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The Cool Kids - January 31, 2007
I thought of some things I wanted to say but I wasn't sure I would feel good about saying them so I tabled the decision of whether or not I would write them until after yoga. I get most of the answers I need to the important questions in my life during meditation so dedicating the practice to the answer was perfect.
We started off with a famous and well used Sanskrit chant:
Lokah Samasta Sukinoh Bhavantu
Loosely translated it means "May all beings everywhere be happy and free and may my thoughts and actions contribute in some small way to that happiness and to that freedom for all."
Now that sentiment is truly one that I hold dear to my heart. I do want to contribute in some small or big way to everyone's happiness and freedom. That's the sole reason I make movies and TV shows and write books.
In this scary, fucked up, fractured world, anything that can make us feel united, part of a whole, I feel is the greatest gift one can give. Based on the large majority of the reaction I have gotten to my work over the last 15 years, I seem to be achieving my goal and for that I am deeply grateful. If by cleaving my heart open, bearing my soul, you identify with me and feel less isolated as a result, we are one, and that feels really good for both of us.
I was concerned that the thoughts I wanted to share with you would fly in the face of this beautiful request to the universe for all people to be happy and free, in part from my actions and thoughts, and that made me sad. But I continued my practice and continued listening to see if there were any more messages and lo and behold, half way through a vigorous sun salutation with some cool music blasting, I heard the answer loud and clear.
"You will be helping them to be happy and free because you'll be talking in a language they understand."
I was thrilled! In the marrow of my bones I knew this to be true. See, these feelings I wanted to share weren't going to be directed at you, my loyal and united fans, they were going to be directed at the vast minority who from time to time yell loudly, begging for my attention. I usually treat them like the terrorists they are and don't respond, but this time somehow I wanted to buck that age old theory of non-negotiation and find some way to help them to be happy and free too. I feel I've failed them and I don't like that. I won't accept that they are lost forever. I realized in yoga that I've been speaking a language they don't speak and therefore my work has been lost on them. And the thing is, I know their language well, I just haven't spoken it in a very long time. But like riding a bike, I feel certain I will remember it right away and they will be able to be, through this new communication method, brought into the fold and enjoy the happiness and freedom that we all feel being brothers and sisters in this crazy world we all love.
To give most of you a little back story on why I felt it necessary to share these particular thoughts that will follow, since I know most of you are oblivious to the Rosemary that spawned this baby, allow me to give you the account of the little demon's birth.
Daily I check to see how many people have read my blog. Whether it's growing, ebbing, flowing... It consistently grows a little every week in its readership, which is great. The other day the number suddenly spiked, like, a bazillion percent. Like many thousands of people above the usual number. I called the friendly people at Rudius who run the site and asked if maybe the counter was broken. They informed me that no, it was working fine and that maybe I had been linked somewhere. I don't even know what "linked" means. I turn on the computer; write my little blog, Google the weather forecast, NFL lines, and the occasional Animal Love porn site and we're done. You know, the minimal.
So then I got a couple emails from friends asking me if I was okay about this "Gawker thing." I really had no clue what a "Gawker thing" was but I deduced from these emails that they were the "link" that had created this 10,000 percent increase in my fans. I was so grateful and excited that these nice folks over at Gawker, whatever that was, had seen fit to write such nice things about me and send so many people my way. I didn't really have time to find them, you know with my life and all, making movies and TV shows and writing books that millions of people world wide love and will love for hundreds of years, long after the small, sad, scared gossip writers who spew hate because they can't get a job either for lack of talent or gumption, have been forgotten; not that these Gawker people were among this crowd, you know, I'm just sayin'... So I just went on about my day enjoying the nice feeling that some stranger had performed this mitzvoth on my behalf.
For a week my website kept climbing and climbing. Amazing letters, like the wonderful ones you guys always write me were pouring in from all these new people. It was amazing. Thousands and thousands and thousands of new people every day. Day after day. And then all these nice writers from Salon and Maxim Radio and the Post and Glamour started asking me if I wanted to be interviewed about this Gawker thing.
Thank you Gawker. I love you. Man, how great. So I did the first interview yesterday with Salon, and she asked me some questions about the "Gawker thing" and I felt a little badly since I hadn't read it and had to wing some of my answers but I knew a little because some friends had told me a little bit about what had been written there. Apparently some of the gals I had met in the past that missed me terribly and felt too hurt to contact me personally had written in to this Gawker thing and shared some of their pain.
The interview was lovely and I went home. I had a few minutes before I had to get back to work so I decided to try to find this Gawker on the internet and read it so I would be more informed for my subsequent interviews.
Guys, I was sooooooooooooo disappointed. Here I thought that whatever this Gawker thing was was going to be interesting, funny, smart, something, but it was none of those things. They were trying their best to be snarky and mean but they were so banal and sophomoric and uncreative about it it made me embarrassed for them. I mean the biggest reviewers in the world writing for the most important papers in the world have taken their best shots at me over the years, and while misguided and like all hate gossip obvious declarations of their own self-hate, at least they were well written. These were just so, seventh grade... but then I realized, it must actually be some kind of seventh grade school paper that a school put up on the internet. So these people writing, and the readers writing in were actually little seventh graders and then I wasn't as disappointed. I mean I still had more hope for fourteen- year-olds but at least they were trying their best and had figured out how to get their little articles up on the internet. That was impressive.
And then it made sense why the girls I had known had written in, deciding it best to express their feelings in that forum, a seventh grade newsletter, rather than express whatever feelings they had directly to me, you know, like an adult. They were girls that I hadn't wanted to date for more than twenty minutes, unfortunately, for many reasons, well, for one, although not fourteen, emotionally, apparently so. They felt more comfortable in their element.
Although I wasn't as disappointed in Gawker now that I realized the people running and reading it were children, it was very troubling, however, that these were homophobic, anti-gay children. That actually concerned me very much.
The spirit behind some of the things they were saying about me made it clear that Gawker is a homophobic and anti-gay publication. That sucked to find out. They seemed to think if I was gay or bisexual that would be an abhorrent thing. Wow. Gawker is anti-gay. Who knew?
What they did make clear, along with their anti-gay message, was that they and their readers are obsessed with me. And since I do want to help them be happy and free, I want to give them the gift of the truth straight from my mouth. I know it will make their day, so kind of like The Make A Wish Foundation granting gifts for emotionally and mentally handicapped kids, I thought I would clear up a few things for all of you Gawkerites who can't get enough of me.
To keep it short and sweet. Ladies, you doth protest too much. Just too fucking much, huh? Like on and on and on and on protesting? Yeah, you really really really think I'm ugly and aren't into me blah bede blah blah. Couldn't be that your feelings were hurt because I didn't like you, could it? Doh! Na. You just want to help the public to an informed opinion about just how much you weren't into me.
I'm sorry I didn't like you. Really I am. I wish you had the grace and dignity and respect not to lie about what happened, which each of you that wrote in, to some extent, know you did.
Yeah, their story was the whole story. You believe that, you're fourteen. Oh wait, right. Seventh graders.
But the most important thing at this juncture is that I forgive you all for all of your transgressions. And as proof, here's my olive branch Gawkerites. Just so you know I'm sincere. I want to give you a really really serious gift in hopes that we can make up and better understand each other and in doing so, I can help make your lives happier and freer.
What I'm about to say is the deepest. It won't ever get any deeper. So take a deep breath. Sit down. Prepare. I didn't make it up. People have been offering it up since the beginning of time in different ways but it's always the same message. And I want to share it with you in a language you can understand.
For those of you who are already down with its premise, or even more so, down with it in your heart, (meaning all my faithful readers) it won't come as any surprise and you'll get chills. It's unavoidable. It's staring into the face of God (whatever that means to you as long as it's a loving and abundant conception. And for you atheists, you're not left out of this party either, not by a long shot, it's the secret to your euphoric experience here in this lifetime even though the earthly experience is the be all and end all for you. The effects are equally as beautiful.)
Those of you who are like I used to be (and still can be in an instant if I'm not constantly vigilant and battling the dark pull to be so) and are desperately afraid of who you are deep inside, and are still, like a puppet, tossed about by your self hate and shame, clueless to the origin of your profound unhappiness and the truth that you are perfect as you are, won't understand it. And if you do, the scared puppet master in charge of you (whose only hope for sustained life is keeping you in the dark, away from this truth because it will set you free and in doing so kill him off) will convince you that it's foolish and pathetic and weak and uncool and cause you to dismiss its absolute, undeniable truth.
But my hope is that one day, like I did; you'll be graced with the courage to embrace it as your divine mother and father. Human mother and father, and you won't continue to kill every moment of this precious oh so short life and actually will find some happiness.
Believing it is really really hard. Living it, ridiculously harder. I fail most of the time but I at least have been blessed with enough courage to know that it's the only thing that has any hopes of delivering me to a happy life. And for that I'm grateful. And in knowing that, I am compelled to, in every single moment that I don't want to, that I want to live counter to it and take the infinitely easier dark way out, heed its council, in spite, and summon the courage to act from its voice.
