Tag Archives: Art

My Urban Cowboy – W4M

25 Aug

YOU:  An aging gentleman in leather chaps, a beaded leather cowboy hat, and a string of white seashells dangling from your jowls.  Your shirt was unbuttoned to reveal just enough of the dark, cavernous world of your innie belly button to leave me wanting more.  Your salt and peppery mustache enveloped the nozzle of your bottle of Diet Sprite and your wide stance betrayed the secret that you had recently dismounted your steed only to board the Brooklyn-bound L train.

ME:  Younger white girl in a Rosie O’Donnell-esque tunic and a questionable boot, who was breaking a considerable sweat carrying a humongous mural of the Grand Canyon.  As I maneuvered onto the train, our eyes met– the only part of me you ever saw since the Grand Canyon was covering the rest of my body as well as the bodies of the two disgruntled strangers seated to my right.

US:  The electricity that vibrated throughout that fateful caboose cannot be denied and I shall not sleep until we share our tales of the dusty trails over a bottle of sarsaparilla.  Godspeed, elusive cowpoke. I’ll be waiting.


Another Creepy Artist

19 Aug

The three or four guys from OKCupid that I have actually gone out with more than once generally followed the same pattern.  We meet, hit it off, hang out a few more times, maybe hook up, then they suddenly become really busy, or don’t text me as often, or we stop hanging out all together.  I go back and forth between thinking:

1) It’s not OK that he only texts me when I contact him first/only wants to hang out with me on his timetable which is only about once a month/he’s probably just using me/stop being an idiot and take him out of your phone!

2) It’s cool, man…maybe things will change and he’ll want to hang out more at some point…he’s a guy and he doesn’t think about things the same way I do…he’s busier than I am…and why would he spend time with me at all if he didn’t like me?  (Wait, don’t answer that.)

Surprisingly, I went out again with Jimmy a few weeks ago.  He had stopped talking to me for a couple months, but resurfaced after reading the post I wrote about him.  We agreed to meet for drinks at Art Bar one night after I got out of work.  He was late and while I waited, an incredibly strange individual started talking to me.  I guess I opened up the lines of communication between myself and this man by asking if the seat next to him at the bar was taken.  He looked to be in his late 40s and had on an old suit, a bowler hat, and huge headphones that were connected to a small DVD player which he had situated in front of him on the bar.  I glanced at the screen and it was footage of him walking all over New York City– but he was holding the camera, so you only saw him when he stopped in front of windows to capture his reflection.  The cars, people, buildings, and everything else in the background were sped up with some trippy setting that made the lights and colors flash and pulsate around him.

Once I sat down there was no turning back…he would not stop talking to me, mostly about what is wrong with society today.  His voice sounded exactly like the Cary Grant-esque voice Tony Curtis used in “Some Like it Hot.”  He told me he was a visual artist and spent most of his days stalking the owners and curators of famous art galleries, trying to get an “in” for his work.  Subsequently, he had been black-listed from several galleries.  Something about him struck me as not-quite-all-there, and I texted Jimmy to hurry up and get there.  I told the man where I worked and said he would love for me to come over to his apartment and help him sort through thousands of photographs he had taken, dating back to the eighties.  He wanted me to tell him which pieces were by the designer I work for so he could put them all together and present it to him.  Oh god.  Jimmy finally arrived as the strange man began showing me the video of himself walking around, which allegedly went on for hours and hours.  Jimmy was still wearing the garb from the soccer game he had come from and he shot the guy dirty looks when he continued to talk to me even though my “date” had arrived.  Things got awkward when the man tried to shake Jimmy’s hand and he refused, so I suggested we go to another bar.  On our way out, the man stopped me to give me his card and a CD of instrumental music he had apparently made.  I felt bad for him and had had a few glasses of wine, so I gave him one of my email addresses- which he emailed three times that very night.

The rest of the night with Jimmy was uneventful.  I asked him why he had been absent for months then decided to go out with me again after reading my blog post (in which I lovingly refer to him as a sex addict).  He shared that he had been seeing someone and it was getting kind of serious, but he was pretty sure he was “over it.”  I asked if he met her on OKCupid and he said yes, he had met her before he met me and had been seeing her the whole time.  Well, that explains a lot.  I went back to his place with him, only because I was too tired to trek all the way back to Brooklyn.  Once there, I immediately fell asleep.  I woke up while it was still dark out and stopped at McDonald’s for a smoothie (witnessing a tranny hooker oatmeal argument in the process) before getting a cab back to Brooklyn.

