USELESS HEARTACHE

This is theeee longest post of mine… ever!!! The Beginning is the low-down on the New Hampshire / Massachusetts trip… the 2nd half has the GOODS on the Englishman (Carine Dion’s boyfriend’s brother… and they are GOODS and not necessarily good GOODS… scroll down if you bore easily)

There were some things that just shouldn’t have happened. Despite those moments where my heart hurt, did I have pleasurable vacation?

- Dad: Renting a room in his 3rd ex-wife’s house with her 2 sons and my 7 year old half sister. He’s addicted to cruises and dates on match.com. He has an awful temper, and nothing is ever his fault. 8 years ago, I redefined my relationship with him… which consists of watching sports and discussing organic foods and homeopathy. It was good seeing him.

- My Half Brothers: One’s almost 20, the other is 17. On this trip I unfortunately discovered the size of their penises. This was a revelation from my 2 ex-step brothers. 20 yr old is 9 inches and 17 year old is 7.5 inches. This is pretty fucking disgusting of me to report, and I was horrified to have even heard the word ‘penis’ in front of my brothers… but, as insane as I am, I was actually kinda’ proud… like a dad is when his son first gets some ass. 20 yr old and I played Bud Light drinking games in the garage and smoked fat blunts under the New England stars. 17 yr old told me about how his new girlfriend’s desktop image was of him before she even met him. Apparently, a friend of hers from my bro’s high school forwarded it her as they both drooled over him. Months later she met him face to face, and the rest is history. Oddly, that didn’t freak him out.


(ME AND MY BRO PLAYING BUD LIGHT GAMES)


- My Half Sister: 15 yrs old. She’s a cute lil’ cheerleader with abnormal strength. She can walk on her hands just as easily as she can on her feet. She loves her boyfriend. I’ve called her Bob since she was 7 years old. I still can’t remember why… she’s always called me Farts, and I know exactly why.

- 2nd Ex-Wife: She’s been married to anti-My Dad for 6 years, and she still shits wherever anti-Dad isn’t. She put make-up on when my sister and I unexpectedly arrived at 1:30 in the morning. She drank too much wine and told us our dad wasn’t capable of loving us. I’m never his defender, but I know he does and so do all my other bros and sisters. We were on one side and she cried on the other side. THIS SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED. Then I felt like shit for making her cry. My brother and I later confessed that all we could think about was smoking a joint to escape this conversation. She divorced my dad 11 years ago. There is so much hate there. It made MY HEART HURT. I start thinking about marriage being shitty and the only deviation is my Mom and Step-Dad. Not enough good marriages to convince me that true love exists.

- My Nana Banana (Dad’s Mom): Lives in the high-crime area of Boston with my cousins, who stay there because my aunt disappeared 3 months ago on some drug-spree. No one knows where she is. My other cousin no longer lives there… last visit he had that ankle bracelet-house-arrest bit just like Martha Stewart. I told him that once it’s removed, I’d give him a list of things I’d like stolen. He said okay, and unfortunately, I think he really meant it. At Nana’s we ate brownies and talked about our cousin’s new old English tattoos of our family name. I kinda’ like it.

- My Uncle B. (Dad’s Brother): He’s in his 50’s and still lives with Nana Banana and my cousins. He stands up at his AA meetings and tells everyone he’s been sober for 5 years. Then he goes to the bar and drinks. He showed us pictures of his recent trip to Hawaii with his AA friends. They think he’s sober too.

- My Aunt and Uncle (Mom’s Sister): Her husband is 27 years older. She always talks about his fat sausage. I beg her not to. Everyone thought she married him for money when she was 23 and he was 50... they've been married for 20 years now... fuck everyone else! We ate burnt muffins. I argued with my older sister like a fucking 5 year old… I’d ask her to turn the tv down, she’d turn it up kinda’ thing. I worried I’d get arrested for killing her. I didn’t.


(ME ON THE FARM IN MASSACHUSETTS WITH MY AUNT)


LONDON:

Since I’d been in some insane situations abroad, I was fairly cavalier about visiting Carine Dion. So I wasn’t sweatin’ the fact that I’d forgotten her address. She ordered me a mini-cab, and I knew the driver would have the address. After a redeye flight, I hopped in the mini-cab around 5 am… the cab driver was preaching Jehovah’s Witness and didn’t seem to really know where we were going.

When we arrived at my friend’s house, I told him to wait just a second while I rang her bell to ensure the address was correct (it just wasn’t feeling quite right)… I knew she lived on the bottom flat, so I buzzed the door… an Englishwoman, clearly not my American friend, spoke through the intercom. “Oh fuck,” I thought… but then, she quickly appeased my worry when she said I must be looking for the American girl in the middle flat. I motioned to the cabby to go ahead… that this was the place. It’s 6:30 am, and she’s not answering. After about 20 minutes, I decided to leave my luggage and find a pay phone… I called her number only to realize it was her work number Fuck!!! I walked back to her place. Rang the bell again… still no answer. It’d been about a 40 minutes now. I decided to camp out on her doorstep thinking that someone would come out on their way to work… someone did… I went inside to go bang on her door. It’s an American girl’s voice, but NOT Carine Dion’s. Fuck – Fuck – Fuck. She yells on the other side of the door, “Are you who’s been ringing my bell all morning?!?!”

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry… I was dropped off at the wrong house!”

“I almost called the cops… get the address right next time!” She bitched out.

There I was, on the street following my visible breath… no address, no telephone number, nothing. I then decided to call my little sister 3 am her time on a Tuesday night. And finally my luck changed… my little sister answered the phone… gave me their address, their home number… and after 55 bucks in International and Local phone calls, Carine Dion found me.


