Saturday, March 20, 2004
Hey guys! I'm in beautiful sunny Florida...where I managed to burn myself rather badly. Damn. For some reason I can't get on AIM or web blitz, so I'll content myself with this for now.
I'll start with what I believe will end up being the funniest story of this trip (and may be the sequel to the Other Shoe book). Here goes:
Mere's friend from school is also down here this week, very nearby, staying with a friend of his from high school who owns the house and another friend. (Matt=rich Yale friend, Shorty=subject of story, Kyle=Mere's boy) Matt's father owns or is CEO of company that owns (or some such) Arbie's, Snapple, RC Cola, etc etc. We head out to visit them one night. We end up at a gigantic mansion, where security teams patrol and a valet whisks my car away. (I have seen some big houses...but this takes the proverbial cake.) Poised on the awesome beachfront, the waves crash on the dimly lit beach 200 yards away from the house, which commands more attention than the ocean. Due to a French architect who mistook feet for meters, it is truly huge. The guest house was significantly larger than the richest of good ole CSH (to give you home friends an idea). One pool at the guesthouse, one saltwater pool at the main house. Pumped directly in from the sea and filtered on its way. A jacuzzi for each, obviously. A full gym, about the size of Dartmouth's. A sauna. A steamroom. A tennis court, a manmade pond, a go cart track. A soft serve ice cream ROOM. A movie theater (obviously separate from the TV room, in which the flat screen TV was at least ten or twelve feet high). A 70 foot boat. Did I mention the house is 75 million dollars? $75 million? Oh, I didn't? Well, now you know.
Matt's girlfriend is there (tangent: she is, of course, a model headed to Germany soon. I am, as you know, tolerant of public affection. I like hugs, hand holdings, even some kissing--it's not something that bothers me. But as we sit in the hot tub, this girl shoves her breasts together so he can press his face into them while actually trying to carry on a conversation with me. "Kiss them," she commands. He does, along with some licks and bites, while still chatting. I wonder what each of them is in this relationship for?), so he and she are spending their time together, Mere and Kyle are talking and spending time, and Shorty and I are being the gallant friends and making do with each other. (Note: I am not making fun of his stature, this is his actual nickname and how I was introduced. Probably my height, give or take an inch.) After chatting for a while, it is painfully obvious that we have nothing in common, that he hasn't read a book since eighth grade, and that he is a Mets fan. We've now hottubbed, and are watching TV, when he signals to me that we should probably leave the other two alone for a bit. I agree, he offers a tour of the house, I accept, and off we go. After a short tour (which confuses me, as I was really interested in the house), we pop into one of the main rooms. 20 foot high ceilings at least, wall to floor retractable windows so the room can become a porch at the touch of a button. We have nothing to say to each other, so he turns on music and I enjoy watching the waves.
Then:
Shorty: turns, puts hands on my shoulders, pushes me toward end of couch. "This is just too awkward. I'm going to have to kiss you now."
Me: "No, no, that's ok, I'm not awkward."
Ack! I delivered this so coolly none of you would believe it. (I was the "Ice Queen" ;-).)
Shorty is stunned. "What do you MEAN, you don't want to kiss me?"
Me: "Sorry, I don't hook up randomly."
Shorty: "What would I have to do, take you out on a date? That's not happening!"
Me: "Sorry."
long pause
Shorty: "Everyone else in this house is having fun, we could be having so much fun right now."
Me: "Sorry, no."
Shorty: Do you like long walks on the beach?"
Me: "Sometimes."
Shorty: "Well then, let's go."
Me: "Sorry, no."
long pause
Shorty: "But I make you laugh!"
Me: "Heh. Sorry." ('Nervous, you're scary' laughter is not the same as, 'wow, you're intelligent and funny' laughter.)
long pause
Shorty: "I can't BELIEVE you don't want to hook up with me!!!"
Me: "Sorry."
Shorty: "So you don't like me?"
Me: noooooooo shit, really? "I don't know you. I like you fine, but I'm not interested in hooking up with you."
Shorty: "I always want to hook up with people I like."
Me: "I don't."
And on. Writing it seems even more unbelievable, really. I mean, how boorish and horrid can he possibly be?
The Lesson: (This is Chapter 3, I believe; the others to be detailed later) When one is rejected, one should behave with as much dignity as is possible under the circumstances. One should not press one's case, especially by making the rejecter extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps one minute of entreaty is understandable. Half an hour's worth, however, and you deserve to be kicked repeatedly.
So anyway. I finally had enough and went to find Jags. The now tipsy and pissed off Shorty storms around looking for them and takes us back to the car without another word (FINALLY he shuts up). I am greatly amused at how much I've grown up since freshman year. Old Chris would have a) panicked, and either cried or shook, upset at both the rejecting and the pressure b) hurt him or c) kissed him just to make things easier. I was cool as a cucumber (emphasis on cucumber ;-)) and really not emotional at all. The concept of Standards makes everything so much easier. Shorty did not match any of the criteria, let alone all three (intellectual, physical, and emotional attraction), and thus it was obvious, even easy, to not let him bother me. The answer was so definitively no I don't even think my pulse raised. I felt so plucky afterward; I confess, I was really pleased that his best attempts at bullying didn't make me bat an eye.
So there's my big adventure in the lap of luxury. I'm off to bed, and I'll add more the next time I'm on the computer.
There is, however, a postscript. A few nights later they come to the club we're dancing at. We all say hi. Shorty says, "Hey, you want to hook up? Just kidding," and we all laugh; I assume that he's trying to smooth over making a total ass of himself. I go dance with a cutie I'd met earlier, come back when it's time to leave, and Shorty says, "You want to dance?" "No, my feet hurt and we're going now," I say. "What do you MEAN you don't want to dance with me??" he cries incredulously. Siiiiiiigh. :-) Miss and love you guys!
