Yvonne – Ms. Im-Purr-fect

She climbed on top of me, removed her shirt and started rubbing her face and lips on me.

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After chatting with Yvonne on Tinder and thinking this girl I met was normal for an extended period of time, I decided to take her out on a date.

We met at the stores inside of Two Liberty. I thought she was attractive in a girlish sort of way. Dark brown hair. Nearly black. Lean fit body and long, slender legs. Somewhere on the right side of twenty-five. She seemed to like what she saw in me. After looking through a few stores, she grabbed my hand and asked if I wanted something to eat and drink. We then went to the food court where she told me to order anything I wanted. I ordered a sandwich and soda. I asked her what she was having and she said, “half of yours.”
I have learned to share, but I don’t like that answer.

With that said, we proceeded to share our sandwich. At one point she looked over and me and said “meooooow-meoooww” and winked. Not knowing what that meant, I just ignored it. She meowed at me a total of about 5 times during the date. One time I meowed back and then realized how weird this was. I asked her about it and she said she would explain later.

The whole evening she was making cat noises. I shit you not. Cat noises. Now I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt and maybe she was nervous or drunk. She seemed like she had been drinking or doing something before our date.

The date went okay, despite the obvious feline weirdness. But the very next morning she sends me a text with a cat emoji and the word ‘meow’. I even ignored that and we dated one more time. (because she had lovely legs) Not only did the cat noises continue but she climbed on top of me at my apartment, removed her shirt and starting rubbing her face and lips on me while doing the cat noises.

I then told her it was getting late. I told her I would walk her to the UBER. Once at the car she looked at me, said “meow” again and proceeded to nuzzle against my shoulder like a cat would do. She quickly went from shoulder to chest, and looked up and purred and proclaimed “Me want to be your kitty. Kitty likes you”.

My answer to this was “Huh? Are you kidding me?”

“Kitty wants head scratched,” she replied.

Against my better judgment, I scratched her head and she said “Kitty wants to go home with you every night”.

I replied “Okay, kitten, play time is over.”

We then said goodbye.

She was extremely attractive, so being the idiot I was I went out with her again. (I do love cats. Even the two-legged variety!)

She was a submissive, so she basically asked me to control her in public in exchange for more whiskey (obviously I obliged). We ended up going to her apartment together where I discovered she had 5 cats that all had human names. She baby-talked to all of them, and they were super possessive of her, to the point of slamming themselves against her bedroom door trying to get in when we were in bed together. I soldiered through some awkward sex, She gave me a cat charm, and I ran the hell out of there the next morning.

When I got home, she left me a voicemail message asking to see me again. I replied via text that I didn’t think we were a good match.

She replied “Is that because you know I’m better looking than you? I mean, I’m at least a 9 and if you were thinner you would be a 7.”

I replied “Yes, that’s the reason.”  I then blocked kitten’s phone, text and email.

I hope she found a nice warm home with a clean litter box, and lots of treats!

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day at 8am EST.

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Faye – Pussy Control

“This was getting weird…”

Let me start by saying that I was really only looking to hook up. I had just been dumped by my girlfriend so I figured that online dating would be a reasonable option. I went on Tinder and had been talking to a girl for about two days before agreeing to meet her.

Faye had told me that she used online dating because she was suffering from depression and was on medication that made it hard for her to perform. (Dryness and non orgasmic) She decided that it was easier to meet men this way than to meet up in person and then have to explain when they started getting physical. She went on to tell me though that she “had a good feeling” about me and that I was “exciting” to her despite her medication. Okay. I was cool with this and decided to go over to her place to see if we really did have chemistry since we both seemed to be looking for the same thing (a hook-up).

When I got there, she was waiting for me in the living room and we started making out. I could tell that she was getting a little aroused but was having some issues and so when she said that she knew what would “help” and that it was in her bedroom…I willingly followed.

Walking in I couldn’t help but notice her bed…surrounded by cat condos.

Lots… of cat condos.

Some structured to be as tall as I was. I knew she had cats but I assumed she meant one or two and that they were just hiding when I came over. Nope. She had nine (or ten?). Which all came out from under the bed when we sat on it. And all went to their perches on the cat condos to watch us (after rubbing against her and being petted quickly). She then proceeded to start making out with me again. I was massively creeped out. I like cats (I’ve owned them in the past)…but having them watch me urinate freaks me out much less watching me have sex.

