Tag: williamsburg

FriDATE: Flashback

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

(photos by Jack Slomovits)

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

Him:  It’s good to see you.  Surprising.

Me:  Yeah, I never come here

Him: Yeah.  That’s why I come here.

Me:  That’s a good reason.

Him: Well, it’s good to see you , in any case.  Let’s grab a drink and catch up?

Me:  I’m not drinking, but I’ll buy you one.

Him:  Okay.  I HAVE been drinking.  But it’s good to see you.   Man, I was crazy for a while, there, wasn’t I?

Me:  We were both crazy.  I was resistive to getting close and you… were…    we were both crazy.

Him:  I’ll take a gin and tonic

Me: A gin and tonic, please.

Him:  You were crazy.  You couldn’t commit.

Me:  Well I wasn’t that crazy, was I?  I didn’t read anyone’s email.

Him:  I knew you would bring that up.

Me:  You violated my privacy.

Him: You left it open.

Me: I left the house to buy an onion to add to the dinner I was making for you.

Him:  I see you’re cooking a lot.  I’m glad to see PIEFOLK is going well.

Me:  People are responding!  Thanks.  That’s nice of you to say.

Him:  Let’s go dance.

Me:  I don’t dance.

(even so…)

Him:  WANT YOU TO MAKE. ME . FEEL.  LIKE I’M THE ONLY GIRL IN THE WORLD.  LIKE I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU’LL EVER LOVE!!!  I love Rihanna.  You never made me feel like this.  GIRL IN THE WORLD!!!

Me:  I never claimed I was going to make you feel like that.  Do you want to feel like Rihanna?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Convienient.  I feel like slapping you.

Him:  Buy me another drink.

Me:  Do I have a choice?

(one hour later.  on the subway platform)

Me:  Wow.  That was aggressive…

Him:  What do you mean?

Me: You put me in a headlock, and ran me down the stairs toward the train tracks.

Him: One of these days I’m going to kill you.

Me:  Well not today.  I am going to walk to the other end of the platform.  It was good to see you.  I’m glad you’re dating someone new.

Him: You broke my heart.  I was always the heart breaker.

Me: I’m sorry about that.  I felt like I could never catch up.  You kept closing the gap as I choked and asked for space.  It was the wrong time for me.  I was really broken, back then.  I’m only now starting to like myself again.  But I’m glad I ran into you.  It seems like you want to be friends.

Him:  You fucking asshole.  I will NEVER be your friend!  That will NEVER HAPPEN.  You broke my heart.  I can’t be your friend.

Me:  Ironic, because I never asked you for more than a simple friendship.  Why does everyone want just one more handful than what they’re allowed?  If you really respected me, you would have listened to me when I said, don’t fall in love with me.

Him:  You worthless whore!

Me:  Oh god.  It’s a Gothic novel now?  Here?  On the subway platform? Just calm down.  We got through most of the evening already.  You’ve been drinking.

Him:  I had ten drinks.

Me: That’s a lot.  I had zero.

Him:  Why are you driven to be such a whore?  What’s wrong with you, that you couldn’t take a loving life with me.  Live together.  Raise child?

Me:  WE DATED FOR FIVE MONTHS.  Five months.  This is part of the problem.  You never stopped putting pressure.

Him:  You’re a selfish asshole.

Me:  No, actually.  You.   You’re an asshole.  We were nice to each other for about an hour and a half, and now you want to burn it to the ground.  That makes you the asshole.

Him:  You fucking slut.

Me:  You’re a drunk asshole!  You’re being a drunk asshole.

Him:  I’m not a drunk asshole.

Stranger:  You are.

(long pause)

Stranger:  Not a judgment, but you’re drunk.  Admit it.  You’re really drunk.

Him:  Get the fuck off of me.  You want to try to tell me what to do?  You stink?  What’s that on your breath?  M and M’s?  Disgusting.  Get out of my face.  I’ll destroy you.  I’ll smash you.

