Archive | July, 2014

The Veterinarian

13 Jul

There is a restaurant in my neighborhood that has good burgers and a cute bartender whom I like to look at while I eat.

One evening, I was enjoying some dinner and the view, when a pair of late 30-somethings started to get a little rowdy next to me.  I looked over to see what all the commotion was about and saw one of them holding up an image of Alf dressed as an asparagus.  The skinnier of the two noticed me eyeing their altercation and included me in the conversation.  I had no information to offer on the Alf topic… but received some unfortunate information on the cute bartender topic: it turned out they were his friends and he had a serious girlfriend of nine years.

The larger man left shortly thereafter and I stayed to chat with the skinny one.  He never smiled and pretty much only had one facial expression– a puzzled look with slightly crossed eyes.  He was dressed like a cast member from Roseanne and looked remarkably like a young Bob Saget.  He had glasses, a prominent nose, and hair that looked like amber waves of grain– like you could pull a fistful of it and it would break off into a million pieces and blow away down a sunny hillside.  “Peter,” as we’ll call him, was thirty-nine, worked at another bar in Bushwick, and dreamed of being a veterinarian.  But not an actual veterinarian, oh no.  He wanted to PLAY a veterinarian in a small role on a TV show or commercial.  He went on and on about how much he loved acting and wanted to make a full career out of it even though he had never taken an acting class, or been in a play, or done anything except stand in a sea of extras in one shot for an episode of some TV show.  When he learned that I went to school for theatre he asked if I wanted to take turns filming each other doing three contemporary monologues each.  I told him I’ve been out of the loop for a couple years and am thus unfamiliar with the current veterinarian repertoire.

I ran into Peter around my neighborhood multiple times after that.  He always talked nonstop about himself and his “acting career” and never asked me anything about my life.  Come to think of it I’m not sure he ever even knew my name.  He also sent me constant text updates like “almost had a line on set today, but they gave it to someone else,” and “just submitted my headshot to play another veterinarian.  Keep your fingers crossed.”  His headshot, by the way, was a selfie he had taken of himself wearing a lab coat and looking confused.  He stayed over at my place once (don’t recall how that happened) and kept trying to kiss me, but I was too weirded out by him so I moved to the extreme edge of my bed and barricaded myself with a fortress of pillows.  The next morning I woke up at 6 a.m. and shrieked about how I had to go into town right away, like we lived in rural Mississippi in the early 1900s.

The next time I saw him after that, he was displeased with me.  Apparently he had found me on Twitter and seen a tweet where I referred to him as a “Bob Saget impersonator.”  He accused me of flirting with other men at the bar and told me that I don’t take him seriously.  Welllll.  I didn’t realize we had a “thing,” but whatever it was needed to cease and desist, so I stopped responding to him.

The last text I ever got from Peter was: “ever had a grape chia synergy drink?  One just exploded on my shirt and pants while opening it and the chia seeds stuck to my clothes.  Kinda cool.  Gonna leave them on there for awhile.”  I haven’t seen him since, so I’m assuming he got beamed back up to whatever planet he and Alf are from.

Advertisements

PantyhoseLover81

2 Jul

Have you ever had an experience where, as you are going through it, you wonder if you are living your last few moments here on Earth?  That’s how I felt on Sunday night when I went out with a gigantic, pantyhose-wearing man.

I must admit that I was fully aware of what I was getting myself into when I answered a message from someone named PantyhoseLover81 on OKCupid.  His profile picture was of his hairy legs sheathed in a sheer, nude hose.  I responded because he mentioned that he also had a “regular” profile and I was curious as to what type of man fancied womens undergarments.  I figured his regular profile would feature a photo of a diminutive dweeb who was an office worker by day and a top secret hose fiend by night.  These dual profile people creep me out because they make me wonder how many “normal” men I have gone out with who have also had a secret sex profile.  But at this point there was no going back… I was intrigued.  So I got down to brass tacks with PantyhoseLover81:

PantyhoseLover81:  Hey how’s it going?
Me:  Wait, I don’t get it. Do you wear the pantyhose or does your date?
PantyhoseLover81:  Well if everything goes ok we both do lol
Me:  Like under our pants? Or just a nude hang out with hosiery?
PantyhoseLover81:  More like in the bedroom although I have been known to wear them under my pants on occasion.

