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Jim Beam
Lonely Jimmy understands my sorrows...so does Jack.After spilling one of my most tightly kept stories (read the previous entry) to Iron Face, I spent the rest of the night studying.
But trying to concentrate was a lost cause.
In addition to the metaphorical tsunami of emotions crashing down on me from reliving that moment in my life, it was 4am and I was exhausted. But what made studying completely impossible was my anxiety. Was this a story I should’ve never told anyone? How would I be perceived now this side of my life was brought out?
It was obvious that it had already altered my relationship with her. She had verbally asserted this. But was she now viewing me as the frail, hopelessly lost romantic back then or the frail, hopelessly lost romantic now? Did she ask me for coffee for what I am now, or the sad story that I had?
To answer, I turned to two of my remedies, alcohol and writing.
I pushed aside my homework, poured a triple of Jim Beam and wrote the last entry.
Eyes glowing red from an all-nighter of boozing and writing, I stumbled to class the next day and after
hour after hour of brutally boring lectures finally ended at 3pm, I met Iron Face for coffee.
We sat around talking for about half an hour about serious shit like relationships, friendships, families, etc. but shit got too emotional and deep for two shallow 20 year old Asians to handle. We were talking about my high school Korean ex-girlfriend, we talked about her friends (she has many shallow friendships but no really close relationships), fucked up family shit…the talk became way too depressing way too quickly and she asked me to tell a funny story.
She laughed her ass off as I recounted a few of my ridiculous stories (like the Genki Juice debacle) and the situation turned merrier. She kept asking for more and more stories and I couldn’t help being narcissistic as I fed her more and more stories of my life.
Finally it was time to go. She had to pack up to go back to her home in Toronto (she’s one of those people with no finals). We walked a few blocks until it was time to part ways.
As I stood with her waiting for the light to change, I suddenly
Goodbye Yusaku
This picture is intentionally awkward to reflect his awkward character got an urge to say something.
Stumbling over my words, I tried to formulate my thoughts into a sentence before the light turned green.
“Don’t worry about not having close friends and stuff…you have…something. Like, something that makes me…makes me…inherently trust you. I mean, why would I tell you that story? Yeah, you have something…”
She was taken aback.
“Was that actually a compliment?”
“Oh…yeah, I guess so…”
She smiled. “That’s the first compliment you’ve given me. Matter of fact, it's the first one you gave anyone, Mr. New Yorker.” I have quite a rep for never complimenting anyone.
I’m sweet, soft and nice. But that part of my character is as small as Hitler’s heart.
I quickly jumped back into character.
I smirked. “Yea, you better cherish it. You just got complimented by someone amazing.”
She playfully shoved me, “Shut up.”
I quickly hugged her goodbye as the light turned green.
The following two weeks blazed by in a blur of finals. I was too busy studying to do anything, and even if I had a free moment, everyone else was too busy studying. However,
I took one night off after my first final to bid my friend Yusaku away.
Yusaku is a random Japanese guy that I’ve mentioned here and there in the blog. He throws wicked parties because he happens to have tons of hot female friends and tons of booze.
We’ve gotten close in the past few months but we started off on the wrong foot. I met him in the winter of 2008 at his house party. Me, Ted and Yu (remember her from Calgary?) had spent most of the evening doing our best impressions of Canadians by getting sloshed at a hockey game and then looking for a party to crash.
Yu suggested Yusaku’s party and we all trooped over. It was an all Asian party and they were playing truth or dare when we walked in. We joined, got even more drunk and completely wrecked the shit.
Me and Teddy are fucking crazy enough sober, but with liquor, beer and pumped up emotions from the game soaring through our systems, we went buck wild and the repressed Asians quickly followed suit.
The game quickly degenerated into a spin-the-bottle/random dare/sexual explosion hybrid.
Yusaku hated
J-Girls
Intrigued by something off camera (a stable economy?) me ever since and it wasn’t until Yuriko got me back into the fold that he grudgingly accepted me. A few parties later and we became fast friends.
But just as soon as we had gotten close, it was time for him to return to Japan for med school. I went over to his house, played truth or dare with the same group to reminisce, helped him pack a bit the next day and then he asked to help him shop.
