dirty rotten scoundrels

The other day I went to go see the Broadway play of Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. I had never heard of it, but according to Hadassah, it was based on a really funny movie with Sir Michael Caine and Steve Martin and since I was already on a Broadway musical kick, I figured, why not? The play was really funny and it had an unexpected twist at the end that made me wish there was a second part to it. Needless to say I loved it. Especially the fact that dirty, rotten scoundrels who swindled people out of money, could be so loveable and charming. It reminded me of that one time when I borrowed a thousand dollars in cash from a not-so-secret admirer and went on a road trip with a friend, only to have them turn all psycho and more obsessed with me. Which actually happened in the play to Lawrence Jamieson, except his crazy admirer eventually left him to be with his manservant. Too bad I don’t have one of those.

Unlike Lawrence, I was all for paying my not-so-secret admirer back, fully. But when they got too demanding and too Glenn Close, á la Fatal Attraction, well, I had to, needed to, ignore them, which wasn’t too hard, considering the fact the only way they could get a hold of me was through my cell phone, which I promptly disconnected the moment I returned from my trip. Of course, from an unbiased viewer, I know it looks like I took advantage of my secret admirer, swindling them for their money. But from a friends point of view, it was just another, roll-your-eyes-shake-your-head-and-put-your-hand-on-your-hip, “Oh, that David,” kinda thing, causing me to wonder if I got off scotch-free as a dirty, rotten scoundrel because I retold the story only among friends.

Were all dirty rotten scoundrels at one time or another, some less dirty, others more rotten, but scoundrels nonetheless. We all have moments in our life, where our actions haunt us, and we wonder out loud to our friends, why we did it in the first place. And I wondered if Colette, ever had a moment like that, about me. I mean, considering all the mixed signals she gave me, she should have had several moments, but that didn’t necessarily mean she did. Her newest mixed signal was an invitation to the upcoming Gwen Stefani concert in Phoenix…and one night in a ritzy hotel.

COLETTE: We should get a room with a Jacuzzi.
ME: Um. Yeah…that sounds good. I wonder if they have Jacuzzi rooms with double beds...
COLETTE: Double beds? Ok, Rockefeller. Don’t you know it’s cheaper if we get just the one bed?

Yeah. And it’s also cheaper if we didn’t get the Jacuzzi. Didn’t she know that? Such a scandalous scoundrel.

As luck would have it, Colette’s call waiting kicked in, leaving me a few moments to gather and collect my thoughts. Which lasted for about 15 seconds, because Colette was soon back on the line with me…talking about her “cute boss,” who apparently invited her to the movies. Ugh. Here we go again. Or is it…“went again?” Whatever. The point is, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to deal with Colette and her never-ending mixed signs. I needed to get away from reality and really think about whether or not I really wanted to travel 200 miles in a car with Colette, to go a concert. Ok, I guess it wasn’t just any ol’ concert, but still, it would be with Mrs. Mix ‘N’ Mashed Signs.

So, Hadassah invited me to two parties to get my mind off of things: a kegger at her house and Club Crawl. Club Crawl is this all night party, held Downtown, where all the bars and clubs open their doors for a small charge and you get to see, or rather, hear, over 100, different local bands. I’ve wanted to go, ever since I was a freshman in high school and saw the advertisements posted all over 4th Avenue and Downtown, but since it was a 21 and over event, I’ve had to wait with longing despair. But not anymore. It was the perfect escape. Or, if I was Gwen Stefani, the sweet escape.

It was all so wildly entertaining and fun. Club Crawl reminded me of Vegas, and how one could walk the streets with a drink in one hand and a “Rock On!” symbol in the other. Except this was Tucson, which meant I actually saved money and didn’t have to deal with drunken, foreign tourists. Just my drunken friends. Who kinda got a little too drunk. So we headed back to Hadassah’s Keg Party, which doesn’t really make sense, now that I think about it soberly, but at the time it was the absolute best solution. And speaking of Absolut, it was the preferred choice of drink at the party, rather than the beer, which meant this was one high-class college affair.

