Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Shitty Transformer - Asshole in Disguise

Here's something I wrote in November of last year. I figure it's safe to post it now. I've already burned most of these bridges at any rate. Enjoy.

You know, I was sitting in the food court at the Roosevelt Field Mall, finishing up my shrimp teriyaki, and it dawned on me that I really am an asshole. If Sammi really is using me for her new standard for guys, her standard is that of an asshole-in-denial, which admittedly, is far worse than your everyday, run-of-the-mill, fully out loud and proud, you-know-what-you're-getting-yourself-into-with-this-guy asshole. An asshole in sheep's clothing is capable of inflicting much more damage, because nobody sees it coming. I mean, on that third date with Stacy, I tell her "…on paper, you're perfect…" and sip my water awkwardly as she gets up and runs out so nobody can see her crying in a crowded Ukrainian restaurant, leaving me full of pierogies and remorse. Who does that? Someone who is clearly an asshole.

Also, while in denial about being an asshole, I managed to break up with my last girlfriend accidentally via text message (involuntary text-slaughter) - quite possibly the most egregious offense one can commit whilst in a committed relationship in the non-adulterous department. The only thing worse in this category is to actually murder your significant other (by accident). It doesn't matter that I didn't want to break up with her in a text message. It still happened. It was kind of bloody that way. It was like a bungled mob hit. I shouldn't have even been dating her. I was never truly attracted to her physically. I just figured that maybe if she was that cool, I would just magically overcome the other obstacles. But chemistry doesn't work that way for a guy. From what I understand, a woman can grow to love a man, but a man is either hot for you or not. There's no middle ground. This would go a long way in explaining why the best sex we ever had was when I was what should have been too drunk to fuck or when I was ill to the point of almost being dead. At those times, my body had been running purely on alcohol and preservation instinct.

So, in my mind I was trying to do a good thing. When we started dating, she said she was surprised, because she didn't think that she was my type. I had an out right there, but was too stupid to use it. I really thought that this would mean I was shallow, and I have spent my whole adult life trying to not be shallow. So instead, I dive into this thing, even though i knew what would happen, and then I drag it out and wait until I am literally repulsed by her touch to realize that this is a real problem and that I need to call the whole thing off. The non-asshole method would have involved telling her upfront "Look, I haven't had sex in over two years, and you seem like the most viable candidate, but I'm not looking for anything too serious" and left it at that.

That's not what I did. Nope. Instead, I make these grand gestures and deny my true nature, until I stress myself out, get hives, hide from her for a week, and then when confronted, say nothing, and wind up breaking up with her via text message, even though I was trying to wait to do it in person. Seriously, I am such an asshole, don't you think? I mean, being a serial monogamist doesn't preclude you from assholedom. In fact, it may even encourage activity of an assholish variety.

Take the time, for example, that I broke up with someone because she was a virgin (she was 19), and I had decided after the last two women I dated who had been virgins that I didn't want to go down that road again. I mean, there's a big difference between a 19 year old virgin and someone who is a virgin at 24. I said that I was still not over my ex (which was not untrue), but I never fessed up to the whole virgin angle. And that was some time AFTER I had waited until receiving a blowie to tell her about the death of an iconic figure in rock 'n' roll that she actually knew in person! And the hits just keep on coming!

And I wonder why I'm single?

Monday, May 10, 2010

Suddenly, Last Summer

I was thinking that I need to update this blog more, because I can't just spend all my blogging mojo on my newish endeavor of "Ok Cupid Letters That Never Got Responses" when there's so much more to say (or so I would like to think: but let's face it; having been unemployed for almost a year, my life hasn't been all that exciting, save for the people I've met and hung out with at shows, but I've spent way too much time alone and in my own head, and I won't lie, dear readers, 'tis a scary place to reside full-time).

Nevertheless, I was gonna troll around my notebooks for something I never typed out, but as luck would have it, I found this instead. I wrote it in July of last year when I was dealing with some heavy changes, none of them very good. Luckily, nobody died, but there has been some fallout. Life is messy, but chances must be taken. However, some truths are hard to tell someone to their face.


Bugbites lined up like track marks on my arms and stomach as I grapple with my sanity and a weird heat rash on my abdomen. Are they bedbugs? Mosquitoes? Spiders? Other? I am up past dawn, freaking out frequently. I am anxious about the possibility of infestation and the impossibility of us. I love her, but I am not in love with her. She is everything, almost, that I am looking for, including that look that I always said I wanted someone to look at me like. But when I look back at her looking at me like that, it's hollow, empty. I'm a shell staring into the abyss - I don't feel as much as I want to, as much as I should. I should want to be with her every minute she is not here, instead of wishing on a disappearing beer.

Here I sit, i am debating testing the "nothing good happens after 2am" postulate. But instead, I am trying to sort out my thoughts so I know what to tell her that won't destroy her. I don't like confrontation and pain. When you get involved with someone you're friends with, there is the debate "oh but what if it doesn't work out?" versus "Well, what if it does?" - and I'm always saying "well, I'd rather take the chance than regret it the rest of my life." So naturally, I try it and it bites me in the ass.

She told me that she didn't think she was my type and so when I said I liked her, she got too excited. I have a high opinion of myself and like to think that I am not beholden by looks or body type. I was trying to cast against type, as it were, but once again, it just makes me uncomfortable and repulsed. I liked her so much that I wanted her to be my type, but you can't control who you are attracted to.

