Eccentric collection of things I find interesting
I like ugly models.
When I get a not guilty verdict/prevail on a motion to strike.
I’ll try to keep this brief. I’ve changed the names of the parties involved to protect the innocent. When I was in law school, I went to a conference. For whatever reason, the female-to-male ratio at said conference was very favorable, probably 3:1. When you take out all the gay men that were there the ratio jumps up to 5 or 6 to 1. Long story short, I became interested in two women from a small law school in Philly, who happened to know each other. We’ll call them Combover and Cleo. Somehow, it worked out that I was able to get to know each of them individually, without either of them really becoming aware that I was also talking to the other. The last night of the conference there was a social event with arcade games and dancing. I spent about an hour playing the games with Cleo, and finished my time at the conference dancing with Combover.
After the conference, I continued talking to both women and started making plans to visit Philadelphia. Although Cleo was much prettier than Combover, I got to know Combover a little bit better so I decided to take her to an NBA game that Friday, and then spend Saturday with Cleo. It’s important to remember that these two are friends but in order for my plan to work, neither could know that I was hanging out with the other.
So I drive up to Philly with one of my boys—who we’ll call Chuckie—and traffic getting into the city was a nightmare. The plan was to pick Combover up at her house and then go to the 76ers game. We were cutting it kind of close and I started to get a little stressed out because I had spent a couple stacks on these (courtside) tickets. We finally pull up to her “house.” In West Philadelphia. The best word to describe her neighborhood is warzone. There were prostitutes and crackheads walking around everywhere and the rats outnumbered humans 4 or 5 to 1. Her cockroaches had cockroaches. Chuckie could not get out of there faster and he left me to meet my fate.
Anyway, we were pretty late to the game so we jogged to the metro and made it to the Wells Fargo Center in time to catch the second half. I remember she was wearing this repugnant perfume and she kept trying to hold my hand during the game—which I thought was pretty weird. The game was fine but I started to realize pretty quickly that I would rather chill with Cleo and I for SURE did not feel like staying with her in her Rwandan refugee camp/rowhouse for the night. At her insistence, we went out to a little speakeasy place that was on the way to her apartment. We ordered a couple of drinks and she started asking way too many questions.
“What do you like the most about me?”
“What’s your biggest fear?”
“Could you see yourself moving to Philly?”
After about twenty minutes at the bar, a guy came up and says, “May I dance with your lady?” I hit him with a blank stare and he took that as permission to start waltzing with Combover for the better part of fifteen minutes. After the dancing ended, I told Combover I was ready to go home and we went back to her place. I showered and asked where she wanted me to sleep. She said I could sleep in her “bed,” which was really just a mattress on the floor. Not like an Ikea platform bed, but a mattress. With a regular sheet, not a fitted one, over it. I shook my head in disgust and went to bed as soon as I could.
The next day we hung out some and she was really working my nerves. I was ready to get outta there and try my luck with Cleo. Around 11 a.m., she asked, “Do you want to get lunch?” I told her yes and she took me over to the chicken shack/title loan place around the corner from her house.
We sat down after ordering and I ate what is probably the best chicken I have ever had. After lunch we went back to Combover’s for a while and I was looking for an exit strategy fast.
My biggest worry was that somehow, Cleo would get wind of me hanging out with Combover so … I did the only sensible thing. I took apart her phone and hid it in the couch.
I told Combover that I was going to hang out with friends for a while and I would touch base with her later. I took the metro to Center City and had Cleo pick me up.
[to be continued …]
Martin Luther King Jr removing a burned cross from his front yard with his son at his side. Atlanta Ga 1960
Love the minimalist symmetry.