Saturdate:

(photo by Jack Slomovitz)

Him:  I’m sorry I’m late.

Me:  Stop it, you look gorgeous.

Him:  Ha.  Thanks.  So what’s your deal?

Me:  What?

Him:  Yeah, so you make these pies or what?

Me:  Oh.   My site.  Yeah, I make a lot of pies.  I got good at them and it’s taken me a lot of places.

Him: So, what?  If I start dating you you’ll just be obsessed with pie the whole time?  You’ll just bake pie and feed it to me?  I get to eat all the pie?  Where is it?  Did you bring pie here?

Me:  We’re taking a walk in the park in the middle of the day.

Him:  I’m joking, stupid.  I thought you said you do comedy?

Me:  Um. I do.

Him:  So?

(pause)

Me:  You’re a buyer for Macy’s?

Him:  Yeah, I decide what does and does not go into Macy’s.  I have so much power.  Just kidding.

Me:  I bet you have a certain amount of power.

Him:  Not really.

Me: Oh.  Okay.  Admittedly I don’t understand it.  So…

(pause)

Him:  So what is it?  I’m confused.  You’re giving me all these different stories here.

Me:  What’s what?  Huh?

Him:  You bake pies?

Me:  Is this a real conversation?

Him:  No, yes.  But you said you write music and do comedy.  But which is it?  Who am I talking to right now?

Me: Me?  My name is Michael?

Him:  But what do you…  which Michael am I speaking with?  The comic or the baker or the guitar player?

Me:  I don’t…  All of them?  None?  How am I supposed to address that?

Him:  I want to hear your music.  Is that your guitar?

Me:  No, this is a baritone ukulele.  I just came from practice.

Him:  Ukuleles are smaller than that.  That’s almost a guitar. 

Me:  Okay then, it’s a small guitar.  But the guy who sold it to me said it was a ukulele.

Him:  I want to hear a song.  Do you have a recording?

Me:  Yeah, there’s recordings of us singing, but I could just sing something for you now.  Nobody’s around.

Him:  Oh God no.  No.  I’d like to hear a recording.  Alone.

Me:  Alone?

Him:  Well, if it’s terrible, what am I supposed to say?

(pause)

Me:  Lie.

Him:  Lie?

Me:  Yeah.  If I play you a song, and it’s awful, you lie and say it’s great.

Him:  Why would I do that?

Me:  Because, we live in something called a society.  It doesn’t work unless we lie to people about certain things.

Him:  I’d rather hear a recording.

(pause)

Me:  I’d rather you did too.

Him: Ew!  You just said you don’t want to play for me anymore.

Me:  That’s correct.  That’s what I just said.

Him:  Ew.  You’re supposed to convince me that you’re good.

Me:  I am?

Him:  Yeah.  You’re supposed to convince me that you’re worth listening to.

(long pause)

Me:  I don’t think I am going to do that.

Him:  What??

Me:  Look at it from my perspective:  I meet a guy online.  He thinks I’m cute.  He invites me to meet him for a walk in the park.  I say yes.   When I get on the date he seems annoyed at my choice of professions.  He even fringes on ridicule.  Then he cringes at the thought of listening to a song that he, himself, asked about.  Then he challenges me to convince him that I’m not terrible before I sing to him, because he’s so incredibly sensitive!  He couldn’t possibly be called upon to dredge up a compliment for my shitty, shitty song….

Him: Ew.  You make me sound bad.

Me:  It gets worse.  You then try to make me sell myself to you, and convince you I’m not terrible, before you will deign to hear me play.

Him:  That’s your job as a performer.

Me:  My job as a performer is to perform.  I have put the work in.  I have written and re-written and performed.  And performed.  And you know what?  After more than a decade here in New York, it’s finally my job.

Him:  I guess you’re sensitive about that?

Me:  I guess I am.  Are you sensitive about your job?

Him:  Not at all.

Me:  Really?  It was a shitty line you sported this spring.

Him:  NO IT WAS NOT.

Me:  No.  It wasn’t.  But you just proved my point.

Him:  Hey, buddy…  my taste is superb.  You don’t just get this job i have randomly…

Me: Right.  And you don’t just get the one I have either.  So next time…

Have some fucking respect.

