When Lisa and I first met, we shot a lot of pool. We started by going to Soho Billiards on a regular basis, but it was kind of pricey, especially considering that she was still a high school student and I was working dead end jobs.
So we eventually migrated to Broadway Billiards, on 21st Street and... well, Broadway. It was a basement location (I say was because I recently passed by to find it closed, but hopefully just for renovation), a little on the ghetto side, but the regulars were friendly, and the price couldn't be beat.
Four bucks an hour per person on weekdays, five on weekends. And the owners, a Korean family, were our little dwarves. We had Grumpy, Happy and Sleepy. Sleepy was Mr. Choi, he sometimes asked us to shoot with him so he could get some "exercise" lol but that was only at 5:00am. Happy was the lady, always smiling, and Grumpy was her exact opposite.
Lisa and I got to know the regulars there, some helped us with our pool like the cab driver Issac, a couple would play against us like a couple filipinos, some we barely spoke to but still knew each other like the 273ish year old skeleton Nick.
We spent hours upon hours there, taking occasional breaks from the pool table to play Megatouch, reclaiming our usual high scores and attempting to steal new ones. We had our routine going, two peas in a pod, enjoying the same little pleasures in life. Together.
And we also met a wide variety of people during our time spent in pool halls. The old black couple, Charlie and his wife (I don't remember her name) who played Monster Madness on the Megatouch machines together. They must have been at least 60, and Lisa used to wonder if we'd be like that, at their age.
But as much as we enjoyed shooting pool together, there were some moments when we got into fights because of it. We came to a point where we took pool more seriously than your casual player, and if we performed poorly, we would get upset, mainly at ourselves. But no one's perfect and it did happen when we took it out on each other.
But those moments were more rare than not and we usually enjoyed ourselves to the fullest. We eventually got our own cue sticks, watched billiards on TV, bought books... It was our thing.
As often as we could, we took advantage of the Amsterdam Power Play (back then Amsterdam was still on the Upper East and West Side), 11:00am to 6:00pm $22 all you can play.
We graduated from Eight Ball to Nine Ball together; we watched Pool Hall Junkies pre-screening, only to go straight to a pool hall and try to imitate certain shots we saw in the movie; we immersed ourselves into this hobby together at the same pace.
At the San Genero fair, there was a pool game, three balls are racked, and after you break, you have one cue to run the three balls. $2 a game for a small prize, $5 a game for the big prize.
Starting off at $2, we tried a couple times unsuccessfully. The cues were crooked, the table was slightly slanted, the cloth was bumpy, all to be expected from a game at a fair (obviously not fair!).
Then I got the feel for it. I won five stuffed animals for Lisa, was about to play again when they told me I couldn't play unless I paid $5 per game instead, for a big prize. Lisa looked around but couldn't find anything she liked, so we left.
Lol well I guess it's only fair to mention that I spent a ridiculous amount of money at another fair for a Fireman and Statue of Libery Tweeties (probably much more than I would have paid at the Warner Bros. store, for worse quality too lol). But I do have to admit, winning these made Lisa a lot happier than buying them.
Sorry, I'm just rambling. Due to recent happenings most of my thoughts regarding Lisa tend to be more negative than not, and hence my memories steer me towards the fights that we had. So I wanted to take a detour and think of all the good times I spent with her.
Funny how memory is selective, because in the past, I always mainly thought of the good times with her. Now I have to consciously do it.
But without a doubt, some of my fondest memories of Lisa, are when she had my back, regardless if I'm right or wrong. When shit is about to pop off the street, whether it's a flower delivery guy, bums, semi-famous street photographers, she backed me up without hesitation which had a reassuring quality to it.
Hm I can't think of a way to end this post so it'll be abrupt. Lol.
Showing posts with label lisa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lisa. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Introduction to the Intensive Confinement Center
The day had finally come. After 18 months of pretrial supervision (which consisted of weekly drug tests and telephone check-ins, and being restricted to the five boroughs of NYC), after 18 months being with Lisa, after 18 months of fear wondering how much time I would actually do (and more importantly, where), the day had come for me to report to the Intensive Confinement Center, aka boot camp.
The name Intensive Confinement Center (ICC) sounds a lot worse though, doesn't it? Sounds like some 24/7 isolation lol but it's basically boot camp.
Lisa and I were to take a train down to Harrisburg, PA and there would be a car service waiting to drive us to Lewisburg, PA, an hour away.
I would be gone for six months, longest stretch that Lisa and I would be separated for. Ever since we met, we saw each other every day, and we both knew this was going to be a difficult adjustment.
Our last night together, Lisa was in tears. I'm not one to cry much, and I tried to stay strong enough for the both of us, to be her rock that she could lean on.
From the moment I met Lisa, I told her I was going to jail. I also told her I didn't expect her to wait for me. At the time I was facing up to five years, and she adamantly refused to break up, even when facing five years. I understood that she didn't realize how long five years were, so I let it go.
