The Kidnapping of Kyle

Sophomore year of college, I began hanging out in Christian and Santi’s room as often as possible. I was living in an on campus apartment with Lilli and these two Viking girls who would each eat their significant weight in extra large pizzas and who were thoughtful enough to build little castles out of the empty boxes. Our kitchen became a neighborhood development of maggot mansions and Lilli and I were forced to take refuge from the refuse in other people’s rooms as often as possible.

After rehearsing for some ridiculous rapier and dagger test, I entered Christian and Santi’s room and met Kyle for the first time.

Kyle was Christian’s mammoth heap of dirty clothing. Kyle, Kyle the Laundry Pile.

He wasn’t very talkative, had a weird smell, and seemed to come out of nowhere and into our lives. In this new frontier where laundry didn’t magically disappear with mom into the laundry room, Kyle was born.

Over time he would morph and change, as we all did in those college years. Sometimes he was as tall as I was, after particularly crazy weekends he could be neon, but mostly he was a loyal roommate who rarely strayed.

Even now, there are days spent dealing with Kyle- taking care of him, coddling him…and a lot of time and energy is spent washing him. It can be easy to get angry with Kyle, though most of what he puts us through is not his fault. If only we didn’t do so much hot yoga, have to wear a suit to work, or have a ludicrous amount of socks-perhaps our relationship with Kyle could stabilize.

There is a point to this preamble, I promise and the tale of Kyle continues to be one of my favorite college inventions- along with Sminodeos, Nookie Cookies, and our Theory of Invisibility…Don’t get overwhelmed, you will learn about those in time.

This year I told the story of Kyle to a guy I was dating. He had just come over the night before and declared that everything with his ex girlfriend was over, and he was ready to date me without distractions. He was ready to dive in. That led me to believe he was ready to meet Kyle- to know the legend behind the name. He had taken a small step into my crazy family of friends and I felt he should be rewarded with an introduction to the "other man."

He loved it. I knew he would. He dug Kyle, Kyle the Laundry Pile and Kyle dug him right back. And I was filled with something I hadn’t known in a long time. Hope.

Fast forward two months- this fellow and I are no longer seeing each other. A mere 24 hours after welcoming him into my world with the introduction of Kyle the laundry pile, and a mere 24 hours after being assured there was nothing to be nervous about- he was back with his ex. She had showed up at his dance class, they had lunch, and then she was his girlfriend again. Needless to say, in that flurry of activity the hope somehow began to fade...

Oh yeah. It was awesome. Dating is hard enough. And now I am expected to take dance classes too? Whats next? Contrasting 16 bars? A classical monologue? Jeez Louise.

So, I live and let live, wish everyone in the situation the best and go about my business.

That is…until I check his twitter only a week ago and it read:

“Tonight I take down my friend Kyle the laundry pile. You shalt be washed!”

WWWWWWWHHHHHHAAAAAAAATTTTT??????

Then, on another social networking site, he made reference to taking “Kyle down to Chinatown…”

Why would he take him down there? Kyle has no need for a fake designer handbag or paper lanterns from the Pearl River Mart! Was he going to put him on the train or take a taxi? Who told him it was ok to take Kyle into Manhattan at all? He’s a Queens boy. Always has been, always will be.

I immediately put out an APB for Kyle the Laundry Pile. I found some recent photos, was able to describe what he was last seen wearing, and gathered my friends to begin an Astoria wide wash hunt.

I called my two of my best girlfriends for back-up. Perhaps I was over reacting…perhaps I lost sight somewhere along the way. Lilli was appalled. Mariand aghast. She chimed in with a zinger, “What? Could his girlfriend not think of something funny to say about a pile of laundry?”

And I was numb. He kidnapped Kyle. He took something that means something to me, that is the essence of who my friends are, what kind of people we strive to be- and he posted it on a social networking site with no reference to where it came from.

He just stole him. Pulled up in his white rape van with offerings of dryer sheets…and promises of endless spin cycles.

Did he tell her the story? Did he replace my name when he told it? Did he act like he made it up? Did she just look at Kyle and see a pile of clothes?