Me:  Knock it off.  Right.  Now.  You happy?  You impressed with yourself?  Did you belittle the man on the subway that was just trying to stick up for me??!  Are you proud that you threatened him?  That you threatened me?  I’m so impressed.  You’re right.  I totally should have bitten the bullet and moved in with you.  What a great future father for my child!!  Wow!  I really missed out!  Get on the FUCKING TRAIN.

Him:  What are you?  Taking a PICTURE?  Don’t you fucking blog me.

Surprise ending:  No break up sex.  Yes restraining order.

Just kidding about the restraining order.  Jerks.

ThursDATE: Aphasia

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Place:  The L Train.

Time:  Afternoon

(What appears to be a Homeless Man is talking very animatedly to a creeped-out stranger.  He is speaking gibberish.  He looks terrified.)

Homeless Man:  Otamad Krik.  Ayulac!  Niwre! Enialb Sonaj!

(This goes on for a long time, the whole train ignores it.  Then suddenly:)

Him:  Yes brother!  Let it out!  Let her hear the pain!

(A couple of people titter)

Him:  He’s telling the WORLD!!!

(pause, nobody laughs)

Me:  I think we’re witnessing aphasia.

Him:  What??

Me:  When someone has a stroke they sometimes can’t speak right.  I just thought you should know what you’re ridiculing.

Him:  Oh are you a doctor?  Can you go and help him?

Me:  No.  I’m not a doctor, smart ass.

Her:  Don’t talk to him.  You don’t have to talk to him.

Me:  You should know what you’re making fun of, at least, right?  I think it’s aphasia.

Him:  I was just being positive!

Me:  You were ridiculing him.

Him:  Yeah.  Well.  Yeah.  I…

Her:  You don’t have to be such an asshole.  You don’t have to turn the whole train against my boyfriend.  The guy is (whispers) homeless.

Me:  And therefore less than human: I get it.   Sure.  He’s had a stroke or brain damage, but let’s consider your boyfriend’s feelings here! You’re right.  I’m an asshole.  In this whole situation, I’m the asshole.

Him:   Hey, if you’re such an altruist why don’t you go help him?  You have a chance to prove how good you are!!

Me:  Oh no.  You’ve got it wrong.  I’m not an altruist.  I just couldn’t process my shock and anger at your behavior without pointing out that the man is clearly brain damaged.  I’m just processing it.

Her:  Are you taking photographs?  DON’T TALK TO HIM.  (then, to me:) He was just having fun.  You made everyone on the train uncomfortable. 

Me:  Did I? Did I do that?  Was it me?

(The train stops.)

Me:  I believe this is your stop.

Conductor:  Bedford Avenue.

(They leave the train.)

(I try to gather the courage to photograph the Homeless Man, but I feel icky about that, so I don’t.)

(I get off two stops later and tell the station agent there’s a sick passenger on the train.)

Five Things

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Gentlemen.

Here are five things not to say on a date with me:

#1:  “I know you’re a comic, but seriously, what job do you do – you don’t seem that funny?”

No.  Wrong.  Seriously.  Not the right thing to say.  That IS what I do.  I pay my rent doing this.  I’m not at work right now, and you’re not paying me to be funny.

Remember when we ordered our appetizers and you were condescending to the waitress?  Right after that you gave me a cocky smile and said “I’m a surgeon,”  with the intonation that one might say “I’m heir to a vast fortune.” And what did I do?  I smiled and asked what type of surgeon you are.  I did not look at you suspiciously, and then patronizingly point out that you don’t seem like a surgeon.  I really wanted to though.  I really wanted to say “That’s not true!  Surgeons are smart, and they wear hospital scrubs, not Old Navy Jeans.”

#2:  “I like your blog, but what’s with all the Asians?  I just don’t get it.  I tried having sex with an Asian once and I don’t know.  It’s just not for me.  Ick.”

Nope.  That ain’t gonna get you laid, kiddo.  Up until now, I’d been thinking, wow, he’s attractive, and sort of nice. I hope he’s a sweet, down to earth white guy, and not an entitled, mildly racist white guy who acts ‘over’ everything.