So looking at six months, given her conviction that she would have even waited five years (she claimed she had no doubt in her mind lol), she reiterated she would wait these six months as well.
We kissed and cuddled, wiping away her tears, soothing her with comforting words, it was both the happiest and saddest moment possible. We didn't sleep much. I also didn't have anything to pack. Weirdly, even the last night of freedom, it didn't quite hit home that I was going to be locked up. Probably because I had no way of relating to what I was about to experience. It was probably plain ol' denial.
We agreed to write to each other every single day, and when mail doesn't go out on weekends or holidays, we would keep writing and just combine them into one. If I were to list all the mushy stuff we did and agreed to continue doing despite our separation, you'd probably gag on your monitor just to stop reading, so I'll spare you a few Bounty sheets.
Dawn came, but unlike most fictions, dawn doesn't always bring comfort. This was the dawn I never wanted to see. Given that this was our last day together for six months, I would have thought we'd be more talkative, to make the most of it, but in retrospect it's obviously unrealistic.
Both the train and car ride were fairly silent. We spoke here and there but our hearts just weren't into it. Too preoccupied, we just hugged some more and Lisa cuddled into my arms.
We got to Lewisburg, a prison complex consisting of three facilities: ICC, the camp, and the penitentiary. The penitentiary is obviously a supermax, the camp is the lowest possible security level you can have (except for the ICC), and they don't even have a fence keeping the inmates in.
But any walk-off is considered armed escape with a five year sentence. Not many dared to.
Our car parked in front of the ICC, and Lisa burst into tears.
"Excuse me," I asked the driver. "Do you mind waiting a few minutes?"
"No problem. Take your time, I'm in no rush."
I thought I heard sympathy in his voice. "Thanks."
We got out to smoke a last cigarette together and say bye.
Three pulls in, I hear:
"Hey! HEY! Where do you think you are? Put that out and get in here!"
It was a Correctional Officer.
"I'm not scheduled to report before another 45 minutes," I replied politely.
"I don't care, you're here, you're in, there's no standing around here."
Goddammit. I had a problem with authority, and this was already a bad start. If I had known, I wouldn't have told the driver to park here so I'd have some more time with Lisa.
"But..."
"Get in here now!"
Flicking away my cigarette, I took one long last look at Lisa's tear-strewn face, hugged her, and my heart dropped to my stomach. This was it. This was really it. What the fuck.
With a sigh, I reluctantly let her go and finally shed a couple tears.
"I love you bebe."
"I love you too bebe."
And we both "tingled." Don't ask.
I turned around and walked into the Intensive Confinement Center.
First things first. They shaved my head. Wait, no. First things first, they yelled at me. Then they shaved my head. Then they yelled at me some more. And then other inmates whispered to me:
"Don't step on the black tiles."
"Why not?"
"Just don't."
Ugh, this was going to be a long six months...
The name Intensive Confinement Center (ICC) sounds a lot worse though, doesn't it? Sounds like some 24/7 isolation lol but it's basically boot camp.
Lisa and I were to take a train down to Harrisburg, PA and there would be a car service waiting to drive us to Lewisburg, PA, an hour away.
I would be gone for six months, longest stretch that Lisa and I would be separated for. Ever since we met, we saw each other every day, and we both knew this was going to be a difficult adjustment.
Our last night together, Lisa was in tears. I'm not one to cry much, and I tried to stay strong enough for the both of us, to be her rock that she could lean on.
From the moment I met Lisa, I told her I was going to jail. I also told her I didn't expect her to wait for me. At the time I was facing up to five years, and she adamantly refused to break up, even when facing five years. I understood that she didn't realize how long five years were, so I let it go.
So looking at six months, given her conviction that she would have even waited five years (she claimed she had no doubt in her mind lol), she reiterated she would wait these six months as well.
We kissed and cuddled, wiping away her tears, soothing her with comforting words, it was both the happiest and saddest moment possible. We didn't sleep much. I also didn't have anything to pack. Weirdly, even the last night of freedom, it didn't quite hit home that I was going to be locked up. Probably because I had no way of relating to what I was about to experience. It was probably plain ol' denial.
We agreed to write to each other every single day, and when mail doesn't go out on weekends or holidays, we would keep writing and just combine them into one. If I were to list all the mushy stuff we did and agreed to continue doing despite our separation, you'd probably gag on your monitor just to stop reading, so I'll spare you a few Bounty sheets.
Dawn came, but unlike most fictions, dawn doesn't always bring comfort. This was the dawn I never wanted to see. Given that this was our last day together for six months, I would have thought we'd be more talkative, to make the most of it, but in retrospect it's obviously unrealistic.
Both the train and car ride were fairly silent. We spoke here and there but our hearts just weren't into it. Too preoccupied, we just hugged some more and Lisa cuddled into my arms.
