the love project

Super swoon. Tao Raspoli is a photographer/filmmaker/musician who creates a lot of neat stuff.  I have yet to see any of his full-lengths but based on his short documentary projects, I can imagine I will love them. He started this “Love Project” documentary series that includes interviews and live musical performances in each episode of a variety of interesting/talented people and musicians. In episode one he interviews Roberta Haze- A charismatic woman with a very interesting perspective on love and life…

the wino

A guy friend of mine that I don’t see very often invited me over to his new place in Echo Park one Friday night. He had just moved to Echo Park and had two good-looking male roommates so obvi I was down. The place was cool, it was clearly a dudes place, but cool nonetheless. We had a few drinks and my friend mentioned walking down the street to his new neighbors house that was having a party that night. A walking distance party? I am so there, duh. I asked my friend how he had met his new neighbor friend and he said “Oh we were just checking out the neighborhood earlier today and this dude invited us to his party tonight”, what a friendly fella, I thought to myself. The group of us walked over to the house to a raging party. Not. There were less than 10 people there and 80% of them were either playing or watching people play Guitar Hero. It all comes full circle now. Immediately upon walking in, this tall/dark/Ian Somerhalder-esque man (btw- hockey player reminded me of IS too, but not as much as this guy) comes up and greets my friend. Is this the neighbor?? I was already in love. He was very friendly, kinda goofy, and over informative. He casually told us the point of the party was to celebrate his recent break-up/GF moving out (BAD SIGN #1- I just want to keep track of how many bad signs there were in this situation that I just chose to ignore). Neat, a break-up “party”, love those. We hung out there for a while and there wasn’t really much else that was notable about the night except for when Ian Somerhalder announced “EVERYONE ADD ME ON FACEBOOK- _____ _____” Insert his first and last name in the blank spaces (BAD SIGN #2). Classy, and not desperate at all. I added him the next day. The little red notification icon with a “1” in it popped up less than 10 minutes later- he had accepted. Within 2 minutes of that, I had a message. It read:

“Have we met? Were you at my party? You are a QT”

I knew he was joking, kinda, (with the spelling of “QT”) but it would have been absolutely unacceptable if he were being serious. Sooo I guess that meant he didn’t remember our conversation about 2-buck-Chuck and his recent break-up (BAD SIGN #3, just keepin’ track y’all). I reminded him of our chat and he still didn’t seem to remember… okay. Nonetheless, he suggested I come over. “Right now?” I asked. Yes, that is indeed what he meant. It was a work night and I was too sleepy but I suggested later in the week. In the next few days he asked every night, without fail. I really did want to see him but I didn’t want to have to limit myself to a short hangout sesh (I was working long hours). I finally agreed to come over, I think on a Thursday. Oh another thing I forgot to mention, he was a “cyclist”- Ok… what’s up with that? I get it you like to ride your fucking bike but just because you don’t have a car, calling yourself a cyclist doesn’t make your situation sound better. YOU JUST DON’T HAVE A CAR ASSHOLE. (BAD SIGN #4).

I got to his place at the time we agreed to (wine in tow, since he asked me to bring it- but he swore he would pay me back- BAD SIGN #5) and he wasn’t there (BAD SIGN #6). He ended up being around 20 minutes late and showed up sweaty and all biked out. We went inside and he told me he was going to take a quick shower… UHH OK? At this point I debated just up and leaving. But I decided to stay- just to see what would happen, for the story. Post shower, he began drinking with me, in his underwear. Oh, also forgot to mention he cleaned his living room before the shower, but he was kind enough to start me out with the wine I brought while I sat and watched (BAD SIGN #7). Date of the year, ladies and gentlemen. After one bottle was empty, he magically became a lot more appealing to me. We liked all of the same music and… he looked like Ian Somerhalder. Yeah, I guess that’s all it takes. We broke into another bottle of wine and the level of appeal went up even more. At one point we were standing really close to each other, face to face. I don’t remember what we were talking about the conversation was inappropriate for a kiss. He leaned in anyway. He was great kisser, I think it was part of his crazy psyche. He walked toward his bedroom and pulled my hand to follow. He laid face down on his bed and I just stood there. I was kind of and awkward position to take at that point and time. I sat down next to him and he started saying something and I realized he was slurring, majorly. He was completely wasted. How did this happen? I thought we had had equal amounts of wine and I wasn’t THAT much of a lush. Weird. After a few minutes of slurring he stood up and could barely walk. He stumbled to his bathroom and slammed the door shut once inside. He began violently puking and I could hear it all too well. Jesus, how the fuck was I in a situation like this? After he seemed to be done I tried to knock on the door and see if he was alright. He opened it a crack but wasn’t verbally responsive. I peeked in and he was LAYING on the ground. He slurred something about being okay even though he clearly was not. I stayed there for another hour or so, TOO LONG, only because I was worried. He too had work the next morning and had mentioned something about having to wake up at 5am, yikes. By the time I left he was completely passed out and I couldn’t wake him up. He was breathing though, good sign. I texted him once I got home saying I hoped he was alive (1/2 joking-1/2 serious). By 7am he hadn’t responded- what the fuck? I was legitimately worried. I drove to work and when I got there he had texted me…