Maybe you didn’t mean it to sound racist, but we’ve only known each other for four minutes.  Don’t say that my friends are ‘ick.’  Also – nobody pressured you to have sex with an Asian.  Well maybe some Asians did, at some point, but that’s not me, or my friends from the site.

Guys – if you want to get laid, you have to hide your racism.  You have to hide it.   2011.  Get with the program.

And why do we hide something?  Because we’re ashamed of it!

Great!  Now you’re learning!

#3 I try to live my life for Jesus.

Not with me you don’t.

Here’s an idea.  Try to live your life for yourself.

Also, creep-o, after you talk about Jesus and God and how religion is good for the world for an hour, don’t offer to blow me ‘real quick before you go teach your class.’  It undermines the sanctimoniousness image you spent so long cultivating!  Also.  Less teeth next time.

Jokes.  There won’t be a next time.

Jokes.  There wasn’t a ‘this time.’  I said no.

#4: “Wow, two auditions and two rehearsals?   You should get more sleep!  You look exhausted!  Seriously!  You look awful!”

Thanks.  You’re right.  I am exhausted.  You’re tiresome.

I just complimented you on your hair and your choice of clothing, and you come up with that??  Also, we just met.  Don’t tell me what I ‘should’ do with my life.  Everyone knows you wait until the third date before you start the gentle browbeating that will continue for the rest of the relationship.

Also. Floss.  When I kissed you I could tell you ate a BLT three days ago.

Floss.

#5: “Ugh!  I’m so glad you don’t act as GAY as you seem like you might online.”

Wow.  Really?

So.  I run a website where I talk about how much I hate homophobia, and you contacted me off that site. Did you think I just meant straight people being homophobic?  Where do you think straight people get the permission to say stupid, insensitive, homophobic shit?  From Gays like you!  They overhear you saying shit like that in restaurants and on subway cars and they think, hm, I’ll try that out on my Gay co-worker – HE’LL LOVE IT.

How about, love yourself?  How about accept your brothers? How about, stop tearing other people down for qualities you hate inside yourself?

Because, that’s what that is:  If you look down on someone, or are grossed out because they act ‘too Gay,’  it’s you showing your own self-loathing.  It’s you saying, okay, maybe I’m Gay, but I’m not as Gay as that guy – I’m one of the good ones!

Guys, we’re all one of the good ones.  We all have the capacity for goodness inside us.  Don’t punish yourself, or your Gay brothers/sisters for something that Straight people have taught you to hate inside yourself.  Reach out with love in your heart and you’ll find the love you’re looking for.  If you have a racist or homophobic thought, acknowledge it and laugh at yourself, and let yourself off the hook.  It takes the power away from it.  Eventually, you’ll stop thinking that way.

Or don’t.  I’m not going to tell you how to live.  Except on this blog.  And all the time.  I’m annoying like that.  You’re welcome.

Sometimes it’s me.  Sometimes I’m the…

Jerk.

Tuesdate:

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  So here he is. 

Me:  So here HE is.  Look at you, small drink of water.

Him:  STOP IT.

Me:  I mean it.  You’re gorgeous. Better than your pics online.

Him:  Isn’t Grindr weird?

Me:  I kind of think it’s amazing.  It’s like Chat Roulette, but in person.  You never know what you’re going to get.

Him:  Believe me.  I know.

Me:  That sounded ominous.

Him:  I’ve met some real creeps.

Me:  I’ve met jerks and nice people.  No real creeps.

Him: Maybe that’s because you’re the creep?

Me:  Nice.  I tell you you’re pretty, twice, and you imply that I’m a creep.  You should write a book on dating.

Him:  Uh oh.  Am I one of your online Jerks?

Me:  Are you?

(pause)

Him:  No.

Me:  Well there it is.

(pause)

Him:  Anyway, who keeps score?

Me: Of what?

Him:  Of that sort of stupid stuff?  Compliments and whatnot. 

Me:  Obviously I do.  I just demonstrated that I do.

(pause)

Me:  Relax.  I might be joking, you know…  I might just still think you’re an attractive little wonder, at 5’6”.