We got to Lewisburg, a prison complex consisting of three facilities: ICC, the camp, and the penitentiary. The penitentiary is obviously a supermax, the camp is the lowest possible security level you can have (except for the ICC), and they don't even have a fence keeping the inmates in.
But any walk-off is considered armed escape with a five year sentence. Not many dared to.
Our car parked in front of the ICC, and Lisa burst into tears.
"Excuse me," I asked the driver. "Do you mind waiting a few minutes?"
"No problem. Take your time, I'm in no rush."
I thought I heard sympathy in his voice. "Thanks."
We got out to smoke a last cigarette together and say bye.
Three pulls in, I hear:
"Hey! HEY! Where do you think you are? Put that out and get in here!"
It was a Correctional Officer.
"I'm not scheduled to report before another 45 minutes," I replied politely.
"I don't care, you're here, you're in, there's no standing around here."
Goddammit. I had a problem with authority, and this was already a bad start. If I had known, I wouldn't have told the driver to park here so I'd have some more time with Lisa.
"But..."
"Get in here now!"
Flicking away my cigarette, I took one long last look at Lisa's tear-strewn face, hugged her, and my heart dropped to my stomach. This was it. This was really it. What the fuck.
With a sigh, I reluctantly let her go and finally shed a couple tears.
"I love you bebe."
"I love you too bebe."
And we both "tingled." Don't ask.
I turned around and walked into the Intensive Confinement Center.
First things first. They shaved my head. Wait, no. First things first, they yelled at me. Then they shaved my head. Then they yelled at me some more. And then other inmates whispered to me:
"Don't step on the black tiles."
"Why not?"
"Just don't."
Ugh, this was going to be a long six months...
Monday, October 19, 2009
Amateur Fight Club
It was about a year after my arrest, meaning that I had been on pretrial for a year. Weekly drugs tests, and weekly calls to report in. At least I wasn't on house arrest, even though I couldn't leave New York City.
An old friend of mine Sean from high school (boarding school upstate NY) invited Lisa and me over to his place, on the Upper West Side. Actually, it was his parents place. It was a beautiful apartment, not nouveau-riche but au contraire, it emanated that old wealth that you can only be born into.
Sean had a particular family. His (hot) older sister had moved out with her fiance, his mother was very fond of French culture (particularly their vineyards), and his father was a retired judge who was clinically diagnosed with depression.
Anyhow, I was a regular at Sean's house when I first moved back to NYC. He had a fair amount of privacy in his room so we were able to smoke to our lung's content. This night, I went there with Lisa with a bottle of Bacardi and Alize.
The three of us split the Alize, and Sean and I finished the rum. Three to four hours later, I got up for the first time to take a piss. That's when it hit me. I was pretty fucking drunk. I stumbled my way to the bathroom, still trying to not wake up Sean's parents despite my drunken state.
I finally made it to the bathroom, which was unusually long, and of course, the toilet was on the other side. For some inexplicable reason however, at the sight of the sink, I had a sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit.
And out it came. A lot of it. I don't remember what I ate that night, but from how it clogged the sink and filled it two-thirds of the way, I'm assuming I had a hearty dinner.
I tried (kind of) to unclog the sink, but I couldn't think of any way besides sticking my hand in there, so hoping Sean or Lisa would have a better idea, I left it for now. I borrowed some Listerine, then almost forgetting why I was there in the first place, I answered nature's call.
Back in the room, I heard both of them laughing.
"Yo yo yo, Alex, you gotta take a look at this," Sean said in between spurts of laughter.
"Sean, I gotta tell you something, I..."
"Yo, come check this out bro, this shit is mad funny."
"Yo Sean, you don't understand, I puked in your sink. It's clogged."
"What? Ah man don't worry man, come check this out man!"
"Nah but Sean, wait, your mom... you don't understand, you sink is completely clogged!"
"Nah nah don't worry man, come take a look man."
He never stopped laughing the whole time. Sean's bedroom walls have some posters but mainly a lot of graffiti. He used to be part of a graffiti crew back in the days. Earlier that day he had bought these new paint markers, and apparently he didn't realize drunk graffiti wasn't the most aesthetic form of art.
And to prove that point, he had tagged his name on his wall, but it was more akin to a kindergardener's scribble.
"Look at that shit!" he said emphatically, "I've never, ever, EVER tagged anything THAT fucking ugly!"
His tone of voice, body language, everything, cracked me the fuck up. You had to have been there. Obviously we all know the alcohol was the main catalyst in all that but that should be left subtly implied. I sat back down next to my girl and kept on laughing.
I was laughing so hard my sides were hurting, eyes watering, clutching my stomach and, hysterical. After awhile though, it seemed to cause a problem.
"Yo," Sean said. "Keep it down. Keep it down man my parents are gonna hear us."
But I've already hit the point of no return. You know those rare laughs that you wished you could have more often? The laughs that let you release that inner child with wild abandon. And the more he told us to shut up, the harder we laughed.
