June 22, 2008

pounce with no revenge

As of late, there is little I love more than waking up in Manhattan. Whether I have things to do or not. This may become scarce, seeing as my Manhattan apt connection is soon to be dissipated. S and R went apt hunting in Williamsburg today. Boo. 

Last night, Henry, Simone, Renee, Greg and I romped around the LES from one lame bar to another. After sufficient inebriation was achieved on the parts of others, we agreed that going shopping at the AA on Houston would be a hoot. I mean, who buys leggings at 1:30 in the morning on a Friday night? We were curious to see. Plus, I wanted this one dress...

We detoured to this one place, which I had been to once before in the winter, The Darkroom. It was lame then. IT WAS THE MOST FUN I'VE HAD DANCING IN SOME BAR THIS SUMMER. Even with S's bad back, and my aching feet shoved into a pair of R's cutest peep-toe pumps, S, H and I tore it up. The DJ was pretty great. Our enthusiasm and flailing booty parts even convinced the nerdy white guys in button-downs and slacks to bust an uncertain move or two. I like when everybody dances because they really just can't help it even though they aren't that graceful they don't give a shit because everyone's having fun. It's like that. I want it more often. 

H and I crashed at S&R's and we talked about old boys under the covers until 5 in the morning. Not H though. He was asleep. I feel like an over-privileged 16 year old.

I was startled awake around 9am by S sleep-talking next to me.  Her eyes were closed, but she was coherent as anything, pumping her fists in the air and going "Yeah, yeah YEAH!" over and over. She's been known to mumble in her slumbers before but this was just too much. I think I burst out laughing and then promptly feel back asleep.
 As soon as we were awake, I said, "DUDE. You were totally sleep-talking going 'Yeah YEAH!' over and over and pumping your fists in the air triumphantly. What the hell were you dreaming?"
She said she dreamt that she got back together with her ex. 


Later on, I went to a museum with someone who has been thrown back into my life via either karma or coincidence, it's difficult to tell. I felt intellectual. No I didn't. I felt pressured to be intellectual. I cannot shake that feeling like I'm on an interview. Even though, what does it matter what anyone thinks of me when I don't know what I want anyway. He asked me my opinion on topics that included more than a "I liked it" or "I didn't like it so much" response. I feel that I'm bad at being interesting. I do a lot of things that I find interesting and I guess other people think is interesting too. But I cannot impress you. It's just not something I've a knack for. It feels forced. 

I would like to skip all this technical awkward-feeling nonsense sometimes and say, "HEY. This is what I want. Can you give it to me? Would you want to? If not, we'd better just not waste our time then."

And then he probably would ask something like, "Well what is it that you want then?"

And I would say something like, "I want to be the little spoon... damnit!"  

Of course that's just a broad obtuse way of saying that what I want is symbolized by some random act of affection. But it's a start. 

We went to eat and then back to his apartment in Brooklyn and we watched my senior project play because he was curious about it and I happened to have the DVD in my bag, from when I went to meet with that agent the day before. I don't like watching myself on film. I am very uncomfortable watching myself on film in my room alone, let alone with somebody I am trying to be interesting with. I figure if anybody sees this video of me being a metaphysical six-year old, knowing that I wrote and directed it, and still wants to hang out with me, there is nothing I could do to possibly weird them out even more. 

We both agreed that it is impossible to meet people in New York, but it's also just a bad idea to date people from Purchase because everyone is out of their gourds there. The thought that I am going to be alone for a very long time reminds me that what I really would like is something I'm not sure that I can get back again. I cannot keep evoking the same ghosts, I know. 

He called an hour or so after I got home to make sure I got back alright and wanted to know if I wanted to go to the beach tomorrow. I thought it very sweet of him. I thought I need to stop making nervous laughter when I feel like I should be saying something. I thought, when do I start feeling like a natural real live human being in the presence of the opposite sex again?

I rode the train home thinking of all the bitter things I'd say to the last person who gave me butterflies. I couldn't actually come up with anything. 

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