Him:  Stop saying little.  I don’t like to feel little.

(i’m feeling brave, and so i take a step toward him.  i put my face next to his.  i can feel the breath come out of my nose against his cheek.  he smells spicy.  like cinnamon or ginger, but not quite those things. )

Me:  What about now?  Do you feel little now?

Him:  Yes.

(i put my hands on his ribcage and squeeze gently.  the hair stands up on my arms.  i have goosebumps)

Me: But don’t you kind of feel really powerful?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You’re pretty.

Him:  Ugh.

(he moves away)

Me:  Haha…  okay.  So, no saying you’re little, and I’m guessing – no ‘pretty’ either?

Him:  Why not handsome?  Why can’t I be handsome?

Me:  You can.  You are.  You’re very handsome.  You’re also pretty.

Him:  Ugh.

Me:  Well the good news is: I like pretty.  So dry your eyes on that.

Him:  You’re cute. 

Me: Compliment number one.

Him:  What?

Me:  That’s the first compliment you ever gave me, in person.

Him:  Oh great.  How far behind am I?

Me:  Only a few, but I’d rather stay ahead in the compliment game, if you don’t mind?

Him:  Why? 

Me:  I’d rather you owed me.

Him:  What??

Me:  It’s a thing that my grandfather says.  I used to borrow money from him, sometimes, at the store to get comic books.  I would ask to borrow five dollars.  He would give it to me.  When I got my allowance I’d try to pay it back, and he would say ‘No, I’d rather you owed me.’  Then he would smirk, as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Him:  That’s cute.

Me:  It’s infuriating.  He’d smirk at me, here and there, for the next few weeks, and I knew he was thinking ‘You owe me five bucks and it really bothers you, and I love that.’  He was right, too.  It was exactly what I was thinking.

Him: That’s cute.  He sounds pretty awesome. 

Me:  He’s a good man.  For sure.

Him:  Can I ask you a question?

Me:  No.

Him:  What?

Me:  Sorry.  That was supposed to be funny.  I said no, when the only appropriate answer was yes.  I thought it would be funny.

Him:  Was it?

Me:  Yes, but you’ll just have to trust me.  You didn’t see your face when I said it.  It was funny.

Him:  I guess I’ll have to believe you.

Me:  Good.  Because I’m lying.

Him:  What??

Me:  Sorry.  That was another joke.  That one wasn’t funny.  I get nervous and act like an idiot.

Him:  You make it charming, somehow. 

Me:  You didn’t know me in college.

Him:  Were you different?

Me:  I was nearly insufferable.

Him:  You’re pretty too.

Me:  Shucks.  Okay.  That’s two for you.  Fuck.

(long pause)

Him:  You’re not some sort of creepy Rice Queen, are you?

Me:  Uh…  I mean..  I thought that was obvious?  You’ve been to my website, right?

Him:  Yeah.  There’s lots of Asians. 

Me:  But not ALL Asians, right?  I like a lot of things.  A lot of people.  I like kind people.  Asians are kind, frequently, if you’re kind to them.

Him:  I guess that’s not so creepy.  I guess that’s okay for Asians.

Me:  Yeah.  Well I forgot to say:  I feed on their tears.  Keeps me young.  I’m like a succubus, or a psychic vampire of some sort.  I’m 183 years old.  I make them cry and then drink their salty tears.  But it only works with Asians.

Him:  Really? 

Me:  Yes.  And did you also know that Black people can levitate?  They’re hiding it from you.

(long pause.  he starts laughing a lot)

Him:  You’re joking! 

Me:  Yes.  And you’re laughing.  That means…..

Him:  What does that mean? 

Me:  It means, you get a kiss, if you want one, later.

Him:  I’ll decide later if I do.

Me: Oh.  I. Like. That.

Him:  Really?

Me:  No.  It’s infuriating.   I’d rather you owed me one.

(we kept talking and walking.  later, he gave me a quick kiss.  it was a good kiss.)

He’s not a jerk…

But you are.  Come on.  You know you are.

