I didn't ask him "How do you suck a fuck?" or anything dumb
That one blonde tossed her long hair and it fell softly down my shoulder. It was more later than early, and their obtrusiveness had reached it's limits.
I brushed her hair away, and exhaled breath after breath of concentrated cigarette smoke against it. Yes: it's against the law, but the owner of Patio had left and asked me to be the manager.
That's the truth.
The only managerial thing I did was put more toliet paper in the bathroom, though. I'm an altruist, what can I say.
The drunkenness was indeed minimal since I only drank beer (and shot only a little tequila) so I made no further fool of myself after the night before.
This morning we ended up back at Patio where Eric (the chef I had just met only on Friday) asked me why I didn't talk to him much.
With mechanical formality he poured me a cup of coffee and made a spot at a table near the kitchen and began to stare at me again.
As though weighing his words he eventually shared an interesting resume with me including a degree in European history, a job building sails, life-long piano-lessons, and he's only 27 which makes him among the younger of all the folks I know up here.
I felt as though he were interviewing me, really, he was so deliberate and confident.
It isn't often that my stare doesn't make a man back down. And it isn't often that my confidence is equaled as well as my intelligence. The combination of all at once is seldom seen if ever.
His eyes are the same color as my father's: Coke-bottle green.
I don't think that I find him attractive, and I'm sort of sure he does think I am (his kiss on my cheek was pressed), but I'm really not quite sure about either.
Brunch was very good. Bloody Mary.
Asit and I received the afternoon with gusto. We glided through SoHo and window shopped, drank an on-the-spot cocktail invention, listened to Cher.
A normal Sunday.
I bought a belt buckle with a hand-gun on it and it says "I don't dial 9-1-1".
Corny.
We stopped in Urban Outfitters, but Asit walked on to his office while I debated about a skirt.
This skirt I found is made from an MxPx Broken Bones t-shirt that I once owned but gave to Tylere three years ago. It seemed perfect that I buy the thing, but it was forty dollars.
Naturally, I call Maggie to see what she thinks. She was there when I had bought that t-shirt originally, and as we discussed I froze:
"Maggie, I'm staring at Jake Gyllanhaal," I told her.
It was true.
There he was. Alone. At the check-out line.
"Go tell him he has a phone call," she suggested.
I walked up beside him and lightly touched his bicept with my right hand and said, "excuse me, but you have a phone call. I'm serious; it's for you."
He took my phone and I hear him say, "This is Jake."
Maggie explained what she had told me to do.
When he handed my phone back to me I hung up on Maggie and looked at him and said, "I'm the coolest person I know right now."
I then proceeded to tell him how important a film I believe Donnie Darko is and that it's in my top-five, and I'm sorry if I sound like an indiot but it's really and honor to see him in person, blah blah blah.
He was gracious and gorgeous and he bought green flip-flops and said, "nice to meet you" and left.
A gay man with pink hair told me I was brave after I flopped down on the counter when Mr. Gyllenhaal was exited from the building.
As a commemoration I bought the skirt.
There was no Bouncing Souls for me today, and I suppose it is meant to be that I not see them.
In their stead I saw (Jake Gyllenhaal and) Calla at the Mercury Lounge. Jordan's sister is a lawyer who represents them, and so I've heard a lot about this band, but just had no idea how much I would actually love them. They are gorgeous and wonderful and romantic and I bought a CD (big surprise).
As always, Jordan is a wonderful companion, and he, his sister, and her boyfriend always make me laugh.
Throw some PBR into the mix and there's no stopping the fun.
It's nearly three a.m., now, and I'm not so much tired as I am exerted a little too much.
::sigh::
I don't get many Hollywood crushes, but even you silly d-landers know about my intoxication with Donnie Darko. How perfect can it get?
I am, indeed, the coolest person that I know!