"Yo seriously man, keep it quiet man, shut up!"
And he punched me in the face. My head whipped from side to side, eyes wide with confusion. When I slowly realized what had actually happened, I burst out laughing even more because I couldn't believe that such a good friend had just punched me.
The previous scenario repeated, and Sean actually punched me again.
"Ow, damn son, chill that time that shit actually hurt."
Laughing apologetically, he said sorry and said I could hit him back.
Drunk as hell, I barely formed a fist and I ended up only half punching him.
"Nah nah that shit don't count," I said.
He agreed to let me hit him again. This time, I nailed right on the side of the nose.
"Oww damn that shit fucking smarts!'
We laughed at what just happened, rubbing our faces, wincing every now and then. Lisa and I promoted at Exit at the time, and we impulsively decided to go. Problem was, we were pretty broke (notice a trend from these days?), but promoters didn't have to pay cover until 1:00am, and we had an extra promoter's card for Sean.
Then what's the problem? It was past 12:30am. We had to make it down to Columbus Circle, which was possible but very tight. We decided to try anyway.
On the elevator ride down, I was whispering something to Lisa in her ear, and out of nowhere Sean punched me in the neck. Seriously, what the fuck lol?? I obviously punched him back.
To this day I still wonder what his doorman must have thought seeing us walking out, holding our neck and face respectively, moaning in pain.
Walking to the train station, Sean started randomly punching car windows. He was a violent drunk. A block or so later, I'm guessing it was due to pent up frustration and anger (mainly at myself), out of nowhere, I took a couple steps and kicked at a car's passenger side window.
Next thing I knew, I was knee-deep into the car, window shattered.
"Oh shit..."
I hopped out, and made sure to shake off as much glass from my pants and shoe as possible, I sped walk around the corner. Released on bail, that was by far the dumbest thing I could have done.
Around the corner of 72nd St, a family was walking by, grandparents, parents and kinds (why kids were out that late, ask the parents), but Sean randomly went to a trash can and threw it across their path, garbage and litter spilling all over the place.
Too embarrassed to even look at them, I 've always pictured the look of complete shock on their face.
Without missing a beat, Sean runs up to a Benz, and rips out the Mercedes symbol from the hood, then runs to a phone booth and smashes his hand so hard against it to shatter the glass of the advertisement.
We finally made it into the train. Sitting there and talking, Sean repeatedly taps me on the shoulder while talking, unaware that his hands were covered with blood. About to say something, I realized the futility of it all, especially considering that I already had blood all over my jacket by now.
We arrived at Columbus Circle 59th St., and I guess Sean was ready to have a little fun. Every person he saw on the train platform, he ran up to them spastically and shoved his bloody hands right in front of their faces and screamed:
"AHHH! AHHH! I GOT AIDS!!!"
Then ran off to the next poor unsuspecting victim. I was cracking up, I never seen Sean this drunk and wild.
He grabbed a piece of paper from the floor which turned out to be a post-it note with "PULL MY ADHESIVE" written on it.
Sean ran out of the subway, the post-it note by his crotch, approaching strangers and couples alike, thrusting his hips forward shouting:
"Pull my adhesive!! Pullll my adhesiveeee!!!"
All pedestrians avoided him like he was the brainchild of the plague and swine flu. Lisa and I tried to keep up, and I kept calling his name and he either didn't hear me or ignored me. I think it was the latter.
He climbed up the side of a small Mack truck, tried the door handle, and by some weird twist of coincidence, the door actually opened. Lisa and I looked at each other somewhat confused, and before we could say anything, a Jansport backpack flew out into the sidewalk.
"Sean! SEAN!"
I looked in the truck and he was no longer there, the passenger door was open, and he was already a half block down.
Lisa didn't look too happy.
"Are you mad?"
"Yeah kinda, you guys are acting like fools."
"Yeah I know, sorry bebe."
I knew we were acting like fools. But to be honest, only Sean was now. I somewhat sobered up after kicking in that window.
As we were talking, two guys walked by and I thought I heard one of them say something about Lisa. When I said I had somewhat sobered up, that was a half lie. Still drunk, but just not retarded drunk.
"What the fuck did you say?" I asked.
One of them seemed to be as drunk as I was, meanwhile the other was sober.
"What?" the drunk one spun on me.
"The fuck did you say about my girl?"
"Look, you don't want none of this. I got ten people following a couple blocks behind us, you don't want none of this."
In the meantime, his sober friend was trying to squash everything and keep walking, saying it was a misunderstanding.
"I don't give a fuck about you, or your ten boys, I'll kick all of your asses!" said the Bacardi and Alize.
By this time, Sean doubled back and was wondering what was going on. No sooner had he caught on, we were surrounded by ten people or so.
Ah fuck, not again...
But luckily, the ten other people were in no mood for a fight even if it would have been like winning a court case with Johnny Cochran as your lawyer.