Jerk.

SaturDATE

Him:  Come over.

Me:  No.  You come over here.

Him:  No.  You come over here.

Me:  Noooo…  I have writing to get done, and I should bake and photograph stuff…

Him:  Your stupid blog….

Me:  Yes.  And I have to re-write the show.  It got picked up for a run.

Him: Come over!

Me:  No.  Come over.

Him:  Come over.

Me:  How was your week?

Him:  Come over, it was fine.

Me:  I have to write.

Him:  You’re always writing!

Me:  Tell me about it.  Plus remember last time?  You kept shushing me, even though it was the middle of the day.  You were worried that your landlord was listening to us talk.

Him:  He is stalking me, I think.  I think he’s listening to me have sex and hang out with my friends.

Me:  I didn’t know that.  I only knew that you wanted me to whisper at 3pm.

Him:  Come over.  I won’t shush you.

Me: Of course you will.  It’s 1am.  Is your roommate home?

Him: Yes.  We’ll have to be quiet.

Me:  No.  No way.  I’m not coming over.  I live alone for a reason.  One of those reasons is, I don’t like to tiptoe around after 11:30pm.  Come here.

Him:  No….

Me:  Every time I come over there we make out for a while and then you send me home.  I tell you you’re pretty over and over again and you roll your eyes at me.  Then I go home with a boner.  I think you’re playing games.

Him:  I’m not playing games.

Me:  I know you are, but I like you anyway.

(pause)

Him:  If you come over, we can talk about how good your show was.  Plus, I’m really in the mood for sex.

Me:  What’s your address again?

Him: Hahahahahahaha! 

Me:  Ugh.  I’m such an ego maniac.  Fine.  I’ll come over.

Him:  Don’t expect me to gush about your show if you do.

Me:  You just said…  okay fine….

(20 minutes later, at his place)

Me:  You still have crates of Honest Tea in your kitchen.  That’s the real reason I came over, you know, because I knew you had at least 75 bottles of Honest Tea lying around, and maybe you’d give me one.

Him:  SHHHHHH!!!  Do you want some Honest Tea?

Me:

#1) Do I want some Honest Tea?  No.  It’s waaaaay to late for me to have caffeine.  I’m like an old lady – can’t have it after 8pm.

#2) Do I want some Honesty?  No.  We live in a Society.  Things grind to a halt if we start being honest with one another.

Him:  I hope that joke’s not going into the show.

Me:  It wasn’t, but now I’m going to put it in, just to be willful.

Him: Nice.  Good luck making it work.

Me:  Thanks for all your support.

Him:  Will you come over some time and help me hang things?

Me:  Pictures and stuff?  Sure.  Although I kinda dig the minimalist vibe going on here.  Also, won’t you just shush me when I bang nails in the wall with the hammer?

Him:  SHHHH.  No.  I will take a break from shushing you.

Me:  Well, I suppose it would be wrong of me to deny you help.  I’m so tall and you’re such a cute shawtie.

Him:  Never mind.  I have Architect friends that will help me hang my pictures.

Me:  YOU’RE FRIENDS WITH ARCHITECTS????  Wow.  I should network more.

Him:  Great.  Everything’s a joke with you.

(we kiss for a while)

Me:  You’re super pretty.

Him:  You always say that.

Me:  It’s annoying?

Him:  It’s manipulative.

Me:  I know.

Him:  See?  You’re being manipulative.

Me:  Of course I am.  Everyone is.  At all times.

Him:  What a terrible view of the world.

Me:  Not at all.  An infant can manipulate its mother, and the mother can manipulate the infant.  Every relationship is a negotiation.  If you behave this way and say these things, I behave this way and say these things – and so forth.

Him:  It just sounds terrible, manipulation.

Me:  It has a terrible connotation, the word.  But what’s wrong with manipulating someone to feel good about themselves, especially if it’s true.  Especially if they really are pretty as hell?

Him:  Nothing, but I don’t manipulate people.

Me:  Yes you do.  You manipulated me into coming over by promising sex and an ego stroke about my show.  BTW, I haven’t gotten either yet.  You look super sexy in those shorts.