He showed me his other profile, which was not at all what I had expected.  He was a giant, clean cut Italian man who was covered in tattoos.  He looked like a cast member of The Jersey Shore.  Under the question “Would you prefer your life to be simple or complex?” he answered “Simple.  Keep the drama for the movies.”  Additionally, I discovered that he didn’t drink– he was a sober lover of hose.  I concluded that all of these variables warranted a date.

PantyhoseLover81 lived in Little Neck (I have no idea where that is) but was driving, so I figured it wouldn’t be too much trouble for him to transport to my area.  I selected my least favorite bar in my neighborhood.  That way, he wouldn’t easily be able to track me down in the future because I rarely go there… but, at the same time, I could potentially make a quick escape to my home base if he tried to bind and gag me with hose and throw me in the back of his truck.

I went into the date with a massive headache due to the fact that I had spent the previous two hours looking at magic eye puzzles and could no longer focus my eyesight.  Tony Chiccorino, the man himself, walked in as I was taking a shot of tequila that the bartender bought me.  Oops.  He assured me that he didn’t mind, and I was struck equally by how tall and mellow he was.  I forgot to mention earlier that this was my first blind date ever where I gave someone a false name for safety purposes.  I knew I was inevitably going to slip up and have to come clean about my lie… which happened when I explained to him that the letters on one of my tattoos are my initials and he said “I thought your first name was Sara?”  Double oops.

Tony told me in his thick Queens accent that he worked as a firefighter– which genuinely surprised me.  You would think I’d be shocked to learn that my firefighter date was a pantyhose aficionado, but unfortunately it was the other way around.   I let him talk about the life of a New York firefighter, his nieces, and his recent kayak outing for a little while before I broached the real topic at hand.  “So have you ever slid down a fireman’s pole wearing nothing but hose and a helmet?” I asked, after procuring a second beer.  “I never mix business with pleasure” he responded.  “How did you first come to realize your love of hosiery?”  He explained that, at the impressionable age of seven, he had found a pair of his older sister’s pantyhose hanging in the family bathroom.  The texture had aroused his senses and he felt drawn to them in a way that, at seven years old, he could not venture to explain.  The next thing you know, those bad boys were on his legs and he was sold for life.  I asked him how often he finds himself galavanting about in a pair of hose and he said “you know, a pantyhose fetish is like a pulse.  It goes up and down.”  “How many pairs of hose do you own?”  I was not letting this go.  “In my arsenal?  Three or four.  I got news for you.  That’s a lot.  Usually it’s one.”  I guess the pulse is high this summer.  Just when I didn’t think things could get any better, he pulled out a vaporizer and started vaping in my face as he pondered: “Hose.  It’s one of those words you say too many times and it starts to sound funny.  Hose.  Hose.”  Eventually it came to light that he had recently engaged in a threesome with a married couple he met through OKCupid.  I made a joke about all three participants writhing around in a pantyhosed fury, to which I think he replied something about my statement not being too far off.  “You heard me” he said, as if reading my mind.

As we were leaving I asked Tony if he was currently sporting a sensible pair of hose under his jeans.  He told me that it was a little too hot for layering, but he did have a pair in his truck if I was interested.  “Can I drive you home?” he asked, as I began fearing for my safety and considering how I could leave a trail of forensic evidence.  I told him I only lived two blocks away, but he persisted.  “That really won’t be necessary” I said, giving him my number which seemed to be an acceptable parting gift.  I then ducked behind a homeless man’s cart until I saw his truck disappear over the hill.  By the time I got home, I received a text from him that read “Hope you got hose ok.”  I’m still not sure whether or not the typo was intentional, but that, along with the fact he didn’t murder me definitely secures Tony Chiccorino a spot in my Blind Date Hall of Fame.