Trust me, I hate shopping because (1) I’m not a girl, (2) I’m not gay and (3) I’m not rich. But I figured this was the last time I would see him so I quickly agreed and followed him downtown.
Turns out he was shopping not for clothes but for a goodbye present for his girlfriend. We walked through some sheik boutique department store two straight males should never step into. As we debated and discussed present options, I was sharply reminded of my single status.
I’ve never bought a girl a present. I’ve never even considered such a thing. Not because I’m an asshole, but because I’ve never dated a girl long enough and
Yusaku's Girlfriend
Intrigued by a slip of paper (math questions?) I’ve always been single during the holidays.
So with bit of a sardonic grin, I tried to be helpful in the quest of the perfect girlfriend present but I was clearly dead weight. Yusaku ended up calling a few of his female friends and he ended up shelling out cash for a Burberry scarf.
$350.
In a sea of negatives, I guess you can always find positives (“Hey, Auschwitz ain’t that bad, Barry…we get free showers!”). It’s great being single! That shit cost $350! That’s 350 New York hotdogs! 50 Montreal poutines! That’s 14 two-fours!
Sometimes I’m glad I’m single. I don’t have to worry about getting permission to watch football, I don’t have to go out on dates to celebrate meaningless monthly anniversaries and I certainly don’t have to buy $350 scarves.
Then I realize I’m going home to an empty room with only my right hand keeping my bed warm.
After helping Yusaku find his present and slogging through finals, it was time to leave Montreal. Montreal is a pretty dreadful city but even more so when finals finish.
All the students which keep downtown Montreal lively and interesting
Bad Weather
Holes up people in Penn Station go home and the city actually becomes a quaint, livable town with French flair. Quaint, livable, town and French are all things I resent so I booked the first train back to New York City.
I haven’t been to New York City in over a year. Yea, I went back in the summer but only for 4 days. Yea, I went back last winter but only for a week. This was my first real trip back and friends were lining up for the visit.
First up was a small birthday get together for one of my childhood friends. It was me, him, another friend of his, his girlfriend and his parents eating dinner in some Chinese restaurant in some ghetto Asian neighborhood out in Queens.
It was a slightly odd group because he’s Latino, his girlfriend is white, his friend is black and there’s me. It was like the fucking UN delegation dropped in the middle of some local Asian joint.
The waiters had no idea what to do with us. None of us could speak Chinese and it took a combination of sign language, pointing at other patron’s dishes and miming to try to get
our order across. It didn’t help that the black friend wanted chicken wings (stereotypes exist!) and the waiter was trying his best to explain that the restaurant didn’t offer them.
Finally a young Chinese guy sitting the next table over translated for us and we got our order across. Waiting for the food, the jokes started up slowly and then quickly ramped up. The accents of the people around us, the usual dog meat puns, black jokes, Latino jokes. Pretty soon we were firing so hard (and loud) that the two people who could actually speak English in the restaurant were rolling in their seats.
Before shit got totally out of hand, the waiters quickly brought our food to make us shut up and eat. But as I tucked away at pork fried rice, I couldn’t help noticing glances coming from around the restaurant. We were a loud, hilarious whirlwind of fun in the middle of the restaurant and people were naturally intrigued. Especially with me. That kid’s Asian…he’s one of us…but he’s sitting with Latinos and blacks! But he doesn’t have an accent! And he dresses funny…his hoodie ain’t crip blue or blood red…it's the two colors combined in purple! What the fuck? Who is he? What is he?
I looked around.
People immediately averted their eyes, but kept that weird Asian sideways stare out of the corner of their eyes (aside: wonder why Asians have slanty eyes? Cuz they keep fucking glancing sideways at motherfuckers instead of staring straight).
I managed to catch the eye of one of them…a girl two tables over…unlike the rest she was staring straight on. I raised a brow and she quickly blushed and turned down to her menu. I stared…she was thin, nicely dressed and hot/cute in that way Asian girls can easily pull off. Problem was, she was sitting with her family.
I turned back to my food and she immediately flipped her eyes up.
I let her look linger on me for a few seconds then jumped my eyes back to her. She jolted in her seat and looked back down.
I went back to eating and the conversation while keeping a wary eye on her. She kept looking over when she thought the coast was clear and when I confronted her, she immediately retreated back.