I excused myself openly admitting that this was too weird for me and left. She followed me and begged me to give her another chance and “help” her. I left. For the next few days she messaged me asking me to come over and saying that she had “made progress” with me.

I blocked her after receiving a photo of her nude, on the bed, surrounded by the cats.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday through Friday at 8am EST.

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Annabelle – Chapter 8 – What’s Cookin’ Good Lookin’?

“It’s not the kill. It’s the thrill of the chase.”

So I was scheduled to go over to Annabelle’s house to read her my screenplay. I remember her saying: “Bring your appetite because baby’s cooking!” This made me happy because:

  1. She’s cooking me dinner which makes this some next level shit.
  2. She referred to herself as ‘baby’ which makes me feel like she’s sort of my girl already.

I was at work and came up with the idea to bring a few things. It was August and very humid here in Philly. I stopped at the liquor store and picked up some wine and then decided to go to the florist around the corner. I picked up a bouquet of flowers. I hailed a cab and was on my way to her neighborhood in Northern Liberties. The cab ride was hot. I rarely take a cab now because of UBER and Lyft. Someday maybe even taxis will be a nostalgia service. We get to her building and I clamber out of the car with my stuff.

I go into the lobby and just as I’m coming in a couple is coming out. They see a gentleman with a bouquet of flowers and decide I’m not a menace and hold the door for me. Now that I have bypassed the security system I can surprise her at her door. I pop into the elevator and I’m on my way. It’s a big old building that appears to have once been some sort of factory that’s been converted into lofts. I walk down the hallway and get to her door. My heart is beating fast, and I can’t believe this is happening. I may actually be dating this girl and we are falling for each other.

I knock on her door, I have the bag with the wine and the screenplay in the left hand and the flowers in my right hand off to the side. Annabelle opens the door, and I say: “I brought the wine and the screenplay, oh and these are for you!” and whip out the bouquet of flowers from behind the door. She’s very surprised and happy.

“These flowers are beautiful! No one’s ever given me flowers before!”

I find that hard to believe, but I suppose anything’s possible. I really don’t know much about this girl. I ask for a pair of scissors and a vase. I cut the end of the stems on an angle and put them in the vase. They look awesome. I love giving girls flowers. It’s such a classic romantic gesture.

Her apartment is sparse and looks more like a photographer’s studio than a residence. I sit in a chair while she continues to prepare dinner. She’s wearing a pair of silky looking shorts that almost appear to be like lingerie. I admire her long slender legs.

A Siamese cat pads out of her bedroom and walks toward me. I don’t remember his name but she says he doesn’t like most people. He walks right up to me and rubs his snout on me. I reach down and gently pet him. Seems friendly enough to me. Animals can sense who’s good and who’s not. Their instincts have been honed over thousands of years to sniff out the differences between the assholes and the cool people.  Annabelle tells me he is very old and she has to give him an injection everyday to keep him alive. I’ve never heard of this before. How could you give a cat a needle without him wanting to tear you apart every day? He must realize that it’s the only thing that makes him feel better. Funny thing about cats, once they reach adulthood, they pretty much look the same their whole lives. How great would that be for humans? This cat is fifteen years old. That’s ancient for a cat. He looks great. Can you imagine being seventy years old and looking like you’re in your twenties? Who wouldn’t love that? If I could still perform I could date women in their twenties until the day I die!

But I digress.

She’s cooking up something, but I can’t tell what it is yet. It looks like some sort of vegan dish. I’m sure I’m not going to like it, but I like her so it doesn’t matter. She’s says she’s never cooked for anyone before, and can’t really cook. But it smells good, and I like that she’s making the effort.

We end up sitting on her sofa and dining on a large ottoman that she has in front of it. This seems very untraditional to me, but like I said, happy to be here.

She doesn’t really have much stuff. There is a desk with a computer over in the corner of the room, there is this sofa, the ottoman, a small table off to the right, and not much else. This girl is a former actress and now a photographer. It appears she lives a very bohemian lifestyle. No TV. No stereo. Just some books on a long bookshelf. I get the feeling she has collected them but not read them, but maybe that’s just me.

The food was fine, and I appreciate her efforts. I devour it as best I can, even though it’s not really something I would ever eat or even make. But she’s beautiful to me, and I am already hooked on the drug of love.

After dinner we clean up and return to the couch. I have two copies of my screenplay and tell her that I’ll read all of the male parts and she can read all of the female parts. She agrees and we begin. Every page of a script is equal to a minute of film, so my work is 118 pages so we should be able to blow through this in about two hours.