Him:  You’re doing it again.  I don’t want to feel like you’re part of a movement.  I don’t want to be part of a movement.

Me:  Well then don’t hang out with a bunch of other Asians who feel like sitting down in front of a tank.

Him:  Oh wow.  The jokes never stop.

Me:  They never do.  They never ever do.

Him:  I just don’t want to be part of a movement where we all sit around and compliment each other all the time.

Me:  Yes.  It sounds awful. Look.  It’s not damn movement.  I just think you’re attractive and I say so.  I give compliments, when I think a show is good, or a comic is funny, or a guy i kiss is pretty…  Can we just kiss?  I want to kiss you.

(we kiss for a while longer)

This isn’t going to escalate to sex, is it?

Him:  I don’t really feel like it tonight. 

Me:  You’re the one being manipulative, I think.  Who booty calls someone and then no booty?

Him:  Don’t say that!  My friends always say that about me and it drives me nuts. 

Me:  Your ARCHITECT friends?  They’re probably right.  But you’re still likable.

Him:  Stay over.

Me:  Writing.  I have to do my writing.

Him:  Okay.  I’ll walk you out.

Me:  Can I have some Honest Tea for the road?

Him:  Sure, do you want one? 

Me:  No.  I just think it’s funny you have crates of it in your kitchen.

Him:  Thanks for kissing me.

Me:  Thanks.  You’re sweet, and kind, and I’m lying.  I barely like you, but there’s something about you I can’t get away from.

(pause)

Me:  Will you say it?

Him:  Me?  Sure, I guess.  Right now?

Me:  Yeah.  This has been going on for a while now.  Just try to fit it into the narrative.

Him:  How’s this? 

(pause)

Thanks for coming over.

Jerk.

Me:  That works.

SaturDATE: Vinny’s Deli

Him:  My friends say I’m self absorbed but I don’t think I am.  I just like focusing on myself, and what I’m doing, and I get wrapped up in it to the extent that I don’t notice other people.

Me:  That doesn’t sound self absorbed at all.

Him:  You’re an idiot.

Me:  You’re adorable.  Hey, let’s duck into this deli.  I want some coffee.

Him:  Okay.

Vinnie:  Hey, Mike!!!  What-a can I a get for you?

Me:  I’ll have a large coffee – milk, no sugar.

Vinnie:  And-a you friend?

Him:  I’m good.  Unless.  Do you carry Four Loko?

Me:  He’s kidding.  You’re kidding, right?

Him:  Jerk –  It’s the middle of the afternoon.  You’re not the only funny person in the world.

(I smile.  I love when people call me a Jerk now.  I also consider that he might be right: There might be other funny people in the world.  Nah.)

Me:  Just the coffee, please.

Vinny:  Comin’ right up.

(Another Customer enters.  He’s clearly old friends with Vinny.)

Another Customer:  A!!!!!!!   O!!!!!!!!  Look who it is!!!  It’s Vinny.  Vinny the fuckin’ HOMO!!!

(Vinny is not a homosexual.  He has a wife and children who I am well acquainted with.  His deli is next door to my apartment and I’ve been going there for years.)

Vinny:  You are!!!!  You a fuckin’ HOMO!!!

Another Customer:  You!!!  You’re the fuckin’ HOMO.

Vinny:  All the dick you suck, and you think-a I’m a HOMO???

(Pleasegivememycoffeepleasegivememycoffeepleasegivememycoffee)

Vinny:  Hey-a Mike!  You think-a I’m a big HOMO?  Or this-a guy?

Another Customer:  Yeah!  Who’s a bigger faggot, me or him?

(Long pause.  I consider saying something diplomatic.  I consider just walking out.  Instead:)

Me:  Why don’t we try this?  Why don’t you two bend over and pull your pants down?  Then, I’ll take turns fucking you both and we’ll see which one enjoys it more?  Then we’ll know who’s a bigger HOMO!!!!  A!!!!!  O!!!!!!  On second thought, maybe I’ll just take my coffee and continue on my date with this attractive, polite young man, since you two are both dumpy, middle aged idiots.  Capiche?

(Silence.  I pay for my coffee.  There is a long pause.)