It's a motherfucker. It's gonna fuck your shit up big time.
Ready? Really ready? Here it is.
I am you.
OH SHIT!!!! THAT'S RIGHT!! NO WAY!!!!
I... am... you.
In every way. All the time. Without fail.
Anything you think, feel, say about me... is how you think, feel and speak about yourself. I know it's a little confusing so let me break it down and make it reeeeeeeeeeeeally simple.
If you were to say, something like, oh I don't know, "Eric Schaeffer is an asshole." What you're really saying is, "I'm an asshole."
If you were to say something like, "Eric Schaeffer is talentless." What you're really saying is "I'm talentless." Getting the hang of it now? No? Still confused? Maybe if I give you an example in the positive, your mind will be able to grasp it. If you were to say something like, "Eric Schaeffer is awesome!" What you're really saying is, "I'm awesome!" If you were to say, "Eric Schaeffer is really talented. I love him." You would really be saying "I'm really talented. I love myself."
Ahhh yes, now you're catching on... I knew you would. Yeah, it's a bitch isn't it. For those of you who (I'm sure none of you do, but hypothetically, if there were someone within ear shot who did) have an unkind thought, feeling or word for me, or if any of you who love me know anyone who seems to misunderstand me and therefore speaks, thinks of feels ill of me, it would be an awwwwwwwwwwwwwfully tough pill to swallow.
It's taken me 24 years of a serious mediation practice. A serious self examination practice. Thousands of hours spent with spiritual teachers and an equal number of hours performing service for others to finally understand this absolute truth. I know it's hard for you to grasp so I'm going to now help you in your language even more than I have already.
Before I do, I must say to my established readership, I want you to understand that this language I'm about to speak to the Gawkerites is a language I eschewed long ago. It might take you aback a bit, so I warn you now that you might want to skip the next section and jump to the end when I'm back speaking a language that you understand. The one I usually use with you and that I use in my life now 99 percent of the time. I'm sort of channeling an old dead way of speaking and relating just to try and help our new friends to come around to a better life. Forgive me for this tactic but I feel it's our only hope of helping them. So here it goes.
Gawkerites. In the past, when I was like you, (you know, how you are now, because then I was you as you are me) if I was trying to help you swallow a pill as hard to swallow as I know "I am you" is for you to swallow, I might have said something like the following;
"Don't worry, I'll help this terribly hard to swallow pill down by putting it right there on the tip of the head of my cock so when you impale your face on it, it will slide easily and effortlessly down the back of your throat in the river of cum I'm saving up for each and every one of you. As your dream come true. As your wet dream realized. Yes, that's how generous I am. I will give you that gift.
Now for you straight boys, I know many of you have only fantasized about sucking my cock, any cock, and have never done it, so you might want to practice a bit with a banana or something because even though I have an average sized cock both in length and girth, it still is going to shock you a bit when it hits the back of your throat and your gag reflex is gonna cause you to choke (I know this from the strap-ons I've sucked, which when you grow up, if you're man enough to admit you might like to experiment in your sexuality, you'll realize not only doesn't make you gay but in fact liberates you and makes you more of a real man regardless of your sexual orientation and proclivities) but just relax, I'll stop thrusting and let you get your bearings again before I slam my dick into your envious little faces, my big balls both slapping up against your sad, scared little cowardly, spineless chins and massaging the throats you only use as vehicles for your tired, pedestrian ideas to flow through and of course as my cum receptacle.
And for you girls who have had more experience, my cock might not be so hard going down because you know what it is to have a cock in your mouth, but the pill will have the same effect when it hits your stomach as it will for the boys when it mixes with all that unavoidable profound anguish you have about not having had the courage to follow your dreams but instead having hid in the cesspool of your own inability to summon the strength to overcome that first humiliation of reading your story in front of class in third grade and having everyone, especially the boy or girl you liked laugh at you.
Remember how excited you were? How proud you were of your story, or song, or poem or thought or feeling? And how you hoped your mom or dad or best friend or crush would smile and say, "that was SO GREAT! You're the best! I love you!" And how blown away you felt when they rejected you, cuckolded you, scorned and embarrassed you in front of everyone? Yeah, that sucked so bad that you said to yourself that you will NEVER EVER try again. You'll just spend the rest of your life on earth trying to get even and hurt them like you were hurt. So, you, champions that you are, courageous men and women that you are, (well tiny children with malformed, stunted child psyches that you are in men and women's bodies,) continue to spend your time desperately trying to gain a smidgen of self esteem by attempting to pull down those people who, like you, suffered the same heartbreak, but unlike you suffered it over and over and over and over and over and over again and still had the balls to continue pursuing their dreams because they knew for every one of you out there that would spend their life trying to kill them for having the courage you would never have, could never have, there are a thousand others like themselves who do have the courage of their convictions and the strength of heart and will to follow their dreams, and that the joy of uniting with even one of those thousand like minded warriors would be sublime to the millionth degree compared to the lonely obvious pathetic pin prick of your attempt to bring them down, which screams the truth of what it and you really are;
A sad, lonely person, who wishes with every ounce of your being that you could be, if only for one second of your life, like those people who have enough courage to actually live their life without the care of what others think, feel, and say about them."
But, since I'm not that person anymore, of course I wouldn't say anything like that now. I would instead echo Mother Theresa and Dr. Kent M. Keith's point of view on the matter and use their eloquent discourse as an offering of how to change your lives for the better. You know, as my gift. And of course, this part is for my alumni as well.
1. This version was found written on the wall in Mother Teresa's home for children in Calcutta: "Do It Anyway."
People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.
2. The Original Version:
- People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway. - If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway. - If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway. - The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway. - Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway. - The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway. - People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway. - What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway. - People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway. - Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.
To the millions of you who join me on this really really amazing and really really hard journey, I love you. All of you. The haters and the lovers. Because you are empty. The beauty I see in you is my beauty and the hate I see in you is my hate, so regardless of what you mirror back to me, you are my teachers and I am eternally grateful to you.
And Gawkerites, if you see me in yoga, or on the street or in a restaurant, come over and say hi. I'm not one of the cool kids. I'll be your friend. Remember, everyone is as scared of you as you are of them. The big secret. Namaste, e
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 11:17 AM
Charleston (Part 4) - January 30, 2007
"Oh my God! You got a Silverado!" She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me like she had won a game show trip to Bermuda. She had told me that she was a sucker for a man in a pick up truck but it had to be a Chevy, definitely not a Ford and she hadn't weighed in on any other makes. I told her I was renting a Kia but instead called every company until I finally found a Chevy truck. It was the biggest she had smiled since I had been there, which didn't upset me. I was glad I nailed it.
"And greeeeeeeeeeey. Nice." She jumped in.
"See. Just don't sass me anymore and things will all work out for you. Trust me."
"Okay."
I squealed out of the parking lot and headed right on Market and left on King. Then I hit a beautiful bridge and took the first exit. Like all baby cities, everything was close even though the people that live there say it's far. Whole Foods was like 7 minutes away, not 20. We made it with plenty of time to spare.
We flew to the baking isle. I love Whole Foods. It's my shrine. I could just roam around in there for hours, but we had to move with some alacrity since they were closing in a few minutes. I grabbed the whole wheat pastry flour, the oatmeal, and the alcohol free vanilla extract.
"Sunspire Chocolate chips, bananas and we're done." I announced.
"That was really fun in the bed."
"Yes it was." I stopped shopping and kissed her tenderly.
"I love fucking in the afternoon," she said, still flushed from the fucking.
"I know, right?"
"Why is that I wonder?"
"Because when we first were messing around and becoming sexual as kids, it was always after school. In the auditorium.... Riverside Park... Her room before her mother got home from work. That's a deeply grooved neuro pathway. The first time?! That's seared in the subconscious deep. It's not gonna go away anytime soon. That's why after school is always the time I get randy. Like clockwork. Since I was seven. At least that's my theory."
"Makes sense."
"And after the after school sex.... The Yodells, Ring Dings and Devil Dogs!"
"Ahhh. So you always binge on sweets now after sex too?"
"Pretty much, yeah. But we like to refer to it as a 'celebration' not a 'binge."
"Chocolate chips. Come on. Bananas. Oh, and peanut butter. And maple syrup. Fuck. We have to hurry. And Vanilla Rice Dream for on top."
We raced around getting the last of the ingredients I needed for my cookies and then made our way back to her house where I cooked a decent, not amazing, but perfectly good batch of my usually better vegan-maple syrup-sweetened-banana-chocolate chip-peanut butter-cookie/brownies with Rice Dream on top.
"You wanna come back to my hotel and sleep over?"
"Are you sure? I know you don't like to have sleep-overs often."
