Coffee Rhetoric: Curiosity Killed The Cat: A Long Discourse in Five Chapters

November 27, 2005

Curiosity Killed The Cat: A Long Discourse in Five Chapters

 
Prologue 

Wednesday afternoon found me antsy and anxious to leave work early, to run what I imagined would be, some quick errands, as my best friend Cat was coming to visit through to Sunday evening. A lovely, hearty time was had. No complaints about her visit. What transpired later on in the evening, following her safe arrival, however was a whole other matter. Let me walk you through it. P.S. I pondered not sharing this story because I am trying desperately to block it from my mind. Yes. It's safe to say I was traumatized. Cat surmised that it was just too funny (albeit it a little freaky) not to share. 

Chapter I

About a week and 1/2 ago, I put a profile up on a popular social-networking site, in hopes of maintaining contact with those friends spread-out around the country. It seemed innocent enough. I was not looking for dates; but was open to gaining new contacts and networking, in addition to staying in touch with friends. I filled in my profile stats and uploaded some “artsy” looking pictures of myself. Messages started trickling into my inbox, most of which were from local men varying from ages 20 to 38 and some of whom wrote the following... 

"Yo, you like white guys? If you do, then I'm da one, holla".
Or …

"Yo, your name coffey fits you, because you're dark and delicious, no disrespect". 

And my personal fave…

"Yo' coffey, you caffeinated enough to keep me up all night?" 

Another was a lengthy request from a man from Ghana who said that if I wasn't interested in being his pen pal, he would appreciate it if I'd pass his information on to someone else who would be. Delete. I chuckled at the messages (to mask my dismay) and immediately trashed them in the cyber-bin. Some inboxes were innocent enough; requesting to be put on my friends list, so I obliged. I even sent a friend request to poet and actor, Saul Williams, to which he promptly accepted and reciprocated, I was stoked. Needless to say, I started exchanging messages with a man, 29 years old. We in-boxed back and forth and he seemed normal enough. We seemed to share similar interests, he lived close-by, he was respectful and very articulate; I made sure to compliment him for acting respectful in his initial query to be virtual friends. Weeks later, he offered his phone number and asked me to call him at my leisure. A week after receiving the number, I’d finally mustered up the courage to use it. In my defense, it had also been an extremely hectic month for me, so I simply just didn't have the time to call a stranger. He was patient, seeming to understand. 

So on a Tuesday at around 9pm, I finally decided to call him. I got his voice-mail (sigh of relief). He sounded pleasant on his voice greeting. I left a message, which included my phone number. I told him I'd be busy the next couple of days, because my best friend was visiting from out of town, but that I'd try to call back, perhaps from work. I supplemented my voice-mail message with an email, asking for a reprieve, because I didn't want him to think I was a wishy-washy jerk, because I kept telling him I'd call, and didn't. He e-mailed me back and assured me that he understood and mentioned he was out having dinner with friends anyway, and didn’t think I was being a flake at all. 

Chapter II
 
I leave work early and I go grocery shopping. I buy a new liner for my shower curtain and my decision to go out and about, the day before a holiday. I get home later than I wanted to, missing the opportunity to meet co-workers for drinks (which was probably for the best, since I need to stop wasting money). I put my groceries away and I straighten up my apartment. I hang my liner up in my shower. Things are still pretty uneventful this evening in my rush to organize, before Cat's visit. I later have a brief conversation with my co-worker, expressing my apologies for missing drinks. Cat calls. Tells me she'll be driving up with a friend, who's visiting her family here in Connecticut and to expect her at 9ish pm. 9ish comes as does Cat. We laugh. We catch up. Cat gives me some earrings she brought back from Turkey and relays hilarious tales of being called "choco-lat" and ending up having to pay the taxi fare for two passengers she had shared a cab with and who stiffed the Turkish driver. 

I open a bottle of red and pop a Red Baron four cheese pizza in the oven, while we talk and catch up some more. I tell her about the seemingly charming man I've been corresponding with and how I had no expectations, as I didn't register an account there for dating purposes. She tells me of some cold-hearted cad she'd thought things were going good with, until he did an about face from afar via e-mail, no less. We curse him, and shake our heads. I fill her in on Buddha and our exhausting phone conversation. We curse some more. We shake our heads at our haphazard and lovelorn, dating lives. My phone rings. I suspect that it’s friendship site guy. I don't want to answer the phone. Cat insists because she's nosey. I answer. It's him. I tell him my friend is in town. He suggests that we should all meet up, for a drink. At this point it's 10:30pm, and we've already settled in. I had just taken the pizza out of the oven. We were only on our first glass of vino but I run it by Cat, anyway. She nods her head eagerly, apparently as curious as I was. We say yes, he says to meet him at a specific location. I tell him that it's 10:30 and we had no intention of trying to catch a bus at that late hour. I suggest we meet another time. He insists, so I tell him to meet us. He says he doesn't drive. "Oh, you don't?" I say. 