At Exit, we missed the promoter's line. Bummed, we started to leave, and waiting to cross street, the infamous paint markers resurfaced to perform an encore of a child's scribble on the club wall. Two guys soon approached Sean, and thinking that they were thugs trying to start shit with him, I went to see what was going on.
One of them intercepted me and asked:
"He your boy?"
"Yeah he's my boy."
"So you got his back?"
"No shit I got his back."
Thinking shit was going to go down, he put his arm around my shoulder and waved a walkie-talkie in my face.
"You sure you got his back?"
Ah fuck... (for the second time tonight)
But it was too late to back out now.
"Yeah I got his back."
The other security guard was talking to Sean across the street and ended up letting him go. Walking away, Sean was furious.
"Those fucking fake ass thugs think they can fuck with me, I'll motherfucking slit their throats, who the fuck they think they are stepping up to me like that I..."
"What the fuck nigga, they were cops, security for the club. They're doing their jobs.."
"Nahh fuck that man, they were just some thugs stepping to me man, they..."
"They waved a goddamn walkie in my face, what the fuck are you talking about? Yo, every time you're mad drunk you do some dumb shit, I can't even fuck with you like this anymore."
We started arguing with one another, shoving each other but things calmed down. He slammed his hand against another public phone booth (old grudge perhaps?) but soon he sobered up.
We went to a nearby McDonalds and he washed up. In the subway station where we were going to part ways, he asked what the fuck happened that night.
I started to tell him the story I just told you, and at first he wouldn't believe that he hit me to begin with. An hour and a half later, finally done (I omitted some smaller unimportant details here), we went home.
Next day around 3:00pm, I got a call.
"Hey man, it's Sean."
"Hey..." still groggy.
"I think you told me last night already but I don't really remember, but can you refresh my memory?"
He had no idea what happened. Moral of the story? There isn't one, I just thought it was funny lol (minus my little slip of the foot)
An old friend of mine Sean from high school (boarding school upstate NY) invited Lisa and me over to his place, on the Upper West Side. Actually, it was his parents place. It was a beautiful apartment, not nouveau-riche but au contraire, it emanated that old wealth that you can only be born into.
Sean had a particular family. His (hot) older sister had moved out with her fiance, his mother was very fond of French culture (particularly their vineyards), and his father was a retired judge who was clinically diagnosed with depression.
Anyhow, I was a regular at Sean's house when I first moved back to NYC. He had a fair amount of privacy in his room so we were able to smoke to our lung's content. This night, I went there with Lisa with a bottle of Bacardi and Alize.
The three of us split the Alize, and Sean and I finished the rum. Three to four hours later, I got up for the first time to take a piss. That's when it hit me. I was pretty fucking drunk. I stumbled my way to the bathroom, still trying to not wake up Sean's parents despite my drunken state.
I finally made it to the bathroom, which was unusually long, and of course, the toilet was on the other side. For some inexplicable reason however, at the sight of the sink, I had a sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit.
And out it came. A lot of it. I don't remember what I ate that night, but from how it clogged the sink and filled it two-thirds of the way, I'm assuming I had a hearty dinner.
I tried (kind of) to unclog the sink, but I couldn't think of any way besides sticking my hand in there, so hoping Sean or Lisa would have a better idea, I left it for now. I borrowed some Listerine, then almost forgetting why I was there in the first place, I answered nature's call.
Back in the room, I heard both of them laughing.
"Yo yo yo, Alex, you gotta take a look at this," Sean said in between spurts of laughter.
"Sean, I gotta tell you something, I..."
"Yo, come check this out bro, this shit is mad funny."
"Yo Sean, you don't understand, I puked in your sink. It's clogged."
"What? Ah man don't worry man, come check this out man!"
"Nah but Sean, wait, your mom... you don't understand, you sink is completely clogged!"
"Nah nah don't worry man, come take a look man."
He never stopped laughing the whole time. Sean's bedroom walls have some posters but mainly a lot of graffiti. He used to be part of a graffiti crew back in the days. Earlier that day he had bought these new paint markers, and apparently he didn't realize drunk graffiti wasn't the most aesthetic form of art.
And to prove that point, he had tagged his name on his wall, but it was more akin to a kindergardener's scribble.
"Look at that shit!" he said emphatically, "I've never, ever, EVER tagged anything THAT fucking ugly!"
His tone of voice, body language, everything, cracked me the fuck up. You had to have been there. Obviously we all know the alcohol was the main catalyst in all that but that should be left subtly implied. I sat back down next to my girl and kept on laughing.
I was laughing so hard my sides were hurting, eyes watering, clutching my stomach and, hysterical. After awhile though, it seemed to cause a problem.
"Yo," Sean said. "Keep it down. Keep it down man my parents are gonna hear us."
