29 August 2007

Face Licker: Redux

New York is a big city with lots and lotsa people inside of it. Due to, and maybe a little in spite of, the nature of this metropolitan beast, however, we find ourselves running into random acquaintances, friends, lovers, neighbors, former classmates, enemies, left and goddamn right. I've run into an old ex that I don't talk to not once but TWICE on the streets of the East Village. Just in the last couple of weeks I've bumped into an old high school chum in my neighborhood. Last weekend during a rare Williamsburg appearance, I ran into a couple of friends on their bikes as soon as I stepped out of the subway. This is the kind of thing that happens in New York. So I shouldn't be surprised when things like this happen.

However, last night, my shock needle went way into the red zone. This shock surpassed what I felt as I walked past my ex and his new girlfriend on a Sunday morning after partying all night, and pretending I didn't see him. It surpassed the shock I felt when a friend came on to me in a bathroom at a bar. Ok now that was shocking, but honestly, my shock last night was at the top of the list of intense shocks.

Perhaps you'll recall, a few months ago, my tale of the Face Licker. I refer you to a blog dated February, 20th, 2007, if you never read it or need a refresher or simply need a good, hearty laugh. Well, my shocking run in last night was with, that's right, the Face Licker. That fact in and of itself is not sooo shocking. I might have expected to see him here or there. In fact, not long after our saliva-ey encounter, I'd swear that he answered the phone when I called Halloween Adventure looking for an eye patch for Zohra, but who the hell knows.

But here's the shocking part. I went to go see my friend Mex play in her new band. I don't talk to Mex frequently, but last week we talked and she invited me to the show. I love little Mex, and the show was at the Delancey, so I said I would go. I should have known that the stars weren't in alignment when the door man refused to let me in because he didn't trust my Florida ID with my New York address. I begged, pleaded, whined, why won't you take it, what can I do??? You can call the cops, he told me. I was about to give up, not ready to put in a 911 call to have my ID verified, when a 5-0 pulled up right in front of the club. I ran over and tapped on the window. I explained in my most adorable/sexy fashion what had happened, told them I just really wanted to see my friend's band, and would they please tell the bouncer my ID was real? They both got out of the car to explain how legal and ok it was for me to have such a form of identification. Not with which to drive, mind you, but for purposes of IDENTIFICATION, for which I was using it. However, the door man still retained the right to refuse me entrance. As he examined my ID yet again, he asked me what party I was there for. "I'm here to see my friend's band Baby Teardrops" I said, again adorably. "Have a good time, baby", I barely heard him say as I was already slinking inside.

Baby Teardrops was juuust about to go on when I got downstairs. I went right up front. I saw Mex on stage with her fancy twisted hair. She used to always wear dresses when she played with The Rinse, but she was wearing jeans so I was slightly disappointed. Still loved her though. I scanned the stage to check out the rest of the band. There was an Asian girl up there, a slightly balding man on guitar, and the boy in the middle, well, he looked like he might be cute, he had some nice shaggy hair and a sweet tie. He and Mex were talking, he had his head down, but then he lifted it...and I ran. It was the Face Licker. On stage. With Mex. It was his band. She is in the Face Licker's band. And what's worse, and highly likely, is that she's dating the Face Licker. As I sat upstairs, wondering if I should stay or go, I thought back to the text she'd sent that afternoon as a reminder for the show. "Come see Megs play in Matthew's first show". Yes, that's his name, the Face Licker. Matthew. Matthew the Face Licker. Does he lick her face?? Does she like it? These are questions that require answering.

My Asian, who I called for advice, recommended that I go back down to make sure Mex saw that I'd made an appearance, then it would be ok for me to leave. So go back down I did. Front and center, though, I did not, could not bring myself to be. Second row. I tried to make eye contact with Mex while avoiding it with the F.L., but I'm not sure if I was successful on either count. I made it through a song and a half before I skedaddled on home. I wondered, during the songs I was there for, if he saw me and if I made him nervous. If he felt inadequate somehow. His songs that I'd listened to back in the day sounded pretty, his voice very sweet, but that night he sounded like any old jam band type singer. Oh Matthew. Why didst thou lick my face??

27 August 2007

Miserably Fucking Wide Awake

I've been awake since about 2 am. If you're looking at the time of posting, that was about two hours ago now. Sleeplessness is no stranger to me, in fact we know one another quite intimately, but it's been a while since it's been this bad. I woke up beyond ravenous, having not eaten dinner, having felt icky all evening. So I ate something hoping it would put me back to sleep. No dice. I tossed and turned and tossed, trying to find that one perfectly comfy position that might lull me to sleep...and then the drilling started. Yes, drilling. At 3:30 am the drilling started. Being wide awake, the only thing that I could possibly do was investigate the source. At first I was lazy and merely stuck my half naked body out of my window to see what I could see. And what I saw was a handful of firemen standing outside about two buildings down. I couldn't imagine what the drilling was, but it continued and then there was this burst of water from god knows where.