"No. I would like you to. If you want to."
"Sure."
We went back to my place and spent the night. Even though I felt very comfortable with her, I still didn't sleep well. I'm just a bad sleeper, even in my own bed in the best of circumstances, alone. Let alone with a new girl in a new bed. I'm just afraid that my tossing and turning will keep her awake and then I get nervous and can't sleep and I like a lot of space in the bed and it was a double, not even a Queen. I want, like, a double California King. Like a room of bed. Like you could drop and roll and still not bump into anyone.
The next three days, I spent the afternoons proof reading the absolute last draft of my book, which was really cool because they were type set pages with the actual font they're going to use in the book so it seemed like an official book, not just a manuscript and it made it read even better than I hoped it would. I am dying for you to read it. I think you're gonna like it a lot.
The evenings were spent eating, making love, fucking, talking, fucking rough, sleeping, not sleeping, SNL, and then came Sunday.
In a nut shell. Sunday was the blow up. Long story short, she woke up early and bolted with a kiss saying she had errands to run and would call me later. She knew that I would be watching both playoff games alone and that we could hang for dinner after. I got my feelings hurt because she didn't want to cuddle (have sex) pre-game on my last morning there. I over reacted and said some dumb things like "obviously your 'errands' are more important than me." She responded by saying dumb things like, "You can't expect people to rearrange their schedules for you" and we were in a stand off for the 7 hours of football on my last day there. I, thinking she was being unyielding and selfish by accusing me of wanting her to "change her schedule" to cuddle (have sex) when I had fucking flown down there to see her and the errands could wait... she thinking I was being bossy and selfish in not allowing her to have a life while I watched football, which was obviously more important than spending time with her.
After the games I went over to her house and we argued for two hours while I cooked and ate scrambled eggs with melted Mozzarella and spelt seed toast with Earth Balance.
We were having our first deep sigh-what are we even arguing about at this point-talk.
I was frightened by the way she argued more than what was even at issue and she was frightened by my pit bull grip on the argument itself, feeling I couldn't let it go and move on. I left without a hug and went back to the hotel. It was 50/50 that we would ever see each other again.
I think we both felt that if it was this hard this fast, though we really liked each other and had a lot in common and a lot of wonderful chemistry, we might just not be right for each other.
The next morning, I thought fuck it; let me get out of this fucking city. I hated it. Charleston had a decidedly racist deep south vibe that repulsed me. They could smell the north on me and hated me for it. Young black people were angry which scared me and older black people were subservient which made me really sad. The white people seemed superior and fake and mean.
I started to drive to the airport but then at the last minute felt I should give Melinda another chance. Give myself another chance. It's so rare I meet a girl who I like. Who I think is unique and not just at worst a PC-MTV-immediate gratification-superficial-cookie cut out-mindless-ADD-automaton and at best boring or just not blowing up my skirt for whatever reason. And one I'm attracted to as well. Melinda was that. Wildly original, smart as a shark, had heart for days and was sexy as fuck. I made a left towards her house.
It was pouring rain and I decided to call her from my cell phone and sit out front in the truck to start the conversation. There was something poetic about it. Based on how it went I would go in or not. My plane didn't leave for four hours.
Twenty minutes into what quickly became take two of the same argument we had had the night before, I honked the horn and said, "Hear that? That's me saying good bye. You can come out and wave but you probably don't want to."
"Are we done?" She asked bitterly.
"I guess so. I'm really sorry it didn't work out Melinda. I had a lot of hope." I meant that.
"Yeah, whatever. Bye." So did she.
We just couldn't seem to conflict resolve well. And without that skill, every relationship is doomed.
I got off the tiny plane at LaGuardia and it was frigid, for the first time all winter. I love the cold, I always have. It eased the sadness of another slain hope. I waited in the taxi line. A cute girl with a tan and long blonde hair came up behind me.
"Where are you going in the city?" she asked.
"Upper West. You?"
"Village."
"Sorry," I said. "Where'd you get the tan?"
"Sundance."
"Cool." That cemented it. For the time being I was over trying to make a girl like me and trying to like a girl... certainly one who had just been at Sundance. I went home alone in the cab and made it to the restaurant in time to meet my mom and a couple friends for my birthday dinner... oh yeah. It was my 45th birthday that day. Happy Fucking Birthday.
"How was Charleston, honey?" my sweet mom, always optimistic asked with her kooky and hopeful smile.
"Not great."
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie." My friends, mom, chocolate cake and the cold my comfort. Who's luckier than me.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 12:17 AM
Charleston (Part 3) - January 28, 2007
"I don't want to yet." She said, looking up from under me on the bed, my hand about to unbutton her pants.
"I thought you said you thought it was dumb to wait and you wanted to fuck me right away?"
"I do. But you said you wanted to wait and that you only fuck girls in the bathroom of the restaurant on the first date if you don't like them."
"Yeah, but baby, we're on our 6th emotional date, 1st in person one, which basically counts as 3rd overall date."
"Oh that's the math?"
"Yes sweetheart. You knew that..." I said with puppy dog eyes and an innocent little smile... She wasn't buying it.
"Melinda. If I didn't think there was a serious possibility of something happening with you there's no way I would have talked with you for ten minutes let alone all day long for five days and I certainly wouldn't have gotten on a plane and flown down here, for what, just to fuck you?"
"Well..."
"Baby. You're fucking hot as shit and gorgeous. I'm still not getting on any plane just to fuck someone." That was the truth and she knew it. She took her hand away from mine. I had the green light to unbutton her jeans.
"And just to prove that, now you're back on my previous time line and not getting fucked for days."
"Nooooooooooooo," she whined like a little girl.
"Absolutely. So what do you want to do now?"
I popped up off of her like I was ready to chat or go bowling or sight see.
"I want to fuck," she said again in a coquettish voice.
"No. I don't want you thinking I'm not honorable."
"Come on." She grabbed me around my neck and pulled me towards her. I resisted... a little.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded yes.
"I want you to be sure."
She nodded again.
"You want me to take your pants off and fuck you?"
"Yes, please."
I stopped the game and in a gentle tone said completely frankly, "I want to get naked with you under the covers."
"Okay." She said excitedly, not understanding that that was a big deal to me. How could she, I hadn't yet confessed how rarely I do that with someone and therefore how significant it was to me.
"I don't do that often."
"Really?"
"No. I've had three third dates in seven years. One girl has spent the night in my bed in that time. It's a really intimate thing to get naked with a girl for me... and especially under the covers. Day, night, whatever."
"But you've fucked more than three girls in the last seven years..."
"Yeah, but usually at least some clothes stay on and it's never under the covers. When I have been completely naked with a girl, both of us, it's always on top of the bed."
"Why is that?"
"I don't know. Waking up with a girl is way more intimate to me than having sex with her. And being naked under the covers is kind of equal to that even if she doesn't stay over."
She smiled and kissed me softly. Then we both jumped off the bed on opposite sides and like a Chinese fire drill, stripped off our clothes, giddy, and jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over us. It was magic light outside. My all time horniest time of the day: 4:30-ish. After school.
I loved her body. She was fit but not hard. Soft and healthy. I love all shapes and sizes of women. I always have. I can find something sexy about every woman. I found a lot sexy about Melinda. Mostly because I liked her.
"Do you think I'm fat?" I asked.
"Oh no. I love a little belly on a man. My girlfriends think I'm crazy but I hate washboard abs on a guy. Men should have a little belly. And women should have hips and an ass. That's how God made us." That wasn't the first time I had heard that from a woman so I believed her. She had hips and an ass and they were lovely.
"You're sure?" I was a little insecure.
"Baby. I love your body.
"Thanks." We were naked, under the covers in the middle of the day and we were talking about our fears. You want to talk about real? You wanna talk about guts? You wanna talk about being an adult? If you've ever tried it, you know, it's fucking intense, that's what it's all about.
This is the part of the story, the part of all of my stories when the cowards run for the hills. And this is the part of all of my stories when the heart people sing. When it gets really real.
She suddenly got scared. "You're not gonna fall for me, are you?"
"Why do you say that?"
"Just a feeling. We're going to fuck and then I won't ever see you again."
"I thought we were off that. I'll put my clothes on right now and take a fucking guided tour bus with you"
"No. Don't joke. Just tell me if that's how you feel."
"No. It's not. We've talked so much on the phone and shared a level of intimacy that it's a little weird in person until we catch up, that's what you're getting from me. That's all" It was the truth. "Seriously. I'm fine not to do this yet."
"No. I'm fine. I'm sorry. I just really like you."
"And I really like you." I kissed her.
We spent three hours in the bed and we both seemed to do exactly what the other person really really liked so that was great. I knew from the first no chemistry kiss with my ex-girlfriend Liza that we were doomed but hoped against hope that what I knew to be true wouldn't be, but was. Melinda and I had amazing chemistry so that boded extremely well for our chances.
