Tag Archives: Cats

It’s Not Me, It’s You

16 Sep

My mother has said to me on more than one occasion: “how can there be no nice boys in New York?  There are millions of people in that city!”  True, true.  But, after you subtract the ones who are married, in a relationship, gay, under twenty-one, or over fifty-one… you are left with mostly depressed, emotionally unavailable men who never quite got over their ex and are addicted to attention.  Or as I like to call them: comedians.  I once attempted the daring feat of dating a man who fancied himself a comedian.  It lasted (maaaybe) four months.  Here are some highlights:

-He bragged about eating multiple buckets of fried chicken by himself on a nightly basis.

-Whined about all the injustices in his life– Cranky roommates, absent father, absent money, you name it.

-Claimed his ex-girlfriend was stalking him… according to her, it was the other way around.  The whole time I was seeing him, there was a passive-aggressive Twitter war going on between them.

-His cologne of choice was Febreeze “Meadows and Rain.”  I called him out on dousing himself in air freshener after I recognized the scent as the same spray my coworkers use following a particularly lengthy bathroom session.  He initially denied it, but came clean (so to speak) after I spotted the bottle in question in his bedroom.

-Once, I came back from the bathroom to find him hiding behind a table in my apartment.  He eventually came out and sheepishly said “yeah, I was hiding behind the table…”

-Invited my sister and I to one of his sketch shows at Upright Citizens Brigade and the whole show consisted of inside jokes only other UCB members in the audience understood.  As we were walking out, my sister remarked “is it just me, or was that not very funny?”

-Had no concept of how to get around in the city.  He had lived in New York longer than I.  And had a smart phone.  I called a car for him once to get to the airport because he couldn’t figure out how.

-Accused my sister’s cat of peeing on his cowboy boots and stealing his contact lenses.

-Sold his Muppets DVD collection to make rent.

-Invited me out to dinner on Valentines Day by telling me he “felt bad” he had forgotten to invite me out to dinner on Valentines Day.  I chose the place, made the reservations, and paid.

-Broke things off with me two weeks later via a 3:30 a.m. email telling me that he “felt bad” because he just didn’t have enough time in his busy schedule to be dating anybody.

-Got involved in a serious relationship with another UCB groupie less than two months later.

At the time, I found all of this about as funny as his sketch show.  However, I’m happy to report that, nearly two years later, I can finally appreciate the immense hilarity of my time with this individual.  Even if most of my favorite “bits” were unintentional on his part.

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The Farter

28 Feb

Brian lived in the apartment above me at my former residence in Williamsburg.  We met for the first time when I came home from work one night and he and my roommate were rolling doobies in the backyard.  I politely declined their herbal offerings, but agreed to join them for drinks upstairs.  Brian was a big pothead and his apartment looked like a hippie commune, complete with all sorts of crazy tapestries, a plethora of plants, and an assortment of loose felines.  He introduced us to his favorite cat, a female named “BJ” – short for Brian, Jr.

I assumed he was gay.  His vocal inflections were very effeminate and my roommate told me that he used to be a male model.  He got out his portfolio and, sure enough, there he was- half-naked, posed provocatively with attractive women.  I showed a current picture of him (in which he is stabbing a miniature squash with a butter knife while spilling red wine all over his shirt) to one of my best friends, and he said he looks like someone who kidnaps children in the back of a van.  I have done many impressions of Brian’s outlandish vowel usage.  It’s hard to convey via typing, but when he would say the word “so,” it contained every vowel in the alphabet and would take him ten seconds to say, ie: “saaaaaiiiiieeeeeeooooooouuuuuuuuwwww.”  He also used more generic British lingo than an actual English person, such as “bollocks,” “blimey,” “fags,” etc.

After that evening I didn’t see him for a couple months.  Then, one night my roommate and I went to a sports bar in Cobble Hill and, as if out of nowhere, Brian appeared.  I assumed she had invited him because she was planning on pursuing his loins (she had mentioned the fact that a year or so ago they had rolled around naked together for a hot second.)  To my surprise, she set her sights on the bartender and spent the majority of the evening smothering him with her monumental mammaries.  Apparently Brian and I appeared to be hitting it off because my roommate kept coming over to make sure we appreciated all of the free drinks she was securing for us with her feminine wiles.  She also kept grabbing his hands and placing them on my legs, something she frequently did when we were out and I was talking to someone.  I could never figure out whether she did this to alienate or “help” me.

After several beers on an empty stomach, I stumbled down to the restroom.  Brian got up to follow me to the “loo” and was confronted on the way by my roommate.  It is unclear why, but allegedly he defended himself by telling her that he had a bowel emergency.  A few seconds later, I came out of the stall to Brian enveloping me in a gigantic aggressive kiss.  As if that didn’t catch me off guard enough, the next thing I see is my roommate bursting through the door, breasts and eyes ablaze, screaming at him: “YOU DON’T HAVE LOOSE STOOL, YOU’RE JUST A CHICKEN SHIT!”  She then proceeded to storm upstairs and out of the bar.  I followed her, apologizing and telling her it certainly wasn’t my intention to make out with that gay goose.  She drunkenly pushed me away and disappeared into the night.