"Well I don't either."
"Will this be a problem?" he asks.
"No,” (I was lying), "I don't have a car either so why would I? Cat and I are straight up urban in this respect." I joke with him. 

He agrees to meet us at an agreed upon location. I offer to call him a cab. The cabdriver I usually call, when in need of a taxi. He vacillates in deciding where he wants to be picked up from. I suggest that he pick one place and stay there. He does... finally. This worries me a bit, but I brush it off... Needless to say, the evening would go downhill to hell in a hand basket, from there. 

Chapter III 

Friendship list guy is safely deposited by old reliable cabdriver. He calls to let us know he's there waiting. Cat and I walk the two minute walk and into the agreed upon meeting place… and there he is, sitting. He's a little shorter than I thought he'd be and somewhat awkward. A bit Poindexterish, but “nerd” is my type… so in essence, not bad at all. I hold out my hand to shake his, and he moves in and embraces me instead... tightly… extremely tight. I'm a little unnerved, but I laugh nervously and say, "Wow, um, tight hug". Cat and I exchange looks. We walk to another nearby location, a wine bar, and the guy turns out to be a bit annoying, with what he talked about, the whole way.  Abridged verdict? Friends List guy turns out to be a fucking freak. I can't even begin to describe the bizarre stuff that went down. These are merely the highlights…

He is rude, he is touchy feel-y. He gets angry when I tell him not to violate my space. He says his last relationship ended, because he text-messaged his ex-girlfriend too much. The more he talks, the more freaked out Cat and I become. Cat excuses herself to the bathroom a couple of times-- (later she would reveal to me that she just stood there and stared, wide-eyed, in the mirror in disbelief at how horrible this whole experience was). The evening continues to grow increasingly worse as it wore on.

Upon sitting down, he tries to come off as a connoisseur of wine and cheese, and insists that we "get anything we wanted." We decline not to mention the waitress says the kitchen is closed. We all agreed on a bottle of red wine, at his urging… because apparently, he was stuntin’ like Daddy Warbucks or somebody. The waitress brings our bottle. Since I’m sitting closest to her, she pours me a splash to taste before pouring the round. I raise the glass to my lips to taste however; Poindexter grabs my glass, starting an awkward game of Tug-o'-War. His fingers clasped tightly around the middle. "What are you doing??" I say, mortified. "This is MY glass!" He finally lets go, in defeat. The waitress stares at him, somewhat incredulously, pours the round and skedaddles the fuck away from the table.
Still smarting from the wine glass fight I was engaged in, I wasn’t full prepared for when Poindexter promptly shared with us, that he’s the proud owner of a prosthetic foot… and insists on showing it to us. Cat asks him where he’s severed from; he obnoxiously insists showing us rather than just answering the question, in a desperate bid to prove his macho worth. “Just tell us where it’s severed from." I insist, annoyed and uncomfortable. He went on some long, Danny Downer diatribe about the loss of his mother… which is undoubtedly sad, but he lingered on the discussion for far too long; which is a bit much if you're trying to impress a girl. He kept saying, repeatedly, over and over again how his mother was my size. ???

"My mother was her size. She was HER size okay" (pointing at me, talking to Cat). "My mother used to be her size..." 

"MY size?" I ask, wanting him to move on.

"No, it's not even funny!" He says. (I wasn't laughing).

Cat finally interjected. "Yes, she was a healthy, voluptuous woman, okay, go on."

"My mother used to be her size." (Again) "And she went down to like 90 pounds in 2 weeks. IN TWO WEEKS!! She lost 90 pounds in like TWO WEEKS? Okay?!"

He relayed the details of her death in such an obnoxious way, it made for an awkward feeling at the table. He says, the car accident which led to the dismemberment of his foot, happened like the day after (or whenever) his mother died. A friend was with him in the car and he claimed that it was “a freak accident and had nothing to do with his anger over his mother’s death.” He was the driver, by the way. We ask if the physical therapy was difficult and if his prosthetic foot took some getting used to. He defiantly folded his arms across his chest like a petulant child and said, "NOPE! I was up and walking the next DAY!"
Cat and I nodded slowly, somewhat unnerved by the folded arms and puffed out chest; lips pursed and pooched out, as he glared across at Cat. He then proceeds to go on a long diatribe about how he used to create Drum–n-Bass music, with his friend (who had moved to California), but that he simply doesn’t want to do it anymore. “I could create hot beats NOW if I WANTED to, but I just don’t WANT to.” He insists loudly with a curt and defiant shrug. 

