Tag: single life

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personal

You heart me

Her: I think you (draws a heart in the air) me. (laughs) Why does our meeting have to mean something? Can’t it just be we met and I just had too much to drink?
Me: Because I want so bad for it to mean something. That’s why you can’t be the girl.

Friday, meet up with WM and Paolo for a party at Duvet. Not my scene. We bounce and meet up with Elle and company for some rum and beer at Reservoir. Meet a girlie who thinks I look too young. I tell her I’m not.

On the subway going up, I bump into three lovely young German women, smile and say, Hallo, habe ich ein Witz fuer euch – ein Typ…usw, usw, usw…

Saturday, see the girl that I thought was the Ship in the Night Girl who says the above. We chat from midnight to four again before I put her in a cab and take the long walk home, just for old times sake. Walking home I think of something: this girl has green eyes. The SING had green eyes. I think. You see I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue.

Sunday, meet up with Rain downtown to do a month’s worth of laundry. He makes me stand on a plank of wood he’s cutting with a powersaw as my whites hit the rinse cycle. Later that night, attend Cappy’s wedding an upscale midtown Greek restaurant. I see friends I’ve not seen in 15 years. They ask me how I am and I lie and say I’m fine.

Outside, take a picture of the attractive hostess who looks up at the sky and tell her that I won’t take her number but I’ll give her mine. She smiles and says that very gentlemanly. It’s my turn to laugh as I hand her my card. Of course, she’s 21, but not, however, a pescatarian.

Her: I think you want the drama. You like the drama.
Me: I really, really, do not.
Her: What if it did mean something? But not what you were hoping. What if we did connect, but as friends?
Me: (laugh, lean into her ear) I think you heart me.
Her: (leans into my ear) That’s my line. You can’t take my line.
Me: I just did.

Location: 1993 in my head
Mood: melancholy
Music: It’s a little bit funny

Categories
personal

It’s me

I’m not an ill-willed person

Since I lost my phone, I ran through all my old messages.

I’m sorry I couldn’t come…
Mr. Logan, this is…

Hey, it’s me…

The last one stopped me cold.

In response to the person that sent me an email a while back, the answer is: 24 hours. Sometimes less than that. Sometimes it just takes one screwup to go from being someone that calls and says Hey it’s me, to being a complete stranger.

———-

Yesterday, was out in Brooklyn grabbing some court papers. Not fun. Sheridan had a dinner to attend and the hostess wrote to him, “Make sure you invite Logan Lo!” He laughed and said I had to come. It was another catered affair with wealthy lawyers, entertainment people and artists.

The hostess was trying to set up Sheridan with people. She said that she would say, That’s a lovely dress/outfit, to indicate that the lady was available. Clever. People said she fixed up Kevin Klein and Phoebe Cates. Who knows?

A French waitress I briefly dated was there completely by random. Literally, completely unexpected. She told me to call her; told her I would.

Bounced early with this clothing manufacturer because Sheridan got us into the Hamptons party in midtown. It was thrown by the same guys that threw this and this. Open bar, beautiful people, the usual song and dance. Walking around, bump into the French waitress again! Call me; I will.

John Leguizamo was the guest of honor – and the host mispronounced his name, which clearly pissed him off. Had a lot on my mind, and rum in my system, so I really wasn’t into it. Sheridan and hopped before midnight. Walking up 10th Avenue, I rang someone.

Me: Hey, it’s me.
Her: Hey.

Location: 9:10AM, kitchen making coffee & eggs
Mood: busy
Music: I am not an ill-willed person I do not wish bad things for you

Categories
personal

Ships in the night

Met the Ship in the Night Girl Again

Me: Ships in the night?
Her: I’m sorry what?
Me: (laughing) My mistake…thought you were someone else.

Friday, go to a party thrown by Jenny and friends – they hired a bartender and had an open bar. Sweeeeeet. Saturday, spend the day roaming the hood with with HEI. We end up having a wind-tunnel-like lunch at the Boat Basin. She’s all sorts of lovely.

Saturday night, go to a friend’s b-day party. Meet someone I swear is the Ship In the Night Girlie.

Her: It sounds like it could be me, but I don’t remember.
Me: (disappointed) Then it wasn’t you.
Her: How do you know it wasn’t me?
Me: Cause you’d remember a fella like me.
Her: That’s awfully egotistical of you.
Me: (sighing) Don’t mean it to be. But it’s true.