Unfortunately, the high-class affair was crashed by these dirty, rotten scoundrels, and that’s when somebody suggested a change of scenery. Like a strip club. I thought it was a most brilliant idea ever, and so I followed the voice and ended up leaving with my friend Nikki. As it turns out, we were the only ones who thought a nice strip club would be good for us, so together, we headed off to TD’s West Club. When we got there, we found out one of Nikki’s friends was having his birthday party there, in the VIP room, so not only were we granted free access, we were given unlimited drinks. And it was during my second drink, that I heard somebody calling my name.

It was Devona Monet, one of the smartest and most creative people I knew, back in high school. We had yearbook class together and I really thought she would be going places. But here she was. Smiling and waving to me. Topless. In a red, string bikini stuffed with dollar bills. It’s kinda awkward when a stripper friend gives you a hug, instead of a lap dance, because you wonder if the “Don’t Touch” rule still applies. After a brief, “Hi! How are you?” and another turn at the pole, Devona came back and talked to me catching up on old times, with everyone wondering the same thing: How did David get such a hot, topless girl to talk to him?

Meanwhile, back at the party house, someone, in a hazy state of mind, thought it wouldn’t be a true party without somebody getting married. And since Hadassah‘s friend Ruby was just ordained online through a Celestial priest, everyone figured, why not? The bride wore a cotton fleece blanket throw as a veil and carried a half-empty bottle of Bud Light while the groom carried a martini glass ring in his pocket. According to every drunken witness, it was a beautiful ceremony that ended with a lot of cheering, a lot of toasting, and a lot of noise. Which woke the neighbors, who called the police, who came to the house that Hadassah built, er, lived in.

Nikki and I got back to Hadassah’s house, the moment the police were walking up towards the front door, with all the surrounding neighbors standing outside, wondering what all the commotion was. We drove around the block once and parked far away from the house, for fear of being included with the scoundrels in the house. Walking up the driveway, the neighbor asked if we were the ones making noise, but we assured her it wasn’t us as we were just walking towards the house. Duh. All of a sudden, somebody threw a glass bottle in our direction, causing the neighbor to scream and yell out, “They’re after me!”

Turns out it wasn’t a beer bottle. It was somebody punching through Hadassah’s bedroom window to dispose a bag of weed, but then realized, the cops would probably find it outside. Nikki and I snuck in through the side and when we got in, we could see the house was in total disarray. Everyone was hiding in the bedrooms to give the illusion that the house wasn’t in full party mode as the neighbors led the police to believe. Which would’ve worked, if only the keg wasn’t right in the middle of the kitchen and the fact that Hadassah and her roommate covered the entire house with plastic, for easy cleaning, later on.

After the police left and tagged the house and everyone left, I fell asleep on the couch and had a really, really weird dream. . I dreamt that Ruby and I got married, only none of our friends were there, just her entire family and my mom and dad. Although there were a lot of people, I felt all alone and wondered what exactly was I doing. I wasnt ready to make such a big commitment, especially with someone I hardly knew. If I was going to make a commitment, it would have to be with someone I knew and it would have to start of real slow. So I went home. As I layed in my bed, Colette just sorta appeared. We got closer…and started to spoon…our bodies pressed close together…our legs entwining…then BOOM! I woke up, before I could get to the best part. If there was a best. And it was exactly that “if” part that made me take a chance, and accept Colette’s invitation. After all, as John Greenleaf Whittier once said, For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been'.

the heartless homeless

A couple weeks ago, I went to see the Broadway play Rent with my good friend Hadassah. We had gotten tickets, courtesy of Broadway In Tucson, through a business trade. We provice flowers for the actors, backstage and they provide us with free opening night tickets and an invite to the cast party.

