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June 13, 2011
Lunch Poems
A few years ago, a guy I was dating left a pocket copy of Frank O’Hara’s Lunch Poems at my house. It’s plump with water damage, sitting on the shelf among the other transient books I’ve collected over the years.
It reminds of that relationship, in which I learned three things: a man's ability to rock an old geezer cardigan, what the phrase “sexual chemistry” actually means, and what a flooded bathroom looks like when you live in a teeny, tiny three-bedroom apartment.
It wasn't me." Shaggy's bombastic words filled the soggy living room.
One morning, when the two of us left to go eat French food and listen to jazz, he left the faucet running in the bathroom. The dollhouse-sized bathroom filled up pretty quickly, the furious faucet greeting my furious (and unsuspecting) roommates. Later, when I happened to check my phone, I saw roughly nine hundred missed calls and text messages. We tore through the crisp fall sunshine to return to the sinking ship that was apartment 2A on 13th Street. Every towel in the house was piled up to sop up the mess. I, still blissful from a night of fun sex and a morning of lamb sausage and mimosas, was calm and collected. I was ready to laugh away the water, the blame, and the angry stares of my roommates — until my boyfriend vehemently denied any part of it.
"It wasn't me." Shaggy's bombastic words filled the soggy living room.
"But... you were the only one who used the bathroom this morning, and everyone else was sleeping..."
It's not that I'm not down with liars. I lie all the time. Did I make those Mediterranean appetizers for my tenth-grade history class? No. They were frozen phyllos from Costco. Was I was late for work a few weeks ago because my train was delayed? No, I overslept and missed it. Did I really "run errands" all day like I told my roommate yesterday? No, I sat around in my pajamas and caught up on my DVR... but that wouldn't be a good explanation for why I didn't do my dishes, now would it? So, yeah, we all lie. But, by the same token, when I fuck up, and I often do, I own up to it, apologize, or laugh it off. (And I'd make especially sure to this if I were in my thirties, living at my sort-of girlfriend's apartment.)
That’s not why I broke up with him, but it sort of sealed the deal. Now I have a water-logged book and a love for Frank O'Hara, instead of fun sex, boring conversations, and endless arguments about “getting a real job.” I’ll take it. — Ri Kennedy, Nerve contributing writer
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Commentarium (26 Comments)
I wish I could see that calendar. And the necklace.
So if you oversleep and are late to work it's not a fuckup worth owning up to? When you're feeling too lazy to do your share of the work it's not worth owning up to? Hypocritical. The other stories, though, I enjoyed. The last one has a lot of growing up to do.
I flooding someone else's apartment is on a different level than being late for work or not doing your dishes right away.
Actually, I think it was pretty honest.
Li Po Chun UWC power!
go gay UWC! American West alumna here.
hollaaa
lovin the shaggy reference.
Frank O'Hara is the shit.
It honestly doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl but I wish a knew. I hate when I'm reading a story and picturing a girl and then I find out its a boy when I see the name (first story). Please be clear, it has a lot more to do with description and picturing a relationship than gender. Maybe I shouldn't have assumed, but when you're the subject of a story you should let the reader know what's going on.
why? gay love, straight love, it's all love.
Wow, RJ, that must have been really hard for you when you came to the end and realized that your minutes spent imagining a hetero couple had been for naught. I hope you've recovered from the deception, since really, anything that doesn't conform to our preconceived notions of the world should really start with a warning label rather than treating it as another equally valid alternative. It's only common courtesy.
For whatever reason it was clear to me that the author of the original story was a guy, but in any case, what do you want them to do? Write "two guys alert" at the top?
Maybe the fabric shopping and rabbit-petting lamp? I'm not saying there aren't straight guys like that, but it certainly set off my gaydar.
Anyway -- if it bothers you, just look at the by-line. I personally enjoy that not only do you learn about the S.O. over the course of the essay, you also slowly learn about the narrator.
Ben, you inspired someone to paint you as a guy wearing a giant seashell hat, frolicking w/ a large gray rabbit. Out of the seven billion of us alive today, you are likely the only one who can claim that. This calendar must be left to someone in your will or loaned to the Whitney. It can never be lost to the dustbin of time.
@ben, really love how you described the asian getting a caucasian name methodology. my parents were pretty awful at english when we first moved from china and tried to name me winnie. so glad i put my foot down and didnt end up with a name that sounds like a horse.
The ten-penny bracelet gives new meaning to the phrase "10 cents a dance".
I like the one the stolen name tag off the dorm room door. Well random, with such a 16 year old thought behind it :)
When I read Kevin's story, I thought it was a woman speaking, I guess because I could relate so much, but it didn't change my perception when I realized a man wrote it. We're all human right?
Kennedy's story wasn't nearly as interesting as the rest - I guess there was so little emotion in it.
Kennedy's story wasn't nearly as interesting as the rest - I guess there was so little emotion in it.
Each memento has a story - some are very inventive, some entertaining and some just that little bit stalkerish. --- Four women in four cities take on 365 dates between them. Visit www.3six5dates.com to find out more!
I had an insane crush on one of the chefs that worked at the same dining hall with me. I had just turned 18 and he was 25, and I wanted nothing more than to have some meaningless sex with his hot townie ass. Somehow, I thought a NSA fling with a coworker would be just the way to lose my virginity. He invited me to his 26th birthday "party," where I was the only girl in a room full of older men, trash, liquor bottles of varying degrees of fullness, and fruit flies. He had his lucky golf tee tucked behind his ear, and he later gave it to me that night. Despite my best attempts at seduction, he told me I was too young and he would feel as if he was taking advantage of me if we slept together. He was just a good guy, I guess. I'm glad he resisted my clumsy efforts to sleep with him. I still have his lucky golf tee, I wove it into a cuff bracelet. Three years later, I'm beyond glad that we never slept together, and we're friends to this day.
Penny Bracelet: ouuu I wonder who the "celeb" is.
A mntiue saved is a minute earned, and this saved hours!
You couldn't pay me to ingore these posts!