Dear lord there are a lot of people out at this hour on a Thursday night/Friday morning. I guess I've been there myself. While I was still sticking out of my window, I noticed two fancy cars driving up Orchard. One of them parked, stupidly, almost right in front of the building where the supposed fire was, though the firemen had dispersed from outside. The driver got out and got into the other fancy car which then sped off. I wonder what shenanigans they were up to.

So anyway, even though the firemen weren't outside anymore the drilling continued, so naturally I went out there to see what the fuck was going on. It appeared, from my street level, layman's perspective, that the second floor apartment was a bit on fire. It seemed a bit on the orange side and I heard some crackliness, firey crackliness. But maybe my tired brain invented all that to go with the firemen. Who knows what it is they could be drilling away at in there to stop a fire.

About thirty minutes into the obnoxious drilling, some of my neighbors began to chime in their thoughts:

"If you guys don't stop that right now I'm calling the police!" (woman)

And a couple of minutes later:

"Shut the fuck up!" (man)

This leads me to wonder whether they have any idea what the fuck is going on outside of their own goddamn windows. Like, obviously there isn't going to be shit like that going on in the middle of the night unless something is WRONG. Do they think someone is fucking renovating their apartment or something? God, people just cannot seem to see beyond the tips of their own noses.

Still not sleepy. I have about 4 hours from this moment to get sleep before work. I could really use an insomnia buddy and a pitcher of martinis right about now.

09 August 2007

I was Groped on the Bowery Last night

I know what you're thinking - what the fuck was I doing on the Bowery, right? Seriously, I'm embarrassed. There was an open bar at some Moroccan themed lounge thingy there, what can I say? But back to the more important thing, that being me getting groped. Outside. On the sidewalk. By a woman. That I had met only moments prior to the groping. Now, I'm no prude. Stop your snickering. This was, however, a first for me. Certainly there has been public groping in my history, and even some boobie fondling by ladies, but that was OUTSIDE the shirt. Not flesh on flesh. Hand on tit, if you will.

I stepped out of said Moroccan lounge thingy, accompanied by a Frenchman of whom I'd just made the acquaintance, to join Laura and Teresa and the other two Frenchman for a cigarette. Have you ever heard a French person say cigarette? Tres sexy. Laura was all about making new friends that night (she'd been the initial Frenchmen approacher after they stole our seats), as the group appeared to have grown in size by two swell looking folks that I had been noticing throughout the evening as they seemed to be as out of place as me and my friends. David and Honey (DJ Cutey Honey, if you're nasty) quickly stole the show from the Frenchmen who slinked back inside, the smarmy bastards. Shortly after introductions were made (as in like, 2.7 minutes), Honey invited me to her DJ gig on Saturday and put her number in my phone. Moments, mere seconds, later, she noticed that I needed some "adjusting", and without further ado she stuck her hand down the front of my dress and adjusted each breast so that they sat properly within the seams. "I'm a girl, this is what girls do!" she matter of factly stated. Very sweet of her to take care of me. Sweet like...Honey! Ha! Man that was a good one.

Later that night, after the head Frenchman had rubbed his penis all over me on the dance floor and David had stepped in with his penis to save me, after Washington (an icky, tank topped, tactless, grody man) had thoroughly creeped out every woman in the place, after Honey had played "My Neck, My Back" without my even telling her it's one of my favorite songs EVER, after the Frenchmen left because I didn't want any of their penises, when Laura and I decided to call it a night, David gave us cards with his information, art cards, he's a painter. When he did this, I had a sudden and immediate flashback to 1999.

Freshman year of college. Me and Stella going out to clubs every single night of the week. One night at the Castle, can't remember if it was 80s night or goth night, that's right you fuckers, goth night, I met a fellow named Tony. In the low lighting and smokey atmosphere of the club, I thought Tony was pretty hot. Mind you, I did not drink a drop back then so I was sober as can be. Tony was a punky goth. He had on a shirt that said "Fuck You" or maybe "Fuck Me", it definitely said fuck somewhere. He had on some bondage pants and skinny suspenders. Not the gross baggy raver Hot Topic bondage pants, the tight sexy ones that I'd still rip off a man. I, as it turned out, was wearing a dress or a skirt that had bondage straps on it. It was obvious to me and Stella that I had to strap myself onto him. That's how we met, I hooked one of my straps onto one of his hooks. Tony handed me a card that said his name "Tony blahblah, Fine Artist". In Tampa in 1999, this kind of exchange was not common, the handing out of art cards. I was excited.

I called Tony and we decided to meet, of all places, at a Village Inn. In god knows where, certainly not in Tampa. St. Pete-ish, but somewhere bizarre and kind of gross. Back then I was really terrified of boys, so I'd arranged with Stella for her to come by there on her way home from her boyfriend's place so that I wouldn't have to be alone. And thank dear god almighty that I did. Someone must have slipped a hallucinogen in my water at the club the night I met him because not only was he not hot, he was actually quite unattractive. He lacked any defined chin, giving him a distinct chicken-y look. He was awkward in every way, gangly, the poor boy. And poor me! I managed to survive until Stella got there. She was equally mortified. We made a quick exit soon after, and I never saw Tony, Fine Artist, again.

