Wednesday, December 3, 2008


The guy in this story has a name so absurd, my friends and I didn't have to come up with a nickname. For the sake of this post, we'll call him Q.

Q is a self-described 33 year old banker, living in an "impressive apartment" on Astor Place. Our first date was a long time coming, but very last minute (around 2:30 am). He is a hockey fan, went to school in Boston and is from an obnoxious town similar to the one where my family lives and I went to high school.

I left my friends and planted myself at first and first, just outside the cleverly named One and One. I realized I may be coming off as a bit hooker, standing on the corner and all, looking around for someone I barely knew. So I struck up a conversation with a guy who was wearing a Red Sox hat...that was baby blue. I'm sorry, I just do NOT get wearing the wrong color for a team...maybe I'm just simple. I asked him to explain and as he did, someone grabbed my hand while speed walking past me, spun me in a circle, and ended with his arm around my shoulder and his lips on my neck. Wait, am I in a relationship?

I looked at the culprit. Wait wait wait - am I in a relationship with Steve Buscemi???

"Beautiful." Oh man.

"Hi, nice to meet you," I said. I may be a little drunk but I know you ain't my man.

"Why all the formalities?" Apparently Q forgot that we barely KNOW EACH OTHER.

We went to a nearby sports bar. I talked about hockey and books and avoided anything slightly suggestive. He, meanwhile, stared into my eyes, smiled and told me how interesting I am - for knowing anything about hockey and, apparently, being literate.

"Want to grab a drink somewhere else?"

Ehh, nothing better to do
. "OK."

Little did I know he was going to whisk me away to his apartment.

So there we were, in his amazing apartment, separated by a kitchen counter. He looked ready to pounce.

"So I have to ask, Q, what's with your name?" Holy rudeness on my part. He explained it is a family name, then proceeded to tell me his full name. Would have been quicker if he'd just introduced himself as WASPy McGee from the get-go.

"It's so nice to meet someone who comes from the same background, you know?" Excuse me? "You know? From the same type of area."

"How do you know we have the same background?"

"Well, your family's financial situation is probably the same as mine, given where you're from, so our circles are similar. You know, so we 'get' each other."

What what WHAT?

"Uhh, well my ancestors are Irish immigrants who did lawn work and stole everything from chandeliers to furniture from the people who employed them."


"I just may have to come over there and kiss you." Oh. Yes. I can hardly contain myself, Mr. Bond.

This man was clueless. I felt bad. We made out. Here's where it gets interesting...

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Poor Buschemi. He gets such a bad rap.