…. when i listen to beach house all by myself.
… which is actually very seldom.
…. and even though i stopped loving you over a year ago.
…. and harbor no real hatred for you.
…. or respect for you.
…..i still hate you sometimes.
some context for the incredibly hilarious email thread/situation that can be viewed via the links below must be given.
i met A through the acting school where i was a first time student. he is a more advanced student in the program, and happened to attended the beginning class’ scene night. he was quite taken by my performance- as were most. i consider it beginners luck.
my classmates went to celebrate the success of our performances with some drinks afterward. A followed, and we spoke at length about the school, the process of developing one’s craft, and made the standard small talk two people who don’t know each other tend to make while throwing back beers and bar nuts.
i told him to find me on Facebook if he wanted to keep in touch for opportunities to work together on a scene. he found me all right. and he alerted me to the fact he’d be in the next class i was taking, technique 1, even though he’d taken this class over a year ago when he first entered the school.
a nice enough guy, who in fact has an interesting enough life story and intelligence, i found no harm in at least chatting with him when he asked to ring me up. then he asked me to join him for several outings, including an afternoon picnic that we could craft with fresh produce gathered at the morning farmer’s market- oh yes, let’s meet right when it opens at 8am!
….i was worried from the start, needless to say, but not worried enough to fathom it would come to this.
due to health issues i could not make the picnic. shit, crafting a picnic at 8am- even with a socially awkward, unattractive, 30 year old- would have been more enjoyable than the pain that sent me to urgent care that saturday. A tried to arrange other times for us to meet, and i eventually agreed to visit him at his place for some soup and conversation.
it was pleasant enough to speak with someone as smart and interested in food culture as i am. i felt no desire for him, however. but the same could not be said for him where i was concerned. this was made evident by his strange attempt to kiss me when i left. it was a slow, sloppy, attempt that landed somewhere between the corner of my mouth and my jaw bone.
after that night, he called constantly, texted me constantly, and started following me and requesting my friendship through all social media channels. he continually invited me to outings and events- some which seemed they would fun, if it weren’t for the fact A was overtly trying to be alone with me. at this time i was, in fact, still a bit ill and dealing with a busy work schedule, so fulfilling his invitations and meeting his unreasonable expectations was truthfully out of the question- in almost all cases. i tried to reconcile his feeling “neglected” (as he pointed out to me after the “Bay to Breakers Incident”) by offering him an extra ticket to a concert i was attending with some friends. i also agreed to be his scene partner for the technique 1 class that was starting soon. a most generous gesture.
on the day of our first tech 1 class, i went to my laptop at work with the intent of writing A an email about meeting up prior to class, to discuss the scene he’d picked out for us. a scene about a man (who has about 10 lines) trying to seduce a woman, (who has about 150 lines) in his apartment.
yeah. i know
this is the email (below) that i was faced with in my inbox.
and the following thread is, possibly, one of the greatest in email history.
in my humble opinion.
i’ve often fantasized about doing something unexpected and disrupting in a public place for all to see and gawk, scowl, or laugh at. it’s an impulse i feel must be inherent to being human. if we are, in most our everyday lives, following routines that never spark imagination or amusement in anyone, let alone ourselves, then it seems natural to one day wish or dare to try something outwardly shocking.
two acts of public disruption have crossed my mind on numerous occasions. they are neither complex or terrifying. they’re just…i don’t know…freeing. or seemingly so.
i am at a crossroads where i fear its now or never. liver willing, i will reach my quarter-century birthday this year. i feel the ripeness of my youth slowly staling. i will soon run out of excuses to conduct these experiments since i’m no performance artist and could never feel comfortable copping out of embarrassment by claiming to be one (“this was an artistic statement, for a project i’m exhibiting at Fecal Face next month…”).
my two fantasies are to either scream loudly in an enclosed public space- such as a bus, or the supermarket- or kiss a perfect (and perfectly good looking) stranger in broad daylight, sobriety in tact.
let’s explore the latter- as it has the most obvious intrigue for all parties involved…
i see them all the time- beautiful men. they stare at my lips, they examine my breasts, check to see if i have an ass (i don’t) and eye-fuck the hell out of me while we wait in line for coffee, or while we wait to pay for our 12 items or less, or while pumping gas.
the lacking presence of alcohol seems to be what keeps these men from saying anything as opposed to the others i encounter while waiting in line for a beer, or for 1am cigarettes at the liquor store, or while dancing.
i’ve felt the timid rush of desire many times. i imagine surging past the consumers or coffee drinkers between us and walking up to one of them and kissing him- my tongue tasting of sweet mint gum or apple jolly ranchers, both of which i am orally fixated on. i imagine doing this- hurriedly and passionately- and then walking away like nothing happened. i imagine that, after quickly fussing up his hair and having my non-existent ass grabbed, i simply stop when i feel us just on the brink of that certain type of horniness which leads strangers to fuck in bathrooms on airplanes, and casually saunter my hips as i stroll back to where i started from.
ok, excuse me while i go masturbate….
there are more things that could go wrong here than not. a girlfriend might be approaching- hands holding heavy soup cans missed from the grocery check list. or, he could be repulsed by my advances due to his preference for cock over pussy. or, even worse, he could just be repulsed by me in general.
well, i’m one for one.
but that doesn’t mean my nerves have calmed about moving forward with this idea!
several weeks ago- in the height of an emotional panic after a friend’s death left me hazy and reckless- i kissed a perfect stranger that made eyes at me from another table at the restaurant i was having dinner at.
