Clareified

Now, since I have never been drunk in my life, I can’t say for sure what a hangover is — however, as I sit here slumped in my chair, my head pounding, my whole body aching, as I squint through my eyes and type as lightly as possible — I can only guess that this must be what it’s like.
It seems like an eternity has passed since I left the office on Friday afternoon to pick my mom up from work.
We went to dinner and then I drove back to Manhattan to pick Karol up before going to our only regular poker game together.
The FDR, the main artery from my house to Karol’s, was closed in key sections, so I decided to take street roads up to Whiteyville.
It took forever. I got not less than four “Guy, where are you calls,” before finally picking her up in front of her house.
Of course, once I got there — she needed to stop for dinner. Why it didn’t occur to her to get some food in the seventeen hours that it took me to get to her house, I will never know.
She hopped out to grab a slice. We tried to take the FDR southbound, but it was also closed and we had to take the street roads again.
We pass by her house again and see her boyfriend, Peter, crossing the street.
“Hey there Schmeter.”
He looks over to the car, checks that the light is still red and there was no oncoming traffic and walks over to my car.
He and Karol chitchat for a bit — but the whole while he has he eyes on the traffic lights.
As the east/west light turns yellow, he scurries away from the car back to the curb.
“HA! If he really cared about you, he’d stay and talk to you — traffic be damned.” HAHAHHAHAHAAHA
We got to the tournament in short order, even resisting the overwhelming peer pressure to veer left at 59th and head to Queens. The game finished up around 3, and we headed back to Brooklyn to meet up with her former LSAT tutor turned Poker Hero, Fisch.
As a general rule, I don’t really like people and I really don’t like new people.
But luckily Fisch has turned out to be one of the exceptions and quickly moved from strange, new person to comfortably verbally abusing me. (Although, he almost ruined it all by besmirching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. “How can we believe that this girl, who is a vampire, just happens to have a genius Professor who walks around with wooden stakes in his bag.” To which I reply “So, what you’re saying is you’ve never seen the show and have no idea what the hell you’re talking about?” I leave the “jackass” implied.
He showed up to the diner wearing a hooded sweatshirt and work boots with no laces in them.
“Dude…what’s with the shoes? I’m going to have to get you laces for your birthday.”
“Ooohh…rich corporate lawyer and she’s going to get me laces!”
“Hey, you’re lucky if I remember your birthday.” Know what I’m saying? I know he does.
Karol was free rolling for the night. (A poker term which here means “one who has six dollars in her pocket and runs around saying “Dawn, you’re paying because I don’t have any money.” See also freeloader.)
Fisch offered to pay for his coke.
“Uh…I think I can handle that.”
“Oh, ok, I wasn’t sure cause I figured you needed to start saving up to get me those laces.”
“Hmm…true. I guess now you’re only getting one.”
We went back to his place to play poker.
He lives in the basement of a two story house. The walls are covered with wood paneling and as we sat around the very table my mom had in our kitchen when I was a kid - it was a very strange feeling of de ja vu.
“This whole place just reminds me of my childhood!”
My mom’s friend lived in a similar house in the ECB and her basement was also wood paneled. During grownup parties we’d be banished down there and amuse ourselves with hours and hours of tag and Mother May I.
I noticed that Fisch’s stove didn’t have any knobs on them.
He explained that after almost blowing up his landlord’s house when he accidentally brushed a knob on –leaving gas escaping for the whole day — he took them off as a precaution.
I laughed, but made an internal note to see if I could take the knobs off my own stove. That is just something I could so see myself doing.
We played poker until like 7 a.m. I took Fisch and Karol’s money and then Fisch took mine and Karol’s money.
“You have a huge tell Dawn,” he said after watching me unsuccessfully try to get Karol to pay me off on a full house.
“What! You calling me fat?” I replied with my joke glare.
Of course, he refused to tell me what it was before he took my money.
Bastard.
Karol and I left there in the early morning light and I fell asleep around 8.
I woke up again at ten. Only heaven knows why.