Me:  Now is where you tell me to have a nice day.

Vinny:  Have a nice day.

Me:  Thank you. O!!!!!!

Surprise Ending!!!  I’m never going back to that deli!  It’s the closest and most convenient to my house, and I won’t ever set foot in there again!  I’m not humorless and I know Vinny was joking, but I still won’t do it!  I don’t need that energy in my life and I don’t need to associate with people that put that energy out into the world.  I don’t wish him ill, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to send his kids to college with my candy bar money.

P.S.  The rest of the date went really well.  He’s so sweet and cute, and kind!  You can’t let someone steal your joy, kids.  Don’t let your whole day get ruined just because of the actions of one –

Jerk.

SaturDATE

It’s Saturday, and I’m asking you on a date.

Come see my show?  My comedy band is doing a show at UCB Theater this Thursday April 28th at 6:30 pm.

The show is directed by the hilarious and talented Pamela Murphy.

Here’s a video where I ridicule a straight guy and make him think he’s contracted Hep C.  It explains everything:

If you come to the show, we’ll all go out for drinks afterwards.  Maybe I’ll drink to much and make out with you.  Let’s be honest.  I’ll probably do that even if I don’t drink too much.

Won’t that be fun?

The show co-stars Marcos Sanchez, Ari Scott (who took this photo)  and Daniel K. Isaac.  They are beautiful and much more charming/likable than me.

Thank God.

Just kidding.  There’s no God.

Prove me wrong, Easter.  Prove me wrong.

Just kidding.  That would be weird to have zombie Jesus walking around Williamsburg.  Actually.  Would anyone  even  notice?  Doesn’t a zombie Jesus just resemble a hungover hipster?

I love you guys.  You’re beautiful and perfect.  Come to the show and call me a Jerk.

Jerks.

SaturDATE: I’ve Already Figured You Out

Sometimes people ask me on dates.  They tend to go horribly.  These are their stories.

(Law and Order Sound Effect)

Him: Come home with me.

Me: No.  Do you think this sweater is too heavy for the springtime?

Him:  Come on.  Come home with me.

Me:  No.  It’s late and you’re drunk and I’m not and I’m tired.

Him:  Come home with me.  We’ve been flirting with each other for a long time now.  Come on.

Me:  No.  9 months is a long time?

Him:  Come on. (hails a cab)  Get in the cab.

Me:  No.  I’m going home.

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Okay fine.

(Montage:  Snuggly cab ride.  Surprised cab driver.  Deli visit for food and beer. Fumbling with keys.)

Him:  Do you want a beer?  I’m having a beer.

Me:  Yes.  I’m going to start drinking at 3 am.  Good idea.

Him:  Great, I’ll open you one.

Me:  No, wait.  I changed my mind.

Him: Fickle.

Me:  More like, sarcastic.

Him:  I like that.

Me:  I like you.

Him: I know.

Me:  Don’t worry.  I don’t get weird.  I let things develop naturally.  We’ll have two kids, one Korean girl named Ellen, and one African boy, named Sh’Africa.

Him:  Sounds like you’re telling Africa to be quiet.

Me:  I’m not.  I like the names Sean and Africa.  Sh’Africa. If anything, I think Africa should be louder.

Him:  Why?

Me: All that suffering?  Isn’t there a lot of suffering and economic inequality?

Him:  I’ve never been.

Me:  Me neither.  I’m operating on what I’ve read in liberal news media and what I’ve seen in movies like Congo.

Him:  Take your coat off.

Me:  Certainly.  I’ll just throw it on the floor here.

Him:  You’re funny.

Me:  You’re pretty.

Him:  Make out with me.

(We do.)

Him:  Take your shirt off.

Me:  Yessir.

(We take our shirts off.  Bitchin’ make out session.)

Him:  Take your pants off.

Me:  Yessir

(We take our pants off.  Bitchin’ make out session.  It’s getting hard to contain ourselves.  Get it?)

Him:  Let’s get naked.

Me:  How dare you.  No, wait.  I changed my mind again.   That’s a great idea.

Him:  Are you a bottom?