"I'm starving," I said. Only making-movies hunger is like three-hour-sex hunger. It's sublime.
"What do you want? This is Charleston. Things close early."
"Where's the Whole Foods? I need to get the cookie supplies."
"You're making your famous cookies for me tonight?!"
"I just realized it has to happen."
"It closes at 9."
"What time is it now?"
"Twenty till."
"Put your clothes on."
"We'll never make it. It's far away."
"Baby, I drove a cab in New York for ten years. We'll make it."
"Okay but I'm driving."
"Of course you're not."
"I'm serious. I'm driving."
"Please don't continue talking. You're wasting time. It's not a discussion. I'm serious. When food, especially cookies, are involved, I can't joke. I'm driving." We argued all the way to the parking lot, dressing as we went. I had a surprise for her. I mean I would have driven anyway but I had a surprise for her so we had to go in my car.
"Just shut up and trust me."
She was really complaining about it.
"Where's your car?"
"I don't know... maybe it's this one." I said, setting her up.
She stopped in her tracks as a hug smile spread over her beautiful face. She looked at my car and said...
To be continued...
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 10:34 PM
Charleston (Part 2) - January 26, 2007
I opened the hotel room door and there was Melinda. She had her short, light-brown hair piled up in bobby pins and wore a long white coat. Jeans rode her womanly hips and dark blue leather boots covered the cute feet I had made her take pictures of.
"Hi" she said in her childlike high voice.
"Hey." I said, a little more nervous than I thought I'd be. She came in. I shut the door behind her. I hugged her. She hugged back gently.
"Give me a real hug." I said quietly.
"You said you like gentle hugs."
"I know. But now I want to feel you up against me."
She hugged me again. Hard. It was an excellent sign that she had remembered that I generally prefer soft hugs. The story of why was very important and I was glad she had remembered it. Once, one of my dear friends, Amanda, had asked me for a hug, which I gave her. A nice, light gentle hug. The kind I like.
"No. Give me a real hug," she said.
"That's a real hug."
"No. A strong hug. A bear hug."
"I'm happy to give you a bear hug if that's what a 'real' hug is to you. But mine is no less 'real' cause it's gentle."
That story is real love, real relationship in action. As simple as it is, it holds the secret to the success of all relationships and if more people understood that and executed its simple steps, infinitely more couples would stay together and friendships would be closer.
Teaching each other how to love. How you feel most loved. It doesn't mean it's not "true love" if your partner can't intuit how you feel most loved. Most desired. Most appreciated. It's nice if you luck out and are on the same page but a simple announcement is all that's required and generally the other person is all too grateful for the map to your heart. Hard hug. Soft hug. Flowers. A note left on the fridge in the morning. A kiss on the back of the neck. A pat on the head as you walk by and I watch the game. Everyone gets it differently. I dated a girl who waited until the tenth date to tell me that she hated being called "sweet." Her father used to call her that and it made her blood boil. It's one of my favorite terms of endearment. She wondered why I didn't like her and I wondered how she possibly couldn't know how much I liked her. I was calling her sweet all the time and she was hating it. She said if I called her "beautiful" she would feel I liked her. Done. Easy. But I never would have known had she not told me.
My hotel room was charmingly appointed but small. There were two chairs and a canopy bed. Those were the only places to sit. I hung Melinda's coat over one of the chairs but it just seemed too awkward to sit facing each other in these tall backed chairs so I suggested we jump on the bed. I wanted to be able to feel her whole body next to mine. I didn't want any distance between us. She smiled and jumped on the bed. I followed.
We were laying nose to nose, which I had told her I couldn't wait to do. The only problem was I'm ancient and couldn't fucking see her that close so I had to move back, like, two feet.
"So, do I look like me?" I asked.
"Completely. Do I look like me?"
"Yeah, except you looked so different in so many pictures it's taking me a minute to take you in... but yeah."
We were both nervous and giddy.
"Let's sit up but stay on the bed."
"Okay."
We did. I pulled her close and threw my legs up over her so we could get closer, my legs sticking out behind her back and her legs sticking out behind my back, bent at the knee, like that great position to fuck in that always seems like it's not gonna work but always does really well. It was even hotter because we had jeans on so it was like High School. I moved in and smelled her neck. I whispered, "Is that the perfume I sent you?"
"Uh-huh." She said through her smile. She was making it really fucking hard not to kiss her but I had told her I wouldn't even kiss her on the first real date, let alone do anything else. She had told me she'd want to fuck me when she walked in the door and thought waiting was stupid. I liked her gumption but was trying to wait. Though a Southern lady she liked being dirty in the face of protocol. That's how I am too. I like being a gentleman, unless the set up is different and then I like being a dog. If we're there to fuck then it's game on, if we're there to fall in love, then I like to wait... and then be a dog. Sometimes. Loving and gentle others.
"You smell so fucking good." I loved the sent. It was from L'Occitane. A rip off of Chanel Number 19 which I always had loved. I randomly sampled some Puerto Rican chicks that work the front desk of my gym as to whether or not it would be okay to Fed Ex the perfume as a gift to a girl I hadn't met yet if we had been talking on the phone for 5 days and had exchanged pictures. I wanted to make sure from a female perspective it didn't seem like I was trying to make her into someone she wasn't before I had even smelled her perfume. They all agreed it was sweet and I should do it which was comforting because I had been a tad unnerved by the 25 year old yuppie in the locker room who thought I must be gay or crazy to query him out of the blue even though we both were fully dressed.
"So what do you think? If you had been talking to a girl on the internet for 5 days, would you send her perfume as a gift before you flew to Charleston to see her for the first time?"
"Excuse me?" He was flustered. I should have stopped there but I thought I'd give him a chance to learn what it means to enjoy life and other humans. There apparently wasn't a show about it on MTV so he was lost.
"I met this girl on the internet and I'm flying down to meet her. Do you think it'd be weird for any reason to send her perfume as a gift before I go?"
"I don't know" he said with a nervous laugh. I better make it easier for him.
"Would you do it?"
"I can't say." Now I was just torturing the poor guy but not wanting to give up on him; I gave him one more chance.
"Well, would you or wouldn't you do it?"
"Maybe you should just ask her to lunch." And he got the fuck away from me. I laughed to myself.
"Maybe... I ...should.... just... ask...her...to...lunch." I repeated to myself, suddenly wanting to slit my wrists realizing that he was our future and our present. He was why the world is like it is today.
Thank God for the Puerto Rican girls upstairs. There's hope.
"How long do you think I can go without kissing you?" My lips were behind her left ear, very close to the spot she had told me was her favorite place to be kissed. We talked about a lot on the phone.
"Six minutes." She whispered back in the slightest drawl revealing a small lisp for the first time that I had ever noticed. She was so adorable I couldn't take it.
"You're not getting kissed until tomorrow." I whispered leaving her ear quietly and now putting my lips an inch from hers."
"You'll never make it."
"Yes I will." And I grabbed her and threw her onto her back as evidence of my resolve... and then I got my legs out from under her and got up to my knees over her, in between her legs.
"You have no chance." She said.
"You just watch." And I fell onto her and kissed her. I had been hard all week from the first time she had told me she came really easily and liked best to ride on top. And being in my "saving the chi" mode, I hadn't jerked off in weeks. I had warned her that I was like a 17 year old and might cum during the dry humping make out. She thought that was hot. But I assured her that also like a 17 year old, I would get hard again fast and be able to then act like the man I was and go forever. That was also hot to her. We started kissing fast and hard. It was, after all, really our 6th date in emotional time and she was the one who wanted to fuck straight away anyway so, what the hell, I would sacrifice my needs for hers. I'm giving like that. After teasing her for a while over hers clothes with my hands and lips and breath, I jammed my hand down the back of her jeans and grabbed a handful of her. She had said in her profile that any man that didn't enjoy that should pass her by. I wanted her to know I had been listening to what she thought was important too. She groaned. I went for her button in the front and she grabbed my hand and said...
To be continued...
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 10:09 AM
Charleston - January 24, 2007
I had been talking to Melinda for five days. I met her on Nerve the night of the married-chick-without-a-ring- in-yoga day. She was really smart, very funny, a brilliant writer, had a cute southern accent, a dirty mind and was 25 years old. She seemed close to perfect. Now I'm going to dispel a big myth right now for all of the bitter women out there whose self hatred blinds their senses and has them angry at me instead of God, who made life like he did. So listen loud and clear please, once and for all. Read the following sentence a few times. Meditate on it. Let it resonate. It will help you get over your misplaced rage and move on with your life and help you to stop fighting the wrong enemy and start forgiving whatever you haven't forgiven in yourself which has you so self hating in the first place.
I don't want babies for 5 years at least. Maybe 7 or 8 or 10 years from now.
I've known my entire life that my 50s would be about children and that hasn't changed. So, it was nothing to do with body type or mid life crisis. It simply is
I DON'T WANT BABIES FOR AT LEAST 5 YEARS!