But I've already hit the point of no return. You know those rare laughs that you wished you could have more often? The laughs that let you release that inner child with wild abandon. And the more he told us to shut up, the harder we laughed.
"Yo seriously man, keep it quiet man, shut up!"
And he punched me in the face. My head whipped from side to side, eyes wide with confusion. When I slowly realized what had actually happened, I burst out laughing even more because I couldn't believe that such a good friend had just punched me.
The previous scenario repeated, and Sean actually punched me again.
"Ow, damn son, chill that time that shit actually hurt."
Laughing apologetically, he said sorry and said I could hit him back.
Drunk as hell, I barely formed a fist and I ended up only half punching him.
"Nah nah that shit don't count," I said.
He agreed to let me hit him again. This time, I nailed right on the side of the nose.
"Oww damn that shit fucking smarts!'
We laughed at what just happened, rubbing our faces, wincing every now and then. Lisa and I promoted at Exit at the time, and we impulsively decided to go. Problem was, we were pretty broke (notice a trend from these days?), but promoters didn't have to pay cover until 1:00am, and we had an extra promoter's card for Sean.
Then what's the problem? It was past 12:30am. We had to make it down to Columbus Circle, which was possible but very tight. We decided to try anyway.
On the elevator ride down, I was whispering something to Lisa in her ear, and out of nowhere Sean punched me in the neck. Seriously, what the fuck lol?? I obviously punched him back.
To this day I still wonder what his doorman must have thought seeing us walking out, holding our neck and face respectively, moaning in pain.
Walking to the train station, Sean started randomly punching car windows. He was a violent drunk. A block or so later, I'm guessing it was due to pent up frustration and anger (mainly at myself), out of nowhere, I took a couple steps and kicked at a car's passenger side window.
Next thing I knew, I was knee-deep into the car, window shattered.
"Oh shit..."
I hopped out, and made sure to shake off as much glass from my pants and shoe as possible, I sped walk around the corner. Released on bail, that was by far the dumbest thing I could have done.
Around the corner of 72nd St, a family was walking by, grandparents, parents and kinds (why kids were out that late, ask the parents), but Sean randomly went to a trash can and threw it across their path, garbage and litter spilling all over the place.
Too embarrassed to even look at them, I 've always pictured the look of complete shock on their face.
Without missing a beat, Sean runs up to a Benz, and rips out the Mercedes symbol from the hood, then runs to a phone booth and smashes his hand so hard against it to shatter the glass of the advertisement.
We finally made it into the train. Sitting there and talking, Sean repeatedly taps me on the shoulder while talking, unaware that his hands were covered with blood. About to say something, I realized the futility of it all, especially considering that I already had blood all over my jacket by now.
We arrived at Columbus Circle 59th St., and I guess Sean was ready to have a little fun. Every person he saw on the train platform, he ran up to them spastically and shoved his bloody hands right in front of their faces and screamed:
"AHHH! AHHH! I GOT AIDS!!!"
Then ran off to the next poor unsuspecting victim. I was cracking up, I never seen Sean this drunk and wild.
He grabbed a piece of paper from the floor which turned out to be a post-it note with "PULL MY ADHESIVE" written on it.
Sean ran out of the subway, the post-it note by his crotch, approaching strangers and couples alike, thrusting his hips forward shouting:
"Pull my adhesive!! Pullll my adhesiveeee!!!"
All pedestrians avoided him like he was the brainchild of the plague and swine flu. Lisa and I tried to keep up, and I kept calling his name and he either didn't hear me or ignored me. I think it was the latter.
He climbed up the side of a small Mack truck, tried the door handle, and by some weird twist of coincidence, the door actually opened. Lisa and I looked at each other somewhat confused, and before we could say anything, a Jansport backpack flew out into the sidewalk.
"Sean! SEAN!"
I looked in the truck and he was no longer there, the passenger door was open, and he was already a half block down.
Lisa didn't look too happy.
"Are you mad?"
"Yeah kinda, you guys are acting like fools."
"Yeah I know, sorry bebe."
I knew we were acting like fools. But to be honest, only Sean was now. I somewhat sobered up after kicking in that window.
As we were talking, two guys walked by and I thought I heard one of them say something about Lisa. When I said I had somewhat sobered up, that was a half lie. Still drunk, but just not retarded drunk.
"What the fuck did you say?" I asked.
One of them seemed to be as drunk as I was, meanwhile the other was sober.
"What?" the drunk one spun on me.
"The fuck did you say about my girl?"
"Look, you don't want none of this. I got ten people following a couple blocks behind us, you don't want none of this."
In the meantime, his sober friend was trying to squash everything and keep walking, saying it was a misunderstanding.
"I don't give a fuck about you, or your ten boys, I'll kick all of your asses!" said the Bacardi and Alize.
By this time, Sean doubled back and was wondering what was going on. No sooner had he caught on, we were surrounded by ten people or so.
Ah fuck, not again...
