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I’m Not Dying But I Am Falling Apart Like An Old Bitch - November 29, 2006Before I get to the good news that I’m not dying, let me first apologize for teasing ya’ll with this wonderfully sick story that I was supposed to tell you after Thanksgiving, because as it turns out, I’m not gonna tell it. I realized that I’ve burned up my quota of stories here that are going to be in my book and need to respect my deal with my publisher. I want the book to have 90 percent new stuff, as I know you do too, so since the story I was going to tell you about this dream I had is going to be in the book, alas, I won’t tell it now and you’ll have to read it in May when the book comes out… which is going to fucking rock stupid large. Yeah, that’s how I roll even though I’m ancient, home piece. Just so the math is clear, 10 percent of the book will be stories that I’ve told here and the rest will be all new stuff you haven’t seen, but fear not, I will not let you down my awesome readers, you will get only the best of my perfectly bizarre life in these pages over the coming months, I promise. I mean tons I’ve written here so far is not in the book and for your eyes only, so there you have it. So, with business out of the way let me get to it…
I’d been having headaches for three weeks. They started with a migraine after yoga in early November, which is not so out of the ordinary since I get them once in a while. But then every day after, I had these very low level headaches that would come and go with no regularity or reason. They weren’t very painful and were I not a hypochondriac I wouldn’t have thought much about them. But I am a hypochondriac and so I got progressively freaked out as the days passed and the headaches weren’t going away.
I was convinced I had brain tumors and would be told I had months to live. I mean I… was… convinced. I was a dead man. I laid in bed and cried, praying to God that he would let me live. No shit. The idea that I didn’t have 60 years left but 6 months freaked the living shit out of me. I went to my doctor and he did all the tests on me, you know the sophisticated ones we’ve discussed, touching your nose with your index finger with your eyes closed. Walking heel-to-toe in a straight line… WE’VE BEEN OVER THIS!!!! I do this at home every cunting day!!!!! I passed all the tests and he said I definitely did not have a brain tumor. I begged him to do an MRI and CAT scan on me but he wouldn’t citing, you know, the radiation and all? Since I didn’t have any brain tumor symptoms, (even my headaches weren’t because of their nature) he said I should wait at least a couple more weeks and see if they went away.I tried acupuncture and got a deep tissue massage. The headaches didn’t go away. I was calling MRI places myself to see if I could just kinda go in and order one up like a cheeseburger but they said I needed a note from my doctor. In the back of my mind I thought of one last idea to solve the problem before resorting to a full body scan…
This is the part of the story when all of you who wear glasses will want to bitch slap me for getting you concerned about me when the problem was so obvious… sorry, it wasn’t a setup. This is really how my mind works.
My eyes were a little blurry 4 years ago. Since I’ve always had impeccable eye sight I was sure it was my new vegan diet or some illness, brain tumor, whatever. I went to the eye doctor on a lark. He put some evil blurry eye drops in my eyes and showed me a million charts, “Better worse the same?” Change. “Better worse the same.” Change. “Better worse the same.”
He was very perfunctory. He scribbled a on a prescription pad, tore the page off and handed it to me.
“What’s that?”
“You’re prescription.”
“I need pills for this condition?” I was dead serious. He cracked a smile, thinking I was joking.
“You have a slight astigmatism and you’re farsighted.” Now I was the one who thought he was joking.
“Who is?”
“You are.”
“No, no, no. I have perfect eye sight.”
“How old are you?”
“40.”
“Yup. That’s when it happens.”
That’s when it happens? That’s when it happens? That’s when what happens you cunting fuck basket?!! When my body starts falling apart like a fucking cockless cunt!!!!!!
I was beside myself.
“So. I need ggglasses?” I could barely choke the word out.
“Yeah. Come back next year for a check up. Take care.” And with that he, my manhood and my youth left the room.
I was mortified. I left his office and stumbled haplessly up Madison Avenue trying to get home. I was blind and on the East Side. Hell. I hailed a cab and took it straight to the Cohen Optical Store on 96th and Broadway to fill this… this… prescription right away so that when the drops wore off and I could see again I could test his outlandish hypothesis and see if my sight was indeed better with glasses. I waited for “about an hour” and (having picked out the cheapest peach colored Charles Nelson Riley frames since I was never gonna wear the fucks whether they worked or not, this was just a test) got my glasses handed to me as the drops faded and I could see again. I took the glasses out on to the street. It was cold and dark. I put them on and looked at the Duane Reade sign across Broadway convinced I had just wasted 68 bucks but was willing to pay that small price to cuckold the quack eye doctor and this ridiculous assertion that these things were my solution. I slowly lowered them over my eyes and…
To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 1:25 AM
No More Sex (Part 5) - November 22, 2006″Hey Ray. How’s it going?” I said into the phone.”Great. So, I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me tonight.” Being asked out by two girls in ten years seemed pretty righteous to me. First, Molly Ringwald (In the book, come on, I can’t give it all away here.) and now Ray. Women don’t understand the fucking global exhaustion men feel always having to be the pursuers. I’m telling you, for the average guy like me, I’m sure it’s different for gorgeous model guys and famous or rich guys but guys like me, having a girl ask you out once a decade is the oasis you need to replenish your strength for the other 9 years, 11 months, and 29 days when you have to do EVERYTHING to even have a shot at a date. But alas, I had to turn her down.”I had an awesome time with you yesterday Ray and I think you’re smart and funny and hot and I love that you do the job you do… but I just don’t think I could handle going out with a girl who had that as her job.”"That’s such a double standard.”"No, it’s not at all. Again, I love that the job exists. I love that you do it. I have absolutely no judgments against the job itself or the people who do the job. Thank God for it all because clearly I like to partake and if you and it didn’t exist, I couldn’t. I just don’t think I’m the kind of guy who could deal with having a girlfriend who did the job and I want a girlfriend so if I go on a date and I like you and have fun I’m gonna want to see you again and have it progress so I feel like why start if I know I can’t ultimately live with it if we become boyfriend-girlfriend. Does that make sense?”"No. I do massage. I’m not having sex with my clients. I’m not a prostitute. It’s just massage. You couldn’t have a serious relationship with a masseuse?”"Okay, Ray, will all due respect, call it whatever you want but to me, it’s sex.”"No. Sex is intercourse. I don’t even give oral sex or kiss or anything. I just do massage. I don’t see the big deal.”"Ray. I can’t have my girlfriend jack off ten guys’ dicks in between her tits with her fingers up their asses and have them come on her face during the day and feel okay about that because it’s called massage. Just the kind of hat pin I am. [Ironically I got that expression from Molly who used to use it. It seemed appropriate to break it out here with the only other girl in my life to ask me out. Although in my relationship with Molly the roles were kind of reversed. I was more the whore, sorry, “special masseuse” in that one.] I’m sorry. Maybe I’m a square, but that’s how I feel.”"Well, it’s your loss.”"I have no doubt. I’m sorry.”"Me, too.” I hung up and finished folding my warm clothes. I wanted a girlfriend for an hour or a girlfriend for a lifetime, but not both in the same girl.I didn’t get any more massage girls while finishing the show that month. When I returned to New York, still single and with no dates in sight, profound loneliness struck again. It was the awful anti-climax of having finished shooting the show (while you’re working, it’s always very exciting and filled with hope) along with waiting for it to air and the building stress of how it would do. A hideous combination. I needed some love. I went on Craigslist and hunted for New