And then a funny thing happened on the way to the show. We ran into a homeless man, who wanted some money, but we ignored him thinking the same thing: he's just gonna spend it on booze. But then I thought, living life on the streets cant be easy so who am I to tell him he shouldn't have booze? And maybe he didn’t even want booze. Maybe he wanted a nice warm sandwich, layered high with turkey and ham, Swiss and provolone cheese and maybe an exotic mustard or two, to kick it up a notch. So I thought maybe a nice turkey sandwich and a bottle of malt liquor would be nice. But by that time, the homeless man got tired of us just standing there and barked at us to stop staring at him. So unbelievably rude and so not the way to get money. So we left the starving and sober homeless man and made our way to the play.

For the next two and a half hours we were enthralled with a fascinating story of eight twenty-something friends living in New York, dealing with AIDS, love, and most importantly the homeless. Although real life homeless don’t sing as much as they do in Rent, they cried for our compassion and support, pretty much the same way. And it made me feel bad that I ignored one while learning about them. From then on, I vowed to do better. After all, I did have some experience with them, so really how hard could it be to become friends with one? I would soon find out.

Directly across from Alice’s Flower Shop, in the lobby of the Frontier Building, was Kitty’s Shoe Shine Stand. Ms. Kitty was an odd lady with long fingernails that looked more like claws and an outrageous bouffant hairstyle that covered the sides of her face and made her look more like a lion than a human. Combined with her prance-like walk and the fact that she extended her eye line with black mascara, like she was Cleopatra, made Ms. Kitty even more cat-like. And weird. Her entire personality gave us enough reason to mock her and laugh behind her back. I mean, who wouldn’t laugh at a fifty-something that wears low cut tops and shakes her old, leathered breasts, to show she “still got’s it,” as she shines shoes? But it wasn’t just her sun/age-spotted breasts or the fact that she bought shoes at thrift stores and tried turning a profit for them by displaying them on plastic milk carton crates, that made us wonder about her. It was that she would hire homeless men to work for her. And then she would take them into her home, giving them room and board. And then she would sleep with them,.

Of course, no one knew the men that worked for her were homeless. We just thought they were gross when they picked food out of the trash and ate it. Jimmy was such a case in point. He had long grey hair and liked to stare off into space, wondering about...actually, I’m not sure what homeless people wonder about. Maybe a nice, fancy Thanksgiving Day dinner in front of a roaring fire place? Or it could have been the simple fact that Jimmy was stoned, since he liked to have a joint twice a day. Some might say, Jimmy had a good life. He had a nice warm bed and a bed partner that would perform unspeakably filthy acts of love on him(that’s one conversation I could have done without, during my lifetime on earth!). He learned a trade, had a job, and was now able to buy cigarettes from the store, rather than pick them out of the ashtrays. But earlier last week, Jimmy’s dreams fell apart.

According to Chamo, the cook who worked next door at the The Jungle Square Restaurant, Jimmy stole $500 from Ms. Kitty and her car and went on a wild road trip to God only knows where. When he came back, he told Ms. Kitty that his brother was in the hospital and he needed the money to help pay for his bills. Classic drug-addict excuse. Still, she forgave him…until Jimmy’s brother, Timmy, came to town. That’s when Ms. Kitty found out Timmy was never in the hospital and that Jimmy had lied to her. Duh. Before you could say “Out on the street!” Ms. Kitty kicked Jimmy out of her house and threw him, well, out on the street. He begged and pleaded for his job back. He loved her and proclaimed it in the lobby of the Frontier Building, for all the world to hear. He even threw a leather bag in her face, hoping to knock some sense into her. But nothing worked. She was done with him. She was done with all his lies and his sex. And when she demanded back the boots he was wearing, because she could still turn a profit for them, we all knew it was over.