Wednesday, January 06, 2010

Who Wants to Read a 2 1/2 Year Old Review?

Hey folks,
I've been sitting in a Borders Cafe for the past hour or so, fidgeting, drinking coffee, nibbling at a chocolate chunk brownie and surfing the internet while not really working on any work. And it's been relatively quiet. So naturally, the minute I start to get anything done, some douche sits nearby, joined by a woman who he proceeds to talk too loudly at while generally just annoying me with his presence. And then some guy sits behind me and his phone doesn't ring so much as repeat "Uh oh!" until he picks it up. SO I figure the most productive thing I can do is finally finish typing out a restaurant/movie review that I wrote down in my notebook in the summer of 2007, with the intent on making it a regular feature of my blog, since, you know, eating and watching films were the most interesting things I was doing at the time. But, like everything else in my life, I never followed through with it.

I will probably find more of these soon, since I'm trying to write a novel, and as a result, have started a new blog cataloging the letters I've written to women on that have not received responses. Procrastination is in my bone marrow, but at least now I'm procrastinating within the right paramaters (ie, writing). Now on with the much-delayed show!

J-Ro’s Day in Review Blog (originally written 6/19/07)

So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here at Bonbori is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young, though (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night).

A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.

Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.

So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.

Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown (do your own search, the official website is for the Babylon location. Also, someone reviewed Shiki Smithtown, but didn't eat the fish, so what was the point of the review?????) is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
Part Two: Movie!

Okay, I saw “Once” and it is fucking brilliant! It moved very slow and natural, never seemed forced, and was totally human. Glen Hansard is a fucking genius songwriter and my only complaint is that nobody ever told me that The Frames (the Irish band, also known as Frames (dc), not the American Christian Rock group) would change my life.

In the last year, my musical tastes have run from The Frames to The Hold Steady, with a steady diet of The Mountain Goats and Nick Drake. If you haven’t heard The Frames yet, their latest opus, Cost, came out on Anti-/Epitaph this February. All I can say is wow. With a voice somewhere between Cat Stevens and Van Morrison, and backed by a crack band that can whisper and scream at the same time, your life is incomplete if you haven’t heard them. I knew I was going to be obsessed with them as soon as I heard “Falling Slowly” in the movie.

So yeah, see “Once” - unless you don’t have a soul, in which case, don’t bother, you won’t like it.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Sometimes Rejection Is Better

Hey folks! I found this post from February on my Myspace blog. I totally forgot about this. I think it's awesome and forgot I wrote it.

sometimes rejection is better.
better than wondering.
better than wanting.
better than thinking things will ever change.
better than waiting around for someone who clearly isn't ready or willing.
for someone who says to wait for her.
wait for her while she does god-knows-what with god-knows-whom.
yeah, because that's clearly a recipe for success.

sometimes rejection is better.
when the message is crystal clear.
no crossed wires, no mixed signals.
no raising of hopes to be dashed again every couple of months.
the dumbest game of cat and mouse.

either put up or shut up.
don't tell me things that make me think you're human
and then contradict it all in a myspace survey.
how stupid do I look?

I hope this is better than a drunk dial or email would have been.
exactly six hours of sleep awaits.
awaits a way to forget about you.
but then I wake up. damn.
'nuff said.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Another 6am Epiphany

Naturally, my epiphanies only come at 6 in the morning. Hours after trying and failing, yet again, to actually fall asleep. My mind, it doesn't tend to shut itself off, even after my body has begged and pleaded for sleep. Not that this is surprising, in and of itself, as the sun rises over the river that my window looks out upon, but I digress.

I was thinking about calling a woman I met up with for drinks last week. Did I say the right things to her? Did I try too hard? Did I try enough? Did we really mean it when we said that we had a really nice time and we should do it again? Sometimes I can't see the subtext forest through the pleasantries. I am really good at over-analyzing everything, though. Sometimes I wonder if I have even lived twenty-five percent of what my life should have been, or if I have squandered way too many precious moments thinking about living. I'd like to think that I've gotten better at not doing that, but sometimes I'm not so sure.

Thinking about that led me to thinking about the bigger picture. Maybe these internet dates are doomed for failure in and of themselves, irrespective of whether the woman in question and I have chemistry, witty banter and maybe even similar lawn ornaments that we keep on top of our respective television sets. I think aforementioned failure is inherent in the design. I don't like picking out dates from a catalogue. I want to be surprised. I want to be smacked in the face with fate. Slapped upside the head.

And here I am, the clock now reading 7:37am, taking myself entirely too seriously and yet still watching Dawson's Creek. Still thinking about how the best romantic moments in my life have all taken me by surprise. They were few and far between, fleeting, but all completely unexpected. No pre-screening or auditions, like some lame casting call for the walk-on part of the love interest in the movie adaptation of my memoir. I'm not putting out a craigslist ad for this. For once (again) in my life, I am trying to bury my head in the sand and not look for love in all the wrong places. I don't want to look for love at all if it means I am never going to find it. Or is that why I obsessively keep looking? Just like that itch I will scratch until it is raw and bleeding, I keep picking at it obsessively, this scab on my heart. Also, I really want to use the word alacrity here. Don't ask me why. It's 8am and I haven't slept at all.