PATRICK WALSH: HALLOWEEN - NOVEMBER 2003

The "Story of My Life" entries were starting to become a regular, popular feature of the blog, and for some reason I just abandoned them. I can't believe the last time I did one of these was January. For those of you unfamiliar with these entries,  they have been documenting my first year in New York, a Dickensian struggle that took me from society's bottom rung....to society's second to bottom rung.

If you need to catch up, check out the "Story of My Life" link on the left side of this page, all previous entries are in there. You should at least read the most recent one so you know where we're at.

http://patrickwalsh.blog-city.com/patrick_walsh_october_2003.htm

Caught up? Good.

So when we left off, I was describing my swanky Jersey City department, a dungeon of dirt, urine, and canine rape. As you'll recall, I lived there with the delightful Joe and Paige, as well as Laine, the 40 year old alcoholic temptress.

Really the only thing keeping me going at this time, my only friends in New York, were Joe and Paige. When they announced they would be getting a place of their own up the street, I was sad that they were leaving, but thrilled I now had a place to hang out where the floors weren't stained with ass blood.

Now there was the matter of finding someone to take their room. Naturally everyone who came to see the apartment was underwhelmed, some left trembling. Still, rent was beyond cheap and there were bound to be a few takers. Laine asked me one night if I'd rather have a middle-aged New Zealand man as a roommate or a hot 25 year old girl.

I can't help but wonder how my life would have been different if I'd only picked Crocodile Dundee.

Let's call her Katie. Katie moved in on Halloween, I invited her to a get-together at Joe and Paige's new place that night.  I was very attracted to her. I got the vibe that the feeling was mutual, but certainly we wouldn't act on anything. We were roommates after all! Still, both of us were friendless, so we started hanging out now and then. If I was in the city and came upon some cheap theater tickets, I'd give her a call. When her birthday came around, I took her to dinner. We'd ride the bus home, talk and laugh, but when we reached the apartment, she would make a right toward her bedroom, and I would make a left toward mine.

She naturally was disgusted with the apartment, and I don't recall who brought it up, but we decided we should get our own place, like Joe and Paige had. We were surrounded by cheap apartments, we could have our own poodle-less place and pay about the same amount. So we started looking, with the decision being that we'd move on January 1st.

And this shouldn't have been a problem! It should have been perfect! After all, it wasn't like we had so much as kissed each other!

And then alcohol was brought into the equation.

The two of us spent an evening playing video games at the Times Square arcade (it was closed down a year later when someone was shot inside. True story), and then went to my beloved cheap NYC bar Rudy's.  At this point in my life, you could still count the number of times I had drank on two hands (now you'd need all the hands in China), so I was wasted real quick. Two burly gentlemen took a seat at our table and asked if we were a couple. Shocking even myself, as I am usually a huge pussy, I blurted out:

"We're trying to figure that out tonight!"

"Cheers to that!" yelled the burly man, and we clinked our glasses. She giggled. A good sign.

After that, we walked out of the bar and were accosted by a gypsy. Seriously. She asked if we wanted our fortunes read.

I said, "Sorry, no. But do you think I'll get lucky tonight?"

Keep in mind this is very un-me-like behavior. For me to make a move, I need twelve people to have told me the girl likes me and the girl's hand on my penis. And in most cases, I'll still wait.

"Yes!" the gypsy said. And Katie and I stumbled back to the Port Authority.

So we rode the bus back, keeping our hands to ourselves, but there was that electric "Sex is a possibility" feeling in the air. We entered the apartment. My heart was pounding. Usually at this point, she heads right, I head left. I said nothing, just followed her to her room. Still I'm amazed at my boldness.

We got to her door, I went with the foolproof "Lingering Cheek Kiss" (kiss on the cheek as though it's goodnight, softly drag your cheek along hers until you're almost lip to lip, gauge response), and it was on. The actual sex is kind of a blur, but I recall I was having one of those "so drunk that I just have to trust that my penis is still attached because I can't feel a thing" kind of nights.  I just kept plugging away for what seemed like hours until finally I got some feeling back and was able to wrap things up. 

I had to work the next morning, and when the alarm went off, that really should have been the deciding moment. We really should have had a talk. I really should have said, "Wow, this was a mistake, we live together. This is going to turn into a disaster if we keep it up." I really should have said "This was fun, but never again."

Instead I said, "You're on the pill, I hope?" Then let her blow me. Then skipped off to work.

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