She and I hang out with Paul and WM til six in the morning. We finish up the night at a French bistro downtown as the run rises. Lose my phone – ugh. That’s a whole entry in itself.

Don’t get into bed until 7AM. Wake up a little while later and run in the rain to meet up for a memorial lunch for Mike. His sister gives me an envelope fulla singles; said she wanted me to hand them out to anyone that asked for help cause Mike woulda liked that. Said I would.

Hop off to church where I meet a girl from Holland and end up walking this girl Beth home – she’s involved but fun company. Give her the nickel tour before we run into Jenny and some other people ’round the way.

Finally get a few moments to think. Wonder if I’ll ever see Ship in the Night Girl again. Stupid isn’t it? You see a girl for a moment and she’s in your head weeks later?

Her: (to WM) Your friend’s so peculiar. (to me) You’re so peculiar. Maybe I am the Ship in the Night Girl.
Me: You’re not, but thanks. (taking her hand) We’ll be friends, yeah?
Her: Yes.

There’re numbers I’ll never get again in that phone I lost. Seems like more ships pass me in the night than I thought.

———-

Ran into my friend Christianne tonight too. Here’s a story about her or you can just listen to her sing to you now…

 

Location: 7AM yest, stumbling home
Mood: hoping
Music: Hey Snowflake! What ‘cha doin on Arlington Place?

Categories
personal

My random nights

Her: (picking up hairclip on bookshelf) Wear this much?
Me: Was that there?
Her: It’s cool. (putting hairclip back) Every girl leaves something behind. Except me. I’m not going to leave anything behind.

I’m getting sued again by someone else. It never ends.

Tuesday night, skip fencing to see the pretty Hazel-Eyed Italian for a private party on a rooftop garden on Fifth Avenue. It’s a catered affair with an open bar and we pound rum all night in between getting massages and chatting with Pat Kiernan and his wife. HEI and I duck out to catch a late night flick. The next day, she tells me she’s not hung over at all. Ah, the power of rum.

Wednesday night, meet up with Elle at the South Street Seaport. She’d never been either and took me out for my birthday. We walk from there a mile or so to a friend’s place where we end up shooting the breeze until midnight. I tell her that most of the women I meet are usually bi-sexual. Or don’t want kids. Or are 22. Or don’t want to ever get married (like her). Or something. She laughs.

Her: We have a strange relationship, you and I.
Me: We do. Why? What do you think of it?
Her: (getting up and smiling) Bye, Logan.

Thursday. Wonder what the weekend has in store for us.

Location: 20 mins ago, Grand Central Station
Mood: thinking
Music: This city is for strangers Like the sky is for the stars

Categories
personal

Life gets in the way

Location: 19:00, walking up Broadway
Mood: pensive
Music: your empty eyes Seem to pass me by Leave me

Friday, crash a party with some amazing food by this gorgeous 5’9″ woman. Also meet this 6’1″ Italian woman who’s looking for some people to hang out with so we exchange info. Man, wish I were taller, wish I were a baller. Oh well.

Saturday, hit up a party and play with a killer camera and take all these pics. Round 11, meet up with this girl Yvey as well as her friend Pyro. Then at 2AM, meet up with my buddy WM who’s hung up on a girlie. Tell him that the girlie’ll either call or not but either way, it resolves itself. He asks how I’m sure.

Me: After a while, you start seeing patterns. OK, you see that blond? I’m going to say hello and she’ll dance with me. Then she’s going to ask me to buy her a drink and I won’t. Then she’ll find some other guy to buy her a drink, dance with him and try and make me jealous. When we leave, we’re going to talk one more time.

(one hour later)

Me: Like I said. Patterns.

Him: Get her number?

Me: Why? I already know how the story ends.

Sunday had a date with French girl that started and ended there. Also saw a friend and just wept – but it was cause we got ourselves into a laughing fit and couldn’t stop. I think we laughed for five minutes straight.

Speaking of weeping, made yet another woman cry, but for different reasons:

Her: You’re a nice young man to call. (sniffles) It means a lot to me that you called.

Me: (laughing) I’m not that nice nor young. (quiet) I’m sorry it took so long for me to call. Life gets in the way, y’know? Mike…he’s very missed. Very.
Her: I… (cries)

I like to mix it up. Do something good every once in a while.