I watched a couple of Netflixes — this was the weekend of Jake Gyllenhaal. I started with Brokeback (which I couldn’t watch in a theater with anyone else because I didn’t want to have the “No, I’m not homophobic, I’m just an immature baby” conversation.) It was actually really good. Much better than Crash.
I then put in Jarhead.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.
I woke up again at six. I was still tired, but Ugarte was having a housewarming in a couple of hours and since it was my very favorite kind of housewarming (a poker tournament), I didn’t wanna miss it.
Ugarte and his fiancée, Zinester, have basically moved into the ECB. In fact, the SRO that my mom and I would stay in, during Winter nights when we had no heat, is located right across the street from them and the apartment where my Godmother used to live is just a few buildings down.
However, in all my years spent in and out of buildings on that block, I have never seen a house as beautiful as the so-called “Gentrification Manor.”
The outside is fairly nondescript — and blends easily into the buildings which surround it — but when you get inside, it’s like something out of a movie or the olden days –or probably most accurately — the olden days as depicted in movies.
There’s a long staircase leading from the foyer, a parlor room with high ceilings off to the left. There’s another room after that (”umm…I don’t know the name of this room…it’s the room between the rooms,” Ugarte said.)
After the between room, there’s another huge dining area with bay windows and a chandelier in the ceiling. Everyone was making fun of the yellow carnation flower wall paper left by the previous owners — but I actually really liked it. The whole place just had a classic warmth to it. Upstairs was equally amazing, with huge rooms and lots of windows and closet space. Of course, I was then horrified to discover that there was only one TV in the whole ginormous house.
I did the sign of the cross and kept my eyes peeled for signs of demonic activity…especially since the walls were varnished “with the blood of Christian babies.”
ONE TV! Oy.
I was surprised when F-train showed up because he has on more than one occasion ranted about how he doesn’t play poker on Friday or Saturday nights. “Losers,” is I think how he referred to those who do.
Our merry band was complete, when Brother of Ugarte showed up. He handed Ugarte a case of beer, and when foamy goodness splashed on the floor, we thought one of the bottles had broken inside. But no. Ugarte had merely turned his open beer sideways when taking the beer from his brother.
D’oh.
Zinester came out with paper towels and they started to clean up the mess.
“Eh, I don’t think the spill requires both you,” Brother of Ugarte observed.
They ordered pizza from my favorite place in the ECB and we started to play.
The pizza arrived shortly after the second hand was dealt.
Zinester put the pizza boxes in the kitchen and called out to see if anyone wanted any water.
“If by water, you mean beer,” F-train said.
“Anyone else want anything?”
“Yeah, I’ll take F-train’s water,” Ugarte said.
Zinester brought the beers out and one of the bottles immediately toppled over and spilled.
“UGARTE!”
“What? It wasn’t me! you put the bottle down on the only uneven spot on the table….but I do like that your first reaction is to blame me.”
I think that is what lawyers call “pattern and practice” evidence.
We took a full on dinner break to clean up Ugarte’s beer spilling mess and eat the ZA.
Karol was having a birthday party in the Bowery on the same night and so I said I’d probably have to leave early.
“Can I ask you a question,” F-train says.
“Sure.”
“Did Karol really invite me to her party?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Did she invite you?” I ask Ugarte.
He says yes.
“Well, I assume she just invited everyone in her address book.”
“See, now I have no respect for that.”
“Yeah, I think the standard should be, you don’t invite people that you’d be disappointed to see,” Ugarte adds.
I laugh and laugh.
I have volunteered to give Fisch a lift to the party, so I leave the ECB around ten to pick him up.
Karol had mentioned that “like me, he never really listened to music before she started sending him songs,” so I wasn’t sure what to play on the ipod.
I opted for my top rated songs — a medley of the best 80s,90s,00s and today.
When asked he said he like Ace of Base, ABBA, Billy Joel and 60s music. Excellent. We’ll get along fine.
I asked him if he would know anyone at the party except for Karol and he said not really.
Though he had met some of her friends before.
“They really like to spend time with her. If I don’t see my friends for a while, I’m cool.”