Two days later, Ms. Kitty picked up another stray. He was filthy, disgusting and oh, so vile. Had a stench that went on for miles. He wore a thick bandana across his head and cuffed his boots. His teeth were grey and yellow and his hair was dark and oily. He looked like he had just come back from a Pirates of the Caribbean screen test, as Pirate Number Five, and we thought of calling him “Bummy Depp.” But according to my Boss Alice, that was blaspheme against the hottest man in the world, Johnny Depp. Whatev. The point was, it wasn’t until Injun Joe (his real name) started working for Ms. Kitty that we found out all her past employees were homeless men. The moment I found out, I wondered if this was maybe God’s way of giving me a challenge. I had wanted to be friendly with the homeless and now I had my chance.

On his second day of work, Injun came up to me and asked if he could borrow the flower shop phone. I was beyond thrilled to give him the phone, with my blessing. I didn’t know why he needed it for, but it made me feel good for lending out a helping hand. That is, until I heard who he was speaking to. For the next ten minutes, Injun Joe spoke to a buddy of his and talked about how good life was. He had food, a bed, and “a nice piece of ass.” Ew. Calling Ms. Kitty and her dimpled thighs, “a nice piece of ass” made me want to puncture my eardrums and gouge out my eyes. Struggling to hold down my throw up, I waited for the phone to return. When it did, Injun Joe asked me if I would make a crank call to Ms. Kitty, telling her our sink overflowed and that the water had made its way to the shoe stand, ruining all her shoes. Not only was it the stupidest thing I ever heard, it was the most immature thought a grown man could ever come up with. But he was a homeless man, so maybe he didn’t know better. I would just have to teach him. Some people were called to save whales. Some were called to help children learn how to read. I was called to befriend the homeless.

At lunchtime, I asked Injun Joe if he wanted anything to eat, since our shop had credit at Mike’s Coffee Shop and he gladly accepted a Chicken Bacon Avocado sandwich. Then, while I was working, he went back to the coffee shop and ordered a Mocha Latte, a strawberry smoothie, and a chocolate fudge brownie. On our credit. Feed a man a sandwich and he will eat for a day. Teach him that you have credit at a local coffee shop and he will feed his lady friend and himself desert. After promising to pay us back later, I wondered if maybe I was doing something wrong. I mean, I was trying to be kind. I was trying to be friendly. Why then did I feel like I was being taken advantage of?

The final nail that broke the camels back (or is it the final straw in the coffin?) happened when I was trying to help a customer and Injun Joe came back behind the counter, making sad puppy eyes with a whimpering sound as he held out his hand and began to “dial” a number. I looked at him for a few brief moments in disbelief that a grown man would try and pull off such a stunt. And while I was trying to help a customer. It was beyond rude and I ignored him while I finished with my customer, who gave me a “glad I don’t work with that mess” look. He stood there, sniveling, hoping I would I knew exactly what Injun Joe wanted. But I was too mad to give it to him. He wanted to use the phone? There was one down the street, next to the public library for all I cared.

I wasn’t mad. And I’ll tell you why I was mad. Because I wasn’t mad. How did I let someone like Injun Joe get to me? I mean, I’ve dealt with homeless people before, but are there just some that are hopeless?

love, twenty-something style

How can you tell when someone is interested in you? Since no one likes to be rejected or even give the slightest hint of interest to a person without their ego being completely destroyed, it seems as though it would be a good idea to understand the signs of attraction, before putting your heart on the line, right? But, just what are the telltale signs?

The reason I ask is because lately there is the girl I've been, well, I guess you can call it "seeing." Yeah. I mean, we’re not exactly dating, but we have gone out a couple of times or so. So, I think that qualifies as “seeing." Yeah. It's just complicated. Definitely. Some of you may know her as "Prom Date Gone Wrong." Others may know her as "The Girl That's Never Seen The Movie Breakfast at Tiffany's." But most everyone knows her as Colette.

