A is for Ass

W is for White Castle

J called and called and called. He's good a calling, but still bad at kissing. I went to his place on Monday. He answered the door in a haze of sleep, and then, smoked about 8 cigarettes before he was ready to venture outside to grab a bite. I drove, of course. I told him that I would pick up some wine, if he picked the food. Oh, the regrets in life. He picks: White Castle. I'm 28, almost 29. He's 31. Shouldn't he know by now that White Castle isn't really a date place? But, as usual, I was a good sport. I pick the place to get wine: Papa Joe's. I wanted a good wine - to make up for the food (which ended up being a cross between grease and barf). J insisted on a wine called "rock, paper, scissors." Good Grief!

We watched Jack Ass, the movie. How appropriate the J's name is Jack. I was thirsty and decided to have a glass of water - only to find that J had put his cigarette out in my glass. My necklace starts to feel hot and itchy, so I take it off (big mistake) and put it on the floor. J and I try to talk, but I soon realize, that much like J's writing, he's stuck in pre-college/college years. I want to tell him that his writing would be much more interesting if he discussed his life now: chain smoking writer barreling towards middle age whose idea of a hot date is some sliders and fries. He asks me for the third time: you're a student, right? What are you studying? Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

The Castle must be rotting his brain.

I decide to leave. He walks me to my car and leans in for a kiss. ARRGH. No. No. No. I apologize for being short in stature. He keeps kissing me. Ugh. I back away. Scramble for my keys. Say goodbye.

I arrive home. Look in my bag. Grab my neck. MY NECKLACE!!

Fuck.

posted by CV @ 3:48 AM