It's nothing personal. I LOVE everything about women as they get older. Women over 45 are divine. They've dropped all their shit and really sink into their bodies and beings but.... BUT unfortunately, babies are done.
Therefore, 36 is my cut off. Maybe 37ish but I simply know deep in my soul that I want my own children at least first before I think about adopting and I don't want them for at least 5 years.
I don't get mad when women like black guys, or young guys or buff guys, it's their preference. God bless them. STOP GETTING MAD AT ME AND THE REST OF US 45 YEAR OLD MEN WHOSE CUT OFF IS 36 OKAY?!!! FOR WHATEVER REASON, YOU DECIDED NOT TO HAVE KIDS YET AND THAT'S FINE, BUT WE DON'T HAVE TO HAVE THEM YET, OKAY?! WE LOVE YOU BUT IT'S AN ISSUE!!!
Look in the mirror and question yourself and your motives and choices and intentions. It will yield a far more healthy and productive harvest then the superficial obvious misdirected anger you hurl at us.
So anyway, she was 25 and an old soul which was great.
Also, while we're on the subject, I want to get to know the woman I'm going to marry, live the rest of my life and have babies with and that's going to take more than a couple of years. I want at least three or four Christmases together. I want to have the kind of fun and freedom that you can only have without kids for a while and to make damn sure, as sure as you can ever know, that the union is going to last.
So anyway, she was 25. Perfect. We could hang and get to know each other, have fun and relax and have kids in 6 years. That puts her at 31, 33 and 35 and we bang out 3. Adopt a couple more a few years later and all's good.
So I was very hopeful. We had exchanged pictures. She said she didn't have a camera so I Fed-exed her a couple of my films which she wanted to see, and a disposable Kodak camera and told her to fill it up and Fed-ex it back to me in the SAS FED EX LETTER I enclosed. I had seen a couple pics on Nerve and could tell she was really pretty but I'm visual and like to see as much as I can. All clean of course, but many angles and expressions. I told her to burn half the roll on her and half on things that were important to her.
She was excited about the mission but her busy day got in the way and she still hadn't sent the camera back and it had been two days... so I called Best Buy in Charleston, bought her a digital Camera, sweet talked the manager, Tara, into letting Melinda pick it up even though I had used my CC to buy it and store policy was that whoever picked up the item must have the CC with them, and Melinda was taking pics within the hour and emailing them to me.
She was lovely. Completely my type. I was begging to fly down there basically after the first night on the phone but she had a shooting party to attend (gotta love a hot chick who shoots guns) and wanted me to wait 10 days. 10 FUCKING DAYS?!!! I split the difference and agreed to 6. I booked the only plane that flies into Charleston, a 50 seater, for Wednesday. The little planes scare me even more than the big planes but I had no choice unless I wanted to drive for 15 hours.
I got my lucky rock, my rosary, and my crystal and went to the airport. I was really really excited. I had a feeling Melinda could really be game over. My only concern was she played her emotions closer to the vest than I did but she said she really liked me and would open up if we sparked when I got there. It was really important to her that she find me hot and that that intangible chemistry was there. It was for me as well but I had a feeling it would be so I wasn't as worried about it.
I inched towards the security station at La Guardia. I was trying to smuggle my CK One in my toiletry bag but just in case they vetoed it I had gotten a small clear 3 oz plastic bottle at the drugstore to transfer it into. The lady did veto it. She told me she'd accept the plastic bottle but it had to be in a zip lock baggy. They didn't have any there and she thought my only chance was to go downstairs and buy something that came IN a zip lock baggy, empty out its contents and use the baggy.
I just don't like taking no for an answer. I always ALWAYS feel there's a way around no.
Three minutes later I found a lovely Pakistani worker about to take his lunch break at the in-terminal Taco Bell. And what did he have for lunch? A nice peanut butter sandwich in a zip lock baggy which he was all too happy to give me to house my cologne bottle.
I made it through security with everything except my Tom's From Maine toothpaste which was too big and got confiscated.
I boarded the baby plane and felt I was going to be okay. It was a little bumpy but we made it safely to Charleston in only 84 minutes. I was an hour early and had told Melinda to meet me at my hotel for a quick hug and hello before I went to a yoga class I had scheduled down there. I knew I had to at least smell her and touch her for 15 minutes or I wouldn't have made it through the whole class and I really wanted to hit one down there because one of my teachers from Jivamukti had moved there and opened a center and I wanted to support him and also it would chill me out and put me in the best place for the first official date, which we had already worked out was really date number 6 in emotional dates but the first real one actually being in the same place.
I don't even kiss on the first date with a girl I like. If I don't like her I'll fuck her in the bathroom at the restaurant but if I think we have a future then I won't even kiss good night. Certainly no sex until date number 3 but I already knew I liked Melinda and we might have a future yet we had talked more on the phone than I would have with someone I had been out on many dates with so that's how we arrived at the 6 number... all bets were off.
I dumped my stuff in my room and paced nervously, awaiting her arrival. I splashed a little too much CK One on and sat on the edge of the bed and closed my eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breathes. I prayed to God to help it all work out for the best and then suddenly I heard a gentle southern knock on the door.
I opened it and there was...
To be continued...
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 1:43 PM
Happy Fucking Birthday - January 22, 2007
I turned 45 today. As with most occasions in my life I could tell the story as the best and worst day of my life. I'm too spent from the Charleston trip to start telling you about that now. Much fucking and fighting. I will tomorrow. But before I lay my head down I just wanted to make sure, on this day of celebration of this amazing gift of life, I thanked all of you who read and watch my work. I get amazing, beautiful, heart felt letters from many of you and I try to write you all back and I do a pretty good job of it, but whether you write me or not I know that my stuff resonates with you and I want you all to know that in my many dark dark moments, knowing that it somehow makes a small difference to you, fills me with a joy and a gratitude that's indescribable, so thank you for letting me know that. It truly does mean the world to me that we are one. All Love. Namaste.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 11:58 PM
Sasha Take Two? - January 17, 2007
So, completely over Sasha and knowing in my heart that she wasn't HER or she would have called me back, I went to yoga, back to the scene of the crime. I didn't even find myself wondering if I would bump into her, if the fates would bring us together that way, I just went to my usual 6:15 Tuesday class and was happy to be there.
Since I was early, the 4 o'clock class hadn't let out yet and we all waited on the floor outside the yoga studio. There weren't any women that interested me so I turned off my Blackberry and just sat quietly as more and more people gathered. Suddenly then I noticed a tall blonde woman in an army cap whisk by quickly and disappear into the ladies locker room. She was really pretty. Model pretty but with a twist so even more pretty.
The yoga studio door opened and the sweaty yoga glowing people started wandering out. I rose and went in. I put my jacket and plastic bag of clothes onto a shelf in the back, grabbed a blanket and a block and looked for a place to lay my matt. I don't usually scope out pretty girls to lay my matt next to, I think that's kind of sketchy and am really there to cultivate a deeper relationship with God. That's what yoga means, union with God. But if I happen to meet the love of my life while I'm there, then hey, what's more of a conduit to God than that.
Just then I caught this fast moving blonde flash again. It was the model-with-a-twist chick I had glimpsed outside a few minutes before. She was fast. I liked that. She laid her matt down near the back on the right side and left to go get a block.
What the hell. I mean, I need to lay my mat some place.
I joined her. Right next to her on the left. I folded up my blanket and sat on it. I felt her return and purposely didn't look at her. I didn't want her to feel like I had put my matt next to her just to hit on her. I closed my eyes and half pretended/half really did meditate for a few moments. Life is like that. It's not so fucking black and white all the time. I wanted to meditate and I wanted to fall in love with her. I was faking and I was sincere. That doesn't make me a liar, it makes me human.
But enough is enough. She knew I wasn't a player by this time so I opened my eyes and futzed with my blanket as an excuse to look down and to the right so when I was done futzing I would naturally have to look at her before looking straight forward again.
I did and BINGO, JACK POT! She caught my eye and smiled. I didn't fuck around. No more Sashas.
"Hi." I said.
"Hi." She was open and friendly just like Sasha had been, but without the slight hesitation Sasha had. This girl was wide open. With a subtle glance I double checked that she didn't have a ring on... nope, no ring. But she was wearing a watch.
Just like Sasha.
"Are you gonna practice with your watch on?" This was Sasha all over again. Except this girl was clearly the one I was meant to meet. Sasha was some kind of appetizer.
"Yeah. I never take it off."
"Never? You bathe with it on?"
"Yup." She laughed playfully.
"Sleep? Everything?"
"Yeah. It's pathetic I know."
"So it literally never comes off."
"Right."
"Wow. I'm Eric."
"Natalie."
"Nice to meet you."
"You too."
"I've never seen you at 6:15?"
"Yeah I usually take at 8 in the morning because I usually work late."