“Tonight… round 2?”

the hockey player: part three of three

We stopped at a local gas station for beer. Only the finest of course- Bud Light. We entered the hotel lobby to a stern, oversized, hick-ish security guard standing at the check in desk giving us an I-DON’T-THINK-SO look. What? There is absolutely nothing peculiar at all about five girls walking into a hotel after 10pm with two 12-packs of beer to visit some “friends”. New-to-the-group girl started to mouth off and almost blew our chances at getting up to their floor (they couldn’t come down and meet us because they weren’t allowed to have guests- coach rules). Luckily, she didn’t and we made it up. Hockey player and I had not discussed exactly what the plan would be for this night, so at this point it was wild card. We drank and drank, and laughed, and drank until most of the beers were gone. Some of the girls wanted to leave but new-to-the-group girl starting showing her true colors (which were not good) and though had originally planned on leaving that night, decided to stay and fucked over some of the other girls. (This later demoted her to- not-in-the-group-at-all girl, but that’s another story). So everyone stayed and hockey player and I got our own room (how sweet). The night was kind of surreal… this guy was semi-legit at what he did and there was something exciting about that. The next morning I woke up to his cell phone’s alarm (they had to go practice before their next game that night, in another town- sad face). Now, completely sober, I had that morning-after feeling of instantly analyzing the nights events and making sure that everything I had done was “okay”- it was, right? He got dressed and had to leave and it was basically like… “See you… never,” though it was not said. For some reason I hadn’t thought of what would happen after the game night/next day, you know… once he goes back to the state he lives in that isn’t the one I live in. Once the door shut and he was gone, I called my friends who had stayed down the hall. As discussed the night before, they were already halfway back to LA, they had left earlier that morning. I sat up in this fluffy white California king bed and stared out of the corner window- a room with a view. The room was huge but there was hardly anything in it, a lot of negative space. I had thought I wanted to sleep longer but suddenly I felt the urge to leave, it felt weird staying there. I made myself as presentable as possible, sunglasses included since it was just after 9am and bright out. I peeked out the door to make sure the coast was clear of fellow team members. Safe. Once in the elevator I saw the back of my hair in the mirror and it literally looked like a nest. The elevator reached ground level and I stepped out, still clear. As I came up to the door to exit, I saw one of hockey player’s teammates/good friend sitting on the bench right outside. Fuck, this was going to be the ultimate walk of shame. I passed him and kind of smiled and he looked up at me, happily, ugh.  The worst part was what he saw last as I walked away- the nest.

Hockey player and I texted back and forth a few times that week and that was pretty much it. I took a break from chat roulette after that. In fact, I never really went on. A few months later my same 2 friends that were there that “fateful” night were over and we decided to go on- for old times sake. Chat roulette was still exactly the same as when we left it. The clientele at its finest. We next-ed pretty quickly through them all until… we landed on a guy that looked just like hockey player. I said his name aloud to my friends as a joke since he was basically twin material. My gay male friend said “Wait!- that is _____!” he got up and walked closer to the computer simultaneously as I started to feel like I was dreaming. After more analyzation-

It was him.

I couldn’t believe it. Really? Of all the thousands of people- was this really happening? Yes it was. It took him a moment to realize what was happening as well but once he did, he seemed equally as shocked as me. It was almost embarrassing but at the same time not. We talked to him for a bit. Hockey player texted me that night a few times and now we communicate every once in a while through Facebook. I still can’t believe that we saw each other again, so randomly like that. It was just too weird not to mean anything, right? Maybe not right, but, something, I don’t know. If anything, it’s the perfect example of things coming “full circle.”