It goes well and I was happy to revisit my story. She is fascinated by the work, and asks how I was able to conceive of something like that and organize all of my thoughts and characters. I told her it was originally a book that was 541 pages long! The book, Angel with a Broken Wing, has so much more in it that the screenplay. More characters, sex and violence. She hears this and tells me she wants to read it, but I know that’s not going to happen.  Maybe someday I can publish it as a weekly blog. People always say; ‘the book is always better than the movie.’ I would agree with that but for the exception of porn!

When we finish reading the script, I lean in for an awkward kiss. Did you ever notice when you first kiss someone romantically on the lips, it just feels weird? Not every time, but there is that period of adjusting to each other’s lip configuration and facial structure. Did you also ever notice how you instinctively tilt you head to the right? That’s a human thing, right?

I’m just happy that I’m kissing her and she’s okay with it.

So after that I see it’s getting late and I should be going. I thank her for the dinner and the time, and I hug her goodnight.

I get outside and realize it’s pretty late and the area is pretty deserted. I start walking west and sort of don’t know wear I’m going. I have a great sense of direction, but I don’t get to Northern Liberties much let alone at night and on foot. I don’t know why I didn’t call and UBER, but after walking about two block I see a taxi. I wave him down and hop in.

The driver is really nice and I’m telling him about my date, because I’m giddy with joy. It’s a good ride home, and I’m happy that things are moving forward with Annabelle. It’s been a slow ride, but it’s not the kill. It’s the thrill of the chase.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Tales of Rock – David Bowie Thinks Witches Are Stealing His Semen

In fall 1975, David Bowie went into the studio in Los Angeles and made Station To Station, one of the best albums of his career. It saw him transition from playing conventional if fantastic rock and roll to recording a series of genre-bending masterpieces that set a template for ’80s pop and whose influence is still being felt decades later. Pretty impressive, considering he was doing so much coke at the time he later couldn’t remember recording the album at all.

According to David Buckley, the author of the book “Strange Fascination: David Bowie: The Definitive Story,” Bowie’s diet at the time consisted of cocaine, peppers and milk, and he lived in “a state of psychic terror.” Interviews published in Playboy and Rolling Stone depicted Bowie surrounding himself with burning black candles and Egyptian artifacts and believing that bodies were floating past his window, witches were stealing his semen and that the Rolling Stones were sending him secret messages. He lived in fear of Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page, owing to his supposed practice of witchcraft. In Station To Station‘s title track, Bowie yelped, “It’s not the side effects of the cocaine; I’m thinking that it must be love,” which was definitely the wrong diagnosis.

If Bowie wanted to clean up after this album, he made the wrong move by decamping to Berlin with Iggy Pop. Still, the trio of albums he recorded during this period—Low, Heroes and Lodger—honed his legacy. This trilogy along with Station To Station was cherry-picked to create a perfect soundtrack for Christiane F. We Children from Bahnhof Zoo, a German film released in 1981 that captured the harrowing lives of teenage junkies in West Berlin.

Check it out. I saw it at a midnight showing in LA in 1982. It’s great!

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 8am EST.

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Clarice – Chapter 6 – Happy Birthday, Baby – Part Two

Another tale of one man’s journey navigating his way through the dating scene in Philadelphia.

So it feels like we’re driving forever. I feel like I’m a million miles from the city. I really love living in center city, despite its problems. Driving through the rolling countryside of Pennsylvania this time of year, sort of bums me out. I’m just going by all of these big houses all isolated out here. It reminds me of the suburbs in South Jersey. Another depressing time in my life. I don’t like being out here. But again, I’ll be good because it’s her special day.

We finally get to the park. It’s a nice place and it’s not too cold out. It’s a pretty huge park. You can walk through it, but it actually has a road through it. So you’re not walking on any dirt paths. There’s a few people around. Mostly couples, families and people jogging or walking their dogs. Walks in the park in the winter aren’t really my cup of tea. Walks in the park anytime aren’t really my cup of tea. I’d rather be in a bar in the city, having a drink and a cig.

As we walk further into the park, I can feel a mix of anxiety and depression wash over me.

I think it was because all of the trees are bare for the winter, and I’m in a strange place.

There is actually something comforting about being in a city. I have some of my happiest memories back in Philly. I also am starting to get a very real vibe that I have to find a restroom soon. Brunch is starting to work on me. Not good.