I haven’t seen Jimmy since (no big surprise there).  However, I did have another sighting of the peculiar guy from Art Bar.  I was enjoying some sushi a couple days ago when a man walked in, sat down, and began singing loudly to whatever music was coming out of his gigantic headphones.  I looked up to glare at him and was horrified to see who it was.  He had on the same suit, complete with bowler cap and extremely loud voice.  There was only one other sushi patron aside from us, but he yelled across the whole restaurant for iced green tea and low-sodium soy sauce.  When he got his soy sauce, he scooped a dollop of wasabi into the sauce dish and hammered it loudly with his chopsticks.  At one point, he started making wet hacking noises like a cat dealing with a pesky hair-ball.  I could feel him staring at me, trying to place where he knew me from, so I downed my sushi faster than I knew was possible.  As I was signing my bill, he pulled out the same DVD player and put on the same DVD he had been watching at Art Bar, months earlier.  I guess he just sits around every day in various establishments watching a video of himself walking around.  I prayed he wouldn’t say anything to me as I passed him on my way to the door.  Not three strides from the door he loudly bellowed “Excuse me!” and my stomach sunk.  The rest of his sentence, “Could I please have another green tea!” came and I safely exited the restaurant and made it back to work without incident.

I’ll never know if the creepy artist recognized me that day or not.  What I do know is that I never answered his emails, and his CD ended up in the mailbox belonging to the drug den in my neighborhood.  I hope they enjoyed his jams.

I know I keep saying this, but this time I mean it.  I seriously need to be more selective about who I give my phone number/email address to.  Like, maybe not a 48-year-old artist with Asperger’s and a portable DVD player.

Hey, at least this one didn’t paint with his ballsack.

Oh No He Di’int!

18 May

Beware, New Yorkers…there is a 40 year old Argentinean artist who preys on unsuspecting young women on the loose!

His initial pick-up line was: “I am an artist and any relationship of any type for me goes first through images. I am working on a project invovling pictures of women smoking –especially if they are tall. Would like to take yours. Not only I consume art, am consumed by it, but also I frequently exibit mine and write about other people’s. I believe that posesivness is a negative trait. Everything else can be everything else.”  After including this message in one of my “Suitors of the Week” posts, another blogger contacted me saying that she had received the exact same proposition from this guy.

I initially ignored him because he sounded totally creepy, but the next night (after a few glasses of wine) I decided to respond to his inane message.  I gathered that he had a kid, was pretty short, had a crooked nose, and looked older than he claimed he was.  Then came the best part of all: the artistic piece he was most known for was one where he dipped his balls in oil paint and placed them on different prints.  My favorite was one where Picasso’s face was obscured by bright red testicle globs.  He expressed frustration that it was the only thing people associated him with (duh), and that his agent kept pestering him to do it again.  Unfortunately, he could not recreate it even if he wanted to because he had developed a severe rash the first time around.  He said his next project was going to be even better and would involve a bunch of pictures of random girls wearing lipstick and smoking cigarettes.  How original.  He asked if he could photograph me and reiterated that he needed me to be wearing red lipstick when we met.  As sketchy as he seemed, I was willing to donate an hour of my time to this weirdo to get some good material.  How could I not?

We agreed to meet at Cafe Select in SoHo two nights ago at 9pm for drinks and a couple “test shots.”  I had come from work and was a few minutes early, so I checked the OKCupid application on my phone.  One of the good (and bad) things about OKCupid is that you can see exactly when someone looked at your profile.  The artist logged on and checked my profile precisely five minutes before he was due to meet me.  Several minutes later, I saw him walking down Lafayette towards me.  I looked away to put my phone in my bag and when I looked up again he was glancing at me sideways as he walked briskly past.  What the hell?  I considered that maybe I was mistaken and it was somebody else…but no, he had a very recognizable face and it was definitely him.  I waited until he rounded the corner before texting him “I’m here.  Where are you?”  At 9:20 he texted me “Sorry, got stuck in the studio with a last minute thing.  Will contact you to reschedule.”  Now, I know I labeled him as a major creep to begin with…but still, he stood me up!  You’re a 40 year old father and you make me walk all the way over to SoHo after working all day just to waste my time?  Oh no he di’int.  I texted him back “Thanks for the advance warning.  And I could’ve sworn I just saw you walk by.”  He wrote back “Must’ve been my doppelganger, I’ve been in my studio the whole time.”  I wanted to point out the fact that he had been creeping on my OKCupid profile twenty-five minutes earlier, yet didn’t text me to say he couldn’t make it until twenty minutes AFTER we were supposed to meet and I texted him.  But I left it alone.  For the moment.