York massage girls. I also perused Eros.Com where I found a place on Lexington and 57th Street that had really sexy girls. I had a couple good experiences there, but then ended up accidentally sitting next to one of the women who did me, Lexi, while waiting for my dinner at my favorite vegan restaurant in the city, Caravan Of Dreams on 6th Street and 1st Avenue. She sat right next to me but either didn’t recognize me or pretended not to. I didn’t want to possibly embarrass her and it was clear she was waiting for a date. I was fascinated to know who would show up so I just ate my salad and waited in silence. About ten minutes later a very yuppie looking Wall Street man joined her. Although they kissed on the lips their level of comfort was that of a third date at best. He was Polish like she was, he had her accent. She was in the film business and had told me post orgasm of the indie films she had worked on, but she didn’t know who I was. Her ignorance was reflected in her tip. I’m just kidding. I worked for tips for eight years in the cab, someone has to really piss me off not to get 20% at least. Usually 30% plus. Especially if their job entails doing anything to my penis.Again, the co-mingling of girlfriend for hire and real life felt a bit uncomfortable, so I stopped going to the Lexington joint and got a girl off Craigslist. A Suicide Girl named Roxy. She had tats head to toe and piercings on her nose, nipples and clit. She was a sweet Scorpio with a mean streak. (Like all of them). I had no idea that she would create a monster of a sub in me. She had a bleached blond page boy haircut, was tiny, but packed a punch. She had a mischievous laugh and was always a little stoned, which I somehow didn’t mind on her. She also had a nurturing, gentle, and very accomplished side. A musician, she did “massage” to augment her salary. At first she was tender with me, but then sensing the sub in me, got a little rough one day, and jammed more than one finger in my ass as she brought me to orgasm. Unsuspectingly I had been turned out. Though strictly heterosexual, ass play had always felt good, and dirty and wrong, so, really good. Although a couple skilled gals’ fingers had found their way up my bum a few times over the years, this one particular dream I had in my late twenties really was the thing that raised the stakes. That story next, after Thanksgiving. Have a great holiday! Be grateful!Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
No More Sex (Part 4) - November 20, 2006After mounting me, she titty fucked herself on me as I lay on my back until I came ridiculously hard. She laid on me out of breath and sweaty from the effort, gathering her wits. I really felt she was moments away from sitting on me and fucking the shit out of me and had summoned all of her professional strength not to. After a sly smile she said, “That was hot,” and left me spent on the table as she went to the bathroom. She returned with a hot wet towel and Geisha girl cleaned me up. It was fucking heaven. Why would I ever leave this room? She started talking to me as she wiped me off. But it wasn’t obligatory small talk to mask the uncomfortable aftermath of anonymous whore sex like with prostitutes. I once had a prostitute look me right in the face while she was giving me a hand job and as if we were in a job interview in an office and not lying on my bed naked with her hand stroking my dick say, “So, are you married? You have any kids?” It was creepy. But this was the opposite. Ray really seemed into me.”So, are you from New York?” She asked.”How could you tell? I don’t have an accent.”"Just you’re whole attitude. I’m from the East Coast. Baltimore. What are you doing out here? Pilot season?”"No, I’m actually doing 8 episodes of a mid-season replacement for NBC.” Unlike with prostitutes, to whom I was afraid to give any personal information, I felt completely trusting of her.”Cool. What’s it called?”"First Years. It’s a legal drama. It’s not mine, I’m just acting on it. I have my own show in development at Fox.”"Oh really? Me too. Who’s your executive?” Get the fuck out of here. Well, it is LA. “Josh Silver?”"Oh my God! Me too! Isn’t that funny?” Yeah. Hysterical.”Totally. Is it about this?”"Oh God no.”"Does he know you do this? Do you do him?”"No and no. I love doing this but I don’t run around telling everyone. I do have a lot of clients in the entertainment industry and some of them have been really sweet and helped me in my writing career but there are still too many people who wouldn’t understand, so I keep it on the down low. I’d appreciate it if you would, too.”"Oh, of course.”"I had a lot of fun Eric. I hope you’ll come back and see me again.”"Me too and I definitely will.” She kissed me tenderly on the cheek. I put my jeans on and left her a 100 even though I only stayed a half hour, 30 as a tip. She didn’t count it and I knew she would have been as nice if I hadn’t tipped her at all.It was an outstanding experience. I finally found exactly what I had always been looking for in the rent-a-girlfriend trade but never hitherto gotten from prostitution, and it was 100% safe. As long as I remembered to check their hands for cuts, even my insane mind couldn’t obsess that I could get AIDS from what they had done to me. I definitely planned to see Ray again, but I thought I might try a few other girls out as well. The next day I was in the community laundry room at the Oakwood folding my underwear when my cell phone rang. It was a 323 number that I didn’t recognize.”Hello?”"Eric?”"Yeah?”"Hey. It’s Ray.” I knew I wasn’t wrong and that she liked me!To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
No More Sex (Part 3) - November 17, 2006″Yes.” Already the vibe with her was light years better than any I’d had with a prostitute. Ray was direct, present, sweet, friendly, sexy, and seemed genuinely interested in me. I went into her bedroom, which was bordello meets mod. A red silk Chinese tiger tapestry hung behind her massage table, a big mirror on the wall to the left of it, strategically placed I was later to find out. I’m the perfect audience for movies and certain life experiences that feel like a movie. Complete suspension of disbelief. I never try and figure out the plot, I just roll with it so I’m often surprised by things the normal person wouldn’t be, for better and worse. I stripped and started to get on the table, but then reached back for my jeans remembering I had to pay first.”Sorry, I forgot the donation. 70, right?” Donation is the operative term used in the prostitution industry to protect them from any illegality. I assumed it was the same in massage. They usually prefer not to even discuss payment or physically take the money from you. They like you to just inconspicuously leave it on a chair or dresser.”Oh yeah. That’s what I ask, but whatever you want is fine. We can take care of that later.” Whatever I wanted and later? This was amazing. She was like a regular girl! What I always had wanted out of this kind of thing! I got on the table. She dropped her slinky blue silk teddy and had nothing on underneath. “You wanna start on your stomach?”"Perfect.” I flipped over onto my stomach, my head turned to the left. I could feel the slightly cold dribble of oil as it landed on my back. It became a thick stream, followed quickly by her hands.”Turn your head the other way.”Not knowing why, but trusting her, I obeyed and, ahhhhhh. The mirror. There she was mounting me from behind, her shaved pussy grinding into my ass as she deeply rubbed my back. She smiled at me in the mirror.”Does that feel good?”Trick question? “Uhhhh. Yeah. That feels good”"Good.” She leaned over and started caressing her big firm breast against my back as her hands crept down my sides to my hips. This was certainly a “full body to body massage” all right and it was magic. And Ray loved catching glimpses of herself in the mirror doing it to me, which was cute. She massaged my whole backside from head to toe. She was skilled and had great hands. It was a real massage. I had been hard from the moment she poured the oil on my back. After she finished with my feet, she started teasing my ass. I was about to cum at this point from anticipation, like when I was 16 and blew a wad in my underwear before Sarah Goldstein from Great Neck, who I had met at an Allman Brothers concert at the Beacon, even got to my belly button. She had been systematically kissing my chest, heading south, and I stopped her abruptly before she could unbutton my jeans and find a mess instead of a hard cock waiting to be sucked and said, “I really like you and I think we should stop now. I don’t want to go too fast and ruin it.” She thought I was the noblest teenager she had ever met. Being slightly more