Me:  What?  Oh.  Sex?  Oh!  Sex!  Okay.  Yes.  No.  I’m versatile.  I’m the opposite of whatever your favorite thing to do is…

Him:  Then you’re a bottom.

Me:  I am indeed!

(We get naked.  Bitchin’ make out session.  Then, suddenly – he loses interest entirely. The evening goes limp.)

Him:  I was afraid of this.

Me: What?

Him:  I was afraid that this would happen.  My penis stops working after a while.

Me:  No!  Stop it!  It’s okay.  Cut yourself some slack.  You had a lot to drink.  I watched you.

Him:  No.  What?  No.  I don’t have whiskey dick.  Hahaha.  No.

Me:  What?

Him:  I have a thing that happens.  Once I get someone naked and it’s obvious that I can sleep with them, I lose interest.

Me:  Heh.  You’re funny.

Him:  Please don’t make fun of me.  It’s a real problem.

Me:  I was going to say, why don’t we just go to sleep and give it a shot in the morning.

Him:  Ha.  Right.  No.

Me:  What?

Him:  I think you should leave now.

Me:  WHAT?

Him:  It’s like this.  I already got you naked.  You already said you’d give me what I want.  It’s kind of like I’ve already figured you out.  I’m not going to be interested anymore.

Me:  What?  Heh.  Ha.  I uh…  hm…

(He starts putting on clothes.  He starts handing clothes to me.  I start putting on clothes.)

Him:  Yeah.  It’s best if you just go home.

Me:  I’m much farther away from home now than when you talked me into the cab.

Him:  I’ll call you a car.  You should go home.

Me:  No.  I’ll take the train.  I should never have come here.

Him:  Oh stop.  I had fun.

Me:  Yeah it was a blast.  You’re a real great host.  Thanks for having me over.

Him:  It’s a real problem, okay?  I have a problem with sex.  I’d appreciate some sympathy.

Me:  Awww… Sweet baby…  Hey.  I’m going to say something – please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?

Him:  Okay.

Me:  You’re an asshole.  I don’t mean like self-absorbed like me and my comedy friends.  I mean for real.  You’re a real, true, asshole.  I’m going to leave my card.

Him: What is this?

Me:  I want you to check out my site, but wait a few days…

Him:  Why?

Me:  Because when people act like assholes on dates with me, I put it on the internet.  Is that my coat?  Thanks.

Him:  What?

Me:  Yeah!  You’re famous!  Congrats!  And hey.

Enjoy playing mind games with someone else, Jerk.

(Surprise ending:  I laughed about him the whole train ride home.  I didn’t feel bad about myself.)

SaturDATE: Heteronormative

My name is Michael.  Sometimes people ask me on dates.  Maybe they see me online and think I’m the answer to their life problems, or lonliness.  Invariably I prove them wrong:

SaturDATE

Sometimes people ask me on dates.  They see me on the internet.  Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness.  Invariably I prove them wrong:

Me:  So cute!  Thanks for the drawing.

Him:  You’re welcome.

Me:  They look so happy.

Him: They are.

Me: Did you notice how you put color in everything, except the people?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You did that intentionally?

Him: Yes.

Me: Why?

Him: Because people are all empty inside.  Is that your backyard down there?  Do you have access?

Me:  It’s the down-stairs neighbor’s  It’s their backyard.  Can we go back to the drawing?  People are all empty?

Him:  Yeah,  people are all empty.  Corrupted.  Void.  Nature is the only thing that is perfect and the people in the painting are empty.  They need to keep the yard better.  Don’t you think?

Me:  Don’t get me started.  If that was my back yard there’s be a sundeck and a garden, and then some.  Hey.  So..  the people have no color because they’re empty?

Him:  Yes.  They are void and imperfect and they are empty.  That’s how they are able to be so happy.

(long pause)

Me: Well, thanks for the drawing.

Him:  You’re welcome.

(long pause)

Me:  Maybe I’d put in a fish pond, too, if it was my backyard.

Surprise ending –  I walked him to the train instead of inviting him to stay over.  There’s a combination grave marker store/bakery (I shit you not) on my street.  He stopped to photograph it and muttered to himself what a great find it was.

Enjoy the SaturDATE, jerks.