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I'll start with what I believe will end up being the funniest story of this trip (and may be the sequel to the Other Shoe book). Here goes:
Mere's friend from school is also down here this week, very nearby, staying with a friend of his from high school who owns the house and another friend. (Matt=rich Yale friend, Shorty=subject of story, Kyle=Mere's boy) Matt's father owns or is CEO of company that owns (or some such) Arbie's, Snapple, RC Cola, etc etc. We head out to visit them one night. We end up at a gigantic mansion, where security teams patrol and a valet whisks my car away. (I have seen some big houses...but this takes the proverbial cake.) Poised on the awesome beachfront, the waves crash on the dimly lit beach 200 yards away from the house, which commands more attention than the ocean. Due to a French architect who mistook feet for meters, it is truly huge. The guest house was significantly larger than the richest of good ole CSH (to give you home friends an idea). One pool at the guesthouse, one saltwater pool at the main house. Pumped directly in from the sea and filtered on its way. A jacuzzi for each, obviously. A full gym, about the size of Dartmouth's. A sauna. A steamroom. A tennis court, a manmade pond, a go cart track. A soft serve ice cream ROOM. A movie theater (obviously separate from the TV room, in which the flat screen TV was at least ten or twelve feet high). A 70 foot boat. Did I mention the house is 75 million dollars? $75 million? Oh, I didn't? Well, now you know.
Matt's girlfriend is there (tangent: she is, of course, a model headed to Germany soon. I am, as you know, tolerant of public affection. I like hugs, hand holdings, even some kissing--it's not something that bothers me. But as we sit in the hot tub, this girl shoves her breasts together so he can press his face into them while actually trying to carry on a conversation with me. "Kiss them," she commands. He does, along with some licks and bites, while still chatting. I wonder what each of them is in this relationship for?), so he and she are spending their time together, Mere and Kyle are talking and spending time, and Shorty and I are being the gallant friends and making do with each other. (Note: I am not making fun of his stature, this is his actual nickname and how I was introduced. Probably my height, give or take an inch.) After chatting for a while, it is painfully obvious that we have nothing in common, that he hasn't read a book since eighth grade, and that he is a Mets fan. We've now hottubbed, and are watching TV, when he signals to me that we should probably leave the other two alone for a bit. I agree, he offers a tour of the house, I accept, and off we go. After a short tour (which confuses me, as I was really interested in the house), we pop into one of the main rooms. 20 foot high ceilings at least, wall to floor retractable windows so the room can become a porch at the touch of a button. We have nothing to say to each other, so he turns on music and I enjoy watching the waves.
Then:
Shorty: turns, puts hands on my shoulders, pushes me toward end of couch. "This is just too awkward. I'm going to have to kiss you now."
Me: "No, no, that's ok, I'm not awkward."
Ack! I delivered this so coolly none of you would believe it. (I was the "Ice Queen" ;-).)
Shorty is stunned. "What do you MEAN, you don't want to kiss me?"
Me: "Sorry, I don't hook up randomly."
Shorty: "What would I have to do, take you out on a date? That's not happening!"
Me: "Sorry."
long pause
Shorty: "Everyone else in this house is having fun, we could be having so much fun right now."
Me: "Sorry, no."
Shorty: Do you like long walks on the beach?"
Me: "Sometimes."
Shorty: "Well then, let's go."
Me: "Sorry, no."
long pause
Shorty: "But I make you laugh!"
Me: "Heh. Sorry." ('Nervous, you're scary' laughter is not the same as, 'wow, you're intelligent and funny' laughter.)
long pause
Shorty: "I can't BELIEVE you don't want to hook up with me!!!"
Me: "Sorry."
Shorty: "So you don't like me?"
Me: noooooooo shit, really? "I don't know you. I like you fine, but I'm not interested in hooking up with you."
Shorty: "I always want to hook up with people I like."
Me: "I don't."
And on. Writing it seems even more unbelievable, really. I mean, how boorish and horrid can he possibly be?
The Lesson: (This is Chapter 3, I believe; the others to be detailed later) When one is rejected, one should behave with as much dignity as is possible under the circumstances. One should not press one's case, especially by making the rejecter extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps one minute of entreaty is understandable. Half an hour's worth, however, and you deserve to be kicked repeatedly.
So anyway. I finally had enough and went to find Jags. The now tipsy and pissed off Shorty storms around looking for them and takes us back to the car without another word (FINALLY he shuts up). I am greatly amused at how much I've grown up since freshman year. Old Chris would have a) panicked, and either cried or shook, upset at both the rejecting and the pressure b) hurt him or c) kissed him just to make things easier. I was cool as a cucumber (emphasis on cucumber ;-)) and really not emotional at all. The concept of Standards makes everything so much easier. Shorty did not match any of the criteria, let alone all three (intellectual, physical, and emotional attraction), and thus it was obvious, even easy, to not let him bother me. The answer was so definitively no I don't even think my pulse raised. I felt so plucky afterward; I confess, I was really pleased that his best attempts at bullying didn't make me bat an eye.
So there's my big adventure in the lap of luxury. I'm off to bed, and I'll add more the next time I'm on the computer.
There is, however, a postscript. A few nights later they come to the club we're dancing at. We all say hi. Shorty says, "Hey, you want to hook up? Just kidding," and we all laugh; I assume that he's trying to smooth over making a total ass of himself. I go dance with a cutie I'd met earlier, come back when it's time to leave, and Shorty says, "You want to dance?" "No, my feet hurt and we're going now," I say. "What do you MEAN you don't want to dance with me??" he cries incredulously. Siiiiiiigh. :-) Miss and love you guys!
