Junior Year: Romance
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
A couple of things before today’s story which will be shorter than yesterdays – that’s kind of sad when you consider the subject matter.
My forum for The Hive is up at Buzzscope. Please drop in and say “hi” in the introductions threadbecause, well, they don’t know me there yet and I feel like the new white female teacher on her fist day at an urban school where the kids are livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise.
Michelle Pfeiffer. I feel like Michelle Fucking Pfeiffer.
So please, do me a favor, and just go introduce yourself. And Chris, please don't go there and just say "poop"; I'm trying to run a serious show over there. You can say it on my site all you want.
My boy Jacob, who’s illustrating The Curse (page one posted yesterday), dropped an article on the DCC blog where he charts his page-count progress as an artist. It’s interesting because I find myself writing less each year while he’s writing more. I think as an artist gets good they reach a comfort level and can start churning out pages whereas when a writer gets good they begin to mull over a single idea for a lot longer and spend more time in rewrites.
Actually, who am I kidding – I think I broke 220,000 words since last January thanks to this site. I meant I don’t write comics a lot, also thanks to this site.
I went to a meeting today at a government agency that isn’t necessarily all hush-hush secret but you’d only know about them if you were looking for them. The guy leading the meeting looked just like Michael Douglas in Falling Down if he didn’t go bat-shit insane and start shooting up LA but instead stayed at his shitty job. Some other guy in the meeting looked just like Alec Baldwin. It was just weird.
Ok, story time…
____________________
Romance was…lacking…junior year in college.
I wasn’t trying too hard, in my defense. I was getting into theater, making new friends, going out every night and having fun. I would occasionally get drunk and try to hook up with some chick at a bar but it rarely ever worked out – I’m not a pick-up kind of guy, I’m a slow burner – I have to get under the girl’s skin, infect her like the plague and pop painful nodules up on her body. So I don’t ever work well in bars; I need to account for the three day onset of illness that comes with my “mojo”. But there were a few attempts at getting a little steady action – none of them worked.
I think my first post-R attempt was with a fellow RA’s sister. We were all out at dinner together; the sister was mighty cute but seriously out of my league on a physical and social level. She was just really nice, played the violin or something – all high class, healthy, fit, non-smoking and wine drinking - compared to me, the wise-ass, beer gut, porn watching guy with the jeans I haven’t washed in three months.
Her sister left early that night so me and her got to talking, I walked her back to her sister’s place and got her phone number – wished her a good night and went home a tad tipsy, where I most likely violently masturbated while picturing her doing crazy shit with her violin bow, horse hair thrown all over the bed room, rosin flakes sprinkled all over her ass like glitter.
Because a guy like me, I know what the classy ladies like.
I had no chance, I knew it and she knew it, and when I called to hook something up I got the polite, “I’m busy until 2006.” So, you know, I think I have a date coming up – Robin’s not happy about it but I can’t get the violin bow fantasy out of my head.
My second attempt at a relationship was with this chick Danielle. Danielle was good friends with my college friend Kim whose best-friend Kristen I did ended up hooking up with later in the year. Truth was I wanted to get with Kim but instead kept picking off her friends.
Eh, whatever.
She was cute in a southern girl kind of way even though I think she was from Connecticut. She looked southern, though. But she had this laugh – it was more of a cackle but not in the evil witch way – sort of like the evil witch’s cute sister who brought dope to the party and wants to get tore up.
A tolerable cackle.
I think I had Kim plant the seed that I was interested and we hooked up a little date action. We went traditional – dinner and a movie. Italian joint, La Familigia on Newbury Street – we talked a bit and seemed to hit it off really well. Now, I don’t believe that a movie makes for a good first date – I think it’s actually the worst first date you can go on besides a baseball game. There are several reasons:
1) If the movie’s no good, date’s done. Not only is the date finished but it’s essentially wiped out. If you get that second date you’re basically repeating the first. Bad movie is an instant date killer.
2) If the movie’s too long the date is done. There’s no ice-cream afterwards, no walking through the park. You just sat through two-and-a-half hours of film that was moderately entertaining, not at all funny, but for the most part made you both too sleepy to continue on.
3) If you go to hold the girls hand and get the awkward dead fish – you need to decide whether to remove the hand and accept defeat or persevere and hope she likes the feel of cold, clammy flesh.
So, movies – horrible first date. That said we went to see the 2+ hour snooze fest piece of shit “What Dreams May Come” with Robin Williams and Cuba Gooding Junior and I went to hold her hand about twenty minutes into it, got the dead fish, and decide perseverance was the best course of action.
There was no second date, obviously, but the story doesn’t end there.
She got sick, supposedly, that’s why she wasn’t returning my calls and when I caught her on the phone she rushed me off. Her sickness was verified by all of her friends so I had no reason to believe she was faking the funk. So, I did the nice thing, went to Ankara Cafe, bought some chicken noodle soup for her and delivered it right to her door.
Knocked.
Let me tell you something, in case you didn’t know this. First off all, if you have tile beneath your door or some similar reflective surface, people can see when you walk up to it – they can see the light shift. Also, when you look out the keyhole and you happen to have a big ass fucking window behind you, opened up and letting light in, people know you’re there staring at them.
And when someone knows you’re at the door – that you’re looking at them through the peephole, you see them standing there with a steaming cup of soup in their hand and yet you still don’t answer the door – that’s just fucked up, right there.
I slowly backed away and make my way to Kim’s room where I ask her what the deal is. She tells me Danielle’s ex-boyfriend’s been calling her and she’s confused. I don’t really buy the story but I’ll tell you what – Ankara makes some kick-ass chicken soup and that shit warmed my soul right up.
And that’s it. If you count Kristen there were three honest-to-god attempts at companionship all of junior year. And then Robin came along but you all know that story already, both my version and her version.
