My Shitty Hookups #2: How I Got Stranded In the Bronx While Armed with a Vase
Or, why I don't do sex with the lights off without seeing the guy, sober, with my glasses.
I have had a really shitty, ridiculous dating life. This is just a fact I've come to cope with via the gratuitous use of various substances. As luck would have it, one of my shitty hookups happened while I was drunk and on a hallucinogen—and it landed me, a Jersey girl, in the middle of the Bronx.
Remember, no matter how bad your dating life is, it's not half as fucked up as mine. I'm a trainwreck. Feel better yet? No? Well, you will after reading what happened a couple years back...
The Stage for Disaster is Set (Again)
You remember Buddy and Adam? Well, at this moment, they were throwing a house party, and man, it was all out fun that night. Everyone was there, and the beer was pouring.
I was invited as a way of extending an olive branch after what happened in the last episode of my shitty hookup life. Now, it's worth pointing out several things about my entry into the house party:
- My glasses were nowhere to be seen. My vision is not that good, especially from a distance. So, I'm kinda like Velma Dinkley from Scooby Doo like that. However, at the time, I was too proud to admit I need glasses to distinguish faces from afar.
- I had an ex we're going to call Lamar. Lamar and I used to hook up and have crazy sex back when I was 18. I was 24 when this happened, and hadn't seen him for ages. Lamar and I belonged to a pretty extreme swingers' group involving friends including guys like Juan, Edgar, Paolo, and Luke. (I'm using fake names. There were a lot of them.) I had met Lamar in a circle that many of the people at the party were also a part of.
- I was also tripping off hallucinogenics. Not too much, per se, but enough to make faces really not easy to see.
So, this guy comes into the party and offers me weed. I look, and lo and behold, there was Lamar!
I immediately see Lamar, and practically jump on him. I'm so excited, I haven't seen him for ages, and if I was honest, I always held a candle out for him and wanted to have a serious swinger relationship.
"LAMAR!" I squealed—right in front of Adam and Buddy. Adam and Buddy both look confused.
"Ossiana, do you know...uh, him?" asked Adam, perplexed.
"Yes, yes! I can recognize Lamar anywhere! Look, it's Lamar! I'm so happy, where have you been for so long?" I continued to squeal and squeak.
"Uh..." Buddy began, gesturing to Lamar. "Do you know...Uh?"
Lamar looks at Buddy, then the ceiling, then the ground, then in every other direction.
"Yes. It is I. Lamar."
Me, in my altered state, didn't quite piece together why everyone seemed so confused. I did, however, notice that Adam and Buddy seemed annoyed by the excitement.
But hey, I didn't care at this point. As far as I was concerned, I thought I struck out with both guys, and it was clear to me that they didn't see me as long-term material. So, I headed outside with Lamar as we puffed on a joint.
In my state of mind, I decided to spill my guts out about all the things I wanted to tell Lamar so long ago...
Admittedly, I had a crazy over-emotional moment where I, in my altered state, was picturing fairies and unicorns in bondage gear for my future. I grabbed him outside the house and told him, "Dude, I've been thinking about you for years. I missed you, what we had was good and I-"
He stopped me, shushing me, "Shh. It was always you. Let's make out again. I miss you too."
We started making out. Next thing you know, he tells me that he lives in the Bronx. I ask to have a quick roll in the hay for old times' sakes—and so, we head up to the Bronx, where crash space was available.
Cue the hour-long trip to the Bronx...
Lights Off, Clothes Off
When we got to his place, clothes came off. He told me he was shy because he got new tattoos and was worried that I wouldn't like them. We had sex, and the experience was pretty much was it was before.
However, something seemed off and I couldn't really figure out what it was. After sex, we began to reminisce about the good times. Something continued to feel off.
My hallucinogens were wearing off.
"You remember when Luke tied up Paolo to the chair and then whipped him while smoking his weed?" I asked.
He cracked up, "Yep, yep I do. And then, when Paolo took the video game machine..."
Paolo didn't have a game console. This never happened. Then, my eyes focused... and realized that Lamar was not Lamar. I began to panic. It all made sense now.
Here I was, naked, with a random dude who lied about who he was to get in bed with me, in the middle of the Bronx—and the trains already stopped running to Jersey. I was fucked, and no one knew where I was.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?"
I did the only thing I could think of when I realized the terrifying truth about where I was. I started asking, with whatever shaky voice I could muster, "Who the flying fuck are you? Who are you?!"
"Lamar" began to look in either direction, then put his finger up in the air and said the least-reassuring thing he could have said:
"Don't worry, I have a sword."
He pulled a goddamned wooden sword out from under his fucking bed. I thought I was going to die. Then my instincts took over and I grabbed the first thing I could get my paws on: a vase with a cheapass plastic rose.
"DON'T FUCKING MOVE! I HAVE A VASE!" I shouted.
He dropped the sword, realizing that it probably wasn't the brightest idea out there, "Okay, okay, you're right. You DO have a vase. Look, I'm sorry, okay? Please, do not call the cops."
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" I bellowed, even louder than before.
He got on his knees, pulled out his ID, and said, "Look, here's who I actually am. My name is Tyson. And, I lied because you were really hot and I wanted to get it in. Please, please, please, do not call the police, they'll fucking shoot me."
"You better not be lying this time," I said, not letting go of the vase. "I'm keeping the vase. Look, the trains stopped running to Jersey, I can't get home until the morning. I'm staying here, and leaving in the morning."
He made no attempt to take the vase from me.
For the rest of the night, Tyson ended up sleeping on the floor while I slept on his bed, with the vase between my legs. Every other minute, this kind of talk would go on:
"Can I have a hug?"
"No, fuck off."
"Let's talk about this. Lemme get on the bed."
"No, stay there, I have a vase."
Amazingly, though, I actually was able to forgive him after a couple of months. You know, after everyone heard what happened and laughed at my blind ass and his almost-arrested ass.
Such is life.