Nature is a language, can't you read?

Farmer Ted only made me cry once during Morrissey week. Which isn't bad considering I went to the Monday night show with him, that's when I made him cry. On Tuesday, I had to watch him with his girlfriend from the mezzanine. But Morrissey makes everything feel better, for a few hours.

Before the last concert, Ted sent me an ugly text reply to my teasing one. He was upset because I didn't help him move to BedStuy with my car. !!! Seriously, what in the world would induce me to help that man move?? I am not his girlfriend, we have a weird friendship which borders on the abusive, he didn't ask, furniture will not fit in my car, he has a good job so he can afford movers, I had friends in town, two of which I hadn't seen in 2 years, AND I had Morrissey tickets for that night! It's not my fault he chose that weekend to move. Not only do I have all those reasons, but there is NO WAY I am ever driving my car into BedStuy! If I never step foot in BedStuy again, it will be too soon. He knows how bad it was for me. What a creep!

I told him not to move there. Of course, he knows better than I do. "It's the nice part of the neighborhood." Umh-huh. We'll see. Ted's attitude is asking for trouble. Folks in the hood don't mess with white girls, aside from the occasional "Hey did you see Jungle Fever?" However, arrogant, young, skinny, snot-nosed white boys parading through the neighborhood are different. Especially if someone sees how disrespectful he is to his little girlfriend. I can see him making some smart-a** comment to a dude sitting on the stoop who might jeer him . . . I just hope he has the wisdom to keep his mouth shut. But maybe I'm wrong. I hope so.

Regardless, this is finally it for me with Farmer Ted. (I can't stop blogging about him because he is such a piece of work.) He has finally killed the last of my sad romantic feelings for him. (So I'm not sure why I cried on Sunday . . .)

I have figured out why I haven't walked away already. The mildly abusive nature of our relationship feels like family to me. That's what you do with family, put up with them, and keep going back for more.

The Best Worst Movie Ever!: "Troll 2" and the Mormons

"Troll 2? Never heard of it, there was a Troll 1?"
"Yes, but this movie had nothing to do with the first one. And there are no trolls in it."
"Nice..."

While on one of our non-date movie outings, Farmer Ted asked if I wanted to see "Troll 2" at a special midnight showing. Sure.

Later, he mentioned that 'his girl' was going too. Excuse me? Did you just invite me on your date with your girlfriend? "Oh? Well, then I'm going to bring my friend Mike. I don't want to be a third wheel." He did not like this at all. Too bad.

The four of us met at the theater, but the tickets were sold out. Um, Troll 2 has sold out? Are you freaking kidding me? Nope. So, we scrounged up a plan and got in line anyway. These people make minimum wage, they don't care if you have the right tickets. Yes, my friends and I are a bunch of over-grown juvenile delinquents.

In the lobby, we saw a small movie crew. One of the actors from the 20 year old film was shooting a documentary about the cult status of 'Troll 2'. Some of the super-fans dressed in goblin costumes, some wore all green, one woman dressed like a crazy witch. It's been a long time since I've seen this kind of crowd. I remarked that we were definitely too sober to see this movie. (Visit the official site here for photos of the mad fans!)

Once inside, we had to split up our little group into two rows. I stayed with my friend, and Farmer Ted had to sit with his lady, who promptly draped herself all over him. He didn't respond in kind.

The movie. What a freaking good time!! My face hurt I laughed so much. It might be the funniest movie I've ever seen. The crowd added another element of fun by quoting the movie, shouting out wisecracks and even doing a synchronized 80s dance routine. But the movie does not need the extra entertainment. Every scene is worse than the previous one. I'd think that it couldn't possibly get any worse, but it did. This is the perfect bad movie: crappy effects, bad costumes, non-sensical plot, poor taste, horrible acting, comedic soundtrack, homo-erotic undertones, 80s cheese, green goo, a mini-van, anorexic sex-object, floating head dead grandpa... and the memorable line: "You can't piss on hospitality!" The use of which was literal, not metaphoric. And...... redneck Utahn Mormon extras!!!! The extras are the scariest thing in the movie. (That's right, folks! This little flick was filmed in the backwoods of Utah.) If you look at the scary sheriff's hands as he drives, you can see his CTR ring.

After the movie, some of the actors did a Q & A session with two comedians. You can imagine the questions asked by this cynical, mostly drunk, film-school drop-out filled audience: (I'll give you an example as soon as I remember one)

The dentist, whom I called 'Sexy Dad', explained how the tour got started. He called Blair up to the front, a nice boy from Provo. Blair is an RM-looking dude who told us his movie club watched Troll 2. A member of his club said he went to church with one of the actors. So, Blair decided to look up all the actors. He figured they still lived in Utah since they obviously weren't living large in L.A. due to their fame and success. He was right! He found most of them in the local phone books. He organized a screening in Salt Lake. The theater sold out. Then they took the movie and Q&A on tour. Good times.

