior.
A couple of months ago a friend of mine (let’s call him Will) suggested I request a Facebook friendship with a girl. (let’s call her Jen) I add Jen and she approves within 24 hours. The first thing I notice is that she has a boyfriend. I mean it’s not that she has “In A Relationship” selected, it’s way, way beyond that. Apple picking, dog cuddling, and muffin baking are among a slew of happy relationship activities pictured on her wall and in nauseating photo albums. Why in god’s name did I add this girl? I’m no angel, but I know when not to rock the boat. I let it go with the accepted friend request. Over the next month or so, I check her profile a few times. Every smile, every apple pie, every picture from bowling night is drawing me in. It’s got to be bullshit. It has to be. I have to find out for sure. I know the type of girl Will’s friends with, (usually of the stripper from Tallahassee variety) there is no way Jen is actually deep in monogamy. She becomes a sideline obsession. Every week or so I’m checking up on domestic bliss via Facebook. A couple times I find myself masturbating to one of her Facebook pictures. Her smile is sharing my 15-inch laptop screen with a Bang Brothers classic. It’s a twisted take on the highbrow/lowbrow cartoon in the back of New York Magazine. As soon as I’m done there is the inevitable wave of shame and Firefox window closing.
Four of us are walking down Houston toward an early Friday dinner. Our plan is to stuff our faces before eight o’clock, leaving ample time for naps, television, defecation and Facebook before we do Friday night. We are paused outside Starbucks on West Broadway when Will suddenly embraces a faceless tangle of winter coats, gloves, and beanies. Depositing her with a whirl at my feet, I am face to face with Jen, from Facebook.
“He (I gesture to Will) told me to add you on Facebook. Thought we might hit it off. You accepted my friend request, but when I checked out your profile, I saw you had a boyfriend so decided to lay off.”
“Yo I need to eat I’m starving lets go.” Another friend’s hunger, in his mind, is paramount to my need to court some girl. Flustered he starts down Houston, splitting our group in two. Will and I stay. I don’t remember anything after this. I could have actually said something witty or charming, but I was so happy with how natural my line about Facebook came out that I don’t remember anything else. It’s over in less that five minutes. I’m happy initial contact has been made. The three of us say our goodbyes, Will and I catch up the the rest of the group for dinner.
No one is talking. All thats heard is the scuffle and crunch of tortilla chips and the occasional smack of our burrito filled mouths. When men are hungry, really hungry, all the blustering and prick measuring is silenced by the arrival of food. And silence will prevail until everyone is about three quarters done. Imagine our table; four loud thirty somethings, immature for their age, debating the merits of shaven versus natural bush, and whether going east (The current slang for sleeping with Asian women) means you’re gay. This unruly bunch is suddenly silent and so intent on eating that you’d wonder if anything could distract them from their tacos. The Silence is broken by text message.
he’s cute
“Ha I knew I killed it with the “added you on Facebook” line! It came out so casual and nonchalant. I’m fucking killing it!” I give Will the go ahead to text her back.
he thinks you’re cute too
The other guys are so intent on eating my small victory does not even register on their faces. The preposterous race to the end of our meals is over. Feeling the effects of rapid overeating everyone heads home to their individual televisions and toilets. I’m in bed with my laptop on its namesake when I get a text from Will.
I went and met up with Jen and her friends
The idea of tonight having potential beyond my existing plans gives me a little rush and I fire back what could be the best text I’ve ever sent.
You think I write this kinda poetry for you?
Like clockwork 2 minutes later I get a text from an unfamiliar 917 number.
you r too romantic.
It’s fucking on.
An hour later I’m at the Bowery Hotel for some fashion party. I’m kissing some cheeks trying not to be a total cunt and still texting Jen. I decline an invitation to the movies, not sure of her intentions and it sounds like a quick path to the friends zone. Two hours that I can’t be pseudo charming or grope her is not really what I had in mind for Friday night. I run into a friend’s girlfriend and her gal pal; we hit the dance floor. The pal I’ve met before and would love to hook up with. She’s cute, I’m a sucker for black hair and a bob so I get down to business. I’m pretty obvious about my intentions. The vibe is strong. Dancing. Flirting. All the while texting with Jen.
you can help me walk my dog
It’s time to make some decisions. This party is nowhere near amazing and now that we’ve shared a laugh and a dance I can add the pal on Facebook without looking creepy. I say my goodbyes and allude to meeting a girl. Actually I don’t allude, I flat out say: “I’m going to meet this girl and help her walk her dog”, giving a little wink and nudge to my dance partners as I say it. If you can do it without seeming like a total douche, (I cannot pull this off but I try anyway), Letting slip that you’re in demand is never a bad look.
I’m off.
I trudge east through the rain, passing Tompkins Sq Park, meeting Jen outside her building. Shrugging off the awkwardness we start chatting. It’s a typical New York conversation as we lead her dog around Ave C. Where did we live. Where do we live now. What did we come here to do. What did we end up doing. What kind of people do we want to date. What kind of people do we actually end up dating. Soon we are around the block and back at her door. Walking into her lobby I see a doorman. I pull my hood up and think about her boyfriend. God I hate doormen. She chats with him about dry cleaning and for the first time tonight I feel like a total scumbag. This feeling quickly passes as we walk around the corner, up a flight of stairs, and into her studio.
CONTINUED IN PT. 2