It helps me forget people ‘n things.

Categories
personal

NYC Boy

Rain and Scottie invite me to to a party uptown. Since he never heads uptown, had to say yes. Going there, meet a blue-eyed girl named Gwen who said she can’t tell who’s mad and who’s wearing a bluetooth headset. Contemplate giving her my number but we didn’t hit the pivot point so I don’t.

At the party, make my way across to my friends and run into pair of long legs before I find Rain.

Me: I just picked up the prettiest girl for you (turn to long legs and wave; she smiles and waves back)
Rain: (laughs)

We bounce into the bar in the pic where Scottie and Rain tell me that there’s something wrong with me cause I don’t sleep with the women I date.

Me: Guys call it “getting lucky,” right? I hate that. It’s a pathetic statement from pathetic men. Women don’t “get lucky” but men do. That’s ridiculous. Boys like me sleep with a girl cause we choose to, not cause we “get lucky.”
Her: I don’t approve.
Me: (shrugging and turning to Scottie) OK, I’ll sleep with you then.
Her: (pause) Take a number.
Me: Sheeyah…
Bartender: (interrupting and pointing at me) Your friend’s right. The guys that try to get lucky never do.

Soon, we pile into Scottie’s whip. When we hit Central Park, Rain jets. Earlier, mentioned I liked Rain’s leather jacket so as he exits, he takes it off and hands it to me. It’s yours, he says. Before I can protest, he’s already in a yellow going downtown.

He’s a good fella, that one. I’m wearing it below.

Once home, I get a message that Pretty Jenny and some others’re around the way but then onea my stories I thought ended drops me a line.

You should stop by here for a spell. It’ll break your heart, NYC in the Spring.

But it’s totally worth it. If only for the people and the violets in Central Park.

 

Location: 22:00, 1409 York Avenue
Mood: touched
Music: Take me on a trip, I’d like to go some day – take me to New York

Categories
personal

Stupid Tequila / Oranges in our drinks

Me: There are three types of people in the world. Single, sorta single and not single.
Her: Which one are you?
Me: Which one do you want me to be?

Busy weekend. Here’re the highlights. Friday, meet up with Pretty Jenny and her friends. We all hang out downtown where an outdoor flick’s playing. Then we’re off in cabs to another joint where I snap the pic below and Jenny buys rounds. Gave Tequila another chance and she screwed me. Always ends the same.

Saturday, Rain, Hazel, Paul and I hit up a few bars and The Park. Between the bartender whipping a patron with his own belt and the skinnydipping in the club, I run into the Cornell crew; a woman from way back; somea Paul’s friends; and somea Gio’s friends. Said it before, NYC’s a small town. Eh, at least you’re never bored.

Speaking of town, Caligirl’s back in it and wants to get together; she’s marrying someone else. But it’s not the man she loves and not me either. It’d be funny if it wasn’t. She found out about this blog too so I guess her story ends here.

Arrive home comfortably numb, and there’s a painfully sad email sitting in my inbox that sobered me up right quick. Couldn’t read it all. Guess that story ends here too. She had the most beautiful eyes.

Three stories ended this weekend, in one way or another. I’m always exiting people’s Venn Diagram or vice versa. Sucks either way. Hence the Tequila. Stupid Tequila.

Rethinking pouring my life into this blog. No. 5 once asked once if I was lonely. No, I said, I have my secrets. Only got a few left.

And those I wish I didn’t have. Cause they rattle ’round my brain at 5AM and keep me up. Stupid secrets.

Me: Sorta single? It doesn’t matter. The night is young and we have oranges in our drinks. Well, I do anyway. You’ve got bubbles.

Location: 22:40, walking up Broadway w a friend
Mood: hopeful
Music: people in your life are seasons, And anything that happen is for a reason

Categories
personal

E pur si muove

Location: getting up to go
Mood: honest
Music: io lo so che non sono solo anche quando sono solo

I suspect that this weekend will be quite different from last weekend.

The legend goes that Galileo Galilei was arrested in 1633 for going against church doctrine that the earth does not move and, instead, everything revolves around it. He recanted his beliefs rather than face the Inquisition but as he was being led out of the courtroom, he muttered, E pur si muove – and yet it moves.

What he was saying was that the truth is the truth regardless of what else one says. It’s action, the motion, that matters.