 

well said lady gaga, well said

the hockey player: part two of three

I immediately had to step back out into the lobby and find the nearest bar. We got beers, I took a few huge sips, and felt better. Bad sign? Probably. We found our seats. The game was intense considering we were not rooting for the home team yet were seated in their section (thanks hockey player guy). But not to complain, the seats were great. Our team lost, bummer, but hockey player got put in the penalty box for starting a fight… hot? hot. After the game, we were invited to a local restaurant right down the street. Keep in mind, I had still not met my hockey player in person at this point. Extreme anxiety set in (for me at least) as we waited for the team to meet us at the restaurant. SIDE NOTE: How the fuck do people eat on first/second/third dates? Like, dinner? How? I need a drink, not food. And movies? Yeah, let’s go sit in a dark room, sober, and not talk. Way to get to know each other. Anyway… The team starts to file in, freshly showered and suited up. I guess that was a rule- to wear a suit after each game, totes fine by me. He finally walks in, we hug, I breathe a little easier at this point. Everyone meets everyone (awkward? I wonder what he told the rest of the guys… the thought scares me) and we sit down and eat, except me of course, cause like, how would I do something like that at a time like this?  After the meal, the guys had to all take their bus back to their hotel- and after some delays, we were invited. We stopped at a local gas station for beer. Only the finest of course- Bud Light.

We entered the hotel lobby to a stern, oversized, hick-ish security guard standing at the check in desk giving us an I-DON’T-THINK-SO look. What? There is absolutely nothing peculiar at all about five girls walking into a hotel after 10pm with two 12-packs of beer to visit some “friends”. Newer-to-the-group girl started to mouth off and almost blew our chances at getting up to their floor (they couldn’t come down and meet us because they weren’t allowed to have guests- coach rules). Luckily, she didn’t and we made it up. Hockey player and I had not discussed exactly what the plan would be for this night, so at this point it was wild card. We drank and drank, and laughed, and drank until most of the beers were gone. Some of the girls wanted to leave but new-to-the-group girl starting showing her true colors (which were not good) and though had originally planned on leaving that night, decided to stay and fucked over some of the other girls. (This later demoted her to not-in-the-group-at-all girl, but that’s another story). So everyone ended up staying. Hockey player and I got our own room (awww, how sweet right?)…

the hockey player: part one of three

Everyone has a Chat Roulette story, right? Well if you don’t, you should. My friends and I used to (yeah, used to, not anymore, well, not often) get high or drunk or both, order pizza, sit in front of my computer and “NEXT” through a bunch of creepy dads, 13 year old girls that look 18, hicks, foreigners, dudes jerking off, trannies, sexy web cam ads, LOLcat pictures, Jonas Brothers stills, etc.  One fateful night we next-ed to two shirtless guys in a room on separate beds. No, no, not anything weird like that. They happened to be on an AHL hockey team and they were staying in a hotel for an “away game.” Certain rural towns can be pretty boring at night and I think CR was their most exciting option. We started chatting with them since there were the most normal and clothed people we landed on in while. Cut to two hours later when the convo was dying down and one of them was asking for my number. My straight-female friend was off-camera but talking to them the whole time, and my gay-male friend was well, a guy, so I think that eliminated them both for a number exchange. Lucky me. A few texts that night turned into daily texting and video chatting for the next couple of weeks until his team was just days away from playing a game in Southern California. He invited my friends and I and said he would put us on “the list”… hot. The game location was about an hour away from Los Angeles, so three girlfriends of mine and one newer-to-the-group girl got gussied up, split into two cars (just in case I didn’t want to come back home that night, lulz) and ventured out. Arriving to the arena gave me a combination of excitement and anxiety. Once I could breathe after knowing we were, in fact, on “the list” as promised, we walked into the lobby then into the actual rink, where my ability to breathe briefly stopped again. It was loud as fuck, of icy/crisp temperature, way bigger than I had imagined it would be, and suddenly, all very real.

start

I have decided to start writing about my experiences with boys/men/whatever the fuck they are. I don’t want my intentions or self to be mistaken for a larger ego that thinks people care about what I have to say. I just feel so bad for all of my dear friends that have had to listen to my weirdo dude stories and the over-analyzing I subject them/myself to that I think it would be best to take that out on my laptop keyboard from now on. They will be grateful, but internet, you will be sorry. This, of course, is coupled with the fact that most of these stories are so bizarre that I don’t even know how they are real, but they all are, 100%. In a generation saturated with dating-themed shows, books, blogs… what’s another? Might as well.