practiced now in the skills of the cum control, I paced myself, though Ray was making it awfully hard. She slowly moved her hand between my thighs from behind and reached under me, moving from my balls to my dick. The “reach around.” Sublime. Like you know how good it feels when the CMT masseuse is doing your head at the end of the massage and they reach their hands under your back and use your own body weight to dig deep into your neck and upper back? Imagine that but on your sex area, and since it’s also what you’ve been fantasizing would happen in every legit massage you’ve ever had, the fruition of the dream makes it unimaginably hot. And it’s from behind, like it’s forbidden and secret and no one’s allowed to know about it. Everything conspires to make it one of the sexiest things on God’s green earth.”You wanna flip over?” Oh yeah. I was ready for “the flip.” As the term suggests, the complete opposite idea of the “reach around.” Unabashed, unapologetic cock stroking for all the world to see! I rolled over on my back and she dumped another heaping sploosh of oil on my dick and balls and started jerking me off. She was suddenly in another mode. No more teasing, just ferocious, resolved dick jerking, which she was completely into and obviously getting turned on by. Then she mounted me.To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
No More Sex (Part 2) - November 15, 2006Rub and Tugs were genius! I couldn’t believe they existed! Where had I been?! In the spring of 2000, after a short acting stint on Everything’s Relative the previous year (a short lived much-beloved sitcom written by Mitch Hurwitz, the guy that later did Arrested Development,) while dating Liza, I was back in LA, sans Liza, doing another mid-season NBC show, First Years. I was also developing my own show at Fox.
I was living in the Oakwood Apartments, corporate housing for transient east coast actors temporarily in LA for pilot season or the first year of a show who don’t want to commit to buying or renting a proper house for fear that their show might get cancelled or that they might not land one in the first place. I liked the apartment feel of Oakwood. It reminded me of home, which was important because though I like many things about LA, I inevitably feel my soul is slowly siphoned off when I’m there for more than a month. I was in the Marina Del Rey Oakwood complex two blocks from the beach. I figured if you’re going to be out there, you should be near the water. I reunited with my old friend Mark, who I’ve known since college. He was living out there full time working as a journalist, and turned me onto a website that advertised, “Massage Girls” who provided happy endings. He vouched for their authenticity and manual prowess and at 70 bucks for half an hour, 100 for a full hour; they were less than half the price of prostitutes. Not that I was looking to buy a bargain girlfriend but if it was a fun experience and some savings came along with it, what the hell.I called Ray, a sexy, short, blonde girl with big tits and an inviting smile. She advertised being 27 meaning 33, which I liked. I wanted an adult. Someone I might actually be able to connect with, even if for just an hour. Her apartment was only a couple blocks from Oakwood so I made an appointment for an hour later and drove over. I got there ten minutes early and sussed out the place. It was in a nice neighborhood and seemed benign. Having had a decent amount of whoring experience to draw from at that point I wasn’t nearly as scared as the first time with the “college girl” concubine in the castle. (You’ll have to wait for the book for her) It was the standard two call system. You call to set the appointment. They give you the general vicinity of where they live, you go there, call again, and they supply you with the exact address. They put you through the Dirty Harry runaround from phone booth to phone booth to prove your sincerity about keeping the appointment if they don’t already know you. They double book in case you don’t show, just like the dentist, doctor and airlines, so the first time you usually have to wait a little until your “back up” is finished. I went up to the front door, still a little cautious, and rang the buzzer. A different girl than the one in the picture answered, but she was hot so I didn’t mind the bait and switch, which is usually the worst. (They run a completely different much prettier girl’s picture in the ad than the one who is actually going to service you, assuming that once the horny man is there you won’t turn the actual girl down because of the effort you made. Your anger will be supplanted shortly by the nice feeling of having your dick touched by a female… Any female. And they’re usually right unfortunately. Bait and switch.) Although I didn’t appreciate the dishonesty, because she was sexy, I went with it.”Hi, I’m Sarah. Ray’s roommate. (The usual story. “Ray had to run out but I could see you if you want.”) Come in. She’s just getting ready for you.”Oh. It wasn’t a bait and switch after all, and Sarah was sweet to boot. Maybe I would sign up for a little 2-girl special. I sat down, deciding I would try Ray alone first just to check out the experience and then would upgrade the next time if I wanted to.It was a nice little Spanish style villa in Venice, decorated kind of hip and funky as if two struggling actresses lived there, which, duh, probably did. The bedroom door opened and Ray, looking exactly like her picture, warmly greeted me with a smile and a hug, pressing her full body and big breasts firmly against me.”Hi, Eric. I’m Ray. So, you’re here for a half hour?”To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
No More Sex - November 13, 2006I’m shutting down the chi, well, not shutting it down really but saving it. I have done this from time to time and find it really energizing and focusing. The rule is no sex until a third date at least, preferably longer. And by sex, I mean anything other than kissing. The way I “make out” with people, that’s as good as fucking sometimes so I’m really talking about a kiss maybe at most on the first date and a small make out on the second are the only legal things. And no jerking off at all. As you know, since most of my dates don’t make it past one, that means the chi is staying home usually, safely tucked away in my big balls. It’s been a couple weeks now and as usual when I stick to this sexual discipline, my life gets better, but I have to go to LA for a day later this week and that makes me nervous, because hotel rooms make me think of hookers. And I’ll be there for work, which is exciting but scary; two feelings that make me want to act out in some way. I feel sure I won’t get a hooker, they stopped giving me what I want years ago, the few I was with, as they’re not so interested in giving love, even faked in hour increments, I once had a prostitute say, “get a girlfriend if you want love. I don’t do that.” I asked her if for 300 bucks an hour she might just pretend a bit, “Not for all the money in the world,” she replied.So, acutely aware that love is really what I’m after and that prostitutes are apparently not willing to provide any, even inauthentically for an hour, I stopped buying them few years ago. But I’ve been single since Liza and I broke up in January 2000, and while one night stands and booty calls happen occasionally, I have deep ambivalence about them since a serious relationship is what I’m really interested in but I can get very lonely. The sexual companionship and female warmth is very nice but as I’ve progressed on my spiritual path, sex has actually gotten to be a way more intimate act than it once was, and doing it with someone I’m not in love with, or at least in a committed relationship with ends up feeling, yes you guessed it, kind of empty. But after months of celibacy at a certain point, I just gotta make sure the shit all still works, I mean it gets ridiculous. A person has to get laid once in a while for fuck’s sake. Still though, it feels a little sad that the object of my affection in those trysts isn’t the girl of my dreams so I don’t do it that often and inevitably when the frequency increases, I end up feeling as though I’m expending energy that would be better spent elsewhere. Work, workouts, spiritual practices, evolving friendships, hanging with my mom, anything.But then Ebner told me about “rub and tugs.” They sounded appealing for many reasons, not the least being they would help me not obsess on whether I got AIDS through the rubber from a prostitute’s saliva, which of course in impossible. (But apparently “impossible” is not good enough for me since I’ve been tested after every illicit blowjob. Though only 5 or 6 times in 8 years, still immensely nerve wracking.)