Could try’n explain why I do what I do but it’d just be hot breath and lies.

Ah, there it is: The lies we tell ourselves.

Tonight I was honest, I mean really honest, with the Hazel-Eyed Italian and where I was. And hate myself for it. And tonight I was also honest, really honest, with myself about SX. And hate myself more for it.

Well look at that, I’m completely single again. Isn’t that convenient?

As luck would have it, it’s the weekend. Even luckier, I clean up real nice, have far too little shame and far too much rum.

But one more bit of honesty between you and me, just because it’s late. And I’m tired and introspective.

I hide my ugly well.

So well, in fact, that when I smile, you only see the whiteness of my teeth and never the sharpness.

And yet it moves.

Categories
personal

Who pays the price?

Me: If I didn’t know better, I’d think we were happy couple.
Her: (long pause) We were.

Thanks for all the well-wishes; got me through a rough day. Worked until 1AM on my birthday. S’ok cause I did a lot of living this past weekend.

SX came up from Philly to see me and I showed her my city.

Saturday night we hit up a party that my friends Paolo and Cindy threw for me. Do you remember that last scene from It’s a Wonderful Life where Geroge can’t believe all the people that came out for him? Sorta how I felt.

On Sunday, SX and I grab brunch around the way. Then she gets ready to go. It’s terribly sad. Terribly. My self-sabotaging’s pretty much train on time.

Ok then.

Her: It’s funny, I feel like we’re breaking up and we were never together. Who knew I’d find a 35 year-old womanizer appealing? (pause) I like you, Logan.
Me: I like you too.
Her: (pause) Will you write about me?
Me: I like to keep some of my private life private. (pause) Do you want me to?
Her: (long pause) Yes. I want you to write about this weekend.

This weekend I had a beautiful girl come visit me for my birthday and we had an absolutely amazing time. But I discovered that I’m a lousy womanizer. Cause Paul and I stick to two rules:

  1. Never lie.
  2. Always leave people better off having met you.

Causea rule one, I never know if somea these people that cross my Venn Diagram’ll cross them again. Causea rule two, I tell SX that she should be with that other guy because he can be there for her and I can’t – then again, I’m no one’s careful consideration.

I sighed this past weekend and SX asked me what I was thinking. I just smiled and shrugged.

But what I was thinking was that, My head knows I’m doing the right thing but it’s never my head that pays the price.

She picked up her bag, shut the door, and walked away.

And here I am again.

Location: 22:23, 57th and 8th Avenue
Mood: alone
Music: There’s a somebody I’m longing to see

Categories
dating personal

Monday Always Comes a Day Too Soon

Location: all over the damn place
Mood: confused
Music: risk all this for just a kiss I promise I will not resist

Friday night, Sheridan invites me another one of his high-society parties and Gio invites me to a club; woulda been floated into both but I need some downtime.

Using a broken chopstick and four rubber-bands, spend the night mounting a 2.5″ HD into a 3.5″ bay in my DVR. Used to spend a lotta Fridays like that. No lie.

Saturday night, hit up a girlie’s party in Jersey. Met someone whom I may have kissed over New Year’s, but I don’t think so. Then again, been wrong before. An hour into it, get a call from SX. She’s in Jersey too.

Her: Let’s meet up half-way.

Me: (thinking) OK, I’m game.

We end up at a diner just east of no-freaking-where. Her blond hair falls into her eyes when she walks in, laughs and says, This is crazy. I smile and nod. In one of our conversations, I tell her that I occasionally kiss the women I meet.

Her: You’re a tongue-whore.

Me: Do people say that?

It’s almost 5AM when we call it a night. Sunday, wake up, do my situps and clean up my train-wreck of a pad. Meet up with a Hazel-Eyed Italian for caramels who lives around the way with an easy laugh. She asks about my dating life so I take a deep breath and tell her.

Her: Oh…you’re a tongue-slut.

Me: Wow, people really do say that. And I prefer whore, thank you.

We walk around the big city for a bit. Pointing at some violets, she says that she never sees enough of them here. I smile in agreement before she slips underground and I dash off to church.

I slide into a pew and sit by my lonesome in the back. Find myself staring just a little too long at the smug couples around me. I excuse myself, go to the restroom and wash my face for no particular reason. Then trudge up the steps to sit alone again.

Monday always comes a day too soon, yeah?