So now I have David the painter's artist card. He seemed like a pretty nice looking man in the bar and outside, but this time I had some booze in me. Will he turn out to be a chicken man too?

06 August 2007

I Nearly Killed an Indian Man

I ordered Indian delivery tonight. I felt ashamed for having Whole Foods Indian last week so I needed to make up for it by ordering from an actual Indian joint. I ordered from one of those spots on 6th St. Not far from my apartment, but I was feeling lazy and needed some pampering. I didn't think it would take very long, but an hour later, after I called to inquire and was told he had left "a while ago and should be there by now", the guy finally showed up. Maybe I should have suspected something when I received no reply to my "Hello?" when I hit the door buzzer. I know I'm on the fifth floor and everything, but it seemed to be taking a real long time for him to make it up. I heard him shuffling up the last flight and peeked through my door, which I'd cracked open to hear his approach. Even when he saw me he continued on very slowly indeed, and as he got closer I could hear the wheezing. Now, any of you pussies that have feigned out of breathness upon reaching my apartment can eat shit because this guy sounded like he was having a heart attack. Hey I know I got a lot more food than I should have, but it wasn't THAT heavy. Seriously concerned, I asked if he was ok. He just smiled and handed me my receipt, all the while struggling to remain alive, dreading the walk down the five flights and the 11-15 blocks back to the restaurant.

02 August 2007

My Own Personal Ugly Naked Guy

Well, more like a naked couple. And I kind of can't really tell if they're ugly. But I do know they like to be naked in front of the window in their apartment located across the street (and one floor down) from mine. Now, you may recall my full monty experience with the "gentleman" just a couple of weeks ago. I had obviously just missed out on the action. As it turns out, that was not to be an isolated incident.

The other night Michelle, Leila, Lauren, and Rita came over for good margaritas, good guac, and good times. Naturally the roof was our location of choice for such goodness. It wasn't all that late, maybe 11, 11:30 or so, when one of the ladies, I believe Michelle or Rita, wandered toward the edge of the roof to peep into the many lit up windows across the street. Whoever it was gasped "Oh my god those people are going to have sex!" Immediately I knew it was my old friends from a couple of weeks ago. A cursory glance confirmed such. They were entangled on the bed, but fully clothed. We were certain that we had happened upon the beginning of a very exciting evening for the two of them. And also for us.

We waited patiently, eagerly, patiently/eagerly. But they toyed with us, oh did they toy. They would canoodle on the bed, and then one or the other or both would get up and go to the computer for god knows what reason. They did this dance for, oh, I would say a good thirty to forty-five minutes while we watched, in turn: them, a cat playing in a crowded room to the left, a gay man trying on every single outfit in his closet to the right and down, and a person (gender unknown) sitting in front of their window, back to the window, leg up, smoking, perhaps watching TV, to the right and up (We ended up yelling quite loudly to get this person's attention, and so we did, then we got all scared and backed away from the edge). But we loyally kept coming back to the couple. Every time the man got up, my hopes rose along with him that he might be going for a condom. The girl seemed to be practically begging for it, it made me think of when monkeys just stick their butts up to get sex, like "Here's my ass, now fuck me".

We went back to my apartment and continued to watch from my window, the spot of the infamous first sighting. They continued at their little charade for a bit. Then, they got up. They turned the light in their room off. They left the room. WTF?? We were left feeling so unsatisfied. We wondered if the man was perhaps leaving. Maybe she was walking him out. I kept my eyes on the door while Michelle kept her eyes on the room. Though distracted for a moment, I saw what appeared to be the couple emerging from the front door of the building, the woman in her small black dress, the man in his white tee and jeans. I was certain. They walked down Orchard and swung a left on Grand. Saddened, we left the window to return to normal human interaction. Oh but it's not done. They came back. And they kept on playing the fucking game. This poor girl, this poor poor girl, just wanted a good fuck. And this asshole just wanted to play Warcraft or check his myspace hits. Even after all the girls left a good hour and a half after this all began, I kept peeking to see if anything was actually going down, if you were. And nothing was.

Oh but there's more. There will continue to be more until I, or they, move away. Last night I got home around 1:30. Right before getting into bed, I decided to take a look outside, just to see what I could see. The guy (douchebag) was sitting at the computer. The girl was laying in bed, but there appeared to be a lot more flesh this time. She got up and BAM. Boobies! Too far to see muff, but she was in the nude. She pulled on a hideous orange thong, went over to the man for a moment, and lay back down where she proceeded to get very comfortable with herself. I daresay she may have been masturbating.

In the thirty minutes or so that it's taken me to tell this tale, I've gotten up half a dozen times or more to check the goings on in that apartment. Nothing much, really.