After I stopped ordering up the whores, I mainly just looked at their pictures and called inquiring as to their availability while jerking off, having no intention of employing them. The best of all worlds in a 30 second phone call. I got the rush of wondering who might show up, came, and no worries about diseases, robbery, or arrest. And I saved the 300 bucks. But after a few years the novelty wore off, and I needed to be touched by a living girl. I had an occasional fling after the Liza break-up, it’s not like I hadn’t gotten laid at all, but few second dates and no love. Still having hope that I could find it somewhere in lieu of a real girlfriend, I took my friend up on his suggestion and tried a “special massage girl.”
To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
The Republicans and Leggs both say bye-bye - November 9, 2006I’m not really political. I mean I am in that I deeply care about what happens in our country and the world, I just don’t think whether Bush or a Democrat is our president has anything to do with the outcome. Politicians pander to the special interest groups that get them elected and it’s all about money whether they’re GOP or Blue. I think if we all were just nicer people and helped each other and each of us didn’t use that second paper towel and turned off that light and gave up that seat on the subway and let that guy cut in on the highway and prayed for everyone’s well being, especially our enemies, and gave until it stung, money, time, love, service, whatever, that the world would change a lot faster than if we spent our time yelling in the streets for change or electing a different wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s all I’ll say about it.
Now, more importantly, along with all the Republicans who split today, I finally got word that Leggs decided to take their lead and go too. Or rather send me away. She wrote me a polite email telling me she was flattered but not interested. Oh well.
So I spent the day, a bleak, rainy one here in New York, calling two ex-girlfriends of mine to ask them if they minded if I wrote about them by name in my book or whether they preferred I keep them anonymous, or didn’t write about them at all. I loved both of these women tremendously and still do. One I’m friends with and see a couple times a year, and the other I have a much deeper bond with and see more often and talk to frequently. They both said they didn’t mind if I wrote about them, one wants to remain anonymous, and I actually want her to as well as I’ve taken a lot of shit over my relationship with her over the years publicly and don’t need it anymore. Her identity isn’t important to our story and there is little reason for including it in the book anyway.
But hearing both of their voices was, as it often is, very sad to me. In good ways, but very sad nonetheless. Whenever I get rejected by a woman who I had hopes for, I like to call Kate, she’s the ex I’m closest with. She always really really got me and I know she has a love for me that’s deep and unconditional, as I have for her. She’s happily married now with kids and we’re strictly friends, but knowing that she once loved me gives me hope that someone as cool as she is out there and will love me again. So it’s a wistful, melancholy, hopeful sadness all at the same time, but it helps me somehow.
Then tonight, ironically on the same block where I saw Leggs’ roller derby last Friday night, I went to a party thrown by my friend Lexi who had fixed me up with April, the last girl I seriously dated. I’ve written about her here a bit, if you’re interested you can find her in the archives.
I had hopes of this party yielding some possibilities since Lexi said there would be “tons” of single women. There weren’t. There were hardly any, but I had a good time, ending up talking to a woman who is a very successful writer and who’s living a charmed life. Which also gives me hope and I like to celebrate other’s victories in all things, especially love, because I know how good it feels to win. She’s been with her husband for 20 years since they met in high school. Married for ten, 3 kids and they live in a carriage house in Manhattan. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s like a little mansion in the middle of the city replete with a garage and three high ceilinged loft floors. They’re ridiculous. Like not so little ginger bread houses. So basically she’s a fairy princess who’s living a dream with her prince and their three kids, and she was lovely. Nice, open, direct, unpretentious. She was amazed I couldn’t find a woman.
“I feel like I could fall in love three times a week.” I understood what she meant instantly. She wasn’t saying in any way that she wasn’t content in her marriage or life, she just meant that she meets great guys and in a parallel universe would have no trouble finding love if she didn’t already have it.
“Yeah, that’s because you’re the perfect woman. You’re hot, smart, sweet, successful, 39 and happily married with kids. You’re open and have dropped all your shit. You need nothing you don’t have, want nothing you don’t have. You’re not sending out any needy vibe. You’re just a sponge. Like a child, only sexy and an adult. Like all older women. They’re amazing. They drop the hate, and care, and pretense and social pressures and just become these incredible creatures, so of course you’re attracting every man within a hundred miles. Of course you could fall in love with 3 of them a week. You meet great guys. Single women aren’t like you.”
She smiled, “I guess you could look at it that way. I think a lot of women just feel old and used up.”
“But not you.”
“No, not me.”
“Right.”
“Hmmm.”
“Well if you have any friends who are like you but single… help my sequel be ‘I Can’t Believe I’ve Been Married A Year,’ okay?”
“I will.”
“It was nice talking to you.”
“And you as well.” And I left. I would have fallen for this woman in a heartbeat if she was single… but would she have been who she was if she was? Maybe. Maybe not. I think she would have been… which means if she existed once, she’ll exist again. And I’ll find her.