When I got home, I created another OKCupid account with my alternate email address.  Oh yes I did!  I googled “random brunette chick” and used some pictures that weren’t even all of the same person.  I filled out the profile with some nonsense about how I loved “Sex and the City,” roller coasters, and getting my picture taken.  I then clicked on the artist’s profile knowing that he would see I looked and scope out my profile.  He took the bait and, sure enough, I woke up the next morning to the same exact pick up line he had used on me before.  “Chelsea” casually set up a time with him for drinks that afternoon and he told her (me) that red lipstick was imperative.  “See you at 3pm.  Looking forward to it!”  I/Chelsea wrote him in confirmation.  Three o’clock rolled around and I was at home, lounging merrily on my couch, eating avocados in my unmentionables.  An hour later, I logged onto my fake account to find a message from the artist:  “What the fuck?!  You stood me up!”  Part of me wanted to write back “How does it feel, you arrogant little man?”  But the incidents were less than 24 hours apart, so if he didn’t get the message, he is one dense 40 year old.

I don’t care how many things you painted with your ballsack, standing people up is rude.  I have never stood anyone up (well until now I suppose) and I have sat through dates with some real oddballs.  I’ll admit I did feel a little bit guilty for stooping to his level.  Especially after an image popped into my head of a little kid walking in on his father squatting pantless over a paint tray and saying “Daddy, why do you dip your balls in paint and put them on things?”

What a mess.

Brett Makes Art

3 Feb

Last month, I agreed to a blind date at Bacaro, an Italian restaurant in the Lower East Side.  I was nervous because I had only met people from the website for drinks, never dinner.  To make matters worse, all of the online reviews illustrated what a romantic date spot Bacaro is.  A romantic dinner with a complete stranger and I was wearing a gigantic unflattering turquoise sweater?  Disaster.  To calm my nerves, I had a glass of wine after work with a sympathetic coworker prior to meeting my date.  Upon finding the restaurant, the guy (we’ll call him “Brett”) immediately looked me up and down and I could tell he was unimpressed by my slight tardiness.  He looked older than thirty-five but had a fetal face, was skinny and pale, and I noticed his hairline had receded a bit further since his profile picture was taken.  He led me down some steps to a dimly lit lower level, explaining to me that he had a “usual table.”  The ambiance was, in fact, very romantic…the date was far from it.

It didn’t take long for me to glean that he was lacking in the personality department.  He seemed to take himself very seriously and I don’t recall him laughing or smiling once.  When I asked him what he did for a living, he answered abruptly with “I make art.”  Rather than explaining what that broad claim entailed, he began asking me questions in a manner that made me feel like I was at a job interview.  I could tell by his face whether or not I answered his questions “correctly”.  He winced when I told him I wasn’t using the website to find a serious relationship and said “Why do you go on dates then, to blog about them?”  I was caught off guard by this preposterous accusation and feigned shock, retorting “No, of course not!”  I assumed that was as close as he was going to get to making a joke.

When I reversed the interrogation, he instantly brought up his ex girlfriend who had moved to Germany.  I asked him how long ago that was and he said “August… well actually November… last month.”  He was getting a bit misty-eyed and for a moment I thought he was going to start crying at the table (most likely the same table he used to sit at with his ex).  This guy had been single for less than a month and was clearly desperate for a rebound.

I had the squid ink pasta, which was very enjoyable.  He managed a half-smile when I ordered, telling me his ex used to love that dish and would always get the black ink sauce all over her face.  Uhh…cute?  Following my pasta and a carafe or two of wine, I was ready to go, but he insisted on splitting a dessert.  The second the tiramisu hit the table, he announced that he wanted to hang out with me again– but just as friends, because the “chemistry wasn’t there.”  I was planning on not hanging out with him again period, but wasn’t going to hold a conference about it.  He felt the need to explain further, saying that I was too tall for him.  His ex girlfriend had been much shorter and thinner, so he was looking for “someone closer to her size.”  I put down my fork and considered how many calories I had just consumed.  He went on to report that I was too young and immature for him and, in his opinion, I need to speak from my diaphragm more.  Who are you, my graduate school acting coach?!  Last time I checked, you “make art.”  I’ve been vocally trained since I was a kid and you are critiquing my speaking voice?  I refrained from telling him to fuck off, reminding myself that he was picking up the bill, which was not cheap.

Although I asked him not to, he walked me to the train, apologizing profusely the whole time and reiterating his desire to hang out again.  I thanked him for dinner and got on the train.  On the way home, I decided I was more bewildered than offended.  I didn’t lie about my height, body type, age, or job on OkCupid, so he had known all of my stats prior to meeting me.  Maybe he was feeling burned by his recent break-up and was taking it out on all girls who weren’t his ex.  Or maybe he is just such an awful guy, his ex girlfriend had to move to Germany to escape him.

Good luck with that, Brett.