Thursday, August 20, 2009

RIP - "The Russian" Callahan

Feb 22nd or 23rd, Brooklyn 2009

"Yesterday we went to Union Pool. Dance and Pabst and a Russian who thought I was "beautiful".

As the were closing, we wanted to go to an after party and Ellen spotted this guy wearing a fur hat and said 'He looks like he is having a party'. Then you came up to me as I was dancing and we started talking at the same time. Yes, you were having an party. And yes, you only wanted beautiful people like me there. I took your number but somehow didn't save it in the phone, although I did manage to save your address.

March 7th, 2009

"I met 'The Russsian' today again. Thomas. I find him extremely attractive. I just want to do him. I need too. Our paths will cross again. He said 'Are you Jewish?' I said 'No, I'm Swedish. But at least they both end with an ish.' He is hot."

Postcard sent from Stockholm, March 18th, 2009

"Dear Thomas,
Stockholm is a fair city without any of the excitement, dirt and passion New York serves up so gallantly. I remember your address, although you still have not lived up to your after party invitations. I also remeber you being a very handsome and attractive gentleman. Look forward to seeing you soon.
Love, xxxx"

June 14th, Brooklyn 2009

"I long for days of less intensity, alcohol and dancing. The big thing that has happen since last time though is what I've been waiting for - namely that I should meet the Russian.
Rightly so, on Friday when Ann and I are walking towards Enid's a man is coming towards us and at first I think he is drunk because he is staring a me. Then he goes like 'You don't recognize me?' and I'm like 'Yeah, it's you!'. You take me to the side and we exchange numbers for real. Apparently, he broke his collarbone after the last time we met. We're talking and he goes 'I'm not supposed to say this but you are giving me a hard on right now'. (I love that stuff!) We make out then and there and it is maybe 9 pm."

I end up spending the night at your place (an interior writer would probably describe it as noveau American, combining classic style with things found on the street). The apartment is beautiful, we have the same shower curtain. You smell great. I don't sleep at all. In the morning we drink som apple-beet juice that you made yourself. As I leave, I say "See you later" and actually believe it.

Then I send you an anonymous letter of admiration, but you should know it's from me because it contains cinnamon gum and condoms. When I text you, you do not reply leading up to "Sorry dude. I don't play hard to get. What part of 'a Swedish girl with no patience wants you to do her' don't you get? I thought you were intelligent, Thomas".

Message sent on July 12th, 2009

"So, this is the last medium I'll use to get to you before I'll reclaim my pride. I've tried to be patient but haven't seen you around and not being used to the universe not working in my favor, I turn to facebook. I don't have a huge crush on you and I do not suffer from a obsessive-compulsive-whatever disorder BUT you are just so damn attractive and you give me goosebumps and I would like to spend more time with you. I am most certain it would be fun.
xoxo "

July 20-something, The Hamptons, 2009

"The Russian biked past me on Bedford as I was walking to work Thursday. I waved first and he waved back. Then I started to laugh and smiled a bit embarssed but still amused by it all and he made something of a smirk. It feels good to know that he is alive, even if he apparently isn't into me. It is quite possible that I wouldn't have cared if he had kept in touch, but there is something about the way we have met and the turquoise shorts he was wearing that makes me believe that we would be a good team."

I text you a bunch of silly stuff when I'm drunk in the category of "Seriously dude, does this happen to you a lot? Well, of course it does. I just want to be with you. Kiss you at least once more before I leave the country." And then the whole "I wanna make out with you all the time"-debacle, which makes my day, but breaks my heart since I've apparently qualified for a position where I'm the only person on earth you could not send that joke to. I take making out seriously, and you know it.

I want to send you "Live a little", but as I'm busy playing pool with two Mexicans at 5 pm I decide not to. The last thing you get is something in the style of "You should be flattered". I hope you are.

But I guess it just ain't gonna work out.