I came home after eating too much Italian food with Donny and had received two letters from people who read this blog. One was from a guy telling me he liked what I wrote but could no longer stand how badly I “sucked” at picking up women and wanted to help me as he was a “professional pick up artist.” The other was from a sweet thoughtful college kid who said though strapping and tall and handsome and great and able to fuck any girl he wanted pretty much whenever he wanted, he deeply lamented not having what he really was after. Love. With one woman. And found it hard that he sometimes wasn’t taken seriously as a man who might want that and not just out for sex.
It was funny reading them in that order, the guy wanting to help me not suck at picking up women and then the college kid who identified with me and I he. His letter to me would have been my response to the first guy who wrote me had I responded to him. Getting laid isn’t the problem. “Picking up women?” whatever that means, as if they don’t have a hand in the negotiation like it’s some voodoo, some magical spell we shaman put them under without their consent…? Who’s really “picking up” whom? Shit, if I wanted to have sex with women, I would and could be, just like anyone three times a day. That’s easy. Finding someone to sleep with is a fucking cake walk… finding someone to wake up with…. now that’s magic.
I thank both the men for their letters. As always, they and you all are my teacher and I am grateful for you. Namaste.Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 2:37 AM
The Night That I Fell In Love With A Roller Derby Queen (Part 4) - November 8, 2006I had not been in a lower place than this in a long long time. My phone rang. It was Donny.”Will you meet me for eggs? It’s either that or I’m gonna go shoot dope and drink.” I said.”Meet me at the Metro in ten minutes” he said. I jumped in a cab. “100th and Broadway please.”I got scrambled eggs with mozzarella melted on top and home fries. Donny got chocolate milk. It was Midnight.”Yeah, she’s just not for you. If her last boyfriend was a professional skateboarder, I mean God bless her but she’s not gonna be into your whole thing.”"How do you know that? Maybe they broke up because he was all party guy and she wanted something more serious. I just don’t want to go to some fucking bar where she’ll be all drunk, I mean even if she’s not a drunk, if she’s gonna be drunk, this would be the time. On a Friday night after a tough loss with all her friends…”"Yeah, no matter what, you shouldn’t go meet her now.”"It’s just too fucked up being semi-famous because some people are all over my shit and then others don’t have a clue who I am and I don’t give a fuck if they know me or not, but it’s hard not getting seduced by the attention of the people who do, so when someone doesn’t, you feel all entitled and egoed out.”"I know, it’s just weird.”"I could care less if she’s seen my movies. I just wish she would have thought I was cute and wanted to hang out, that’s all.”"Many people have and will enjoy you, some don’t. That’s just how it goes. Just how like you don’t enjoy all girls who enjoy you.”Donny went West at 100th Street, I went East, both of us heading home. I started writing this story, thinking that would make me feel better. I got half way through, finishing Part 1. It was 1:30AM and I started thinking again that maybe I had overreacted and maybe she didn’t hate me and I should at least take one more shot in person and then at least I’d probably know for sure. Now you have to understand that I HATE to leave my house for any reason. The only thing I hate more is being in a crowded bar full of drunk people… over A HUNDRED BLOCKS FROM MY HOUSE. I mean on the other end of the fucking island! But I like Leggs, baby, and I’m a die hard romantic so what can I say. And I wanted to know. So I grabbed my jacket and jumped in a cab. There was no traffic on the FDR. We flew down . I was at the bar by 1:45. I could see a bunch of the derby chicks smoking outside in the chilly night air and brushed past them into the bar. I did a once around twice and didn’t see either Ginger Snap, who had told me they would be “closing the bar” or Leggs. Fuck. I had gone down there for nothing. Well, at least I didn’t get rejected. Always half full. If you take a lot of risks like I do, you have to find silver linings or you’re dead. I was on my out when I saw a group of four girls talking right in the middle of the bar. I had passed them each time I had searched the bar previously but was sure Leggs wasn’t a part of them. But suddenly, I saw her. She was much shorter without her skates on, which of course I knew she would be but she was even shorter then I had imagined. And her soft side was showing now in her long black Madison Avenue advertising coat. She was much more put together than I thought she’d be and almost looked corporate. Maybe she didn’t need a skateboarding husband. I mean you don’t get edgier then me, but it’s just without the partying and insanity. Again I had to stand, feeling like an asshole, until there was an opening in her conversation. I caught two of the girls she was talking to glancing at me as if she was aware I was there and had told them. Being in the mood I was in, I of course was sure she had said something like, “Oh my God, there’s that creepy old guy who stalked me at the game and now he’s here at the bar. Don’t stop talking to me so he can’t come over.” But I was down there and certainly wasn’t going to let that, whether the truth or my imagination, stop me from saying hello again. She broke from her crew, telling them she was going home. I stepped in.”Hi.”"Oh hi.”"So I just have to say again how awesome you were in the game.”"Oh thanks. I’m leaving though.” Okay, it’s official. She hates me.”Okay, well, did you get my note?”"What note?” She wasn’t even squaring up to me. Her body language was out the door, giving me that half turned leaning, I-don’t-really-have-time-to-be-talking-to-you thing.”I gave a note to Ginger Snap for you.”"I haven’t seen her all night. I’m sorry.”"Well here’s what it said. I have a website I write on to promote my book that is coming out in May and I’m going to write about you and I think we should go out. It was on a “I heart Leggs Luthor” sign I made.” She laughed and actually faced me now. A small victory. “Do you want to have tea with me sometime?”"I think so. My head is just a little all over the place right now. Can we talk next week?”
She was the kind of drunk that someone is then they’ve only had a couple drinks but it was on top of a physically and emotionally exhausting day so they’re drunker than they normally would be under normal circumstances, she wasn’t drunk like a girl who had hunkered down for some serious drunk drinking. I didn’t know if she meant she was out of it because of that or because of an entanglement she was still in with a boy, or whether she was blowing me off. It was weird, her smile said she liked me, but the rest of her actions were like “fuck off.”"Do you have an email or something?”"Yes I do.” She dug in her purse for more than thirty seconds to find it, which I thought was a good sign. If she really wanted to blow me off she could have denied having one or just said she really wasn’t single or whatever. I took the card.”What’s your real name?” At least I deserved that.”Anna.”"Anna?”"Yes. Anna.”So it wasn’t Dana but Anna. Apparently along with my eyes my hearing is going too. I should just walk in front of a fucking bus now and get it over with.”It was really nice seeing you again. I’ll write you soon. Good night.” And I left. That was Friday night. I got home at 2:30 and immediately emailed her a short funny note inviting her to read my blog and have tea with me sometime. I drank a fruit smoothie and went to bed. Part 1 went up Saturday night and I haven’t heard from her yet. It’s now Sunday night. It was her work email so I don’t know if she doesn’t check it from home or what. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m not a fuck head people. I can hear you going, “Dude, she’s SO not into you.” I know, but I give people a large benefit of the doubt, even though ultimately I wouldn’t want a girl who would be the kind of girl who didn’t check to see if I wrote her right away and then upon seeing I had, would write me back right away, but still… So… we’ll see. I’ll certainly let you know what happens. And Leggs, if you’re reading this… either way, you rock. But you’ll rock more if we fall in love and get married and have many little roller derby babies.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
The Night That I Fell In Love With A Roller Derby Queen (Part 3) - November 7, 2006The pack of skaters was set. Leggs was on her rubber toe awaiting the whistle. The crowd was going wild. THE WHISTLE BLEW and they were off!With a determination I had not seen before, Leggs flew through the pack like they were invisible and burst out into the clear. The ref singled she was now a scoring machine and the crowd surged to their feet with a ROAR! I rose to my feet, caught in the ground swell of emotion and screamed, “GO LEGGS!!!! GO!!!!”