“Yeah, me too. Especially Karol. Less Karol time the better.”
He laughed.
He gave me poker tips until we reached the club.
Predictably, we couldn’t find parking for like ever.
“What’s that?”
“Hydrant”
“What’s that?”
“Driveway.”
“Can we fit in there?”
“Absolutely not.”
Ok…so, I’ll just sit quietly and drive until you find a spot, Sir.
I was singing along to NSYNC’s Pop when Fisch suddenly says “you are exactly what I was talking about to my family the other day.”
I shoot him a look.
“I know. You’re like what the fuck? But we were talking about the decreasing intelligence of the generations.”
“Dude.”
“No…seriously.”
“THANKS.”
He then goes on to explain that, evidently, Jewish people believe that since getting the Torah, man has been getting stupider. However, he thinks that if we are getting stupider, its because of all the useless information in our brains from advertising, TV, music and pop culture in general. Though, I fail to see why my singing NSYNC songs would make him think of this.
We are driving around for twenty minutes.
“Uh oh. I was supposed to be there by 11:30 or else Karol says I’m dead.”
“We’ll just tell her we were looking for parking.”
“You don’t know Karol very well, she’s not gonna believe that.”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but Karol trusts me.”
“Oh, fo sho she doesn’t trust me.”
I see a couple standing in the rain, trying to catch a taxicab.
“I wish we could help them,” I say.
“I don’t.”
“Ouch. Dude, we’re already late. We couldn’t be later if we tried.”
“No, we can be later and we will be later.”
Mmmm…it’s true.
We finally find a meter spot about a block away. It’s at the end of the block and all I have to do is pull in to it.
“Are you ok to park it?”
Shut it.
We run into Karol standing outside the bar.
“Daaaaaaawwwwwwwnnn… FISCH!”
She is wasted.
“Hey, Karol.”
She then starts introducing Fisch to everyone. Apparently, she had gone to dinner before the party, with her real friends, and she had gotten to her own party late.
I saw my opportunity!
“Well, we were here at 9:30, but there was no one here, so we went back to Brooklyn and then came back.”
“Ok, well now I understand why she doesn’t trust you,” Fisch said.
Karol drags us inside. More introductions and then she disappears. And Fisch disappears. Left alone with people, in a social setting, I retreat to the bar.
I am waiting to get the bartender’s attention — but when I place my order for two glasses of water with ice — she too disappears.
Crap.
I linger at the bar just a moment too long.
“Dawn?”
“Uhh…yeah…hi John.”
John was a year behind me in high school. We rode the school bus together. (hmmm…I don’t have to add a “to school” to that sentence, right?)
He is about the same height as me, which is to say short, and really short for a guy. He was dressed in khakis and a button shirt and he wore round framed glasses. I’m talking your average looking white guy here. Mr. Rogers, just shorter and younger.
He is a psychologist by training and is finishing up his degree at Yale. He is extremely soft spoken.
We are having a very pleasant chat about old classmates and my new apartment and his newly received fellowship. And then it all goes terribly, terribly wrong.
I wave to one of Karol’s blogger friends across the room.
“Oh, is that your boyfriend?”
“No, we’ve played poker a few times.”
“Ah, is your boyfriend somewhere else?”
Danger, danger Will Robinson.
“No, I’m not dating anyone.”
He leans in.
“Me either. I kind of like living life on the fringe, you know?”
I lean back.
“Really? What’s out there on the fringe?”
WARNING WARNING RETREAT.
“Well, kinky experimental sex mostly.”
Oh God. (Oh, and by the way, his tone does not change at all as he says this. He may as well have been saying, ‘I had dinner with my grandparents for Easter’)
Ok, fingers in the ears are not an option, I’m certainly not going to have him think I am the freak.
“Oh. Well good for you.”
“Yeah, I’ve been with lots of women. But since I was a student and moving around a lot, I can just pick up and leave when it’s over.” Again, his voice is still steady and calm, almost soothing.