But luckily, the ten other people were in no mood for a fight even if it would have been like winning a court case with Johnny Cochran as your lawyer.
At Exit, we missed the promoter's line. Bummed, we started to leave, and waiting to cross street, the infamous paint markers resurfaced to perform an encore of a child's scribble on the club wall. Two guys soon approached Sean, and thinking that they were thugs trying to start shit with him, I went to see what was going on.
One of them intercepted me and asked:
"He your boy?"
"Yeah he's my boy."
"So you got his back?"
"No shit I got his back."
Thinking shit was going to go down, he put his arm around my shoulder and waved a walkie-talkie in my face.
"You sure you got his back?"
Ah fuck... (for the second time tonight)
But it was too late to back out now.
"Yeah I got his back."
The other security guard was talking to Sean across the street and ended up letting him go. Walking away, Sean was furious.
"Those fucking fake ass thugs think they can fuck with me, I'll motherfucking slit their throats, who the fuck they think they are stepping up to me like that I..."
"What the fuck nigga, they were cops, security for the club. They're doing their jobs.."
"Nahh fuck that man, they were just some thugs stepping to me man, they..."
"They waved a goddamn walkie in my face, what the fuck are you talking about? Yo, every time you're mad drunk you do some dumb shit, I can't even fuck with you like this anymore."
We started arguing with one another, shoving each other but things calmed down. He slammed his hand against another public phone booth (old grudge perhaps?) but soon he sobered up.
We went to a nearby McDonalds and he washed up. In the subway station where we were going to part ways, he asked what the fuck happened that night.
I started to tell him the story I just told you, and at first he wouldn't believe that he hit me to begin with. An hour and a half later, finally done (I omitted some smaller unimportant details here), we went home.
Next day around 3:00pm, I got a call.
"Hey man, it's Sean."
"Hey..." still groggy.
"I think you told me last night already but I don't really remember, but can you refresh my memory?"
He had no idea what happened. Moral of the story? There isn't one, I just thought it was funny lol (minus my little slip of the foot)
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A bootylicious babe
I met Lisa on 11/07/01. I had just gotten arrested nine days prior, released on bail after four days, and needless to say, I was broke as hell. So what do you do, at 19 years old, with less than ten dollars to your name, and on your way to jail?
Go online lol. I used to go on AOL (still do occasionally), and there used to be this chat room called "nyc asians." Self explanatory enough. So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, looking through girls' profiles, and this one girl, "bo0tilishuzbabe" said in her profile that she promoted for this club, Exit.
Right before my arrest, I used to deal at that club, and from that one common ground, we started a conversation. She mentioned how she just started shooting pool and asked if I would be willing to teach her. I obviously agreed.
This all happened around 5:00am, and we met later that day around 10:00pm. We met at Sambuca's, this cafe in Chinatown, not too far from my mom's place. I'm waiting on Canal St. and Mulberry St., and across the street I see this tiny lil thing walk to the corner.
"Lisa?!" I shouted tentatively across the street.
I saw her head look around in search of the source of her name, and she finally saw me. The usual introduction ensues, we go inside Sambuca's, and since she had just finished a promoter's meeting, she was with around eight people.
We sat at a table off to the side, alone, and got to know each other. We eventually went to karaoke, and that's when I found out that this guy Johnny who was there, had been trying to hook up with Lisa for months.
Now, I'm not a big dude. I'm actually short and pretty small. So when I say Johnny was little, I mean it literally and without exaggeration.
Lisa stood at five foot nothing without heels. He was shorter than she was with heels on. Enough said.
Anyhow, sipping on my beer in the karaoke room, Lisa and I are flirting, whispering into each others ear, lips barely brushing, interrupted a couple of times by cock-blockers, then she leans over the low table to reach something on the other side.
And I had to remind myself to breathe. For a tiny lil asian girl, she had one hell of an ass!
After karaoke, most people left and it was just Johnny, Lisa and me. Johnny asks her what she feels like doing (mind you, I had just met Lisa hours earlier), and she turns to me and asks what we're going to do. Caught off-guard since I was expecting her to make plans then ask if I wanted to join if anything, I replied, "Well I'm kinda broke so yeah..."
Johnny suggests that we go shoot pool at Broadway Billiards, and again I reiterate that I have no money on me. We somehow ended up cabbing it there anyway.
Now, either Lisa was a very quick learner, or she was lying to me lol, because for someone who had only shot pool three times, I didn't have much to teach her. We spent a couple hours there, then cabbed it back to Chinatown.
Driving down Broadway, once we made it to Chinatown, the unavoidable question surfaced. Where is Lisa going? So, after Johnny pays for a cab to the pool hall, then pays for the table time at the pool hall, and again pays for the cab back from the pool hall (all this for three people), Lisa says:
"I'm gonna go to Alex's."
I'm pretty sure I must have smirked.