"Ahhh. What do you do?"
"I'm in advertising."
"Huh. I went out with another beautiful tall blonde girl in advertising once." Liza.
She smiled. We chatted for a few more minutes. She seemed totally into me. I was freaking out. Class was about to start so I folded my hands and bowed to her.
"Have a nice practice."
"You too."
All through class, of course, I obsessed on her. How our conversation had gone. Fantasizing about our future together. On how I would ask her out. I wasn't going to let her out the fucking door, I didn't care if I ruined her yoga peace, fuck, I might ask her out in the middle of a down dog. No, better wait at least till after class.
I snuck peeks at her all through class. She had a beautiful practice and a beautiful lithe body. Supple, strong, flexible, focused, quiet. And she looked to be about 35. Perfect. An adult, ready for love. But then I noticed she had strangely small hands for her 5'10'' frame. Almost retardedly small. Not quite but nearly. Well, if she blew me off at least I could rationalize that I could never have been happy with her anyway, the girl with the mutant small hands, but if she was into me, they would be easy to overlook. I'm way more mature than that.
A half an hour into class I started to get furious with myself that I hadn't asked her out before class started so I wouldn't ruin another yoga class obsessing on the outcome of a date request. That would never happen again. Hopefully it would be a moot point because this girl was going to be my wife.
Class ended. I could barely wait for the last OM. Gone was my madness over whether she would say yes or no. I felt calm and okay with whatever the outcome would be. When the last note left the air I turned to her. She was already rolling up her matt, preparing to leave.
"You know how in Annie Hall after they're on the way to dinner after she's sung on their first date, and Woody says to Diane Keaton, 'Can we kiss now to get it over with so I can relax and I can digest my dinner'?" She laughed.
"I should have asked you out before class so my moving mediation would have had a chance of remaining on world peace and not on whether you would say yes or no."
"I'm flattered but I'm married actually."
"Oh really? I'm sorry. I didn't see a ring." She smiled politely and left. Well at least I couldn't be rejected. I'm always so relieved when they say they have a boyfriend because then at least I can believe they would have gone out with me were they single. I mean I prefer them to be single and say yes, but short of that, I want them taken already.
And I had gotten a straight answer. Not like with the Sasha situation. I was happy it had all been asked and answered. But then I started to get a little annoyed. I mean the fucking girl never takes off her watch but her wedding ring seems to get left in the old jewelry box with regularity huh? We have wedding rings for a reason in our society gals. It's so I and countless other men don't get their hopes up and waste perfectly good chances to unite with God because we're obsessing on whether or not you'll fucking go out with us!!! So do us a little favor okay? Keep your God Damn wedding rings on!! No wonder she was so fucking nice to me, she had the protection and relaxed safety of already having her love of life waiting for her to get home from fucking yoga to kiss her and make her dinner and lick her fucking pussy till she came ten times!!!!
I'm not really that mad, but come on. Cut the passive aggressive bullshit and keep the rings on. And don't flirt with me-especially if you're not gonna wear it- if you have a husband. That's not nice. Be friendly, fine, but don't giggle at my jokes and shyly look away when I look deeply into your eyes.
Bramacharia- The yogic guide for relating to members of the opposite sex when one or both of you is taken. Treat them as if their lover and yours were standing right there. And if you're single and they're not, treat the other as if their beloved were there and the girlfriend you don't have was there as well. Or visa versa.
But enough about that. I met a girl on Nerve yesterday who very well may be HER. I'm flying to South Carolina tomorrow to take her to dinner. Of course you'll be the first to know. Pray for me.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 10:22 AM
The Secret to Women Conquering (Part 3) - January 14, 2007
I looked up, was about to say hello, and it wasn't her. It was some red haired girl.
Sasha had left.
She had somehow gotten past me. She must have been that lone woman I was convinced she couldn't have been in the very beginning who was putting her coat on while I ripped off my clothes in the men's changing area.
I was crestfallen. But that emotion was quickly replaced with a small but growing powerful self hatred and feeling I've felt at the core of my being, (among other good ones as well) that I had done something to irreparably damage a grace from God and I wouldn't ever get another chance. I work hard at trying to reframe my conception of God and make it a loving, forgiving, abundant God rather than a checks and balances God and I'm having some success but it's slow going. I wasn't raised any religion, let alone Catholic so it's strange I've adopted the concept of a punishing God. I guess I saw the opportunity to corral another's tool for self hating and jumped on the chance.
Kind of the same way I never used to have a problem with people who rode their bicycles on the sidewalk until Ebner once yelled at a guy and then turned to me. "Fucking asshole. Sidewalks are for people walking, not bikes." From that moment on I've hated people who ride bikes on the sidewalk. Thanks Mark, as if I already didn't have enough petty resentments to pray through.
Not quite as bad as when Liza left me with a ring in my hand but in that ballpark, I repeated the scene I never wanted to even once in my life let alone twice. "But you said you would take the ring back." I had said to the Hasidic Jew on 46th Street in the diamond district the morning after she said no.
"But, You already bought the ring."
"Do you think I want to be standing in front of you saying this? Before I bought it you said you would take it back if, God forbid, she said no. Well she did, okay? Now just give me my fucking money back please."
The sequel was with the chocolate bar.
"Hey, can I give you this back?"
"Ohhhhh, really? It's kind of a pain in the ass. I would have to get a manager to get the key for the register. You can freeze it you know and save it."
"That's fine." I skulked home. The chocolate bar the trophy for the most pathetic cunt on the planet who didn't just go out front right away and wait for the girl of his dreams but instead did a quick change and missed her. I got angrier and angrier as I rode the subway home. By the time I got to my building I was seething with self loathing.
"Here. It's a healthy chocolate bar." I handed it to Jake, my Serbian doorman.
"Oh, thank you Eric."
At least that thing was out of my hands and could stop mocking me.
I went upstairs and into my apartment. I was squirrelly with rage. You fucking stupid cunt!!!!! What the FUCK WERE YOU THINKING!!!!
You finally met someone you might really like and you fucked it up. And she said she hadn't been in months so you're not gonna see her again there.
I went for a walk with my friend Rebecca in Central Park to try and clear my head. I was really losing it, it having just been Xmas at all.
"Why don't you just call the yoga place and ask for her name?"
"I thought of that but it's a little sketchy, you know? I don't think they'd give that out and even if they did and I called her, she might get mad at them for giving it out and they'd get in trouble or she might just think it's weird."
"I think it's totally sexy. If you hunted me down and left me a message I'd totally go out with you."
I called the yoga center. "Fuck it." The number was ringing. I was hoping someone who liked me would answer. A couple of the girls who work the desk have crushes on me, sadly I don't return them. I was just hoping it wasn't the chick who wouldn't let me return the chocolate bar.
"Yoga Center. Hello?" I think I got lucky.
"Hey, this is Eric Schaeffer." I had no idea who had answered but we'd soon know the outcome.
"Oh hey Eric. How's it going?" She said in a really friendly voice. Jack pot.
"Great. Is this...?" I was vamping.
"Angie."
"Oh hey Angie, how's it going?"
"Great. What can I do for you?"
"Well, I was actually hoping you could play cupid for me. I just took the 6:15 class and I was talking to a girl named Sasha and I really liked her but somehow she slipped out before I could get her number. Could you tell me her last name?"
"Let me look on the computer here. What did she look like?"
"Tall, dark hair, kind of an Aimee Mann face."
"I love Aimee Mann." I looked at Rebecca and gave her the thumbs up. She was excited.
"I think it's Sasha Roderick... yup, she bought one class today. I'm sure it's her."
"Sasha Roderick? Thank you so much."
"No problem, Eric. See you soon."
I hung up.
"That's awesome!" Rebecca said. I dialed information.
"Sasha Roderick. New York City, please." I waited. She had a fucking number!!! "And what's her address? 24th Street?" I said out loud for Rebecca's benefit. "Thanks." I hung up. "She lives on fucking 24th Street. Two blocks from yoga. That's why she bolted in her wet clothes. She showers at home."
"Are you sure it's her?"
"Please. How many Sashas live 2 blocks form yoga? And it's a pretty unique name. Sasha Roderick. It's definitely her!"
"Yeah. It has to be her. Call her."
"Okay. I mean, it's not like the place gave me her number. They just gave me her name. And if she's listed she can't be that weirded out and private. I mean if she's not into me fine, but I'm not gonna stalk her so she won't have a bad experience so she probably wouldn't get mad at the yoga place anyway, right?"
"No. It'll be fine. Just call."
"Okay." I pressed the number into my phone and waited as it rung. We were on the horse path next to the police station in the middle of Central Park next to the reservoir. It kept ringing... My phone is restricted so sometimes people don't answer because of that fact. A machine picked up. "Machine." I said to Rebecca. BEEEEEEP.