People Send Me Stuff

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Okay.  So, I never claimed I wasn’t strange.

I’m pretty weird.

That’s a given.  You’ve been to my site.  You’ve poked around.  You get it.  Weirdo city, right?

Still.  The things people send me…

Sometimes it’s pretty straightforward.

Like this:

So no pies this morning. But I did make muffins. Banana yogurt walnut. Pic
attached.

If I’d known there was a pie lifestyle (piestyle?), I’d have signed up
sooner.

5’8″ 150 45 neg vers smart creative prof type. Also pics attached.

Matt

Matt,

I’d love to have you over to bake.  You seem like a nice guy and your letter mentioned baked goods, and you included a face (omitted) pic and a torso shot.  What a gentleman.  I love that you are not afraid of using a floral speedo as underwear for your internet torso photo shoot.  Shows you have a real sense of humor, and you don’t take yourself too seriously.

Now, when you say you’re a ‘smart, creative, prof type’ do you mean what I hope you mean???

‘Prof’ means Professor, right? Not Professional?  Please say you’re a ‘Professor.’  Like Charles Xavier or Emma Frost? Someone who trains young mutants to cope with their staggeringly overwhelming super powers? Just say that you run a school for gifted youngsters, please?   If that’s true, you can plan to have me as your husband and baby daddy for the rest of your life, or until a Legacy Virus makes us make hard choices and really examine who we are…

If ‘Prof’ means professional:  I will still bake with you.  I am just less excited.

Know what?  I just realized something.  You, more likely than not, meant ‘Professional’.

Hm.  Well… I look forward to baking with you at least.  Just, uh….

Stay out of my THOUGHTS Professor!!

On to the next internet weirdo!!!  He didn’t sign his letter, so I’ll just call him Klaus.

wow – PIEFOLK looks like an amazing project,
I´m really curious to see what you are doing in your kitchen,

(You don’t have to be, Klaus – I’m pretty open about what I’m doing in my kitchen.  I photograph it and broadcast it)

I have no experience with making pies and meeting guys
but like the way you present yourself on your blog
and I´m willing to learn more about it

Here’s the drawing that Klaus sent me.


Obviously this old man should NOT stop smoking opium.   He’s simply been accosted by a young boy with a pail full of clear gelatin….  Uh…  Right?  I think that’s pretty clear.  In any case-

Thanks again for writing in, Klaus…

Next internet weirdo, please?

so you handle cock and the handle food, thats gross

bloe me

Thanks for your feedback, Bloe Me.  I can see you’ve taken the time to cultivate the image of who you are, when you enter the internet world.  Your internet identity is Bloe Me.  Wow.  That’s so important. I can tell you want to really be the change you want to see in the world.  I love you for that. I really do.

Here’s my comeback.  Ready?

I bake in my own home.  I wash my hands, stupid.

But there’s really nothing stopping me from working in any of New York’s commercial kitchens, or restaurants…  I mean – I’m certified…

AREN’T YOU EXCITED???  You’ll never know if it was secretly ME who made your food!!!  Yay!!!  We both win!!  But really just me.

You’re welcome.

Next. Internet. Weirdo.  Please?

Strength Training.  Chapter one:  Involve yourself in a horrible accident.

Thanks for your letter!!!  It makes total sense!

Guys.

As much as I make fun of you for sending me weird shit? I’m pretty grateful.  It’s pretty cool to be communicating with you weirdos, even if I don’t always understand it…

Like I said at the top of this post – I’m a weirdo myself.  I live by the weirdo code.  I have respect for you weirdlings, even if it seems like i don’t.

So, thanks, weirdos, for writing in.

And please.  Have a good week.

Jerks.

SaturDATE

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Him:  I didn’t like it.  You called me an imp.  You said I was drunk and negative….  You made me really mortified.

Me:  I didn’t like it either.  You were hammered.  I expected you to be more functional… We chatted for a long time online.  We video chatted… I had high hopes you would treat me better than you did.  You were really kind of mean, and you don’t even know it…

Him:  You have a lot of nerve.  To say that stuff about me, so publicly.