I was pet-sitting for my sister at the time and staying overnight at her apartment, which happened to be four blocks from the bar.  Brian followed me to her place and continued his aggressive tactics on her couch.  At this point, I was willing to ignore his cuffed man capris, beaded necklace, and Hawaiian-print flip flops.  I’m pretty sure there was a pantless scenario taking place when he passionately kissed me and simultaneously ripped the most vibrant fart of 2011 all up on my sister’s futon.  I sprung up faster than I knew was humanly possible.  “WHAT was that?”  I questioned in a tone that was less than friendly.  “What was what?” he asked innocently with a slight grin that came across a little too relieved for my comfort zone.  I told him it would be best if he went on his merry way, and apparently on the way home, he ran into my roommate, still searching the streets of Brooklyn for her car.

I must admit that The Farter and I hung out a few times after that.  Once, we were watching “Lolita” on TCM, and he began thumbing my boobs like a Nintendo controller while hissing “You have fantassssstic titsssssss.”  Another night he came over and was bragging about how all the servers at his bar loved it when he used his “secret weapon”- aka farting on patrons to get them to leave the bar when they were closing.  I am not kidding.  The other thing I forgot to mention is how long his toenails always were.  One of the last times we hung out before I moved out of the building, I tried to hug him goodbye and legitimately stepped on his toenails.  He had on his usual floral sandals, but his toenails protruded further than God intended when he created those pink Walmart flip flops.

The Farter and I never made it past second base thanks to his flatulence.  My coworker commented that it was probably a good thing because if that’s the kind of attention he paid his toenails, his nether regions “probably smelled like Boston Market ranch dressing with a hint of dill.”

Large Breathing Object

16 Jan

The following is a message exchange between myself and a 45 year old man.  As if his statements, use of quotations, and typed-out cat sounds aren’t baffling enough… his profile picture only added to my confusion.  He appears to be an older man with huge orange mutton chops, a peculiar bowler hat, and a disturbingly phallic nose.  I came to the conclusion that either English is not his first language and he hails from a far away land where lines like these actually work on girls…or he recently escaped from a mental institution.  I almost blocked him, but luckily stuck it out long enough to strike gold with his theory of the sexual tendencies of penguins.  I can’t bring myself to meet him in person because I value my life and don’t want to get murdered.

HIM:  r we having fun tonight? i mean girl look at urself… how can that beauty be without man’s touch… volcanic kiss… fire in and out… i can’t let be that way……. mrrrrrrrreeooow …. i wanna scratch your back…. come to my place bb….. let’s have fun… mmmmmmmmmrrrrrrrr is the sound of the kitty

ME:  Well you certainly have a sensual grasp on the English language.  And that sleeveless Old Navy tee?  Damn son.

HIM:  don’t change “subject” bb…. mmm so delicious… i want you like all nite bb bcs ure sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo sexy….. mmmmmm rrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeoowwww

ME:  Ahh, but how do you know?  I could be big and smelly in person.  It’s always a roll of the dice on the interweb, my friend.

HIM:  that “thing” in men’s pants get big when there’s “positive” vibe …. otherwise that “thing” gets as small as ping pong ball :)))))) so it’s up to you bb … wanna talk about smelly things?  go ahead… but i’ll pass…. wanna have some volcanic with “large breathing object”? :)))) come to my place… honestly i desire you a lottttt but “smelly” talk turns me off ….. it’s like ice on my large boy ….. nooooooooo good bb.

ME:  Where do you live, Romeo.

HIM:  in a STUDIO…. small place with lots of gadgets and me :)))))) take the f,d,q,n  train 5 min walk… whatever makes sense to you bb… i really want to kiss you… your lips are magical,,,,,  :)))))  mmmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeoooowwwwwwww.   don’t talk….. just be yourself … let me “handle” all other “things”  mrrrrrrrrrrr

ME:  Will you be wearing a do-rag?  Because they really crank my gears.

HIM:  what you gonna wear bb?  you know what…. come naked just wear coat.  so i’ll be able to touch you in my hallway with my strong arms… oooohhhhhhh mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmrrrreeeeeowwwww

ME:  Oh my…

HIM:  i wonder if male penguin uses any “words/warnings” for female penguin before “performing” intercourse or he just jumps on her out of blue ? do you think it’s possible that actually female penguin jumps without any “words/warnings” on male penguin ? i mean .. wow .. even they are having fun out there , hmmm in that freaking cold … wow :)))))))