Thursday, July 14, 2005

Kissing the Blarney Stone!

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So last night I was the recipient of the most amazing kiss.

I had no idea that there were levels of Kissing greatness and had pretty much assumed that at the age of 31 I had fully reached my make-out capacity. But then, the Irishman happened and it totally threw off my gauge.

I wasn’t even supposed to be out with him. About two weeks ago, I was surfing Friendster and came across a photo of a hairy obese white man in full Sumo wrestler attire.

I laughed and clicked on his profile. Surfed his photos to discover an extremely attractive Irishman with beautiful eyes and an amazing physique. I sent him a note.

“Nice diaper, does it require changing often?”

We bantered for the next few days-and then I excitedly told my friends the story at a BBQ that weekend.

“You know that’s Zoey’s crush, right?” – My friend Lex said.

Fuck

When I had looked at the connection, I noted I was connected through Zoey. And Zoey had told me about some guy she thought was hot at the gym. But I had not even considered that this might be the same guy. When Zoey arrived, I told her the story, apologized and promised never to speak to him again.

Stupid of me.

After about a week of ignoring his e-mails he started getting hurt feelings and writing to ask me if it was something he said.

“You know, I really opened myself up in my last e-mail and was wondering if it was something I said.”

Fuck.

I couldn’t tell him the truth and I couldn’t just drop it without an explanation. Or was that just an excuse to indulge my wants? I wrote him back. Simple few words. But I wanted him to write back. Then he wrote back with a few simple words. Next thing you know, we had resumed our exchange of simple e-mails and jokes. I could fool myself that it was nothing, but I wanted it to be something. I rationalized my behavior.

It is just a two sentence e-mail a day in the middle of piles of work, phone calls and e-mail exchanges.


But then I saw Zoey out one night with friends and her chilly reception reminded me of the fact that I had gone against my word. Guilt. Deserved guilt. The next day, I tried to call, I tried to text. She didn’t respond.

Then Lex began with the cold shoulder in a North-of-the-Arctic type way. The stomach churned. The breaths shortened. The guilt stole hours from my sleep. I had done something terribly wrong.

And then the Irishman asked me out.

Now it was clear that I had to talk to Zoey. She wouldn't take my calls. And I don't blame her. So I wrote her an e-mail telling her everything, apologizing and admitting I was wrong. She wrote back…

...If you were interested in one of my friends, standard protocol would be to ask me about it first...and yeah he told me you two had friendstered each other after our conversation... so it made me think that you were just blowing smoke up my ass…. and lastly, at this point, i don't really care if you two are friends or not. It just seems like there is some dishonesty going on and I don't operate that way and I rather stay out of it...

Last night, the biggest ass hole in the world met the Irishman at the bar next to my house. But the date was ruined before it even began. Plauged with a desire to be let into a group of friends, desperate for attention from my unrequited outreach to the women of New York, I did the unspeakable. I turned to a man. Because a man phones you back, he shows effort, you plan cool shit and he wants to do it with you.
Yes, as long as a man wants to do it with you, he will show up.

And the Irishman showed up.

We had a New York date. He drank a beer. I watched. We flirted. We walked through the West Village shared Tasti-D-Lite with one spoon, stopped in at Barnes and Noble and looked at guide books of his country all the while just looking for excuses to rub up on each other. We played video games at the Village Tavern . Then, he stopped me on the corner of Carmine and Leroy and just like that, in front of God and everyone standing around on the street, he grabbed my face and he kissed me.

It would have been sweet if I hadn't known what more he would be expecting.

The night played out through more windy West Village streets, more conversation about family and friends and more discussion about New York aspirations. We watched the lights go out on the Empire State building. We made-out in Washington Square Park. He kissed me on every street between Washington Square and my front door.

The Irishman brough enough passion and effort for me to think it would last beyond the night. But After prying our bodies away from one another, he rolled down the street looking for a taxi and I never heard from him again.

Actually, a few e-mails, a few flirtatious texts. One really amazing kiss. But nothing worth losing a girlfriend over.

Blimey!

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posted by Pop Culture Casualty @ 7/14/2005 06:06:00 AM |

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