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Dating Blogger Amy: Entry 3

Love Triangle? Recently I had a conversation with a friend about why we date who we date. I told her I date people for no real reason other than to have something entertaining to occupy myself with and discuss with … Read More

By / September 26, 2006

Love Triangle?

Recently I had a conversation with a friend about why we date who we date. I told her I date people for no real reason other than to have something entertaining to occupy myself with and discuss with friends. But finally, someone came along that I’m actually seriously attracted to.

T.S. is a hot nightclub promoter I’ve been laying bricks with for the past couple months. This is a method of taking slow, gradual steps with a love interest that I learned from my male roommate. I see T.S. no more than once a week and during each encounter I take a small step (lay a brick) to further our relationship. Things like exchanging phone numbers, having him buy me a drink, or just saying something seriously yet subtly flirty. I recently found out he’s a former model and met his income goal for the year of six figures four-and-a-half months early. (If someone could please explain to me how nightclub promoters make so much money by doing what seems like nothing, I’d be very interested to know.) I also recently find out that he has a girlfriend, who I “met” at one of his parties at a shitty rock bar in the 50s on the East Side. And I write “met” because T.S. just sort of pointed to her while she tried to ignore Best Friend and I and said “This is my girlfriend, [Skinny Asian Bitch].”

I had heard T.S. liked “really skinny Asian” girls from a guy he works with who took me on a trip to Vegas. And I had seen T.S. out with an Asian girl the size of a Q-Tip before. But when I saw her again that rainy night at Shitty Rock Bar, hiding behind long black hair and an oversized baseball hat, I was surprised when T.S. introduced her as his girlfriend. When I related the news to a friend the next day she called it a “minor speed bump.” I was inclined to agree with her when T.S. asked me to go to the nightclub Home on a recent Wednesday night. I was returning from smoking blunts in Brooklyn with my friend’s former co-workers when T.S. and I engaged in rapid-fire texting. We had never engaged in rapid-fire texting—he would text me and I’d text back but usually to no response. So I knew he really wanted my company, and although I don’t particularly like Home I made my way there anyway.

T.S. was giving me special attention. He asked me what I wanted to drink and when I said vodka tonic he replied, with a concerned look, “Really? You don’t want something better? Like… champagne?” And he fetched me champagne from the bar all night. He stayed near me most of the time. We started dancing a little bit. He smoked Friend and me down. And Q-Tip was no where in sight. I assumed they must have broken up and it was just a two-week relationship sort of thing. Especially since I had seen T.S. several weeks earlier at Stereo throwing mad game at another girl (who was actually quite short and unattractive).

Then Friend, T.S. and I left together and decided to go somewhere else. Friend suggested Cain, so we walked 50 feet down the street and went in. DJ David was spinning his usual Wednesday night set. I had had two dates with him and even slept with him once, something I decided I didn’t want to repeat because I wasn’t really attracted to him. Then I saw him in his brother’s DJ booth at club Guest House (which is cleverly connected to Home) dancing up on another girl. He saw me in the crowd while Random Girl was grinding her ass on him, and I waved at him as he turned his head away—major dis. I found this episode entertaining since I don’t give a shit about him and awkwardness always amuses me. It was especially great when I received this 4:30 a.m. text from him: “I think I saw you at guest house.” No shit.

We walked to the back of the mostly empty club directly in DJ David’s eyeline. To his credit he was spinning some phat house music. I had never heard him exercise those kinds of mixing skills and it definitely enhanced his irrelevant hotness.

Off to the side, I noticed another character: Ben the Aussie. He had been trying to take me out for months, six recent weeks of which he was out of town on business or something, but he never asked me to anything that was more appealing than my other plans. So he noticed me, approached me and asked me out to a late lunch the next day. My drunk/stoned ass said yes. I feel it’s key I add that Ben the Aussie had a huge mass of long curly hair that he normally puts back in a ponytail. With it down he looked like a lion.

T.S. got Friend and me champagne and asked if I knew “that guy”/lion. I said yes, I met him a long time ago and he won’t leave me alone. Really, I was planning to use Lion because he had a friend with a private rooftop pool in the West Village that he had invited me to twice when I wasn’t available. The recent hundred degree heat had spawned Project Pool, a plan for Best Friend and I to find a pool we could use for the rest of the summer. I had remembered earlier that day that Lion held a potential pool key and knew I’d have to work it.

But then T.S. and I started making out. Lion was sitting in a booth behind T.S. and David was in his DJ booth behind me. We made out for a while. It was hot. I really liked kissing him. After a while, we left and shared a cab downtown. We kissed goodbye so long I had to tell him not to keep the cab driver waiting. He continued to tell me I was “so cute.” He added he would “definitely call me tomorrow.”

When I got home DJ David texted me: “That was funny. Really funny.” Because he and I were having such a serious relationship. Needless to say the lion never called me for lunch the next day. But neither did T.S. That night I learned he had been with the Q Tip for a year and she was a horrible bitch but he claims he loves her. So I feel slightly bitter that Project Pool is now back at square one and DJ David would probably no longer be a good drink ticket vendor or play my song requests. That’s two of ‘em lost for a hot, flaky nightclub promoter with a bitchy anorexic girlfriend. I’d be more bitter if T.S. wasn’t so hot and such a good kisser.

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