"Hey, so I waited out front to give you your special vegan chocolate bar birthday present but you somehow slipped out before I could. This is Eric. The boy who talked to you in yoga about how you use a pencil as a scrunchy. I wanna take you to coffees sometime. Call me." I left my number and hung up.
"That was perfect."
"It was okay?"
"Perfect."
"It was light and nice and cute and I didn't sound like a psycho, right?"
"No. You were great. I would definitely call back if I got that."
"In how long?"
"Two days... well... no. Yeah. No more than two days but definitely not the day I got it."
"Okay, But I'm not going to call again in two days if she doesn't call.
"You should."
"No, that's weird. She got it. If she's interested she'll call me back."
"What if she's shy?"
"Then I wouldn't want her. And she's not anyway. If she doesn't call, it's done."
"Okay."
I left Rebecca and went home to Google Sasha. Two pictures came up. It was her. The girl from yoga, so I was sure that the girl I had called was the girl from yoga. I didn't love that her picture was on some society news letter and in both pictures she was standing around drinking at fund raisers with young-Kennedy-meets-Euro-trash guys but I was happy I had found her. We would be dating within the day.
After the third day with no call back I was over it. I really would want my future wife to call me within an hour of getting that message, a day at the most if she had a good explanation for the delay. The most important thing was I had found her and found out that it wasn't fate. I couldn't have lived with the not knowing, the rejection was fine. Another soul mate bites the dust. Which is fine for the obvious reason that she couldn't have really been the ONE. SHE is still on her way. The subway must be slow today, or she stopped to get a smoothie on the way.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 1:47 PM
The Secret to Women Conquering (Part 2) - January 10, 2007
So, in yoga class, standing over the sexy girl who looked like a dark Aimee Mann, I said, "Are you going to practice wearing that watch?"
Now, first impressions being crucial, the comeback to the opening line always, ALWAYS tells the entire story.
"Did you have a better idea?" She said sardonically but with enough of a smile to reveal a softness. She had scored big, hitting the ground running like that.
"I've just always wondered about people who practice with a watch on."
"It's so when I start getting tired I can see how much longer class is."
"I would think you wouldn't want to know at that point."
"No. I want to know." She was smiling through the whole exchange. Another good sign.
"And what's the pencil for? Gonna take notes?" I said, referring to the pencil that sat on the floor next to her mat. She rolled her long black hair up in a bunch behind her head and stabbed the pencil into it, which held it in place.
"Ahhhhh. Nice."
I knelt down so we could have a longer conversation. I was starting to feel self conscious being the only one standing. She seemed okay with my move.
"I've never seen you here before," I said.
"I haven't been in months. I know that's not good. I should make time."
"What have you been doing instead?"
"Other things." She said and smiled again mischievously.
"Other things?"
"Other things that are equally good for me."
"Excellent."
Beat. I smiled at her. She smiled back. Beat. This would be a moment when, if interested, she might ask me a question... She didn't. I chalked it up to nerves. While she seemed sure of herself, she also seemed an equal part shy, or she hated me and was just being polite, but why then would she have met my smile so eagerly and engaged me in conversation so fluidly? It must be nerves. A self deprecating joke was called for to break the tension.
"Am I supposed to fuck off back to my mat now?"
She laughed. "No." But again, even though she said no, part of her didn't seem completely comfortable with me there either.
The point of no return. Naked, in front of the entire world!!! I went for it.
"What are you doing after class?"
"Meeting some friends. It's my birthday."
"Today?!"
"Yup."
"Oh my God, that's amazing."
The teacher took her seat which was the signal for everyone else to follow suit.
"I better leave you now to your pencils and watches and mediations..."
"Okay."
"Eric." I extended my hand.
"Sasha" She shook it.
"It was nice to meet you Sasha. Have a good practice."
"You too, Eric."
"Maybe if you don't bolt after class we can chat," I said as I was rising to go. She didn't really respond. I let it be but wasn't very hopeful.
I obsessed about her the entire class. I snuck looks at her on and off for the hour and a half, checking to see if she was sneaking peeks at me, (she wasn't) how advanced her practice was, (intermediate) and how her body moved, (a little clumsily.) She was also much taller than I thought she was when she was sitting. 5'10" at least, which I loved.
This could very well be my new girlfriend... if she didn't hate me. I liked that she was sharp and quick and brunette and New Yorky and in yoga and she must be single if she was going out with "friends" for her birthday, and hadn't dropped the B word. A lot of serious plusses.
Instead of my practice being a moving meditation on world peace, it was a mental fixation on my plan to court Sasha. While not as noble as world peace, certainly not an evil consolation prize for the universe.
Some people leave fast right after the last "ohm" to beat the crowds in the changing room, other's like me, take our time and languish in the after yoga glow. But this day I had to move with alacrity through the sweaty bodies putting away their props so I wouldn't lose Sasha if she happened to be one of the quick cruisers.
I didn't want to swoop in on her in the actual yoga hall seconds after meditation in case I was wrong and she didn't enjoy me, so my plan was to wait for her somewhere outside of the room. I cut my "Ohm" short and was already rolling up my yoga mat by the time the others were finished and hawked Sasha's every move in the dark as people started leaving. She was moving slowly, which I liked for many reasons, not the least was it seemed an invitation or a least not a repulsion at the idea of an after class chat.
I put away my block and blanket and waited just outside the yoga room. There was only one door out and I had definitely left before her. I could see her still putting her blanket away on the shelves. I didn't want to be too conspicuous so I pretended to do something to my yoga mat carrying bag for a couple seconds.... She didn't come out.
I fiddled some more... she didn't come out... was she talking to someone? Thanking the teacher? I decided it would be way cooler to wait for her in the front of the yoga center, where the front desk and boutique is. That way she could get changed and I could BUY HER A LITTLE GIFT! A BIRTHDAY GIFT! GENIUS! I hadn't said "Happy Birthday" to her when she told me it was her birthday. What was I thinking? I was too focused on asking her out. God, I must have seemed like an asshole. A gift would be perfect and make sense as a reason to hang around in the front for her.
Should I change first though? It would be creepy if she was all changed and I was standing in the front waiting for her all sweaty from class. Okay, I'll do a super fast change and because of where the men's changing room is located, I can look through the curtain and make sure she doesn't leave before I get out there.
I ran to the changing room and stripped of my shirt. Fuck it, I'll leave my sweaty tights on and put my pants on over them to save time. I looked out through the curtain. There were a couple people heading into another class and one woman putting on a coat which couldn't have been her because she wasn't even out of the room yet when I left and I had only put my head down for a split second to take my shirt off before I looked out of the curtain and there's no way in that time she could have traveled from the yoga room, down the hallway, around the corner past the men's changing room to the coat rack and be putting her coat on, so I was safe. I put my shoes on, all the while looking out the curtain, grabbed my leather jacket and yoga mat and headed out the curtain to the front of the center.
A vegan chocolate bar! Perfect. That would be her gift. I bought it and waited, my excitement and nervousness growing. People started filtering by on their way out and to the boutique. Still no sign of her. She must be in the girl's changing room.
I waited. A minute went by. Still no sign of her.
I waited. Another minute went by. Still no sign of her. I walked down the hall back towards the men's changing room so I could look down the hallway towards where the girl's changing room was. Nothing. She must be one of the "shower people." The few who actually take showers after class. Most people just change and shower at home, some even leave in their wet yoga clothes but a few shower there. She must be one of them because it had been a few minutes and many people had left already. I went back to the front and sat on a bench... a few more minutes went bye. I was starting to get scared... I couldn't possibly have missed her! There's no way!
The teacher for the next class emerged from the woman's locker room. I knew her so I felt comfortable asking, "was there anybody left in the girl's room?"
"Just one girl in the shower."
"Thanks."
That had to be Sasha! I sat and waited.
5 minutes later I could hear footsteps from the hallway around the corner. I nonchalantly rose and leaned on the front desk pretending to be looking at the chocolate bars I just had bought for her. I felt her near and looked up just as she was about to pass...
to be continued...
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 3:34 PM
The Secret to Women Conquering - January 5, 2007
Girls have no idea how profoundly exhausting it is to be a man. While I'm sure being a woman has its exhausting features, like constantly having energy flying at you from men, I'd take that in a heartbeat over the exhaustion caused by having to always be the pursuer. The bottom line is this;
If we don't ask... there is no chance for us, and therefore you, to ever have love.
Think about that for a second. Just let those words slowly make their way through your bloodstream like the evil virus they are. Don't worry; I'll feed you the antidote just before you die.
If... we... don't... ask... there... is... no... chance... of... ever... having... love.
Fucking epic.
Imagine going through life with the absolute knowledge that if you don't risk abject rejection at best, cuckolding at worst, you're going to be alone for the rest of your life.
Pretty scary. And the least women should be doing (since they aren't helping the process and are apparently locked in one of their rare brain freezes of stupidity, not realizing that like the scorpion killing the frog half way across the pond, they are killing their own chances of love by not helping,) is worshiping at our warrior fucking feet every second of every day in gratitude for our courage to do it all ourselves.