Ted and his date wanted to leave right after the movie. She obviously didn't like it. He was either tired or in a bad mood. But my buddy wanted to stay. I told Ted he could leave without us. I had a great time, as did my friend and the strange guy sitting next to me named "Casper". We laughed together the whole time. (I unabashedly chatted up Casper for Farmer Ted's benefit. Isn't that evil? Maybe I'm from Nilbog too!)

Every B movie fan and obscure Mormon pop culturist must see Troll 2!

Meet 'Farmer Ted', nee International Playboy

He is no playboy. He has no idea what to do with two women. He hasn't the slightest clue what he is doing, nor what game he plays. My girlfriend has renamed him 'Farmer Ted' from "16 Candles," because he bumbles about like an inexperienced adolescent. See for yourself . . .

Farmer Ted and I have continued our flirtations, despite the fact he is seeing someone else.
I met his new 'girl'. She was a nice girl, not the kind of skank you bring home for a bootycall. A girlfriend-kind of girl. I expected her to be some beer-soaked ho from a nearby bar. Nope. I tried to be nice and friendly to her, but she was so boring, which surprised me most of all. And yet, it shouldn't have, that's how it always goes. Men choose the boring girls because they deem them to be 'easier' (or in this case because they put out and don't get psycho). It's 'Age of Innocence' over and over again. The exciting, challenging woman who is just too much work, gets cast aside by the cowardly man for the seemingly simple woman. Take heed men, NO WOMAN IS SIMPLE! There is no such thing. If she seems so, then she is acting. But, I digress.

During his party, I flirted with the other boys there. (I took my last Xanax beforehand, I had saved it for two years, knowing that one day I would need chemical relaxation.) It worked. I made a spectacle of myself, dancing and laughing and entertaining the emo kids/hipsters. At one point, Ted said, "see, you're mingling. I like it," then he smiled. Later, he held his hand out to me. So I took it, and he held me there for what felt like a long time. In front of everyone! What are you trying to do??

At 10 pm, the party got kicked off the roof by the doorman, so we moved into his apartment. By then I had two little emo boys following me around. But it was time for me to go, so I looked for Ted to say goodbye. I took the elevator to the roof, with one of my boys in tow. As the door opened, Ted and the girl came in. So we rode down with them. Awkward. Ted and I talked, but the others didn't. At his floor, his girl and my boy got off. We stayed on and rode down, we were alone for the first time all night. He gave me a long hug. I said, "She's sweet". He sighed, "yeah".

He went to see the doorman to get his deposit back, so I walked with him. I asked if we were still on for the movies this weekend. We could go out on Saturday, in the afternoon. We kept talking, until he gave me another hug and I left.

Saturday, we met for a double-feature: Rear Window and Rope. We sat together for 3 hours in the tense darkness. I didn't remember Rear Window as such a sexy movie. He turned away from me during the first Grace Kelly kissing scene. When the second one began, he got up and left, returning afterwards with a coke. And a few minutes later, I felt something wet and cold on my arm. Huh? I looked down and saw his hand slowly dragging a piece of ice down my bare arm. What did he think he was he doing??? He saw me looking at him and dropped the ice. I picked it up and threw it in his crotch. That made us laugh.

When the movie ended, he said he wanted to do something again the next day. I said maybe.

I came home so confused. I wanted to do the friend thing with him, but he acted like he wanted more. It didn't make any sense to me. I have never kissed a man and then tried being friends, I've only done it the other way around. Where do we draw the lines between us? How do I know what he wants from me when he acts like he wants something romantic/sexual, but says something else? Being friends was his idea, why should I be the one to enforce the rules? What are the rules?--it's different now that he is seeing someone.

He stood me up the next day. Called that night to apologize. He blew me off the next weekend too. After the second time, I had enough. He made his choice. He wanted sex more than he wanted me. Too bad for him.

Note: 'You can't always get what you want . . . You get what you need.'

Amen, Brother Mick. I need a friend, not another man trying to get into my pants.

International Playboy and I did go to another movie, "Sunshine", which was amazing. (It felt like a '2001' on steroids, but with Danny Boyle's touch of genius.) We had an awesome time. I've decided he is a good guy and he does really want to be friends. I don't think he has a creepy agenda or is trying to play any weird games with me. Surprised?--I was. Likewise, I will have no creepy agenda for him. We're just two people who like the same stuff and hang out (and who happened to kiss each other a whole lot one night and would probably like to do it again.) This experience has ripped my ingrained cynicism a new one, which is a good thing. It needed it.