So many questions. No acceptable answers.

Through all of these ups and downs I realized one thing- he may have stolen a witty name for smelly clothes, but he hadn’t stolen my hope…and someday I will meet someone who wants to take care of Kyle together. And we will never take him to Chinatown.

Bitter: Party of One

In an effort to put myself out there and increase the possibility of having an actual relationship in my life in the near future, I gave my phone number to a waiter.

I was “that girl”. Not sure if anything would come of it, pretty sure nothing at all, it felt like a triumph just to have done it.

My girlfriends and I were dining at Acme on Great Jones street before seeing Derrick’s band debut at the music venue downstairs. Even saying any of this sounds foreign…we don’t generally dine before viewing bands or hang out on Great Jones street. But this is all part of expanding horizons. As much as I would love to meet a guy in Phillip and Mariands living room playing bananagrams in my pajamas…it just doesn’t seem as likely.

As soon as we walked in, I thought Anthony was attractive and then he ended up being funny and really good at his job. Bonus points. He named me Stacie (because of my hair, he explained) and then chose the name Rebecca for Mariand. Which is just strange….because that is her alter ego’s name. We all got goospebumps and I believe it was at that point that he sealed the deal with me.

We continued to flirt throughout the soul food meal- and he made fun of me when I ordered the side dish platter with two orders of zucchini and one order of fries.

Gathering strength I told Mariand I was going to leave my number, and she stared at me blankly.

Me: So, I am thinking about leaving my number for the waiter.

Mariand: Blank stare.

Me: This is not the appropriate response of a best friend when I am trying to put myself out there.

Mariand: Sorry. I just got drunk…right…now. Let’s have a do over.

I gathered up the courage and left my number, even without moral support…and was pleasantly surprised when Anthony texted me two days later.

So begins our back and forth of he is seeing a play, I am seeing a movie, he is downtown, I am uptown, there is a blizzard, blah, blah, blah. Fast forward to me turning him down twice and then deciding to put myself out there and let him know I really was interested…but the scheduling wasn’t working out- so I say:

Me: What are you up to tomorrow?

Anthony: Play.Closing/holiday party. It’s cool. Nevermind. My fiancé will back tomorrow anyway.

WWWWWWHHHHHHHHAAAAAATTTTT?

It seems that even screening processes have somehow gotten their wires quite crossed. I figured when I left my number that he wouldn’t get in touch with me if he was in a relationship or homosexual. Cause that’s where we are at folks. I am open to dating you if you are single and straight. It’s that easy.

But apparently I should take out an ad on Pandora that says “if you are emotionally unavailable, in love with your ex girlfriend, engaged, or homosexual- please ask me on a date. That would be fantastic. I thoroughly enjoy spending time, money, and energy on people who have no intention of following through on what they so wish they could.”

After this text interaction I am at a loss for words. This place of being at a loss for words is getting more and more familiar to me. There is another place that Lilli and I have coined “The Diner”. Which is where you go when douchebags are having their internal douchebag struggles and you are anxiously awaiting their decisions. This past year I spent more time in the diner than I would have liked. I had unwittingly become a “regular” with a preferred table and sauce on the side.

Sometimes Lilli was there to provide me company, sometimes Adam will zip through the diner and pick up something to go. But I was a beginning to fear I would become a staple at the “Diner a la Douche”.

I am beginning to wonder if the “Lost for Words Coffee Shop” isn’t right around the corner from the “Douchebag Diner.” It seems that as soon as I give up my booth seat with a view, I am heading right back to the same street for a cup of are you serious coffee or a sensible did that just happen banana loaf. I guess the real question is, am I moving further towards or from what it is I am looking for?

After calling Kaitlin, Lilli, Mariand, and Adam to tell the harrowing tale- Anthony lets “Stacie” know he was kidding and will be in touch.

Does this make it better? I don’t know what worse- texting with a guy about meeting up who then tells you he has a fiance, or texting with a guy about meeting up who thinks its funny to pretend he has a fiancé?

These are my options. At least at the diner I can get a meal and leave feeling somewhat satisfied.

Like I said, it’s a harrowing tale.