Now, dear reader, you must be thinking, what kind of girl is she, going back to your place less than 24 hours after meeting you online! Yeah, that crossed my mind too. You'd be surprised to know that we were together for 18 months before I was sent to jail. And you'd be even more surprised to find out that this relationship only truly ended two months ago. Also, I was her first (wtf, right?)
We went through thick and thin. It was us against the world. And against each other. The type of relationship you can only dream of, because you can only have it when you're young and naive. Or just very lucky. The passion, loyalty, blind devotion, trust... most of which have very little room in reality.
She was the morning sunshine after a nightmare; she was my confidante; she was my everything. In retrospect, where did things go wrong? Probably right from the start. How could we have prevented our recent break up? Probably couldn't. Do I regret having ever met her? Never.
Lisa will most likely always have a part of my heart, not her as a person, but the memory of her that has crystallized in my mind's eye, only reinforced by months and months of incarceration.
Obviously we had our problems. And I can't deny the pain and disappointment that I felt over the years. But despite all of it, I kept on trying. Despite all of it, I kept on loving. What's the point of having a heart, if you don't use it because you're afraid it'll be broken?
Despite it all, I will always move on.
Go online lol. I used to go on AOL (still do occasionally), and there used to be this chat room called "nyc asians." Self explanatory enough. So I'm sitting there, minding my own business, looking through girls' profiles, and this one girl, "bo0tilishuzbabe" said in her profile that she promoted for this club, Exit.
Right before my arrest, I used to deal at that club, and from that one common ground, we started a conversation. She mentioned how she just started shooting pool and asked if I would be willing to teach her. I obviously agreed.
This all happened around 5:00am, and we met later that day around 10:00pm. We met at Sambuca's, this cafe in Chinatown, not too far from my mom's place. I'm waiting on Canal St. and Mulberry St., and across the street I see this tiny lil thing walk to the corner.
"Lisa?!" I shouted tentatively across the street.
I saw her head look around in search of the source of her name, and she finally saw me. The usual introduction ensues, we go inside Sambuca's, and since she had just finished a promoter's meeting, she was with around eight people.
We sat at a table off to the side, alone, and got to know each other. We eventually went to karaoke, and that's when I found out that this guy Johnny who was there, had been trying to hook up with Lisa for months.
Now, I'm not a big dude. I'm actually short and pretty small. So when I say Johnny was little, I mean it literally and without exaggeration.
Lisa stood at five foot nothing without heels. He was shorter than she was with heels on. Enough said.
Anyhow, sipping on my beer in the karaoke room, Lisa and I are flirting, whispering into each others ear, lips barely brushing, interrupted a couple of times by cock-blockers, then she leans over the low table to reach something on the other side.
And I had to remind myself to breathe. For a tiny lil asian girl, she had one hell of an ass!
After karaoke, most people left and it was just Johnny, Lisa and me. Johnny asks her what she feels like doing (mind you, I had just met Lisa hours earlier), and she turns to me and asks what we're going to do. Caught off-guard since I was expecting her to make plans then ask if I wanted to join if anything, I replied, "Well I'm kinda broke so yeah..."
Johnny suggests that we go shoot pool at Broadway Billiards, and again I reiterate that I have no money on me. We somehow ended up cabbing it there anyway.
Now, either Lisa was a very quick learner, or she was lying to me lol, because for someone who had only shot pool three times, I didn't have much to teach her. We spent a couple hours there, then cabbed it back to Chinatown.
Driving down Broadway, once we made it to Chinatown, the unavoidable question surfaced. Where is Lisa going? So, after Johnny pays for a cab to the pool hall, then pays for the table time at the pool hall, and again pays for the cab back from the pool hall (all this for three people), Lisa says:
"I'm gonna go to Alex's."
I'm pretty sure I must have smirked.
Now, dear reader, you must be thinking, what kind of girl is she, going back to your place less than 24 hours after meeting you online! Yeah, that crossed my mind too. You'd be surprised to know that we were together for 18 months before I was sent to jail. And you'd be even more surprised to find out that this relationship only truly ended two months ago. Also, I was her first (wtf, right?)
We went through thick and thin. It was us against the world. And against each other. The type of relationship you can only dream of, because you can only have it when you're young and naive. Or just very lucky. The passion, loyalty, blind devotion, trust... most of which have very little room in reality.
She was the morning sunshine after a nightmare; she was my confidante; she was my everything. In retrospect, where did things go wrong? Probably right from the start. How could we have prevented our recent break up? Probably couldn't. Do I regret having ever met her? Never.
Lisa will most likely always have a part of my heart, not her as a person, but the memory of her that has crystallized in my mind's eye, only reinforced by months and months of incarceration.
Obviously we had our problems. And I can't deny the pain and disappointment that I felt over the years. But despite all of it, I kept on trying. Despite all of it, I kept on loving. What's the point of having a heart, if you don't use it because you're afraid it'll be broken?
Despite it all, I will always move on.
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