The Liminal Liberal in my brain...or is it me in hers? I am younger after all:
Deep down, I'm what you call a severely sexually aggressive female. When I behave otherwise, I don't do so well. Not so good with coy. Not so good with hard to get. I'm much better with the obvious. I think. I dunno. Maybe that's something I made up.
In the midst of jerks, losers and would-be players who got walked away from, (internally) laughed at, shot dirty looks, or generally dissed, I met guys that were cool. Two, in fact. On the same night. Great, Candicissima, you might be thinking, so what happened then? Not a freaking thing. Hence, why I'm disgruntled. Let me set the scene for you...
Friday night. My joint, my not-my-neighborhood hangout for over a year now. I was considering weaning away because the crowd is getting a little too post-frat for my tastes, but the music has been coming back in a big way so I'm torn. Anyhoo, while doing my typical easing my way into being social through surveying the scene, I get captured by this crazy drunken guy who, despite not being able to dance and is cruising on getting hit due to some grabbiness, amuses me and those around us that I shoot looks to over his head. I gave him about 20 minutes or so and the novelty began to wear off. Surveying as I do, I notice a guy standing near us. Much more my type than crazy short drunken loud homeboy. What is my type, you ask? *clearing my throat* Welll...between 5'9" and 6'2", dark hair, dark eyes (though I make exceptions for especially striking light-colored ones), athletically slim but not bony, social, a dancer, and radiating confidence. Of course, there's always room for exceptions, but Jay and others can assure that there is a definite Candice template...and will probably mention untrue other criteria in the comments. Punks.
Anyways, I could see he was Candice material just by the way he was dancing by himself close to the crowd but more in the corner. Plus he had a cool newsboy cap on. Another Candice criterium: he owns hats in which he looks good but I would look even better in. Crazy Drunk Guy was really trying my patience and I'm dancing in front of the new guy. I turn to him and whisper at him, "Save me from this fool before I have to hurt him." We lock eyes for a sec and I step away. He proceeds to do nothing, though I'm now dancing closer to him and soon Crazy Drunk Guy just wanders off. I whisper to the guy something along the lines of, "hey, I asked you to help me. Good job...not." and he replies, "oh...that's what you said? I thought you were trying to show your man off to me or something." We laugh, we dance, we talk. Quite special. It comes out that he's a Red Hook dweller, there with old friends who are spending more time scattered about the place than hanging, lover of hip hop/R&B/reggae, worker bee, 26, and getting a kick out of my name being "secret." He did the thing that pissed me off: "Oh, 22...I remember that. Enjoy those days yadda yadda I'm gonna patronize the young'un" yet I still liked him through all that. He asked me if I had a boyfriend, but self-censored himself with an "I guess not since you're here" immediately afterwords. I replied to him in the negative and assured him that "nobody puts Baby in a corner." He went off to talk to his friends for a sec and asked me to wait there, but I went off for water (no, really) and when I got back, he was gone. I went off dancing about my business for a few mins before there he was where his friends were parked...dancing with another lady. I say lady because she was older...than me for sure. I couldn't really read the situation because she and her friends were sitting with him and his friends and I being slow didn't get the chance to ask him if he had a girlfriend or not. I have a history of getting mixed up with boys that leave that type of information until they finally feel the situation calls for revealing that piece of info. Grr... Anyhoo, I was thrown off, so I danced with his friends, with random folks, around him, but not with him as before. He made moves to call it a night after a while and I whispered with a joking tone, "it was nice to meet you, though you ended up running away from me." He replied that he hadn't and I walked off kinda frustrated, before grabbing my stuff and heading out before they did.
I strolled off to the 2nd Avenue stop irritated. Over what? Nothing really. I overthink. That's who I am, that's what I do. The Uptown/Queens platform was mad crowded. Then again, it usually is on a weekend night. I'm walking towards the center when I notice this guy standing by a beam, just looking hipster cool. My hipster vitrol most often than not comes from the fact that I'm just not into the fads, but I'll be damned if most of the boys aren't fine as hell if too skinny and vaguely unwashed looking in their designer gear. We do the movie lock eyes thing as I get near, then pass him to go sit down on the bench. He looks at me, I look back, and he sits on the bench next to me. I turn to him and ask if he was planning to sit where I was before I ended up there. He responds in the negative, adding that he's ridiculously drunk. "Oh okay, you were just not trying to fall into the tracks then." We laugh. There's this old man sitting on the otherside of him that's amused as he and I banter. He's probably amazed that I strolled up in there and am working so masterfully. That's right. I got skills. But, actually NYC's cool that way. It's pretty easy to chat with folks. People do it to me -- in the daytime, platonically -- all the time.
Bachelor # 2 is from Barcelona, living in Astoria and a chef who is the bizarro taller, better looking version of Gael Garcia Bernal of Amores Perros and Y Tu Mama Tambien fame. We rode the F train to Roosevelt together just chilling. I was amused that every story he told practically revolved around sex, but not so much with the "I'm experimenting" line. You could've knocked me over with a feather when he said that he was 27. He looked younger than me, and considering that I look about 19 they say, that's something. At Roosevelt, he split to go catch his train home and I stood there on the platform waiting for an E wanting to kick myself.
The point of this neverending story? I can get an in, chat, and be all wonderful and alluring to an artform but I can't close a deal to save my freaking life. What did I want from those encounters? Nothing, everything...something more than the feeling I screwed off. I spent at least a half hour really vibing with Bachelor # 1, practically getting to know everything about him but job, blood type, and exact address, but do I have his phone number? No. Bachelor # 2 made no secret of the fact that he would've liked to have known me a lot better...not necessarily for my mind, though really he was too drunk (if perfectly composed) to have bothered talking to me if he wasn't interested in it. He showed me his passport but do I remember his name? Kinda...not really. Do I have his number? No. I do know where he works because he told me. That is because he was possibly looking out on a way to see my simple ass again because I have no closing skills whatsoever. Blah. Perhaps I should get a P.Diddyesque wingperson to whisper as he did back in the day to get me with Mr. Sailor that I like "aggressive guys." Then again, no. I have enough trouble with overly aggressive fools as is. I just need to learn the art of following through.
Posted by Candicissima at June 24, 2003 03:22 PM