i was with a male friend, who is also a co-worker, and who’s overt and annoying love for me often makes my heart turn cold to the point of wanting to intentionally hurt him. i know that sounds terrible. i have confronted him in the past, and his inability to admit to that which is constantly pointed out me- that he’s obsessed with me-makes me feel no sorrow for his longing but rather pushes me to treat it as if it were what he tries to play it as: nothing. i do not feel anything in return. but i cannot feel sorry for this point. perhaps it was the combination of feeling sour at his unfaltering feelings (which can sometimes make it very awkward to maintain friendship) and the fact that the recent loss i’d experienced had me gripping to existential life themes and worrying that tomorrow may never come. so, when my friend excused himself to use the restroom, i fidgeted in my seat, forward facing the cute guy who was eating with a buddy, and loudly proclaimed “fuck it, if i don’t do this now i never will” and got straight up from my table, walked a few short steps to his booth, straddled him, and proceeded to make out. it was a nice one minutes make-out session, his buddy proclaiming the entire time “that’s fucking awesome!” and our waitress walking behind my back exclaiming in agreement. “what about your friend?” he asked in between grabbing my lower back and sucking me back into his mouth. “he’s just a co-worker,” i answered.
once i’d determined i wasn’t cruel enough to allow my friend catch me kissing a stranger, i pulled myself off the gentleman (who kissed so well) and went back to my table. the smiles on our faces put any doubt about my ability to do this momentarily out of mind. “i’m sorry,” i happily proclaimed, without meaning, “i’ve just always wanted to do that and felt if it wasn’t RIGHT now i never would. you’re a great kisser.” he nodded, “we kiss great together!” and with that, my friend returned. and though the waitress winked from behind him while he resumed his drink, all went back to as if nothing had just happened.
it felt fucking fantastic.
i half feel terrible for feeling terrible for terribly ugly people.
i assuredly tell you that i’m not one of them.
if you are a terribly ugly person, i apologize and understand your wish for a great heavy hand to come striking down upon me, bringing disgrace to my face and good name! but alas, i don’t believe in heavy hands of greatness that aren’t detectable to the naked eye. maybe the steady strike of a bus should be more worrisome for someone like me who has a bad habit of feeling invincible, and never looking out.
but i am only stating what i’m sure many of us think but dare to admit out loud. that terribly ugly people are difficult to look away from. it isn’t that we seek them out, at least i don’t. but when they get caught in my cross hares, i find myself so intrigued by their sad fate i can’t help but fixate on them for a bit.
how does a man with an enormously large forehead, a wide set yet pointed nose, ill-looking pasty white skin, and a massive, chronically, down-turned mouth succeed in intoxicating a woman enough that she’d consider giving him her number let alone access to her pussy? how does this man feel when he stares into a mirror and finds his white eye lashes still haven’t grown past a centimeter long? and that his dark but sparse eyebrows are permanently peaked, making him look eternally angry?
how it must feel to know by indication from the sexes, from co-workers, from friends- hell, probably from parents-that you’re a sore sight for the eyes!
the man i just described- the ugliest man i ever saw up until this point- sat one row in front of me for the duration of a 3 hour class, never to be seen again. he was nervous when called upon- never quite hitting the point on the head, and clearly frustrated working whatever condition the class was discussing. he seemed to know he was incapable of grasping the concept, despite trying and continually volunteering himself to answer. he would squint his eyes downward in subtle disbelief and disappointment when the teacher would tell him to rethink his words. it was a bit sad to see.
because the expressions on his face made my judgement resoundingly solid.
i’m sure he has friends…colleagues…acquaintances… who would all attest to his good nature. he must be kind and careful with a face like that. he must know that his first impression will never be one made in silence. it is an awful thing to suppose. its difficult not to, though. i know that you, and me, and everyone we know has grazed a similar stream of thought- walking down the imaginary life-path of a truly ugly human being.
i could be one someday. if i’m not already in the soul, surely my face will catch up one day when i’m old and i’ve smoked too many cigarettes or malnourished myself into a skeleton. but i’ll always have the remnants of a beautiful face. at least i know this. what will the ugliest man you ever saw look like when ugly really begins to take its toll? when the years of relying on a nobel personality have set into his face to create silver rivers all around his eyes and on the back of his feeble hands? how does he prepare for the day, tolerating what he’s been given? does he not see what i do? and if so, how has he come to accept or disregard it? why can’t i disregard it?!
my observations of the shapes and forms of body parts of the face make me shallow, at the least. and yet i don’t feel that guilty. because i know i’m not alone in my judging, and because pointing and picking (even if internally) at these things i see aren’t done for the sake of dragging someone down or propping myself up- but rather for curiosity’s sake. curiosity about accepting what you’re given, especially if what you’ve been given is a bad dope deal.
i’ve got the good drugs, and yet i always feel cheated. so how must the ugliest man you ever saw feel?
i was awoken this morning by the distinct, though subtle, sound of a fat couple fucking. it was 2am. i suppose it really wasn’t morning, since the dark and soundless air outside gave all the indications of it still being night and i had only been stiff beneath my covers no more than one hour.
the fatties kept me up and stirring until a quarter to four- just three hours before i would need to face the morning news lulling me to my feet. his bed, poorly placed against the sliding doors which once divided a prewar living room from its adjacent study, slid back and forth, scratching at our hardwood floors. her moans were deep, frequent, and filled with sincerity. i was disgusted. because she sounded like any normal woman enjoying herself during a late night fuck. and i could’t stop wondering how it would be possible to enjoy yourself, that much or even at all, knowing your boyfriend couldn’t see down past his own belly to observe the very dick that supposedly brought so much pleasure.