This continued for some time until the idiocy of the situation finally frustrated me. Just let her wait and then hit her up on your exit…that’s the only chance you have to talk to her.
Satisfied that I could relax and finally ignore the distraction, I turned back to the food. But I guess other people had other plans.
The black friend sitting next to me wiped his hands after demolishing (what else?) a plate of chicken and put his hand in his pocket. He whispered in a low voice, “Yo, looks like you’ll need this with shorty over there.”
I looked down at my lap and saw a Trojan Magnum gracing my lap.
I quickly looked around to make sure no one had seen.
“What the fuck yo!”
“Chill motherfucker…just get her.” It hit me. I’m in New York City. Inaction gets nothing in this place, you need to just fucking do it.
I played a small smile to the black guy to show my thanks and rammed it into my pocket. I rotated and stared straight at her. I brought the napkin up onto the table. I pushed my chair back.
“Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.”
Still shooting my eyes right at her, I got up and started walking straight towards her. The bathroom was in the opposite direction.
I strode purposefully, never breaking my gaze with the girl (whose head was conveniently buried in a cup of jasmine tea). I was ten feet away…nine…eight…seven…six…
At five feet she realized the danger I presented. She knew from her observation that I would say something loud and embarrassing. More than a few eyes were trained on me as people had already been staring at our table and now my whole table was watching me with rapt attention. And to top it all off, her father was sitting right in front of her.
She looked up to warn me away, and was startled by my directness. I held the gaze for a beat then glanced at the bathroom then looked back as I kept walking forward.
Level with the table I let my gaze move fractionally to the right to a point on the wall and walked past. As I walked away, I heard her shoulders slump and her breath exhale as the threat bypassed her. I took two abrupt right turns and walked down a short hallway to the bathroom.
I waited five minutes in the hallway.
Fuck, looks like she isn’t coming. I didn’t blame her…I was just some random in a restaurant and maybe she was slow and didn’t get the hint to go to the bathroom. Or maybe she was scared by my directness. Whatever the explanation, there were more than enough reasons why she wouldn’t come.
I sighed…I guess I’ll have to come up with some line as we leave.
I went to the bathroom (I actually needed to go), washed my hands, dried and walked out to her nervously standing in the hallway.
She hopped back as the door opened and I was taken aback by her jump and we both spent a long second of silence surprised of each other presence.
But I quickly gained control of the situation.
“You were looking at me quite a bit out there. Don't you know its rude to stare?”
She was pushed back a bit. Her head snapped down.
“Sorry,” she offered meekly.
“No, don’t worry. I was flattered. You’re beautiful.”
She looked up and hesitatingly smiled…somewhere between “Aw…that was sweet” and “Fuck…this guy is creepy”.
Therefore, the next line was key.
“So you staring at me…let’s keep that a secret between us ok?”
She smiled playfully, “Sure.”
In the bag.
I was brimming with confidence and cocky as fuck. “Give me your number and we can work out the details of this secret another night.”
She recited her digits.
“See you soon,” I trailed off as I turned to walk away.
“Wait…um, I didn’t get your name…”
I smirked as I turned back around, “Gen K-----, blood type A, McGill University, aspiring rapper, writer and a proven winner. And you?”
She smiled and mimed, “Cindy K--, blood type A, Benjamin Cardozo High School, aspiring doctor. Also a proven winner.”
We stood there smiling at each other dumbly for a few seconds. Then I initiated by starting to lean in…she didn’t turn away, and her breathing had stopped (wow! This is easy!)…and then when we were about 6 inches apart and rapidly drawing closer, something stopped us. Something was off…for both of us…and then something hit.
“Wait…”
“You said…”
“You’re in…”
“HIGH SCHOOL!?”
“COLLEGE?!”
Simultaneously, “How old are you?”
I answered first, “21..”
“15.”
Everything made sense now. Her inexperience, her high heat only pitching style, her easiness in being manipulated by an amateur like me, her immaturity.
We stood staring at each other, then abruptly:
“Bye.”
“Yeah, bye. Stare at guys your own age.”
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Muffin Girl
non-member comment
tsk tsk
Definitely does NOT follow the divide-by-two-and-add-seven rule for dating. I'm glad you stopped yourself, though--I would have given you a beating if you robbed her cradle.