But time was running out. 35… 34… 33…Turn after turn they went. The slow pack waiting like the Germans on the shores of Normandy for the Americans to land and be slaughtered… but we had Leggs!32… 31… 30…”GO LEGGS GO!!!!!!!!!!” I was beside myself. She was catching them but would she have time…18…17…16… She needed to pass all four of her opponents to win the game since they were down by three.15…14…13… She was one curve away from the peloton which not could feel her coming and was fighting furiously in the straightaway right in front of me… she would catch them but would there be enough time!12…11…10… The crowd starting counting down. It was deafening.9… 8… 7… LEGGS WAS INCHES FROM THEIR FIRST GIRL IN THE FAR TURN… SUDDENLY, IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE, SHE WAS PAST HER!!!! ONE DOWN, THREE TO GO. 6… 5… 4… AND ANOTHER!!! ONLY TWO MORE GIRLS STOOD BETWEEN LEGGS AND A TRIP TO THE FINALS IN TWO WEEKS, THE SUPERBOWL OF ROLLER DERBY!THEY WERE SET UP, RIPE TO BE PASSED, CAUGHT IN A WEB OF FEMALE BEEF, BUT THE TWO BIGGEST GIRLS ON MANHATTAN FORMED A BRICK WALL, LEGGS TRIED TO GO LOW AND PASS THEM ON THE OUTSIDE…3…2… SHE’S PASSED THEM!!!! SHE’S PASSED THEM!!!!!No. She’s tripped, fallen, and skidded into the front seats.1….ENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN the final buzzer sounded.Un-fucking-believable. “THAT WAS A FOUL” I screamed at the refs but it fell on deaf ears. They had already made their official finding. Bombshells 2. Mayhem 0 on that final jam. We had lost by 1. 70-69The teams hugged it out. They seemed to truly have love and respect for each other though it was clear Brooklyn was heartbroken. Friends and family came out of the stands to congratulate and console their derby loved ones. I milled around on the sidelines contemplating my tact. I realized the track wasn’t off limits anymore so I made a b-line for Leggs. She was surrounded by 5 people, two teammates and three twenty something guys with scruff and ink sleeves. Two of the guys seemed like friends, the third a possible suitor. He had the same slightly awkward hand-in-pocket-trying-to-look-cool-when-really-feeling-scared vibe that I had. But was doing it in Elvis Costello glasses and with twenty less years of practice than I. The downside being he didn’t pull it off as well as I did, the upside being he didn’t because he was twenty years younger. There wasn’t going to be an opening unless like the bold Jammer Leggs was, I battered my way through the scrum and scored with my own guile and gumption and sheer will. In the middle of a teammate telling her how great she was I made my move.”Oh my God! That was ridiculous! You SO won that game! That was a total foul!”She looked at me with a polite, slightly shy smile, or did she hate me. I couldn’t quite tell. “Thank you. I know. Did you like the game?”"Oh my God, it was amazing. You were amazing.”"Thank you.” More fans came over and grabbed her attention. I tried one last time…”So I may be dating myself but I used to go to the Garden and see the original girls in the seventies.” She only half heard that. “Oh really?” She wasn’t into me. Especially now that by telling her I used to watch roller derby before her parents had even met, I had busted my own youthful appearance as being a myth, the truth being I was old. I waved and said, “See ya around.” She waved and smiled again, politely. I found Ginger Snap. “I don’t think she likes me.”"Awwww,” she said sympathetically. “Come to the party. We have lots of other single roller girls.” “I don’t know. I love Leggs. I don’t want to stand around getting rejected in a bar full of people who all know each other.”"Alright. Well. I tried.”"I know. Thanks a lot. You’re sweet.” And with that, I headed for the exit. But then my will to win came back and I thought I might be being a baby and that maybe Leggs had just been overwhelmed by the situation or shy or who the fuck knows. So, I decided to give it another chance. I got my “I heart Leggs Luthor” sign and scribbled a note on the back telling her about this website and telling her she should call me and we should have a tea sometime and that I would be writing about her here. I found Ginger Snap and gave her the note to give to Leggs and then left.I called Donny and my friend Alison but no one was around. It was a beautiful cold fall Friday night. My favorite. Hundreds of happening people all hung out in front of Hunter College making hip plans for cool things to do with each other. I started sliding into a deep depression. Fucking high school all over again, where even though I had lots of friends, I always felt like I didn’t or they didn’t really like me. Like alone they could, but in a crowd weren’t allowed to admit it. I walked West toward Madison Avenue. I pulled my hoodie over my head and got really really sad. When the fuck would a girl I liked, like me back. That’s all I ask for. Why couldn’t Leggs have given me a stronger hand shake when I introduced myself. ( I forgot to tell you, before I made the “I used to go to the old roller derby” comment, I had introduced myself, “Hey. I’m Eric,” I said. “Leggs,” she said and gave me a limp handshake as her friend caught her attention by saying, “Hey Dana, you were great. I’ll call you.”Dana? Her real name is Dana and I get Leggs? What, her stripper name? Now I’m such a loser fan that I can’t even know her fucking real first name? Anyway, so that was that)So I walked north on Madison and just felt like shit. Why couldn’t “Dana” have grabbed me by the arm, no matter how bummed from just having lost the game and said, “Come to the party.” That’s all. She knew I liked her and thought she was cute, why couldn’t she like me and think I was cute and want me around to see if we’d hit it off. Is that so fucking outlandish to want? I have met a couple really hot, amazing, smart, sweet women lately and had a lot of fun with them and deeply value knowing them but the mutual chemistry hasn’t been there. That isn’t anyone’s fault so I guess this is that again… But it just feels so exhausting sometimes. I don’t know why this was affecting me so much. I realized it wasn’t actually about Leggs, I didn’t even know her. But it was the dredging up of a lifetime of wounds set off by the whole night, and the death of the hope of love once again. Tears flooded my eyes and made the lights in the store windows glow like a kaleidoscope. I wanted to drink. I wanted to drink and shoot heroin. I’ve been sober for 23 years and I have never before, in all those years, wanted to get fucked up like I wanted to get fucked in that moment. If I was down at that after party drinking and snorting heroin with Leggs and her friends, she’d be mine, and if she wasn’t, I wouldn’t care less. Maybe I should go down there. I was scared. This wasn’t good. Maybe I would get fucked up tonight.To be continued…
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 10:53 AM
The Night That I Fell In Love With A Roller Derby Queen (Part 2) - November 6, 2006The night that I fell in love with a roller derby queen, round and round, a-round and round.