Lately, Colette and I have been talking. A lot. Nothing in particular, just, you know, good ol' fashioned talking. But the thing is, though, I cant figure her out. Her signs are all over the place, making it hard to decipher if whether or not she sees me as potential boyfriend material or as nothing more than just a friend.
I asked my friend Celina what she thought and she thought she had the answer. It went all the way back to Valentine's Day, when Colette had me a delicious dinner. According to Celina, who was an active card carrying member of the dating club, making someone a meal is a sign that you care for the person and you want to show them your love in a creative and culinary way.

See, Celina had been seeing this guy Josh for a couple of months. It started off as a movie here, a dinner there, but then soon, things got serious, and she wondered if their relationship would progress further than "dating." The fateful day came when Celina wondered what she was gonna do for dinner one night and Josh came over and made her a wonderful dinner of macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets. Sure, it wasn't anything fancy, but the thought of Josh actually preparing dinner for her, was a sign that sent Celina soaring to Cloud 9 and beyond.

So maybe Colette's cooking was a sign. I mean, if it worked in Celina’s favor, it was bound to work in mine, right? But then what about the other signs?

When Colette told me she wanted to hang out and spend more time with me, that was a friend sign.

When Colette said it was because there was something about me that was really good, that was a girlfriend sign.

At least that's what my friend Hadassah said. She was the girl, famously involved with two guys at the same time; the lawyer, Bry, who worked upstairs in the Frontier Building and Guy, the cousin of a friend who was an all around nice guy. With the lawyer, the relationship was hot and heavy, but with Guy, it was sweet and innocent, making it that much harder for Hadassah to choose. She told me, she was waiting for one of them to tell her, what Colette had told me, that being with her was unbelievable and without her, life was unimaginable. Until then, she would stick to her infamous pros and cons list.

But then it happened. Guy found out about Bry, through a late-night drunken phone call placed by Hadassah's roommate. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, but still, I couldn't help but feel sorry for Hadassah. She thought she had it all figured out. Turns out she didn't. When she finally heard what she wanted to hear, it was followed with something she never wanted to hear: "It's over."

Meanwhile, across town, I was hearing something I didn’t want to hear. Colette had called me and asked if I wanted to take a trip with her to Phoenix. It seemed innocent enough, until I realized she wanted to spend TWO whole days there, which meant, we would have to stay the night.

COLETTE: Oh! And remember that one time we went to Phoenix to shop for my Prom Dress? And we were both in the dressing room, and I was modeling for y--…hold on, someone’s on the other line.

As Colette clicked over, I thought to myself, “Remember? How could I forget that day?” So far, it was one of the top highlights of my life, because, well...let’s just say, it was a really good day. But why did she bring it up? What the hell did that mean? When Colette clicked back, she told me it was her ex that had called. Great. As she told me what he wanted, I realized I would have to remove the boyfriend cap, and start playing the friend role.

COLETTE: He’s just no good for me. I have to keep reminding myself that when he calls. It’s just…the sex was amazing, you know? It felt so good when he came inside me.

Friend? I don’t even know. Slut? Oh hell yeah. I mean, I knew she had a past and that there were guys before me, but come on!

The next day, Easter Sunday, I went to church. Instead of the same ol’ message that most everybody heard year after year, our church put on a musical rendition of Romeo and Juliet, set during Biblical times. A Roman guard named Marcus and a Jewish girl named Hannah were two, star-crossed lovers who were madly in love, but knew they could never be, since they came from two completely different worlds. Our church went all out for this play and actually had sheep and horses roaming down the aisles. Talk about losing yourself in the story. However, unlike the classic tale of Romeo and Juliet, nobody died…well, except for Jesus, but then he came back to life in the end. And throughout the play, everybody asked the same question. Hannah asked, “Could Marcus be the one?” and Marcus asked, “Could Hannah be the one?” The Jews and the Romans asked, “Could Jesus be the Messiah?” while I asked, “Who’s gonna clean all this horse shit?” No, I’m kidding. But seriously, how do you know if a person could be the one?