“Umm…oh, look Karol is talking to another black girl. That just can’t be. I’ve gotta go see who that is,” I get up, “umm…I’ll be back.”
I made a beeline for Peter, who promptly asks if I would be willing to house sit while he and Karol has the apartment fumigated. You know, to make sure the poison was really killing all the pests.
Terrif.
Hate him and everything he stands for.
Around 1, I decided to head back to Brooklyn. I had to pick my mom up for an 11 a.m. appointment, so I would have to be up in 9 hours.
I was already pretty tired from my two hours of sleep the night before.
I went outside to tell Karol and Fisch that I was leaving. He had said that he had to work on Sunday and also needed to leave early, so I said I would drive him back home.
Instead, I get dragged back inside by an even more drunk Karol (how is that possible?)
Fisch and I agree to leave at 1:30.
At 1:27, I say goodbye to Karol again.
“NO!…what would you say if I said poker.”
Uhh, OK!
No, bad Dawn. Must get up early.
“Nah, I can’t Fisch has to work tomorrow, so we gotta go.”
Karol looks at Fisch who cracks like frozen glass that has had hot water poured on it.
“No, it’s ok. I have to be there by two, so I can play.”
DAMN HIM.
DAMN ME.
DAMN KAROL.
She then spends the next hour saying goodbye before we drive up to the UES to play. (As she is saying goodbye to John, and I am avoiding all eye contact with him, he says to her “I think I freaked Dawn out,” drunk ass Karol then starts to ask “why? what happened?” Hate her and everything she stands for.)
Fisch and I don’t leave her house till like 5.
It is pouring buckets of water outside and I cannot see an inch in front of my face.
“You’re in between two lanes,” Fisch says time and again.
Oh, we are so going to die, I think, but do not say.
“Can you imagine if my mom knew where I was right now?” I say to Fisch, as I am speeding down the Gowanus at 5:15 a.m. on Sunday morning during the torrential downpour.
“She would kick my ass.”
“Why? You’re [25]. You can make your own decisions.”
“Uh, no dude. I think the fact that I am driving through a monsoon at 5 a.m. —when I have to pick my mom up for a medical appointment in five hours— because I was out playing poker, is ample evidence that I am unable to make my own decisions.”
We see a disabled car on the side of the road facing oncoming traffic.
Oh.My.God.
“How does that even happen???”
“I’m guessing they spun out, but stopped before hitting the wall.”
“We should call someone,” I say.
“Everybody has cell phones now. There were at least four people in that car, one of them has a phone. Besides, at this hour, I’m guessing they were out drinking.”
Yup. Death. We are going to die and no one is going to call for help because they’ll think we’re drunk drivers.
Sigh.
Thankfully, we get to Fisch’s in one piece.
I then turn around and head for my apartment, hoping my luck will continue.
I make it back by 5:30ish.
I set the alarm for 10:30.
Thoroughly hating life when it goes off, I put on my sweater (backwards), pants and sneakers (no socks) and go pick up my mom.
I figure she’ll be done with her stuff by one and I can go home and sleep.
Wrong!
Turns out she and my aunt have hired a decorator and we are going “to fix up your apartment! Surprise!”
Sur-freaking-prise.
Instead of sleeping, at one, I was moving my couches, assembling the refrigerator and helping to clean the balcony.
My mom wants to drive to Home Depot for plants.
NO WAY.
“Uhh…I don’t have any gas.”
Dude. Dawn, you gotta think through your excuses before you say them out loud.
As an aside, you remember how I had car fever? Well, after spending FORTY FIVE dollars to fill-up my HONDA, I am hella not driving it again.
See y’all after the Attorney General makes them bring gas prices down.
My mom and her staff of people with way too much energy didn’t leave till 9 or so–and not before my kitchen sink, my brand new kitchen sink, sprung a leak.
Hate the contractor and everything he stands for.
I watched the Sopranos, blogged and then went to sleep.
“Maybe we can call in sick tomorrow.”
Exhaustion is an illness, right?

This entry was posted by Dawn Summers on Monday, April 24th, 2006 at 3:47 pm and is filed under Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.