Notes

This is not the relationship I want

This is not the relationship I want

The girl who threw that party is now involved with their other roommate, and I don’t believe there is any lingering involvement between her and Tom.

She and I begin doing coke together frequently, like every day.

I’d wake up in the morning, rail a few lines, take the bus to Main Street, buy a spicy chicken sandwich at Burger King for a dollar, take the 7 train into the city, and go to work. When I got back to Flushing in the evenings she and I would do more coke and smoke cigarettes and hang out in the kitchen and drink beers for the rest of the evening.

I didn’t see anything wrong with this. I was saving money in rent. I was coming off a very, very bad decision which blew up terribly in my face, and my friends were affording me some time to pause and rest it off. This was when I got “fuck” tattooed on my neck. The girl I was staying with was a tattooed and pierced, punk rock chick with a Mohawk, plaid pants, and suspenders. I don’t think I ever wanted to be just like her, but I appreciated and respected her fearless exuberance and the way she wore her personality. Again, I had the extra money. And this seemed a perfect time for a tattoo.

I didn’t know exactly what I would get until the night we went, up to the parlor on Francis Lewis Blvd, a block away from Holy Cross. A decade later and I have never, not one single day, not for a second, regretted my tattoo.

Somewhere between a daily coke habit and an ex-Marine who had come to visit me just the once, the friendship took a hit.

As it turned out she very much had a problem with Tom, and did not want him in her house – ever. I continued to see him, just respectfully outside of her home.  

Tom and I picked up again pretty decently. I made it clear I wanted us to try for real. He made it clear that he still didn’t think he was ready for a relationship, and that he ultimately wanted to go back to the desert and be a mercenary. This very obvious opposition in love was the basis for the next book I would start writing – We Are The Warlords.

Eventually I moved from the two girls’ house in Flushing, and took a tiny room in a coop in Elmhurst, owned by a very strange married couple who absolutely stiffed me out of my $700 deposit. But before I left Flushing, I began frequenting the nearby watering hole – The College Green. This was a classic Queens neighborhood establishment, with a low ceiling, and a richly finished bar, and outside smoking area in the back with picnic tables, where youth of a certain age congregated, bought and sold and smoked weed, and played darts. I couldn’t stay away.

I’d also become very infatuated with the popular Gemini who openly had two girlfriends and who commanded everyone’s respect. As is my way I was pulled in by his poise, drawn to his calm, quiet demeanor, and the power it gave him. I based much of my protagonist’s love interest on him.

With determination and luck I find my way back to Sunnyside. Though it was probably technically Woodside, as the house was located between the BQE and Laurel Hill Blvd. I’m still back and forth with Tom.

This is not the relationship I want, and he knows it but my requests are seen as nagging and by asking for what I want I’m essentially pushing him away. By the Easter of 2009 we are finally finished for good, and in fantastic fashion.

I think it’s important to note here that even after Jeremy I continued to make loads of questionable decisions regarding who I chose to bed and become involved with. I used very little caution because my desire and longing for affection and connection would not subside. I fully attribute my affliction to a hefty dosage of daytime soap operas, to the absence of a father, and having an abusive mother. I had ideals and dreams of what I wanted in my life, what I felt I was missing, and I chased them like a drug addict.

It would seem I couldn’t help myself, even when I ought to know better. And after a while it would seem I stopped caring to know better, and just carried on with the patterns I’d developed and grown accustomed to. I settled into it. Sure, I wanted love. But I would take hoeing too. I even returned to the same no-good, lying, using, cheating bucket of slime (AJ) more than twice. I let a married coworker fuck me in a bathroom. I screwed one of the stock trader douchebags in a stairwell. I blew the elevator repairman on the roof of the building. What did it matter anyway? I was young. I was single.

I’ll always remember a scene in General Hospital where supervillain Helena Cassadine is mocking her nemesis, the weak, and delicate Laura Spencer, and she says “Some women just attract a certain kind of man.”

#MOODS, Men, & Mommy Issues by Ruth Nineke is a brief, but detailed memoir of some absurd decisions and the delusional reasoning behind them.

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