I'm a fairly massive risk taker and always have been; deciding long ago that the pain of failure is no where near as profound as the pain of staring up at your ceiling at night knowing deep down you didn't have the guts to try. That regret is something I refuse to live with, so I keep asking. Doing. I get my teeth kicked in 99 percent of the time, but when I win... I win big. Dream-come-true-big.
In everything. Work, friends, God, women. Risking vulnerability is the biggest gift I believe you can give. Whenever I offer love, even at the smallest level, I'm risking getting hurt, which is really really not fun. But we do it because we're noble.
After being rejected by women over and over and over for years and years, some polite but most with an air of "You're the scum of the earth for having deigned to say 'Hi' to me," I am nearing the end of my rope. God only gave me a certain amount of energy for this job and it's almost gone.
I've been asked out twice in twenty years.
There may have been a few smiles and glances that were invites to approach, lessoning the risk of rejection, but still, in the end, I had to open my mouth first. A girl just straight up saying, "You wanna go out with me?" There have been two. Ask most guys, I think that's actually pretty good. THAT'S INSANE!!! Two fucking girls have had the guts to ask me out in TWENTY YEARS?!!!!! Listen, I'm not the cat's meow to all but I don't think it's conceited to think more than TWO girls in TWENTY years have wanted to go out with me.
What the fuck! And with every rejection, it gets harder. There is a necessary built-in- forgetter God has installed in us or there would be no more life. No more babies, except hooker babies which probably wouldn't be enough to sustain mankind for very long. But even with this machinery that enables us to not be mortally wounded by the "fuck off" vibe most women give to our simple and sane request for their attention, the cruel rebuffs still add up and render us increasingly like scared members of some sick experiment in torture, frightened of our own shadow, which of course is the biggest turn off of all and gets us even more rejected. The vicious cycle. All set in motion by cowardly women.
Listen, I don't drink or do drugs or rage or shut down. I'm on the cutting edge of what I feel most of the time. And to all of you who don't think you identify with me on this, I humbly submit that you are in for a rude awakening if you ever wake up and shake free of all the things you do to deny what's really going on with you, so don't judge too harshly lest that add to your catastrophic breakdown when and if you choose to leave your slumber for the real world.
I'm not saying you gals should say yes to boys you don't want to, I'm just asking if you could summon the fucking strength to even the playing field just a bit and ask us out once in a while. Come on, I know you have it in you. You have the balls to show all sorts of other emotions, cry in public, push gargantuan objects out of small holes in your bodies, enduring much physical pain, you're the fucking love creatures for God's sake. You're very powerful. Can you maybe have the spine to say this one tiny little sentence, "Hey. I was wondering if you wanted to get a coffee some time?" I mean, please! You wanna be president. You wanna get paid the same for the same work. You don't want to be treated with sexism, heed Gandhi's words and "become the love you want to see in the world." What you give, you get. And maybe, just talking out my ass here now, on a bit of a roll, the hatred that comes your way sometimes is the understandable collective pent up rage, fear, hurt and anguish of thousands of years of our burden of proof.
You now have the power. I've given you the gift. You can turn it all around and conquer. Just with one little sentence. "Hey. You wanna have coffee sometime?"
See, girls, taking the proactive approach has many benefits. Ultimately, the best one is that you'll get everything you want. Secondly, you'll be giving us a wonderful gift we richly deserve and by doing so, we'll chill way the fuck out and be much more easy to get along with and be the boys you want us to be... at least much closer to the boys you want us to be. And thirdly, you can let go of that really evil by product of the existing boys-always-have-to-ask paradigm; loving us with your eyes and then still rejecting us when we come over and talk to you, acting as if you hadn't just been loving us with your eyes.
A classic example of this gross phenomenon occurred in yoga last week. I noticed a very sexy black haired chick in the back on the right. I hadn't seen her before and although I do go to yoga to find God, while I'm there, if I find a wife, I'm killing two birds with one stone.- I just realized what a horrible saying that is in general but really in this context. Yoga, love, God? Killing birds? Not good. We can never use that again.
I'd be gaining the love of God even more so by finding him in her. There, that's nicer.
Anyway, so I saw this girl. It was before class so I pretended I needed another block and headed across the room towards the closet where they keep them so I could pass right by her. She caught my stare and suddenly a big smile flooded her face. I was shocked. That almost never happens. Usually it's the opposite when you look at a girl, she looks away in disgust. I returned her smile. She kept smiling and didn't look away. Amazing! Did she know who I was maybe? A fan? I didn't care. I had gotten a double-no-look-away-smile. I passed her without saying anything, grabbed a block from the closet behind her, bashed her in the head with it, dragged her unconscious body into the bathroom and fucked her.
No, of course I didn't do that, but as a man, that's what we're wired to do, so you might want to give us all a little credit for abandoning that arcane instinct and supplanting it with the much more civilized watching America's Next Top Model. I think we've come a long way baby...
I stood behind her with my block and plotted my strategy. It was yoga so you to have to be very respectful and not misjudge a loving vibe from a girl lest you wrongly return a flirty vibe and blow her whole unconditional-love-I'm-In-Yoga-why-are-you-hitting-on-me-that's-not-what-I-meant thing.
But I really felt I wasn't misreading her vibe and decided to talk to her. See, this is what I'm talking about. There are twenty women all within ten feet of her, surrounding her with their communal we-must-protect-each other-from-the-evil-men vibe and the ones that aren't silently sending out that vibe are competitive and hate you and her for your attention to her so it's a mine field any way you look at it. If you whisper to her, it's conspicuous and creepy and projects no confidence so in this venue, wooing is very very difficult, but I wasn't about to pass up her invitation, so I threw hell to the wind, and went for it. I noticed she was wearing a watch.
"You gonna wear that watch when you practice?"
She looked up and...
To be continued...
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 9:46 PM
Christmas Eve with a Hooker, Ebner, And Maybe a Boxcutter (Part 3) - January 2, 2007
So, the angry pack of dead heads circle me and I'm waiting for the bloodbath to begin. I looked for a possible getaway but then decided to try to talk my way out of it one last time.
"Look, I don't know who took your acid dude, but I didn't. Check my pockets."
This seemed sensible to the guy and he did. Because I had managed to stash the baggy in a hedge miraculously without anyone seeing me even though they were all around me escorting me to my death by beating, I didn't have anything on me which equal parts soothed and infuriated the guy.
He slapped me in the face. Not really very hard but a slap in the face is a slap in the face. He was hoping I would punch him so everyone could kick the shit out of me but I didn't.
There was an uncertainty among them whether to kill me or just go back to the bar and get drunk, but he couldn't back down after he had slapped me, especially in front of all his friends so he said, "I'll give you until tomorrow to either give me back my acid or 40 bucks to pay for the hits."
Sensing a collective lull in energy of the group, I suddenly bolted, lest they change their mind and rescind their reprieve, and took off into the woods. This was the action they needed to get their blood boiling again and they ran after me.
So now, just to recap, I'm tripping my brains out, running through dense woods in upstate New York, in the middle of the night, with an angry throng of kids wanting to kill me.
Luckily, even though I grew up in the city, because of my 4 years in Vermont in high school living with my father, I apparently had more survival skills than I thought and outwitted and outplayed my competition and managed to successfully hide from them long enough for them to get tired and leave.
The next day I went back to the hedge and lo and behold, the baggy of acid was still the stuck in there. I met with the guy and gave him a quarter gram of coke so I could still maintain my innocence telling him, "I don't know who took your acid but here's some coke just to put this behind us." He accepted the trade and it was over.
So back at the West Hollywood hotel at 2am after being robbed by the hooker and her driver... Ebner came to my room.
"Was anyone outside?" I asked, sure they were waiting for me.
"No. It's fine."
"I wanna move to another hotel."
"I'm sure you'll be fine here."
"I wanna move."
"Okay."
I checked out and Mark escorted me to my car and followed me to Santa Monica where I checked into the Georgian on Ocean Avenue. It was far away from West Hollywood and I felt safe there. I checked in under an assumed name, one of the characters in one of my movies I think. Ebner left. I sat alone in this unknown hotel room, the fear from the ordeal slowly subsiding but I still had that lingering foreboding you have long into the day after a really bad nightmare.
I was alone again and lonely on Christmas Eve. "Maybe I should get a hooker," I thought. As Woody said, "the heart is a very resilient muscle." And I'm an addict.
I didn't.
And went to bed.
Merry Christmas... and Happy New Year. May all your hookers be nice and not rob you and may all the people you rob not hunt you down in the woods and kill you... and may Karma visit you quickly so the deal can be squared fast so you can move on... or maybe we'll just give nothing but love this year and be happy and avoid the whole shebang. Namaste.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 7:00 AM
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