We were out there for a while and I did see a port-o-potty out there. It almost beckoned to me off in the distance. But I just didn’t want to go in there. I figured I could make it back to the main area and find a restroom there.

During our walk through the park there was some good conversation and laughs. I also kissed her a few times. That was nice. She tells me how she’s had Bells palsy before. She feels like it has affected how her face looks and moves. I didn’t even notice anything.

Find out more here: http://www.webmd.com/brain/tc/bells-palsy-topic-overview#1

But now that she’s mentioned it, I see it. Normally it clears up after a few weeks and your face goes back to normal, but it appears in her case some of the paralysis has remained. I don’t mind, because it’s hardly noticeable and she’s still attractive.

We finally get back to the beginning of the park, and I tell her I need to use the restroom. I head over to the little building, praying to God that the door isn’t locked yet. Because the sun is nearly down and it’s getting dark.

Thankfully, the door is open and I make it to the stall. It’s a huge relief when my cheeks hit the bowl, and I’m sort of glad that it’s an outdoor bathroom. I’ll leave it at that.

I return to my lady, and we walk around the main property. There is a mansion there. It really looks cool. We stroll around the property and there are some more kisses exchanged.

I have been with her for five hours now, and I’d be fine with just going home. I’m also kind of dreading waiting for the train at 69th street. She wants to take me to her house for a drink. I’m fine with that, we’ll see what happens.

Her house is quaint. She lives on the first floor, and rents out the second floor to a retired gentleman.

I make myself a vodka and ginger ale, and she’s making some sort of cosmo or something. We retire to her living room. We’re just hanging out on her couch chatting and sipping our drinks. She then gives me a tour of the house. Now, this house is pretty cozy, and I’m assuming built maybe back in the forties or fifties. But she hits the lights in her bathroom, and I am blown away. It’s been completely remodeled and redesigned. Against the back right corner is a huge glass shower, with a stone floor. The commode is across from it. In the center of the room is a huge jacuzzi type tub. Along the south wall is a huge double vanity, and get this; the floor is heated. It’s one of the greatest personal bathrooms I’ve ever seen. Had I known this before, I may have been able to hold it until I got here so I could have dropped a deuce like a king!

She said it was a present from her father. She had purchased the jacuzzi tub and then didn’t have enough money to finish her dream lavatory. She said it sat in a huge box in her bedroom for a long time, and her father kicked in a bunch of money to finish the bathroom. It’s a killer bathroom, but it’s an over improvement to the house. I can’t for the life of me understand why one older woman would want a bathroom this nice. But maybe someone out there does. I guess if it makes her happy and she spends a lot of time in the bathroom, it works. But it’s just a weird purchase. It’s obvious she doesn’t have much money.  She’s sixty-two and her daddy is still buying stuff for her house. He’s got to be well into his nineties, so maybe he doesn’t give a shit about the money at that age. I guess if I had a tub like that, I’d be in there with a bunch of booze, and get a flat screen in that bathroom.

We had another drink and hung out in her living room again. I wasn’t getting a vibe that sex was happening, and frankly I didn’t care. It shouldn’t be something I was wondering about, or deciding if I think it should happen. It should be a spontaneous celebration of how we feel about each other. And I’m just not feeling it.

She volunteers to drive me home. I am overjoyed that I don’t have to wait at 69th street station tonight. It doesn’t take as long as I thought it would, and soon I am on my street in front of my building. We kiss goodnight and I thank her for the ride, and for choosing me to spend her 62nd birthday with her.

She drives off. Tomorrow she’ll discover the black and pink scarf I hid in her dashboard. It’s wrapped in a little black bag. Just a little something extra for her birthday.

But, I don’t really want to go out with her again.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Annabelle – Chapter 3 -First Date

What if I’m not falling for her at all? What if I’m simply in love with the idea of love, and not this woman?

It was a hot day in July of 2013. I remember that summer being especially humid. I didn’t want to get all sweaty before my date with Annabelle. So I took a taxi up to the Barnes Museum. But sadly, many of those cabs are still hot as hell in the summertime. I went inside, told them I was on the guest list and that I was waiting for my plus one.  The girl at the counter tells me it’s cooler downstairs. I head down to cool off and dry out. I was heavier back then, (36 waist!) so maybe that’s why I was sweating more. I get some water and have a seat.