“Then don’t?” I suggest… warily and somewhat bemused, as I looked across at Cat.
During the conversation, he kept saying (lasciviously and non-stop) how much he loved the gap in-between my two top teeth and it began to irk me. "Yeah, I like it too," I said dryly. At this point I began to mentally check out big time. He then says that he likes mosh pits and hardcore, deep throat, rock. He then proceeds to demonstrate some of the loud guitar riffs he favors, by creating a loud, deep, guttural sound, from his throat. “DUH DUH DUH, DUUURNNNN…” “Okay, okay… we get it,” I say nervously as I put my finger to my lips to shush him, my eyes darting around the place. He keeps inching closer, trying to caress my face and put his arm around me, like we are a fucking couple. I remove his hand, yet again. “What the hell was THAT??” he says, all angry and smug. I remind him that I don’t know him and that he’s violating my space. 

Allow me to do some more abridging; the night finally ended abruptly and with him storming off angrily, because I continued to avoid his physical transgressions against my person. That did not bode well with me folks, I condone uninvited breaches against my body and I let him know it. I removed his arm from around me, because once again, he was being aggressive and violating my space with the pawing and such. "What the fuck was that??" he said angrily, and stomped off. 

This douchebag also stiffed us on the bill, leaving us standing there in disbelief. Not only did he not pay for the bottle, but he had the nerve to underpay his portion of the bill, even though he drank far more of the bottle than Cat and I did! And please note, at the beginning of the evening he bragged about what a big cheese connoisseur he was, and how he spent damn near 40 bucks on a small wheel of sheep's milk cheese and insisted that we get what we wanted, on him. He has unresolved issues and needs to be medicated.


Chapter IV 

Cat and I stomped home in the raw, brisk autumn air, silently and in utter disbelief… ambushed, again. Once we were able to get our bearings enough to comment, we couldn’t stop talking about what had just happened. “That sucked!” Cat said.
“What was THAT??” I asked out loud.
Cat decided the evening called for a greasy burger and chili cheese fries (for her of course). We stopped at the greasy spoon near my apartment building. She placed her order. And we waited. Some dude stops in to pick up his order and complains about the price.
"Don't blame me, blame the government" the Indian man behind the counter says, in a heavy accent. "Those mudderfuckas are raising up prices everydey!" ...

Chapter V 

Poindexter text messaged me “Good Morning” the following Friday, as if nothing happened. I didn’t answer. He followed up about ten minutes later with a phone call.
Oh, get it! Get it!” Cat insisted… with her instigating ass. 


I took a deep breath and I answer the call… “Hi Sweety” he says cheerily, as if we are an official item. As if he hadn’t been a rude, obnoxious cocksucker the night before. AS IF HE HADN'T STIFFED US ON THAT FLIPPING BILL, THE NIGHT BEFORE!  I managed a terse “Hi.” “Are you busy?” He asked
“Yes.” I said dryly.
“Um, do you want to call me back?”
“You know what? No. I don’t want to call you back. I don’t think we have as much in common as we both initially thought.” I told him, a tight voice. 

I say this as carefully as I could... censoring myself of the things I truly want to say, because this mofo is nuttier than the moose munch from Harry and David and I didn’t want to set him off. Those lot, you have to handle with care. 

“Why do you say that?” he asks, just as tightly.
“Because we don’t. Good luck with your Drum-n-Bass.” I say.
“Okay, thanks” he says tersely and hangs up.  It’s over.

Cat and I look across at each other and burst out in hysterics. 


Epilogue
 
Cat and I had a wonderful Sunday brunch and then later stopped at a bar/restaurant on the way home, for a cocktail. 

A middle-aged gentleman... a foodie, seemingly with big time clout proceeded to have all sorts of delectable edibles heaped upon us; grilled asparagus, flat bread with caramelized onions and cheese, Tiramisu, Chambord with club soda and lemon. He insisted on spoiling us further, until we had to stop him, one hand on our stuffed bellies, but not before some Plain Jane woman sitting next to me insisted on knowing “what we did” to prompt this gentleman to treat us to such epicurean delights.
"Nothing" we both shrugged, in unison. And I stared at her challengingly… prompting her to disagree, see… because I deserved this treat after having to contend with that horrible quasi-date a few nights prior. Then she engaged us in some weirdo discussion about edamame. Go figure.
You’ve just been Arthured” the gentleman said at the end of the night. We thanked him and his lovely bartendress wife and we left. 

This past Wednesday had to rank as the WORST experience I've ever had in my life. No more, will I lament my singlehood. Not to the extent that I did, anyway. Bad date encounters of this magnitude make me thankful to be single, actually. That evening definitely rounded out every other horrible dating don’t I've encountered, thus far… thus far as I doubt it’ll be the last or worst. 

I am fortunate that Cat was available and able to tag along on this horrendous meet-and-greet. I think my derring-do stemmed from having someone to accompany me…. safety in numbers, so forth and so on. 

The stuff that goes down in my life, I should consider writing in a screenplay, though.