(THIS IS WERE I WASN'T DROPPED OFF!!! THAT MOTHERFUCKER CAB DRIVER!!!)


After some catching up, the Englishman came over. He looked so adorable in his blue corduroys and black sweatshirt. We all chatted for hours. I was aware of his presence the entire time… acute attention to anytime he touched me… at the end of the night, I got up to give him a hug and kiss on the cheek… as I pulled away, he pulled me in, and we kiss… softly at first… and then, we walked into the hallway where he proceeded to penetrate my mouth with his tongue in a way that has never made me feel like I wanted to throw him down and fuck the shit out of his… his hands were all over my clothed body… we kissed furiously as though we’d both been waiting the entire to years to do this.

The next day I went to some of my favorite old haunts, National Gallery, Trafalgar Square… all I could think about was that kiss – that consuming kiss... the next day I met up with an old roommate of mine from my year study abroad… we camped out at a pub and caught up on crazy times.


(ME AND CARINE DION IN FRONT OF MY 2ND FAVORITE ART GALLERY IN ALL OF EUROPE)


THE GOODS:

That night, I would see my Englishman again. We were meeting at a bar in Camden… he was late. I pretended to engage myself in conversation with my friends, but all I could do was watch the door for his arrival. I kept going to the bathroom in hopes of occupying my time and coming back to see him there. Finally, he made it… he sat next to me, and we chatted the evening away… he’s completely sarcastic, open-minded, observant… a sculptor with amazing hands, shit. Walking to the next bar, I linked my arm through his. Once we arrived we again sat next to one another… he put his arm around me… I nuzzled his chest… we kissed.

He came back to our place… and we spent the evening licking and sucking one another’s body… and Carine Dion, being open to whatever might happen, supplied us with 4 condoms… that night, we used one. His favorite position, and one of which I’m quite fond, is with me lying flat on my stomach with my legs in a V… he then lies on his stomach on top of my back… I loved hearing his breath in my ear as he thrusted away.

We hooked up more the next morning… he reminded to come to his party that night and said that I could spend the night… I handed him the left over condoms and told him these were for then and playfully told him, “don’t use those with anyone else!” He stayed with us for the whole day, cuddling, holding hands until he had to go help Carine Dion’s other good friend set up the party at their house.

We called when we were on our way. Carine Dion suggested putting our coats and purses in his room… when I set down my purse on his bed, I noticed a used condom right next to it and said, “Carine, oh my god… someone at the party totally had sex in Englishman’s bed… poor guy… he’ll be pissed.” I see a papertowel atop the trashcan and thought I’d be nice and throw away the condom… gross, I know. But OH NO, there in the trashcan is yet another used condom AND AND AND it was the condom I GAVE HIM!!!!! Never in a million years would I have thought he really would use the condoms with another person. I was stunned as FUCK!!!

Carine Dion was like, “No – no… there is some reasonable explanation… someone else must have used these.”

In walks the Englishman. He sees what we see, turns beat red and says, “I’m such a shit… I’m such an asshole… I can’t believe myself.”

Our jaws are dropped… it was only 9 pm… we’d said good-bye to him around 4 pm… and somewhere in between, he’d already fucked some chick TWICE!!!

He tried to explain. We walked up to the party as it was mainly for Carine’s other good friend… we said hello to him… and I quickly looked Carine in the eyes and said, “let’s leave now.”

There was something about her response that was so comforting… all she said was “okay,” but it was the look of understanding on her face that relieved me.

He chased after me and said, “don’t go.” We stood there outside of his house, under the sallow glow of the London street lights… it was quiet. He apologized again and again… and told me how he’d always been shy and until recently he’s overcome his social anxieties and doesn’t know what to do w/ the attention he gets… and he told me some other story of how he’s been fucking up lately (that incident was drug related and not female related) and doesn’t know what’s wrong with him… I felt like we were in some 80’s movie… some moment of truth where you think the hero and heroine are finally going to get together, but then someone (usually the guy) fucks up… and like these good old 80’s teen movies, the Englishman couldn’t even look me in the eyes. As he looked away, I could see the tears well up, aw, a dramatic moment indeed. Although I was feeling hurt and foolish, I still felt badly for him – how weird is that?!!?!? It’s like I kinda’ knew him… and knew how he’d struggled.

I expressed how silly I felt and told him of course I was leaving… he told me he’d be miserable for the rest of the night… I laughed that off… and then he asked if he could at least kiss me good-bye… I laughed that off too and retorted, “I don’t know where that mouth has been tonight.” Kiss him with the taste of someone else on his mouth?!?! Are you fucking kidding me. THIS JUST DIDN'T NEED TO HAPPEN?!?!? WHY? WHAT LESSON DID I NEED TO LEARN!?!?!? I DON'T UNDERSTAND. USELESS HEARTACHE.

I held my chin up high, and I walked away.



(MY ENGLISHMAN ON THE LEFT... CARINE DION'S BF ON THE RIGHT)


TO CONCLUDE:

Although I made my ex-step mom cry AND argued uncontrollably with my older sister to the point where I worried I’d kill her in my sleep AND got dropped off at the wrong house in England and almost had the cops called on me AND had the guy who made my heart pitter-patter, pitter-pattered away with my condoms and another chick, I STILL HAD A REALLY REALLY GOOD TIME… the good moments FAR EXCEEDED these… my brothers and sisters (minus the battles my older sister and I had) are the loves of my life… and Carine Dion and I for the first time in 7 years were mentally in the same spot… and she could look at me and know exactly what I’d be thinking and know exactly what I wanted to her to say or do or this or that… it was so nice to be known.

Tuesday when I got back, there was an email in my inbox… from the Englishman. It was an apology. We’ve sent a couple emails back and forth now, and I will post them tomorrow, so stay tuned!!!