Window Man Rears His Ugly Head

Ahh, Window Man.

Have you guys heard this story? Oh...get comfortable, this is a good one.

So many Halloween ago (two), I was at a pretty sweet mid-week North Seattle costume party with Peter Smith, Kylie Minogue, Gavin and Mike Duggan. And then, a casual friend of mine who showed up, the anti-hygenic Seth, and introduced me to his friend Audio, a.k.a. The Illustrious Window Man.
Of course, he didn't yet have this name, but here's how he got it.
Audio had recently broke up with his girlfriend, and the night ended with Kyle, Gav, him and I on my deck, me having donned Sam's huge red sweater, and Audio's hand down my pants. His ex-girlfriend, however, prevented me from sealing the deal, as he was dead set on getting back together with her.
Within a few days, they were done for good, and I got word via cell phone to get to The Duck immediately should I still have any interest in nailing a 6'4'' cyclist. Unfortunately, I was at a dive bar across town with a 6'9" writer, and had to take a raincheck. The next time I saw Audio, he informed me that I had "missed my window"--he and the ex had gotten back together.

Now, I did nail Window Man a couple of days after Thanksgiving that year the night of my boyfriend's show at the Rendezvous, and continued sleeping with him until he moved home to San Francisco. Then I picked up where I left off when I got here. Then he choked me and I stopped returning his calls.

Point being, This is not just one window, this is a proverbial window that I keep missing because I'm fucking the wrong person (no offense, Mark). And it happens over and over and over, and I never see it a fit time to stop. Just stop. Here's another story.

I was once in Venice at an American Jazz bar and was introduced to a Belgian beer called Hoegaarden. I sought it out back in the states, and only found it at one crappy bar next to my favorite diner, that I had heard showed South Park on Wednesday night. I picked it a prime spot to start my 21-run and ever since has it been my favorite bar, The Duck. It was there when W.M. told me he was moving to San Francisco. It was there I had my going away party when I moved here myself. When I got here and got a job, my cafe served Hoegaarden, and my most loyal customer Charlie drank several pints a day. His son Steve told me his friends were having a party the following weekend, and when this info was confirmed by Krissy, I decided to go. It was at Quinn's house, and here's where all of those windows start to open and shut and swing out and back, and I kept missing all of them. The first time he made me mad, I fucked Cliff. Then dated Cliff. Then broke up with Cliff and fucked Quinn again for a while, and in the midst of this, Sean showed up for a while to tell me he couldn't live without me. Then there was Caras, who never got a call from me for the sole reason that I was messed up in the head from a winter full of boys that were wrong for me, dammit, dammit. Then Sean got paint on me at a party in the Mission and Nicholas was there to pick up the pieces. And then?
Then suddenly in the span of a week, I hear of three people I had huge crushes on that had finally confessed to liking me back; but as they continued to point out, "that was like a year ago." So what did I do? Fucked a Catholic kid, a virgin, and a handful of Clift kids--and all of these windows kept closing.
Sean stopped returning my calls, Caras started dating some cute punk rock girl, Mindy dated Pete Doolittle, and I? I fucked way to many of my friends on two trips to Seattle, picked up some idiot with the same birthday as me, dated a loser with tourettes, and kept waking up to the same-old, same-old lonely boys in my bed. No offense, Nicholas.

Okay, seriously...the point?

The point is that it is winter, and I hate it, and Mary is moving to Portland, Mindy is in the O.C., and Samantha left and still hasn't said a word. And then there is the insult to this injury--

Pablo moved to New York.

I missed my window.


Nick said...

"same-old, same-old lonely boys"

I'll wear that.

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