Me:  I’m pretty sure I said: you are mischievous when you’re drunk, and you have a lot of emotions that have to be dealt with immediately.   That’s not completely unflattering.  That’s actually semi-mundane.   Lots of people act like that drunk.

My mistake was, I was too nice.  I should have said exactly how much of a jerk you acted like…

Him:  I was mortified.

Me:  I was mortified. Some of your friends were hostile to me, for no reason.  One of them stuck his hands down my pants.  EVERYONE seemed way drunk or coked out.  It was a lot of energy.  And you were breaking up with your boyfriend.  You put me in the middle of that, and I don’t know you very well.  You threw a tantrum about wanting to go home, and then got alternately maudlin and flirty with me on the train. – IN FRONT OF YOUR BOYFRIEND.  Then you insisted that you wanted to go out some more.  I had an awkward evening that got more so at every turn.  No.  That’s not accurate.  I got my feelings hurt.  It was more than awkward.  You treated me like some sort of dog and pony show you were trotting out.

Him:  You should have left and called me out on it.

Me:  I should have not come.

Him:  Maybe.  Take down the post.

Me:  If I’m hurting your feelings I’ll take it down.  I hate that I hurt your feelings.  I thought I made you seem like a charming guy that got a little too drunk one night.

Him:  Good.  Take it down.  Take it all down.

Me:  Hm…  I dunno.  This is my blog.  My online diary.  I don’t want to be censored.   I’ll take down your pic.  How’s that?

Him:  Okay.  Take it down.

Me:  Sure.  Just say one more thing.

Him:  What do you want to hear?  TAKE. IT. DOWN.

Me:  I know but…  ‘Take it down,” and then what do we say??  What do we do?  When we want our friend to do us a favor?  We say what?

Him:  Take it down or hear from my lawyer.

Me:   We say please. I’ll take it down if you ask me to.  But you don’t bark orders at me.  Just say please.

Him:  Take it down.

Me:  If you say please.

Him: I won’t

Me:  Neither will I.  We’re still not showing respect for each other.  I’m big on that…

Him:  Then hear from my lawyer.

Me:  Okay.

(long pause)

Just know that it came down to just one word.  You could have said one word.  Please.

Jerk.

SaturDATE: I’ve Already Figured You Out

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

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.)

Advice

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

People have been writing me lately, asking for advice.  I’m not exactly sure why. It’s not like I’m some shining beacon of wisdom.  I don’t exactly have human relationships nailed down, either.  But people are asking, and I thought I’d answer some of the questions people ask me from time to time.

Disclaimer:  Don’t take my advice.  I’m not a doctor, or anything.

Henry, from New York City writes:

Ok so heres my deal. Theres this guy I knew from a friend in college. They went to high school together in New Hampshire. We met like ONCE, and barley spoke, became facebook friends and of course never spoke again after that. I wasn’t interested or anything at the time. But then about a month ago, he “liked” one of my comments. I was surprised because I basically forgot all about this person who I hadn’t heard of or spoken to in 5 years. I messaged him asking how were we facebook friends? He said I was super sexy for liking a certain british SciFi show, this obviously started a stream of convos. I got to the point where I felt “why not meet the fucker?” He’s good looking, nice, funny, and tall as hell. But heres the thing. Hes alil aloof most of the time and weve only talked online so far. He told me about how hes dying of an illness of a name I cant recall and may not live to 40. Now, Im one to give the benefit of the doubt and I guess I did in this situation but something tells me it could be a lie. We didn’t talk for awhile after that and then we did today, most of the day when I was at work doing nothing. He enticed me like no other, saying he wants to fuck me with elaborate detail. I was more then intrigued to say the least. But again he flaked after he said he wants to meet tomorrow. Excited as I was I realized I don’t have his number nor he has mine. When I brought that up and how id like his number, no answer. So now I have no clue what to think and I expressed these very fears to him on meeting up and he said I had nothing to worry about. Well, I can be an anxious person, so I am worried now. I feel this is not a good idea to pursue, almost to good to be true. Am I right? Does this sound totally bonkers? I don’t know what to do really. Im sure nothing but I cant stop thinking about him and it.