The biggest hunk a woman that anybody ever seeeeeeeeeeeeeen…
DOWN in the arena, she was five foot six, two fifteen a bleached blonde mama with a streak of mean…
She knew how to hustle and she knew how to tussle and fight.Leggs didn’t look like Jim Croce’s girl and didn’t seem to have a streak of mean. What she did in her normal life was a mystery. All that she revealed were long legs under sheer black nylons, a low cut mini dress, a long brunette pony tail and a helmet. She could be a yuppie or an artist. Wall Street or a teacher. I didn’t know. All I knew was I needed to meet her.Ginger was back from having set something up on the other side of the arena.”So Ginger, what did you say and what did she say?”"I said, ‘are you single?’” Ginger said, smiling. There are few things sexier than the Junior high school courtship through the best friend. “And she said, ‘Yeah…well…yeah.”"Okay that’s not good.”"I think she just broke up with a guy. A professional skateboarder.” Okay, so Leggs was actually still in high school. I mean she looked young but I figured 25, 26. Oh well.”No, she works at BAM. She’s an adult, Eric.”"I know, I’m just kidding. SO then what?”"Then I said, ‘well there’s this guy who’s a friend of Bob and Susan’s who likes you and he’s sitting over there…’ and that’s when you waved.”"Okay, good.”"And she said, ‘well I don’t quite know how to take that. Tell him to introduce himself to me at the after party’”"Okay, so there’s a chance.”"Yeah. You should go to the after party and say hi.”"Where is it?”"At this bar on Avenue A and Houston. The Double Down.”"Okay, great. Thank you so much. You’re very sweet for helping.”So it was on. And then she had done the little wave so I felt like there might be a real chance of something good happening. But now she and everyone else was all business as the game was about to start.Hundreds of people filled both sides of the bleachers and stomped their feet in unison creating an earthquake rumble as Leggs’ team from Brooklyn, and the ladies from Manhattan took their places on the flat, metallic blue oval. White snake lights like on a runway bordered the makeshift rink and I was sitting two feet from one of the curves which was apparently a “danger zone” as girls frequently got blocked into your lap, crashing onto you. Bob turned to me, “Which one would you take. Catching a foul ball at Shea or having Leggs crash onto your lap…”"As much as I must obtain Leggs, I’d take the foul ball. I can catch Leggs somewhere else.” Bob smiled. The whistle blew as the crowd crescendoed and the girls were off on their first “jam.” That’s when the girls start skating, five per side. One girl from each team starts farther behind the “pack” which is comprised of the other eight girls. The two lone “jammers” have to make their way through the blockade of women trying to stop them from breaking free and passing them. Once the jammers inevitably do pass the pack, they become scoring machines, able to garner points by lapping the opposing team’s girls. They fly around the track as the pack lingers, jockeying for position awaiting them. When the jammers reach them, they attempt to lap them. A good hip check or well placed illegal elbow will send the smaller, more agile jammers into the front row of spectators. Leggs is Brooklyn’s best jammer. I of course, being from Manhattan would have been routing for my home team, but I became a shameless turncoat the instant I saw that Leggs was dawning the blue and white stripes of the Brooklyn side and I even made an impromptu sign on the back of the orange Manhattan sign I had hitherto commandeered which read, “I heart Leggs Luthor.” I held it up proudly when the Bombshell cheerleaders would lead us in a cheer. I only really held the sign up once. I’m not a total geek.So the first half was pretty even. The two teams jockeyed back and fourth. Each jam lasted a couple minutes and each team had two or three jammers who would alternate jams. The half ended in a virtual tie after thirty minutes of rough skating. Leggs hadn’t looked at me once but I gave her a flier since she was navigating 200 pound girls parries designed to knock her into the third row and while not negotiating that danger, she was intently cheering on her teammates, which I understood and respected. There would be time for romance after the game… if she thought I was cute. The jury was still way out based on her little wave and smile. That was still all I had to go on. And the cryptic, “Yeah… well… yeah” when asked if she was single.In the second half, the Bombshells, lead by my girl’s skilled and graceful dominance, began to take control frustrating the lesser opponent. They grabbed a seemingly insurmountable 63-51 lead. But there was still lots of time left. Since the game seemed in the bag, I was left to start imagining my life with Leggs. How long would her derby career last? Would our kids be derby girls? Would I be scared for my girls’ safety as a “derby dad?” What a cool couple we would make. She accompanying me to my film premiers, me cheering her on rink side as she sexily slithered through morasses of large women, catapulting her team to league championships… I was lost in a reverie of wonderful images when I was suddenly jolted back into the present by a thunderous roar. “Roxy,” one of Manhattan’s best jammers had just scored an unprecedented NINE points on one jam! It was sick. She had lapped my girls TWICE in what seemed a nightmarishly endless jam. With our meager 2 points scored that put the Mayhem right back in the game and they now had all the momentum… and they seized it. In the subsequent jams, they outscored Leggs, bottling her and the other Bombshell jammers up and frustrating them to take a 70-67 lead. There was only 45 seconds left. Time for one last very short jam. There might not even be time enough for our jammer to break free from the pack and lap them, which was the only way to score the necessary 4 points to win. As luck and the magic of serendipity would have it, like a movie, of course, Leggs was the final jammer for Brooklyn. It was do or die.To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
The Night That I Fell In Love With A Roller Derby Queen - November 4, 2006I once had an acting teacher in college ask us to do an exercise. “Choose an important story from your life. Tell it first as the greatest story of you life. Then tell the same story again, but this time, tell it as the saddest story of your life”
My whole life has felt like that exercise and tonight was no exception. Quintessential sublime/death.
I’ve always felt too sensitive for this world. Like I’m cursed with being an open wound. I’m too fucking raw. Always. I get my hopes up at the littlest thing and then plummet when they don’t work out. With everything, work, love, friendship.
When I was 7 years old I played a song with Jim Croce, both of us played guitar and sang. It was in Pennsylvania at a fourth of July picnic at my cousin’s house. I don’t remember what song we played. It wasn’t “Roller Derby Queen” I know that for sure, yet I do know all the words to that song and many others of his. I was a big fan and still am.