I get a text from Annabelle that she has arrived. I tell her to just let them know who she is and they’ll let her in. She comes downstairs to get me. She is wearing her hair up, and has a black top and matching black slacks that just cover her knees. Is that called Capri pants? She is also wearing heels so she towers over me. I don’t care. I’m Phicklephilly. I cast a great shadow across this city. She goes to use the restroom, and I chill out looking at little models of what the building looked like when they were designing it. The are all in different stages under glass.  I’m looking at one of the tiny models very closely when she returns. She comes up behind me and I just feel her presence. I turn around and she is over me looking at what I’m looking at. I tell her it felt like I was being stalked by a raptor from Jurassic Park. She laughs and does this little impression of a raptor. I find this funny and ask her if she liked the film  Jurassic Park. (One of my favorite movies)

“I love Jurassic Park.”

“Okay….okay” I reply.

We go upstairs and into the main ballroom. They are having a little first Friday celebration. A live band plays some sweet jazz. For whatever reason we’re both starving. I get us high top with a pair of chairs, and tell her I’ll go fetch us some snacks and wine.

I head over to the bar and all they have is overpriced everything and some cheese and chips. It’s the Barnes for God’s sake. Can’t they afford any decent chow for the guests? I gather up two bags of chips some cheese and a couple of glasses of wine. I’m not even gone for five minutes, and some old codger has already swooped in and started talking to my date. This guy is easily twenty years older than me. I approach, drop the food on the table and hand Annabelle her wine.

“Really dude? I was gone all of five minutes. Get your own girl.” I joke.

We chat with the old guy. He seems charming and harmless. After a bit, Annabelle and I go over to tour the collection. Apparently, that wasn’t part of the passes I was given. I simply drop a name and they let us in. I had never seen the collection before so it was a real treat for me to see what a billion dollar art collection looked like.

The collection includes 181 paintings by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, 69 by Paul Cézanne, 59 by Henri Matisse, 46 by Pablo Picasso, 21 by Chaim Soutine, 18 by Henri Rousseau, 16 by Amedeo Modigliani, 11 by Edgar Degas, seven by Vincent van Gogh, and six by Georges Seurat. Other European and American masters in the collection include Giorgio de Chirico, Peter Paul Rubens, Titian, Paul Gauguin, El Greco, Francisco Goya, Édouard Manet, Jean Hugo, Claude Monet, Maurice Utrillo, William Glackens, Charles Demuth, Jules Pascin and Maurice Prendergast. It also holds a variety of African artworks; ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Roman art; and American and European furniture, decorative arts and metalwork. The museum also holds several significant works by cubist sculptor Jacques Lipchitz.

It was pretty amazing how one guy was able to collect this many fantastic, priceless pieces of art. We walk from room to room, looking at everything. At one point she says, “Out of everything in this room, which is your favorite?”  Then I would choose the one I liked the best. I would do the same to her. We did this enough times, until finally she asked me what was my favorite in the last room.

I simply pointed to her.

She smiled.

We then went downstairs to the rum tasting. We were all in a room and they gave us three different rums to try. The guy that was running the tasting really knew a lot about each rum and what made them different. But the weird part was, they were comparing the taste and look of the rum to different paintings in the collection. They had the images on a video screen on the wall. I’ve never seen this done, and I don’t even think it’s a real thing. But free rum is free rum. I remember the person talking about the mood of the paintings and the taste of the rum, and I was into it. there was a moment when my eyes drifted away from the host and onto Annabelle. I was looking at the painting and then my gaze passed over to Annabelle. I looked at her profile and neck. Was I falling for this girl? I took girls to events all of the time. What was it about this one? There’s nothing special about her really. It’s been two years since Michelle. I’m really taken with her. Has it just been too long since I’ve fallen in love that I just want that feeling again?

What if I’m not falling for her at all? What if I’m simply in love with the idea of love, and not this woman?

After the weird art/rum tasting we headed back upstairs. We probably shouldn’t have had all that wine and rum with so little food. I can handle it but it could be a bit painful for Annabelle tomorrow.

We leave the museum. It’s located in an area where it would be difficult to catch a taxi. I decide we should walk up to Spring Garden. We reach the corner and flag one down. We share the perfunctory hug. Dating’s funny. So much of it is tied to timing and ritual. I put her in the cab and ask her to text me that she has gotten home safely.

The cab rolls east into the night and as I walk back down into center city. As the city rises before me, I feel a little spring in my step.

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every Monday, Tuesday & Wednesday at 9am EST.

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Devon – The Crazy Cat Lady – Part Two

“I am looking for a tall dark western European man to have a relationship with.”

