Tag Archives: Pelts

The Bushwick Bushwhacker

23 Jun

I met “Casey” last year while attending a birthday celebration in Brooklyn.  We struck up a conversation and discovered that we had both attended college in the same small town in Missouri.  My friends were leaving so I gave him my number and he kissed me goodbye in front of his colleague.

The following week we met for drinks in Williamsburg.  He was cuter and funnier than I remembered and it turned out he was a writer of humorous articles for various websites.  I admitted to him that I used to blog about blind dating (I hadn’t in months at that point) and he shared how he had gotten into trouble for something similar in the past– writing an article incorporating a graph which showed the correlation between female pubic hair length and higher levels of education.  According to Casey, women who dropped out or never went to college are typically completely waxed, while women with an Ivy League education tend to sport a full fur pelt.

I knew it wasn’t an entirely prudent decision to go to his place on the first date, but he assured me it wouldn’t be a one-night stand… which seemed convincing enough at the time.  He lived alone in an incredibly nice apartment, and I couldn’t believe that a writer could afford a place like that.  I also couldn’t believe what swayed before my eyes like a great willow when he vacated his corduroys:  the longest, straightest 70s fringe I’d ever seen below the belt.  I remember remarking “I thought you said you went to the University of Missouri?” but the rest of the night is all a blur.

After that night, I attempted to make plans with Casey several more times to no avail.  His efforts went towards a series of post-1 a.m. booty calls.  After one of his late-night invites, I tried to text my friend “he’s attempting to lure me into another session with his lengthy pubic bangs.”  Unfortunately, I opened the wrong chat and sent that message to Casey instead.  When I realized what I had done, I figured there was no way around it and added “so…uh, what are you doing Saturday?”  He responded with “trimming my bangs.”  Ok, so he ended up using me for a one-night stand.  I wasn’t too bent out of shape about it since his pubic bangs were forever immortalized in an artistic bar napkin rendering hanging on the wall at a certain dive in the West Village.

Fast forward to three or four months later when I got a text from Casey out of the blue asking me out for drinks.  I was curious about his sudden renewed interest, so I agreed.  We met at the same bar as last time where he explained that he had been dating a girl from OKCupid.  She was a former Miss New York in a Miss USA pageant whom, he discovered on their first date, had lost her pageant body and grown a small beard.  They dated for three months but he eventually broke things off when intimacy became too difficult on account of her beard mixed with his already weakened sex drive due to Propecia.  I asked him what he had actually liked about this girl and he said that she had a good job.  A true New York romance.

Casey seemed aloof and depressed this time around and I didn’t feel like we had much chemistry.  I figured he was using me for a rebound from Miss Beard USA, but still went home with him because I didn’t really care at that point.  He gave me a hard cider and turned on the classic rock station.  We then retired to his lofted bedroom where– this is the only way I know how to describe it– I got scrolled on like an iPod Classic.  Afterwards, in a state of shock, I awkwardly commented on the sprinkler system not five feet above his bed, to which he made some half-assed joke about it being there in case sex got too hot (not possible).  I grabbed my cider to cope, somehow spilling it all over myself and his sheets.  He mumbled “you can stay here if you want” then rolled over and began to snore.  I had to get the hell out of there, and fast!  I threw on my dress and descended the steps to discover that his dog had chewed through my shoelaces and was now focusing on a frenzied game of tug of war with the bottom of my dress.  It was cold out and I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, so I grabbed one of Casey’s hoodies, yanked my dress from his dog’s teeth, and limped outside so as not to lose a shoe– thankfully procuring a cab.

The next day I felt a momentary pang of remorse, so I sent Casey a text saying “sorry I spilled cider all over my naked body on your bed.”  He responded “it’s ok, I got most of it out.”  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  It’s not like I want to go run a marathon across eleven bridges or explore the ancient Mayan ruins… but a little zest for life once in awhile might be nice!  Casey asked if I wanted to come over to his place and “drop off his sweatshirt” a few nights later and I told him I could Fedex it.  It might be a clue that you need to work on your game if a girl is offering to use her Fedex account at work to return your clothes.