My forum for The Hive is up at Buzzscope. Please drop in and say “hi” in the introductions threadbecause, well, they don’t know me there yet and I feel like the new white female teacher on her fist day at an urban school where the kids are livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise.
Michelle Pfeiffer. I feel like Michelle Fucking Pfeiffer.
So please, do me a favor, and just go introduce yourself. And Chris, please don't go there and just say "poop"; I'm trying to run a serious show over there. You can say it on my site all you want.
My boy Jacob, who’s illustrating The Curse (page one posted yesterday), dropped an article on the DCC blog where he charts his page-count progress as an artist. It’s interesting because I find myself writing less each year while he’s writing more. I think as an artist gets good they reach a comfort level and can start churning out pages whereas when a writer gets good they begin to mull over a single idea for a lot longer and spend more time in rewrites.
Actually, who am I kidding – I think I broke 220,000 words since last January thanks to this site. I meant I don’t write comics a lot, also thanks to this site.
I went to a meeting today at a government agency that isn’t necessarily all hush-hush secret but you’d only know about them if you were looking for them. The guy leading the meeting looked just like Michael Douglas in Falling Down if he didn’t go bat-shit insane and start shooting up LA but instead stayed at his shitty job. Some other guy in the meeting looked just like Alec Baldwin. It was just weird.
Ok, story time…
____________________
Romance was…lacking…junior year in college.
I wasn’t trying too hard, in my defense. I was getting into theater, making new friends, going out every night and having fun. I would occasionally get drunk and try to hook up with some chick at a bar but it rarely ever worked out – I’m not a pick-up kind of guy, I’m a slow burner – I have to get under the girl’s skin, infect her like the plague and pop painful nodules up on her body. So I don’t ever work well in bars; I need to account for the three day onset of illness that comes with my “mojo”. But there were a few attempts at getting a little steady action – none of them worked.
I think my first post-R attempt was with a fellow RA’s sister. We were all out at dinner together; the sister was mighty cute but seriously out of my league on a physical and social level. She was just really nice, played the violin or something – all high class, healthy, fit, non-smoking and wine drinking - compared to me, the wise-ass, beer gut, porn watching guy with the jeans I haven’t washed in three months.
Her sister left early that night so me and her got to talking, I walked her back to her sister’s place and got her phone number – wished her a good night and went home a tad tipsy, where I most likely violently masturbated while picturing her doing crazy shit with her violin bow, horse hair thrown all over the bed room, rosin flakes sprinkled all over her ass like glitter.
Because a guy like me, I know what the classy ladies like.
I had no chance, I knew it and she knew it, and when I called to hook something up I got the polite, “I’m busy until 2006.” So, you know, I think I have a date coming up – Robin’s not happy about it but I can’t get the violin bow fantasy out of my head.
My second attempt at a relationship was with this chick Danielle. Danielle was good friends with my college friend Kim whose best-friend Kristen I did ended up hooking up with later in the year. Truth was I wanted to get with Kim but instead kept picking off her friends.
Eh, whatever.
She was cute in a southern girl kind of way even though I think she was from Connecticut. She looked southern, though. But she had this laugh – it was more of a cackle but not in the evil witch way – sort of like the evil witch’s cute sister who brought dope to the party and wants to get tore up.
A tolerable cackle.
I think I had Kim plant the seed that I was interested and we hooked up a little date action. We went traditional – dinner and a movie. Italian joint, La Familigia on Newbury Street – we talked a bit and seemed to hit it off really well. Now, I don’t believe that a movie makes for a good first date – I think it’s actually the worst first date you can go on besides a baseball game. There are several reasons:
1) If the movie’s no good, date’s done. Not only is the date finished but it’s essentially wiped out. If you get that second date you’re basically repeating the first. Bad movie is an instant date killer.
2) If the movie’s too long the date is done. There’s no ice-cream afterwards, no walking through the park. You just sat through two-and-a-half hours of film that was moderately entertaining, not at all funny, but for the most part made you both too sleepy to continue on.
3) If you go to hold the girls hand and get the awkward dead fish – you need to decide whether to remove the hand and accept defeat or persevere and hope she likes the feel of cold, clammy flesh.
So, movies – horrible first date. That said we went to see the 2+ hour snooze fest piece of shit “What Dreams May Come” with Robin Williams and Cuba Gooding Junior and I went to hold her hand about twenty minutes into it, got the dead fish, and decide perseverance was the best course of action.
There was no second date, obviously, but the story doesn’t end there.
She got sick, supposedly, that’s why she wasn’t returning my calls and when I caught her on the phone she rushed me off. Her sickness was verified by all of her friends so I had no reason to believe she was faking the funk. So, I did the nice thing, went to Ankara Cafe, bought some chicken noodle soup for her and delivered it right to her door.
Knocked.
Let me tell you something, in case you didn’t know this. First off all, if you have tile beneath your door or some similar reflective surface, people can see when you walk up to it – they can see the light shift. Also, when you look out the keyhole and you happen to have a big ass fucking window behind you, opened up and letting light in, people know you’re there staring at them.
And when someone knows you’re at the door – that you’re looking at them through the peephole, you see them standing there with a steaming cup of soup in their hand and yet you still don’t answer the door – that’s just fucked up, right there.
I slowly backed away and make my way to Kim’s room where I ask her what the deal is. She tells me Danielle’s ex-boyfriend’s been calling her and she’s confused. I don’t really buy the story but I’ll tell you what – Ankara makes some kick-ass chicken soup and that shit warmed my soul right up.
And that’s it. If you count Kristen there were three honest-to-god attempts at companionship all of junior year. And then Robin came along but you all know that story already, both my version and her version.
Labels: mitc
posted by Jason at
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