Now that it looks like we're starting a real friendship, I don't want to blog about him to the whole universe behind his back. So that's the end. This concludes our 'International Playboy' series of posts.

Fear not, my voyeuristic readers! I went out with 4 other men this summer, and most of them could not even share the same zip code as the word 'normal'. Those stories to come starting this week . . .

The 'International Playboy' Reconsidered

Just because I was angry, and I had a bad time, I assumed we couldn't be friends. How self-centered of me! Then a few days passed, I had some conversations, posted my blog therapy, and reconsidered things. Why did I think he was angry? Did he do anything angry? Nope. Nothing at all.

He spent the whole evening laughing. Even when I told him to do something obscene, and meant it as an insult, he doubled over howling. At one point during the movie, he slowly turned his head around to look at me, and I snapped, 'What are you looking at?' Again, he busted out laughing and said, "I guess nothing." He told me all about his weekend, all his stories made me laugh.

After the movie, we talked about trying to sneak into 'Sunshine'. Then he realized he couldn't because he wanted to catch a band at midnight. He said we'd go see 'Sunshine' the following week. I figured he didn't really mean it and I wouldn't hear from him again. Yet, I sent him an email the next day thanking him for joining me, just because it's the polite thing to do. He wrote back immediately, asking if I still wanted to see the movie next week. Yes, I told him to pick the day.

This really made me rethink the situation. One more date after a rejection is a pity date, I've had a few of those. Two more dates after a rejection is something completely different. But, these aren't dates. What are they? I have no idea. This is totally new. Clearly, he had a better time than I did at '16 Candles'. And, I only had a bad time because I was so upset. Did he seriously want to be friends? He's a straight man, that's weird, right? Unless he thinks we'll be friends for awhile, then I'll fall for him and give it up, which is quite possible.

International Playboy texted me Sunday asking if Tuesday was a good night for the movie. Absolutely. I decided to just have fun. Let go of the attitude. By the time Tuesday came around, I actually got excited about our whatever-it-was.

At Chelsea Cinemas

We* can't be friends! And I am not OK with this.
*see prior posts here* and here

We went to see a special showing of '16 Candles' in Chelsea. But, professionals that they are, for the first half hour there was either no sound, or it was in black and white. So the whole theater, mostly full of queens, was very rowdy and restless. Everyone shouted out quotes from Long Duc Dong and cooed over 'Jake Ryan'. Someone asked if there was a lesbian in the house. A man with a deep baritone voice responded, 'Yes!' Everyone there was jovial, except the two of us.

He looked so cute. He proudly showed me his argyle socks. We talked about our very bad days. We made each other laugh. At some point, we got into a childish "Did not!" - "Did too!" fight about our date, and we weren't joking, it was for real. I think I ended it by smashing my flier in his face. Um, hostile much? Still, I just wanted to reach over and curl up with him. And I could not get the way he smelled on Friday night out of my head.

Then he said something about my big tote bag, from which I pulled a sandwich, Jr. Mints, a box of granola bars, bottled water, and shoes to switch with my heels. I told him the bag was for teaching, I carry books in it. He said, "Are you going to teach me anything? Oh wait, the question is, 'CAN you teach me anything!'" and he guffawed, "The answer to that--is NO." He laughed and laughed, quite pleased with himself. It pissed me off. This was not the night to mock my battle-fatigued virginity. So, I told him to "Lick - my - clit!" And he shouted, to the whole theater, "I TRIED TO!" Then all the queens got quiet. We both burst out laughing.

Later, he asked how I was ever going to find someone to marry me. I said, "I might not." And then he started up with advice and pontifications about how bad my situation is -- as if I'm not acutely aware of it. He said, 'It's like only drinking one kind of coffee but there is no Starbucks.' 'You should move to Utah.' 'Is there an M-Date, Like J-Date?' Blah, blah, blah. I asked him to please stop talking about it, because it depressed me. He said, "I'm just concerned about you, you're a great girl." "Yeah, I'm concerned about me too. But I don't need to get depressed, I'll go home and eat more ice cream." It turns out that he spent the weekend after our date getting drunk, while I gorged myself on ice cream and chocolate.

This does make me angry. I haven't dated anyone like this in 5 years! He's the non-mormon combination of George and my Irish boy. BUT IT WON'T WORK! He's obviously angry too. We both feel rejected, when it's so clear how easily we could fall in love, the fun we would have, the passion, how much we have to give each other... How could we not feel resentful?

He'll be drinking tonight, since he went out after the movie. And I've already polished off half a pint of Ben & Jerry's. I'll eat the rest when I'm done posting this.

