Tiny Tim

15 May

From the beginning, I was skeptical of “Tim’s” interest in the female sex.  He was a vegan who wore women’s skinny jeans and fashion scarves.  He was also quite petite– two of him could most likely fit in one of me.  And he did cleanses.  As my friend Stacy would say: “End of discussion!”  He displayed his abundant collection of designer jeans on hooks in his room like works of art.  His bedroom had no windows, so it was like being in a dark, depressing chamber of denim.  He was one of those guys who grew up in a loving upper middle-class family in the Midwest, yet loved to wallow in a self-generated pit of despair.  As “complicated” as he was, I have to give Tim credit for being a real pro at funny one-liners…which get me every time.

I met Tim through mutual friends, shortly after moving to New York.  A group of us went to an art exhibition at someone’s loft in Bushwick.  I had barely known Tim an hour before he was comparing his genitalia to the noses of various muppets.  He didn’t want to wait in line to use the bathroom behind a pack of drunk hipsters, so he peed outside in the street– and received a public urination ticket.  I was amused by this sardonic little man, but had a boyfriend at that point…and assumed Tim was most likely gay.

A couple months (and a break up) later, I ran into Tim at a bar where my friend was dj-ing.  We spoke briefly and then, to my surprise, he volunteered to accompany me to my next destination– a party at the Standard Hotel.  The next thing I know, we are drinking expensive champagne and he is holding my hand and kissing me all over the bar.  The next morning I awoke to find myself alone (and fully-clothed) in a strange bed, surrounded by jeans and guitars.  On my way out of the apartment, someone’s blurry body waved to me from the couch as I cringed and pretended not to speak English.

Tim and I hung out about once every few weeks.  He was in a band with my friend, so I ran into him frequently at bars around Williamsburg and Greenpoint.  He continued to pee in inappropriate places such as bathroom sinks, a bucket in a supply closet, as well as my friend’s kitty litter.  He was very stand-offish around me and barely made eye contact– until he was drunk.  Then he would go straight for the hand holding, we would make out for awhile and then take the bus (of all things) back to his apartment.  I never take the bus.  They seem very unreliable and you never know WHERE they’re going to go.  At least subway trains have to stay on their tracks.  Busses have the capability to take off into the distance and it could be days before they are found.

I never understood why Tim always wanted me to come back to his place with him because whenever things started to go beyond making out, he would abruptly curl up into a tight fetal position and go to sleep.  I’m no psychiatrist, but I would venture to take that as a red flag.  The last time we ever hung out, I went back to his apartment as usual.  He was petsitting for a friend and left to take the dog for a walk.  It seemed like he had been gone forever and I was bored… so I found some disposable razors in the bathroom and decided to seize the opportunity to do some light shaving in the sink.  Hey, why not?  Shaving can be a time-consuming activity and, at this moment, my schedule was wide open.  In my state, I guess I didn’t adequately rinse all the hairs down the drain.  Tim returned and came out from washing his hands wondering where the hair in his sink came from.  I said I had no idea and that they were probably his roommate’s beard hairs.  He responded that both of his roommates were girls.  Oh.  I didn’t think of that.

A few fetal positions later, he woke up the next morning concerned that he had left his favorite fashion scarf at the bar.  I woke up the next morning and texted my friend Rachael “Last night a dude called me out on shaving in his sink…told him it was someone’s beard.  All time low?”  She texted back: “Stop trying to be me.”

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2 Responses to “Tiny Tim”

  1. ifitwasntmylife May 17, 2012 at 9:26 pm #

    This is awesome. I actually laughed out loud. Multiple times. I think my favorite is the peeing in the kitty litter — because it makes a sort of drunken sense…

    And thanks for liking my blog!

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. The Best Pasta I Never Had « What's in the Box? - August 15, 2012

    […] I go to No Name Bar things get wacky.  The first time I went there (last year), I made out with Tiny Tim in a dark corner and one of us may or may not have peed in a bucket in the supply closet.  Another […]

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