Thursday, August 03, 2006

The Hard Sell


I knew who it was when I saw the area code and I knew I shouldn’t have answered but I did anyway.

I haven’t spoken to her, or heard her voice, in at least 5 years or so. She was an ex-girlfriend of two years. My high school sweetheart, I met her in senior year. We broke up a few years after graduation, but she wasn’t the type to just move on with her life. She kept a part of you in her clutches until she decided it was over. Man, it was hell breaking up with that broad.

I don’t remember when the last time I saw her was. If I’m correct, it would have been when she came over my house late one night about 8 years ago, with only one thing on her mind. I was tempted man, so tempted. This girl was a magician in the sack, and looked the part to boot. Hips and tits that men would start wars for. Lips and eyes and hands that would murder you. She was almost undeniable. But I escaped her that night. I beat the magic. I knew what that temptation would reward me with. Insanity.

I guess there is an exchange that has to be made. For all that sexual brilliance, there must be some lunacy. And this girl had that by the barrel. It wasn’t all imagined either, she had some honest to goodness drama in her life. Let me break down some key episodes in this gals on going soap opera:

-When I met her she had just broken up with her boyfriend of a few years, 2 months into our relationship she tells me she’s 3 months pregnant with his kid. Of course we break up so she can try to work things out with him, and of course they don’t work out. He goes to jail a month before his kid is born and me, being the young, sex starved teen that I am, jump right back in the sack with her when he’s gone, even playing daddy to the kid because that’s the kind of sap I am. This boyfriend was a serious headache. He was, as most dangerous criminals are, terribly jealous and swore to everyone he met that he would rip my head off were he to ever see me (which he totally could have done). It was lucky for my cowardly ass that he was, as most dangerous criminals are, always in jail, or else I’d probably be, you know, without head.

-When she was 19 years old she found out through some slip of the tongue from a family member [don’t ask] , that her father was not her real father. Her mother, who had died when she was 12 (very sad, I know. And I empathize with the whole motherless void thing. What made it worse was she died on my birthday and so every yearly celebration of my birth would always end up a tearful eulogy for her lost mom until she fell asleep in my arms. Yay!) So being the person she is, she gets the Oprah detectives (seriously, she got their name and number from an Oprah commercial) and has them track down her real father.

-The detectives miraculously found him living in a trailer near the swamps of Louisiana. He had a wife and 3 kids. She went down to visit them and met some kid whom she promptly cheated on me with. She told me this 2 days after she got back and cried while she did it. Then she got mad at me because I wasn’t crying and told me I must not truly love her, that all this time I had lied. Then she called me an asshole and hung up on me.

-After the whole infidelity thing I decide this is my perfect out of the relationship so tell her its over. She says, and I quote, “no it’s not” and prepares to go back to Louisiana for I guess one more teen scream. Some shit goes down that when explained to me later on seemed very vague and nonsensical. Nonetheless, it got her booted out of her father’s house and told she was never to be seen again. So much for family reunions.

I could go on and on, seriously. This girl was a well of dramatic affairs, and her delightful poon was the literal opening. So I resisted her the night she came over, and I never saw her again. There were a few phone calls and some email correspondence, but I kept communication to a minimum, if any at all.

Until tonight.

See, about a week ago I got an email from her. A spam (which, if you knew her, would seem a very typical way she would reach out to you. Almost everything this girl does conflicts with my moral and philosophical views. She cant even write a real email, it has to be spam). She has some sort of business and she was offering to buy old cell phones for cash. I playfully replied back asking her what she did with the old phones, if she melted them down and made little unicorn figurines with the spare parts, or built bigger and better phones that transformed into robots with screens on their chest showing tivoed episodes of Seinfeld. I guess she caught my phone number in my email signature and decided that instead of replying back via cyberspace, she would give me a call instead.

And I knew it was her when I saw the area code, and I answered it anyway.

Here is the kicker, instead of saying hi and asking how my life was going, she instantly launches into the cash for dead cell phones proposal. It turns out that she has to find out a bit about your discarded phones, and then she will tell you how much they are worth. You get the full amount in credit at her store, for new cell phone accessories and what not, or you only get half the amount in cash. I gave her the scoop on my situation: cash is best for me now; I don’t care how little it is. I’m broke, ya dig? Then she asks me what kind of phone I have.

-Oh.. uh… I have a Treo phone. It’s about 6 months old.

She grunted an approval, -you know we have a lot of great Treo accessories. Great covers for the screen and some holders that clip to your belt.

I was silent for a second, then she went on.

-Those are expensive phones, and it’s just silly to pay so much for a phone and then not get a protective cover for it. We have a lot of different colors at some really great prices.

I was stunned. Was she pitching me on going for trade? I haven’t spoken to this girl in years and when I finally do she gives me a fucking pitch, one which would make her, at best, $50 in sales. I can’t believe the depths this girl irks me at. Even when she isn’t trying to seduce me into her web of personal turmoil, she was annoying me with sales pitches. Christ! The nerve!

I kinda mumbled that I was busy, and to email me the questions. The whole time we were on the phone a baby was crying in the background. I could feel pressure from her life, burdens and anxiety with every breath into the receiver. A relief washed over me, relief that I wasn’t with her right then, even if it meant sacrificing desperate, cock worshiping blowjobs and the occasional toe numbing orgasm. It’s a small price to pay for slight peace and sanity.

So she tells me she’ll email the questions and then pressures me into giving her a day when its best she make a follow-up call, which is like asking me which night would be best to have a nightmare. I told her Thursday, but I think ill let my voicemail get it.

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Im not a great writer, but nobody has given this blog a scathing review yet, so i'm gonna assume i can keep writing whatever i want however poorly i please and no one will give a rats ass about it. And you know you wish you lived in new york when there are parties like this going on. shit looks like the cats meow, right?

1 Comments:

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:gray matters: by jkg is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at downtownalleys.blogspot.com.