Sunday, December 24, 2006
I ask you to believe me. Believe this little tale I lay before you. I couldn't make ths s*%# up, I swear.
So, you remember the hustler/prostitute who moved in with her new victim/my roommate, right? To recap, he met her and after one night of being together, she moved in with us, sending the household into utter turmoil and forcing me to find a new place to live. She seems like a total scammer, but my roommate just can't see past his raging...adoration for her.
She is gone for the month of December, as per my request - so I can look for a new place to live in peace. I came home a few nights ago (get ready for this one - you're gonna luuuuvvv it!) after eating spectacular Vietnamese food at Nah Trang in Chinatown with my friend Ruby and my roommate is in his bedroom, door closed, yelling at his new "girlfriend." At first, I tried to ignore it and went in my room to change into my jammies. No...no...I was naked (that's to keep the horny captivated.)
Now I'm not much of an eavesdropping sort - but this one, man - I could not pass up. I tiptoed to his door and listened to the weirdest one-sided conversation that perhaps I have ever heard. It went a little something like this:
"What do you mean the crack fell on your shoe? That's impossible. It's physically impossible!" (Pause)
"Its in my hand! I'm looking at it! Its in a bag. It's a white rock. Of something. I don't know! I don't know crack but I've heard it comes in the form of a rock."
(At this point, I was ready to knock on the door and explain to him that meth and cocaine can both come in rock form but I didn't want to interrupt his flow.)
"So you're telling me that when you were staying here, you went out to the front of the apartment building to smoke a cigarette and a bag of crack fell on your shoe. You weren't sure what to do with it, so you brought it up here...that's ridiculous!" (Long Pause then quietly)
"No...no...I'm not calling you a liar. I'm sure it could happen. I mean...lots of things...happen. Its just really weird."
And with that understatement of the year, I returned to my soon to be ex-bedroom and went to sleep.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Yes, I know - I did vote him as one of the most grouchy famous people to meet - David Walliams from Little Britain. For those of you who havent' seen Little Britain, it is a big hit in Britain, akin to Monty Python and you need to watch it now. These two guys - Matt Lucas and David Walliams - play all the lead roles. They dress up as women alot, as all proper British comedies require.
I quickly developed a crush on David (as I like to call him), though I assumed he was gay - again, maybe because he is in dresses all the time. But, in real life, apparently, he is STRAIGHT. Like he likes girls. That's really exciting for me...a girl. A grown girl. In my dream, he is still gay, though...follow?
Okay, on to the dream, because I'm sure by now you are just dying of curiousity. Just dying.
The Dream: We are at some apartment together where he and I and Matt Lucas live. We are very comfortable with our living arrangement and with one another - perfect chemistry. It is morning and I jump into bed with Matt Lucas. David Walliams lie on the floor next to the bed, because he is too tall to fit. But we are all happy and cozy.
Next thing I remember, David Walliams is dancing with me, very closely. He is dressed impeccably - as he does in real life - and dancing close to me...oh, I said that already. Um...wow. He smells so good too. Too good. God, good. He was humming a song in my ear, a very pleasant old song. I break away for a second, because I'm thinking "Huh...you're gay, right? I'm confused."
He then starts walking toward me, forcing me to walk backwards. He kisses my neck and around my ears. I feel like I could faint from all this physical stimuli. And he...is so vampire-like, tall, strange, an inexplicable power - dark, sexy and thoroughly Intoxicating. He reaches under my dress and touches me between my legs. At this point, my knees start to go week and I almost fall. He catches me and explains how he is in fact gay and that's about as far as he can go, as a gay man. I say "That's fine," barely able to breathe.
And it was fine. Because I was dizzy and high from it. Too high from it. Besides him being so sexy, there was this taboo element - of a gay man and his suddenly straight desire...for me, no less! I woke up and thanked God for such a dream. It was sexy and even though he's on my grouchy list, he's my new boyfriend. Someone please tell him. Hurry. Please.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
So, dear reader, as you may already know from my previous blogs, my quiet roommate, who hasn't done much dating in the last few years, has found himself a hooker/self-proclaimed model named Teniqua or Lutwella or something, who seems to have moved in with us suddenly. So this dear writer has to find a new place to live by January 1. Oh Joy.
I told my roommate that the prossy needs to leave for the month of December. In exchange, I will find a place to live by January. He acquiesced. Ms. Thang went back to Cleveland on a Greyhound, patiently awaiting her return to my naive roommate and her free abode in NYC.
I thought the month of December would offer me a bit of quietude as I figured out what the heck I'm going to do. But my formerly shy, balding 43 year-old roommate, who seems to have recently discovered the apparatus in his pants, has decided he should test me a little more. Two nights after Leticia leaves, I enter the apartment after a hard day's work, and he has another "young lady", shall we say, in our living room. Her name is Maesha. She looks a whopping 16 years old but turns out to be a whopping 20. They are drinking Hennessey and she's telling him about this rash she's developed, this nasty rash, on her chest and do you want to see it? At this point, I grab my tea and retreat posthaste to my bedroom, but leave the door open a crack, as a sick form of masochistic pleasure, akin to driving slowly past a car accident or picking a scab.
Before my roommate became a fulltime freak, he was a painter. He begins to show her the various paintings hanging on the walls. When he gets to the one hanging right outside my bedroom door, he and Maesha stop.
Now I've always liked this particular painting. It has these deep shades of blue and brown and in the middle there is a sharp, silver swoosh. I think of it as a bird plummeting to the ocean for prey. Or maybe even a falling star. Apparently, I'm painfully off base.
He points to the painting and says to Maesha, "That's a vagina." I spit out my tea and begin coughing loudly. "That's a vagina." It plays over and over in my head like an audio nightmare. "That's a vagina." He proceeds down the hall with Maesha. They go in his bedroom and I realize my audio nightmare has only just begun. "Dat's the spot, baby!!" "Oh yeah, dat's the way I like it!" I run for my bed, wrap a pillow around my head, but I can still hear it.
"That's a vagina! That's a vagina!" I wonder if I'll ever want to have sex again after this. "That's a vagina." I have a sudden urge to run down the hall, bust open the door and grab my vagina and scream "No..this is a vagina, you little bizarro!" as bullets magically fly from between my legs and race thru his bald skull. Maesha would huddle in the corner, screaming "Not me, bitch. Not me." I'd let Maesha go, I suppose. Maybe.
"That's a vagina." How dare you? How dare you use MY female body part in your dumb ol' art and then use it as a weird way of picking up girls from da hood? What do YOU know about vagina, Mr. Vagina Man? "That's a vagina." So is your head! Your head is a vagina. A big fat vagina! I pray for the day a 3-mile wide vagina drops from the sky and sucks you up in it for eternity. Then...and only then, you creepy bastard, will I allow you to say in my presence "That's a vagina."
That's a vagina...indeed!