A few months later I invited several people out to open mic night at the comedy club Helium over on Sansom street.

The only people who showed up were Michelle (See: Michelle – 2007 to Present – Nice to Meet You)and Devon. I was fine with that. Me and two good-looking women at a club. We get a table and are having drinks. How it works on an open mic night at a comedy club is this: Five bucks cover to get in. The best amateur comics come out first. Also if they are there every week to do stand up they are higher in the rotation. If you are new you’ll go on last and many people leave by then because as the night goes on the comedians suck more. Dave Chappelle actually enjoys this. He likes to stay to the very end to watch as the amateurs slowly die on stage or freeze up or whatever. He sees their failure as funny. I on the other hand hate it after about an hour.

So after about an hour, Michelle was fed up and so was I. Also, Michelle doesn’t like sharing her time with me with other women. (Even though we’re broken up) She went to go smoke outside. I told her I’d join her. We agreed that the show was starting to suck, and we should get Devon and go somewhere else and get some food and drinks. We go back in and sit back at the table. I put it to Devon that we are fed up and we should all go somewhere else and hang and chat.

Now when I put out the invite on Facebook it was to many people. So it was a group event. Only two showed up. It wasn’t like I asked Devon out and then brought Michelle to tag along. But I guess that’s how Devon took it. All she had to do was get up, and leave with us and it would have been a great night. We saw some decent comedy. The tickets were only five dollars a piece and now we could move on.

But that was not to be. Devon insisted on staying. I told her it was only going downhill in regard to talent, and that she should leave with us and get some food.

Nope. She said she was staying and seemed pissed. I gave her one last chance and then we left. Devon decided she would rather be a martyr and be jealous, than go out and hang with some cool people who weren’t even boyfriend and girlfriend anymore.

So Michelle and I went over to Smith & Wolensky’s at the Rittenhouse Hotel. (Now called Scarpetta. That’s where I would later reconnected with evil Sarika) We got some wine, and smoked cigarettes on the balcony. Good times. I walked Michelle home and that was it.

A few days later I get a text from Devon. “I guess we should talk.”

(I wait a bit)

“About what?” I text back.

“What happened the other night.”

“Nothing happened. The show sucked. We wanted to leave. We wanted you to come with us, and you insisted on staying.”

“I want my keys back.”

“Fine come pick them up.”

“Mail them to me.”

The next day I taped the keys to a piece of cardboard and put them in an envelope and took it down to the mail room where I worked. I told the guy it was swag for a client and he stamped it with postage. I didn’t pay for the envelope of the postage. Devon wasn’t worth it.

Three years later I was sitting in McGlinchey’s with Carol, (Carol – 2014 to 2016 – There’s No Fun in Dysfunction) when I get a text from an unknown number. It says something to the effect that this person felt we ended things on a sour note and wanted to reconnect with me. I had no idea who it was, it had been three years! I gently responded as to get them to reveal who they were, and I find out it’s Devon.  I’m not one to hold a grudge but apparently Devon is really good at that. But I guess when you have run out of friends you crawl back to anyone that will talk to you.

I agree to meet with her. I haven’t even thought of writing Phicklephilly yet, so i did it from the heart and not for the blog. (Like in most cases when it comes to head cases!)

We are at the bar at Square 1682. She’s the same old Devon, but three years older. Now in her forties, she has at last found a decent job and a better apartment and is doing well. She wants me to take her to events around the city and things involving the arts. But she makes it clear she isn’t interested in dating me. If she had gotten any better I would have considered it, but not really. I ask her what she is looking for and she responds with the following: “I am looking for a tall dark western European man to have a relationship with.”

Think of how juvenile that is. that sounds like a teenage girl’s dream. Devon hasn’t changed or evolved at all. She’s still stuck in the same place because she never tried to grow or change as a person. You can’t just cut people off for three years and expect them to just come back into your life like nothing’s happened. A lot can happen in three years. But apparently not much has changed for Devon.

I don’t really have any use for Devon now. Especially after a three-year gap. I don’t have anything in common with her except our mutual friend Marigold. So she tried to reconnect to me and even though she has decided after three years she is no longer angry at me, I have no reason to hang out with her. She just seems like another aging crazy chick.

I saw her once more last Christmas when Marigold came to visit with all three of her wild kids. Devon was actually pretty good with the children. Too bad she never got married or any of her own.

Well, she still has her cat.

 

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