Tonight my friends Bob and Susan invited me to go see the Gotham Girls Roller Derby at Hunter College. It was the semi finals between the Manhattan Mayhem and the Brooklyn Bombshells. Now, if you haven’t figured it out already, whenever I leave my house, my primary mission is to find a wife. It just is. It always has been. I’ve never just wanted to get laid, it sometimes happens but my intention since I was little, always has been to find and have a girlfriend. I’m into one girl only and at this stage of my life; I want her to turn into my wife at some point.My life is so fucking solitary. I’m either writing or editing a film. If I’m shooting I’m the boss so I can’t really date my crew, they’re my employees, and the actresses while fetching, are crazy so they’re out. That leaves yoga, the gym, or on the street or subway on the way to yoga or the gym. I don’t drink so I don’t hang in bars or like to go to places where people are drinking. So when I get invited to an event like the roller derby for instance, while I think it’ll be fun and weird and kitsch, I’m really hoping I’ll fall in love with a roller derby queen.
Tonight’s game was in the Hunter College gym. It’s a loaded place for me, a gym, since my first love was basketball. I was extremely good and wanted to be a pro. I was invited to an elite camp called 5 Star as a junior in high school but had a bad week and wasn’t recruited for college. Literally the only time in my life I ever quit at something that was a dream of mine was then. After that week, I said fuck it and gave up my dream of being a pro basketball player. My alcoholism and drug addiction took off and I got into writing and directing plays instead. So whenever I’m in a gym, just the smell, the fluorescent lights, the fiberglass backboards, the wood floors… I’m catapulted back to when I used to fill it up in high school and have crowds chant my name. My destiny in the NBA was a heartbeat away in my mind. The rhythm you get into when you are really good at a sport is ridiculous. It’s like nothing else. I could drain rainbow jumpers from 30 feet without looking when I was hot. I was so fast I could lose guys a foot taller with ease, steal the ball from anyone I wanted at will and give it back to them before they knew I had stolen it. I loved playing basketball.
I was 16 years old then. My whole life was ahead of me. Although I’m only 44 now and am in stellar shape and look ten years younger, when I’m in a college arena with mainly people in their twenties, I can feel like an old man. I don’t feel like and old man but I feel like they think I’m an old man and unless someone happens to know my work and dig it, I’m not going to get taken seriously in a romantic way. Not that I wouldn’t at some point, but upon an initial meeting, if someone’s a fan then obviously they’re going to have more of an interest in me. That’s not necessarily a good thing, since they can have all kinds of preconceived misperceptions about me, but at least it’s a starter. The power of celebrity, even at my small level is so powerful in our culture. It gives me a context. It’s something they can know about me. They like a piece of art I’ve made and that colors their perception of me. That’s not a bad thing or a sycophantic thing. It’s just a bit of information about me that’s intriguing and for those who like what I do, nice for them. I’m not a stranger, and especially because of the personal nature of my films, people feel like they know me, and they kind of do.
Without that, I’m some old dude in a hoodie and leather jacket trying to “hit” on the roller derby chicks. Which is such bullshit. If I wanted sex, that’s the easiest thing in the world to get. I just put out that vibe; anyone can just put out that vibe and people with similar interests will come out of the woodwork. There’s no “hitting on” required. Just intention. The “love” intention seems a much harder one to get in synch with.
And the age thing seems completely subjective. Many women I meet couldn’t care less how old I am or in fact like that I’m older then they are for all the obvious reasons, and some don’t. But I hate feeling on the outs for any reason. Just a school gym brings back such memories (other than the mixed basketball ones) of felling dorky and out of place. Unliked at best, hated at worst. And this was a major clique. Everyone here seemed to know everybody else already so I felt even more of an outsider. But I’ve never let that stop me.
So, my friends Bob and Susan, who are trying their best to set me up, introduced me to one of the Roller Girls who wasn’t actually playing tonight, Ginger Snap. She was a sweet, cute girl with red Aladdin Sane shocks in her blonde pig tails and posed like a pro for photos before the match started. It turned out she was a fan of If Lucy Fell.
“It’s one of my favorite movies. My husband laughs at me and says it’s the penultimate chick flick.” I laughed and said, “Thank you but I take offense at that and will give him shit for it when I meet him” which happened to be a few minutes later and he didn’t know who I was or what movie I was talking about for a few minutes which made me feel like an idiot. Sublime/death. She digs me/he couldn’t care less.
I’d scoped out all the girls at this point and one girl instantly stood out from all the rest. I mean I loved all the girls on both teams. They were great. The big brawny chicks, the tiny ones all tatted up, but one I was instantly smitten by… Leggs Luthor. She was tall and thin with broad shoulders, thin hips, and looked like Jennifer Connolly’s sister. Stunning. When she entered the arena she was first in and waved the Brooklyn Bombshells’ flag. She shimmied her hips just a little from side to side and the only thing hotter then her stupid-hot ass was her attitude. But she seemed delicate and smart too, as well as ferocious. She was clearly the best skater out there and I fell for her in a fucking heartbeat.
I’m so tired of being the most interesting one at the table. I’m not saying I’m that interesting, I may bore the cunt out of you but all I know is most people bore the cunt out of me and I desperately want to be inspired by the woman I end up with. This girl inspired me. Now I’m not a fucking moron, I know I hadn’t even said a word to her and she might be dumb as an elbow protector but I really didn’t have the feeling she was and I really wanted to find out so I asked Ginger Snap to be my tenth grade best friend and suss out Leggs’ situation. She said she would and a few minutes later, went over to her as she stretched on the side of the flat track and some of her teammates skated around warming up.
I noticed them talking and at the precise moment Ginger pointed me out across the arena I waved a little too cheerfully on purpose to diffuse any weirdety and announce my intentions as her suitor. She smiled and half-waved back. I wasn’t sure about that reaction but then she and another teammate who had been stretching too, rose and began to circle the track to warm up a bit. She skated right by me, feet from where I was sitting track side but didn’t even glance at me. I didn’t know if she was getting her game face on and really that oblivious to me or whether she was playing it cool. The next time around though, she gave me a cute little wave and flashed a sweet smile when she passed. It was all over. I must marry Leggs Luthor.
To be continued…Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:47 PM
Repent Your Sins, Lesbians! (Part 3) - November 3, 2006″I’m okay. How are you?” I replied to God in the cab driver’s costume.
“I’m great, thank you, sir.” Again, it’s hard to describe the vibe this kid had. It was pure love. Pure God.
“Where are you going now?” He asked.
“The gym.”
“Oh really?” he said in his thick accent, “I go there too to try and keep my belly low.” I