22 August 2010

Forever "Young"

When dating, the moments leading up to something wonderful are the most amazing circumstances; they're the times when you get a Baz Luhrmannesque flash-forward of happy things to come [cue Stravinsky's "Rite of Spring"]. But I have to say one of the many aspects of the allure of hooking up on-line - for me - is not having to deal with the obnoxious side of the dating situations. Por ejemplo:

"Young" was an ex-Marine. He topped like a Code Red was ordered on me by his superior . . . not to mention he gave great cuddle afterward - what a combination. He was an on-line hook-up turned "bf." I know: don't try to transform a trick into a potential - my mistake from the start. In any case, there I was playing house with an insurance company underwriter whose part-time job was to be a maniac in bed. Eventually, he suggested I give him a key to my apartment because he would always be ready to see me at my place before I got out of work. "Sure."


Warning: the next few paragraphs are cringe worthy.


There were several occasions where "Young" was just crazy embarrassing which led up not to the long term relationship bliss I mentioned earlier, but rather to the realization I did not like the person lying next to me anymore. When I would spend the night at his place, we woke up together. We got ready together. We ate breakfast together. We showered together - those were the funniest of the morning routines. He had a shower stall in his apartment and he came into it with me, played Daniel Bedingfield's "If You're Not the One" on his shower radio and sang along using the shampoo bottle as his mic. . . to me. Yikes! There was this other time when I distinctly remember running late, tying my shoes and looking up as he danced, whipped off his towel and revealed  a "man-gina" a la "Silence of the Lambs." Can someone help me?

To his credit, he was definitely a well-read person. When he grew up, he told me he had a reading disability which he eventually overcame; it was an episode of “Full House.” In his apartment, he had shelves filled with mystery, science fiction, and thrillers. At one point though, we were both reading "Great ExpectationsGreat Expectations" so we could bond. He was a font of trivial knowledge which merely served as fodder for my drunken weekend updates with my friends. One evening, we were eating dinner at his kitchen bar and he was pouring wine from a jug wine bottle. He proceeded to explain to me the origins of the shape of the jug. He illustrated how women would balance them on their heads and when they would serve the wine, they would throw it over their shoulder and tip it forward. Ok, so I know it doesn't seem like a laugh riot moment, but watching him demonstrate while describing was. Ugh.

One of the more serious moments where I felt extremely uncomfortable was when he brandished his (empty) gun he had. (Let's back-up: he lived in Newark, was a tad racist, and had a license to carry - the poster-child for the Second Amendment.) We were watching "Dirty Harry" because I mentioned I was a fan of Clint Eastwood in "Alcatraz." He disappeared for what seemed like half-an hour, so I called to him and he came out with his 9mm. "Get me out of here!" I thought through smiling eyes - panicked eyes.

But of all the lame, embarrassing and insane moments with "Young," there was only one that shone as the tipping point for me known in my memory as the "Shh" Heard Round the Theater. I am no longer a fan of Mel Gibson because of his Anti-Semitic antics (among others), but I went on a date with "Young" to see “Passion of the Christ” when it first came out. Being a good Catholic boy, I understood the beginning scene that took place in the Garden of Gethsemane. So naturally, when the movie began and he leaned over and asked me "What's going on?" I cracked my knuckles and began: "This is the Garden of Gethsemane where Judas be . . ." and before I could finish my sentence, he said "Shhhh!" Assholesaywhat? No he di'int! I sat there steaming for the rest of the two hours thinking, “YOU’RE the one who asked!”

The whole ride home I was thinking of how I was going to karate chop him in the neck from the passenger seat, grab the wheel and kick him out the driver's side without having to worry about stepping on the brake. But like a Komodo Dragon, I waited . . .

We got back to my place and I quick undressed to nothing but my boxers. He also got undressed but was whistling Danny Bedingfield while glancing over with a Kool-Aid smile. He got under the covers and hugged me close:

"You know what, DeeCue? You're a good egg."
Who the fuck says that? "Hey, 'Young?’ I don't think this is working out."

He pulled away, looked at me, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. For about the next ten minutes, "Young" got dressed all the while having an argument with himself Sally Field-style. Holy Crap, is he almost done? He was making his way to the door, putting on his socks, then his shoes, then his overcoat. "YAY! He's almost out," I thought to myself as my heart leapt for joy. And just as he was about to make his exit, the King of Creep turns around, gets in my face shoves his pointer in my face and says: "You're not going to be young forever." And now, Ladies and Gentlemen: Exit.

I locked the door behind him, did a happy dance in my boxers and dove into my bed - alone.

Point of the conversation: Don't date your hook-ups.

- DeeCue

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