09 May 2011

Adventures with Dawson, Installment 1

Reading Lean's latest post brought back fond memories of my LES escapades with Dawson (cue Paula Cole). His theme song and nick was attributed to him by my best friend from college. Dawson spoke comparatively to the late-90s television series' main character played by James VanderBeek: long-winded and oddly with nothing of actual substance. Remember when the music would fade up in the background when he doled out his pearls of wisdom to Pacey or Joey? Hilarious!

In any case, Dawson and I became fast-friends after clearing up an initial rumor about me: I was a needy slut. When I established that I was just a slut, things were ok in our world and we hung out on a regular basis. We worked together at a local high-end burger joint in town and then met up after in the LES on Sunday nights to catch up on the week's bests and worsts. Our typical evening was dinner somewhere in the area, Opaline for pre-drinks, and then Boysroom for the rest of the evening. And if we ended up drunk and still attached at the hip, we would go to Odessa Restaurant to recount the night's failures and victories.

Dawson usually picked a dining establishment that did not have the gas factor - where after you belched (or queefed, for that matter), you didn't reek of onions or garlic. But at the end of the evening, if we were with-it enough to locate each other and neither of us found Mr. This Evening, it was no holds barred at Odessa Restaurant - grilled cheese and tomato on rye with a side of steak fries, please.

As it has been closed for years, Opaline was a good time. Back then, I enjoyed a crowded bar atmosphere where sweaty guys accidentally rubbed up against you and, consequently, accidentally shoved their hand down your pants because you were "too close" - this bar definitely lived up to that. The venue was a walk-down bar that had a cozy lobby but opened up into huge dance and lounge areas with two bars. I loved walking in with Dawson because he was well-aware of his faults but didn't give two shits; his confidence was attractive to me so I suppose that's what kept us friends for as long as we were. I remember him trying to talk to a guy and was quickly snubbed. He bounced right back and started at another guy, was snubbed again but kept going until he managed to get a throat to play tonsil hockey with. It was pathetic, but I gave him kudos for even trying to put himself out there despite the repeated rejection.

Staggering over to Boysroom after we got our buzz was a trip. We would psyche each other up about what a great time it would be (and usually was) despite whatever happened at Opaline. He was good energy for me and helped build up my self-esteem. Oh, Boysroom: why did you ever close? It's hard to actually describe what went on in that bar and do it complete justice. It was an era on the cusp of the total shut down of anything hedonistic - at least that I am aware of. Places like The Cock and Urge were no longer risque. Save the risque for the bedrooms, fellas. Downstairs at Boysroom, chalkboard walls with names, numbers, directions for a good time (minus Jenny's number) were scrawled and lit by black lights. Upstairs was a bar which had dancer poles installed onto them. At 1:30am seemingly uninterested, yet hot go-go boys came out to dance in only small towels. At 2am, I was in love: they dropped towel to step-touch in the nude to a song that has been emblazoned in my mind ever since. It's on my iPod run-list; imagine doing a 5K with that on your mind.

One of our crazier nights, Dawson and I split up. I began to suck face with a Brooklyn bear who talked dirtier than that old cunt who "puts that shit on everything." We kept in touch for a while through text, but never pursued anything except when I would see him every Sunday night at which point we kept touching. Dawson on the other hand found his way to a former curly haired MTV-VJ who I did not recognize at first and had to have my memory jogged. Once I remembered, Dawson checked in every now and then to see how I was making out. Appeasing because I was fully involved in my bearish-beau, I would "yes" him away. After 4 or 5 times of running back and forth, he finally asked me:

Dawson: So . . . he's inviting me back for a party.
DeeCue: OK. That's cool.
Dawson: No, he is inviting you as well.
DeeCue: OK. That's cool.
Dawson: It's a coke and Tina party.
DeeCue: OK. That's cool.
Dawson: DeeCue! Coke and Tina; not IKE and TINA!
DeeCue: Oh.

Point of the conversation: I want my MTV.

- DeeCue

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