November 2007

I met “Pearl” at a hole-in-the wall grungy dive bar in the East Village one Saturday night in October of 07’. She was old. Mid-30s, Well beyond the age range of any girl that I would consider talking to. But she was cool. And I would talk to a 40-year old bull if it exuded a kind of cool that only comes along once in a blue moon. And this woman had that kind of cool in spades. No matter what the age, she was the first chick in months to actually have a decent conversation with me at a bar in Manhattan, without being repulsed, disgusted, or just plain being turned off whatsoever.

So something great happened. I got her number. I sent her a text message the next Thursday to confirm if she remembered who the hell I was. Her reply: “I met a lot of guys on Saturday, and I was drunk. Can I have a little reminder?”

I provided her that reminder in the form of my colored shirt and my unusually laid-back demeanor. Amazingly, the bitch remembered me. I called her several times the next Saturday to see what she was doing, before she actually responded. Her plans: “I might head into the city (she lived in Brooklyn) to see my friend’s band. “ I asked her what venue it was at, and agreed to meet up with her. I headed over there, and I looked around. I looked in every nook and cranny of the venue, but Pearl was nowhere to be found. Even worse, there was a mandatory 10 dollar cover upon entrance, and I had no idea who the hell her friend’s band was. In fact, all the bands playing there sucked. Way to get my money, you hipster-drone pieces of shit.

I called Pearl several times, and left several increasingly irate messages on her machine. Then finally, she called back:
SD: “Where the fuck are you? Where the fuck were you? What the FUCK Pearl? I been waiting here at this venue for at least an hour” Pearl: “I got kinda tired man, I’m here at home in Brooklyn. Sorry. I gotta go” (click) Meanwhile, I could clearly hear a lot of conversation in the background, and some music. She clearly was not at home. I had been stood up.

Several friends of mine tell me that my attitude around women needs to change if I stand any chance of success with one of them. Well in this case, being stood up is a valid excuse to use any kind of “attitude” I want to Pearl. She deserved a fresh verbal thrashing. I don’t care if she just met me, or who the hell she is. NO ONE stands me up.

I just forgot about her for a week. Then, she called me randomly on a Wednesday night and asked me to come downtown to a party she was at. Bored out of my mind, I obliged. I got to the bar, and I realized that Pearl was surrounded by like 5 guys, and she was the only woman among them. This got awkward really fast.

I tried to break the ice amongst her friends by talking about the DJ and the selection of music. That got old quick. Then, I just went up to Pearl at an opportune moment and began to dance with her. That was fun for about 30 seconds, until a member of her douchebag entourage tapped me on the shoulder: “Excuse me, can you please go away. It’s my turn”

Oh, so we’re taking TURNS buddy? Is that how it’s gonna work? Is that the case? I don’t think I can ever play that kind of game. This ain’t elementary school no more.

Reluctantly, I backed away from Pearl and watched as this douche took my place, with Pearl grinding on him more fervently, with the recognition of someone she has known much longer than me. I gave this douche an “I’m going to fucking kill you” look and just left, double-fisting a couple vodka cranberry drinks from the open bar on my way out.

The following Saturday, I decided to give Pearl one final shot of legitimacy. Of course, she did not pick up her phone, so I left a detailed message telling her to meet me at the same hole-in-the-wall dive we met at. I told her to come early, and come alone. She called me back several hours later to confirm, but I still did not trust her word. So this time, I came with reinforcements. I brought my friends C-Town and Panic along with me so alternative plans could be made if I was stood up again.

But amazingly, according to her word Pearl was there alone. My friends quickly left for another bar, giving me a pat on the back and wishin me luck. They were intrigued by this rare spectacle of me actually isolating a woman. I talked to her for a couple of hours and tried to determine why, at her age, she still walks around like a promiscuous tramp and seduces every single able-bodied man in the New York area.

I talked with her about her job for a little bit, about her lifestyle for a little bit. Then the subject of family came up, when I told her I still lived with mine. And there I found my answer. She immediately started tearing up and said sobbing: “There’s just some things that you really shouldn’t think about. I really can’t handle the pain”

OK- so this woman finds solace in a busted up childhood and family issues by whoring herself out to every guy in New York City who is 18 and older. There are two developments since this night which confirmed to me that this girl had a strong case of the Michael Jackson syndrome: growth stunted in a certain age in your life. But instead of a stunted childhood, Pearl has a stunted college slut-hood.

1. I saw this girl out a month later with HER MOM. Her mom could not have been any more than 20 years older than her, and Mama Pearl acted and dressed every bit as promiscuous as she.

2. She is now “BFFs” with a girl in my old neighborhood who is 2 years YOUNGER than me.

Back to this night: After a couple hours alone talking to me, as girls usually do Pearl got bored, and befriended 2 random British guys at the bar. She then proceeded to lead myself and these two strangers to this hole-in-the wall bar behind a garbage dump for last call.

Having had several rounds of drinks before, I did not mind the bar’s haphazard location. There was loud rock music playing, and me and Pearl began to dance. A few songs later, I went in for the kill. I kissed her on the cheek first, as customary, and then went for her lips. She strongly objected: “No, this isn’t gonna work. You need to come in from another angle, because something’s not working”

Are you fucking KIDDING ME bitch? WHAT girl says that? OK, so I tried kissing her from another angle. “Too sloppy”, she insisted. Then I tried another angle. No good. Then another. She put a stop to it. She put her hands up to me and gave me a motion to “back off”. I did, a couple steps, then she said: “I’m sorry, but you’re too drunk man. This is not gonna work”. Wait a second, wait. So I just wasted my ENTIRE NIGHT?

I guess I did. Last call could not come soon enough. I led this girl, along with her new British BFs, out the door, and tried to direct them towards a cab, so I could split it with Pearl and at least get some kind of use out of her. So we got into the cab, and then she surprisingly invited me to come to some after-party at one of the random British guys’ houses.

So I got out of the cab, came up to this British stranger’s ghetto apartment, had about 4 or 5 more beers, and passed out on his sofa. When I woke up, it was another one of the true where-the-fuck-am-I moments I have had. I woke up in an unfamiliar shithole, and I glanced across the room to see two men and two girls in a bed. One of those girls was Pearl, with her top exposed. She obviously had found her replacement. Another one was a random girl whom I did not remember from the night before. Maybe she was with us all along but I was too drunk to remember who the hell she was.

And the two guys were, of course, the two random British guys Pearl had befriended at the bar when she got tired of our conversation. Sensing a potentially awkward moment when everyone was to wake up and I would be the “odd man out” whom no one remembers about, I made a quiet exit at 8AM, when everyone was still asleep.

I have seen Pearl seldom since this night: one time when she was with another boy and I did one of the most awkward half-handshake half-hugs in recorded history, and another time, as we discussed earlier, when she was out on the prowl with her mom. But never again has my presence elicited any more than a brief “Hi”. In my mind she will always be remembered as the older one that got away, the one who I never could quite come at from the right angle.