Such a little thing . . .

Well, I had my date. After dinner, I told him I was Mormon and didn't believe in pre-marital sex. It was the right thing to do. He was completely freaked out, shocked and confused. But he wasn't mean to me like the last guy. We talked about it for two or three hours. Then we watched a movie while cuddling and kissing. But I came home fairly certain I'd never hear from him again. (Although, nothing had been settled.) But, he surprised me with a gentlemanly email, saying he'd like to try being friends because the other wasn't in the stars for us. He also called me a "sweet girl" which made me want to vomit.

If I weren't religious, we'd totally be a couple. Our chemistry was ridiculously steamy. He cooked me dinner, but couldn't even wait until afterwards to kiss me. Just grabbed me in the kitchen... It was so refreshing to be with a man that liked the same things I do, and had a healthy ego. It's been years since I've been out with a man like that. Ce la vie.

I was completely honest with him and put all my cards on the table. When I told him the church boys don't like me, he said, "Of course they don't. You're a punk rock girl." And yet, I am not the one for him.

What's a punk rock girl to do? . . . "Here kitty, kitty..." I think I'll learn to knit sweaters with cute animals on them.

...and you leave on your own, and you go home and you cry... Not this time!

Oh, does JL have a date this weekend? Why, yes she does! Woo hoo.

But we aren't going to get too excited yet, because he is not LDS and does not know that she is Mormon and celibate.

I don't want to give too many details because I know he is an heavy internet user, but,.... A certain performer whom I inordinately love performed in A.C. last night. Since I had no friends to go with, and I knew people in the city would have difficulty getting there, I posted a ride-share ad online. I got a few responses, and ended up with a free ticket and two gentlemen passengers. They were both very sweet and I loved having their company.

The show was fantastic, as always, but very surreal. This performer does not usually play in fancy casinos. On the way to the concert hall, we had to pass through the lush gilded hotel and gambling rooms filled with elderly people and tourists. Unfortunately, the sound system was abysmal. But the singer was fabulous and broke all our hearts, as always. He enjoyed himself and hammed it up since it was the last performance of the American tour. You can read a review of the concert from V here.

One of my passengers and I hit it off, and somehow the evening turned into a pre-date date for us. We arrived early and the younger guy wanted to wait in line, but we wanted to eat, since we are crusty old-timers. The over-priced buffet was the only food available. There we sat at a table together talking (he is very cute by the way), in our posh and gauche surroundings. He was very polite, sweet, and funny. It felt like a first date, but without the pressure and with the promise of the show afterwards to make everything better.

During the show, we stood together and shouted our observations and remarks in each other's ears. We smiled at each other over certain songs, danced together, and sang the same words. I couldn't help feeling as though I might be falling for this man, he who stood by my side as the music washed over us. Sharing such a happy and significant event created a potent intimacy. At one point, it almost felt like he wanted to kiss me, as we looked at each other with contentment during the beautiful, sad, slow song (fans know which one; yes, the slowest and saddest song in the repertoire). Even though I knew all of this was just the thrill of the moment and the music, I enjoyed it while it lasted.

During the encore, after the dozen or so stage rushes, the performer threw his sweaty shirt into the audience, right next to us. A mob riot ensued for possession of the shirt. It went on for 15-20 minutes. Both of us got pushed and pulled by the fray, but he caught me and held on to keep me from falling to the floor. Then he helped extract me from the dangerous nerdy crowd, by pulling me away with him. On our way out the door, he gave me a big hug.

The drive home took 3 hours, because I went the wrong way and ended up in Philadelphia, a typical mistake for me. We talked the whole way. The other fan slept in the back seat. As we neared the city, he asked me out. I said yes. He wants to take me dancing.

Now. I have to tell him about my religion and no-sex thing. He was puzzled by my not drinking and asked about it. To my shame, I was dishonest about the reason why. I said, 'for one thing it's because I'm on medication'. Which is true, but not. My sorry excuse is that I didn't want to ruin the night with truth and reality. Probably a bad call.

The last non-LDS man I went out with went ballistic when I told him about my celibacy. Even though it was just our first date, he went on and on about how I should have told him earlier. So, I must tell my new friend the news before we go out, right? I guess I should do it on the phone. Maybe he'll be OK with things, being the artsy sensitive type of guy, but...

The truth is, regular men expect sex to be part of dating, as one of the major reasons to date. Why would they want to date a woman who won't have sex with them, when other women will? Don't they have to be extremely mature or very desperate? I hope I am being overly cynical in my estimation, but I've had men tell me as much.

Either way, I had a wonderful evening with a lovely man and the best pop music ever made. I did not go home, cry and want to die on this night.