Thanks for your letter, Henry.

It seems like you’re dealing with a nut bag.  Let’s break down the components of his story, shall we?

1) He says that he’s going to die by the time he’s 40.  Okay, let’s assume this is true, even though it sounds like something a weirdo online would make up.  If he’s going to use this illness as an excuse to be flaky, not give you his phone number, not follow through on plans – then you don’t need to be starting a relationship with him.  Even if it’s just a sexual relationship you two are starting, it needs to be based on mutual respect for each others time an feelings.  Sounds like he has neither for you.

2) HE SAYS THAT HE’S GOING TO DIE BY THE TIME HE’S 40.  C’mon.  Ostensibly he contacted you online for the purpose of flirting?  That’s not a flirty way  of going about things.  Something about it smells fishy to me.  You don’t start off a conversation with a stranger like this:

‘Hey sexy, how’s it going?’

‘Good.  Feeling horny – I guess it’s springtime.  Or, it could be a side effect OF MY LUPUS.’

Again.  Not how it’s done.

I think you’re probably dealing with a closet case, or an attention seeking weirdo.  The great thing is – he’s let you off the hook.  If he doesn’t trust you enough to give you his phone number, then you have zero obligation to him to see him through this ‘illness’ that’s going to claim his life prematurely.  That’s my rule of thumb.    You don’t trust me with your cell number, I don’t have to care about your rare, imaginary illness.

Block his IMs.  It’s New York.  There’s plenty of prospective partners out there, no matter what kind of relationship you’re looking for.

Thanks for the question Henry.  I hope you enjoyed my advice.  And like I said – don’t take it.  I’m not a doctor.

And hey.  Enjoy living past 40, Jerk.


DOUBLE FEATURE!! Blueberry Double Crust Pie and Feta Quiche!!

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

I think we’re getting Blueberries from Southern California.

There are all these fruit carts in the city – just out on the sidewalks.  You can almost always find seasonal vegetables and fruits there.  My favorite time of the year is in the summer, where you can get loads of fresh berries – strawberries, blueberries and blackberries for super cheap.  They’re so ripe and fresh and they’re so abundant that they practically give them away.

But something strange happened recently.  The price of fresh berries went down.  At the end of winter.  I was skeptical, but I bought a pint.  They were fresh and delicious.

Most of the time I’m pretty conscientious about eating local grown whole foods.  But it’s the end of winter, and I’m fatigued and under sunned.  FRESH BLUEBERRIES, y’all!!!

I coudn’t help myself.  I made a Double Crust Blueberry Pie, plus a Feta, Red Pepper, Mushroom, and French Tarragon Quiche.

I put an egg wash on the pie.  Just whipped up some egg whites and rubbed it on the top crust.  Sprinkle it with cinnamon sugar, and It will make a very glossy, professional looking crust.  Wash your hands first, dummy.

The quiche came out great too.

Here’s a recipe for the Blueberry Pie Filling:

Take 3 pints of blueberries and put them in a large mixing bowl.

Add 3 tablespoons of granulated sugar.

Add 3 tablespoons of cornstarch

Zest one lemon over the bowl

Mix.

Put the berries inside the pie shell and cover with the top crust.  (egg wash optoional – WASH YOUR HANDS, DUMMY)

Bake at 425 for 15 min.  Turn the heat down to 350 and bake for another 35-45 min.  Use your head.  You’ll be able to see and smell when it’s done.

Let it cool for two hours and then refrigerate over night.  The cornstarch will firm up the runny berry juice.

What’s that?  How do you make the crust?  Funny you should ask.  I’ll be offering classes in that very thing, shortly.

You’ll be able to come bake with me at different locations around New York City.  Sorry to be mysterious, but if you’re really dying for a lesson, I offer private baking sessions too.  Email me at piefolk@gmail.com

Enjoy the Pies, Jerks.