2000-08-09 | 07:13:42

so, detroit boy.

i use that nickname for him here because he just doesn't seem to fit the profile of any historic war. also, because he's the only ex-boyfriend who knows about nictate. i don't know if he is still reading, but if so, i want to protect his innocence a bit. of course, i'll still dish. my readers come first or they don't come at all. wha-?

speaking of coming, detroit boy came after vietnam, both literally and figuratively. i do not know why i am beavis and buttheading this entry with ejaculation inferences, but hey, go with it, right? it's 3:11 a.m., for god freakin' sakes. my adolescent male side is showing. heh, heh, she said come. heh.

anyway...detroit boy CAME from detroit. hence, the nickname. this ain't some colorful character-defining dickens handle, just an address label.

i met detroit boy in a kinda cool way. we both signed up for a two-day seminar called, no really, it was called: "how to get a job in hollywood when you aren't related to anyone famous." i was interested in landing a job writing sitcoms (COME on, who isn't?), and had decided to learn more about "the industry."

it was a great class. the teacher was smart and funny and in-the-know. plus, she was into guest speakers, like the guy who wrote and directed "swimming with sharks." halfway through the first day, she asked us to identify ourselves by hoped-for job category: writers, directors, producers, other. then we had to reseat ourselves in the sector she had identified as our own. she wanted us to meet and mingle with other wannabes. we put our names on a group phone list and were encouraged to spend the lunch break together "networking."

i noticed detroit boy early on, even before the congregating occured. of course, one of the first things i did upon arriving in the auditorium was to check the audience for cute guys. he rated as one of the top three.

when he wandered over to the writer compound, i grinned. ah yes, all was falling into place. more falling into place happened when we ended up in the same lunch carpool. i drove him and a fellow with xeroxed business cards to a nearby taco bell.

i hate taco bell. i'm sorry, you devotees out there. i hate it. i hate it for the gray meat, mostly. that day, my meat was especially gray. plus, i had even less of an appetite because of being with two strangers, one of whom i thought was dateable. i ate a couple bites and pushed my tray away as xerox card man regaled me and detroit boy with his script-selling advice.

it seemed that detroit boy and i were mutually interested, if ya know what i mean, and i think you do. at the end of day two, he awkwardly asked to exchange addresses so that we could "read each other's stuff."

i was so excited! it had been several months since i had broken up with vietnam and i was ready for someone new to COME into my life. a week or so after meeting detroit, i distinctly remember being on vacation at my parents' house. as i was falling asleep in their loft bed, i began visualizing myself dancing with detroit boy. no, not disco dancing, slow dancing. he was tall, dark and pretty handsome, so he made for a good day dream dancing partner. i figured, better than counting sheep and maybe there is something to all that positive visualization crap.

it seemed like forever went by before a couple of his short stories CAME in the mail. i really liked his writing style and humor. he was good. good writers make me hot. let me tell you. there is nothing sexier than a brain that knows how to thrown down prose, especially if there's some wit in the mix. i'm a goner, tell you what.

i remember i wrote him back. on this really cool stationery that had a drawing of a cup of coffee with writing utensils scattered nearby. drinking lattes was just COMING into favor then, so i was sporting flava, to be sure. plus, you know, the writing reference. i was letting him know that i was down with the whole hemingway vibe. you know, that i was 'bout it, 'bout it on the author tip and ish. i wrote back a letter that was chock-full of compliments, which were deserved. poked in between the lines was the subtext: "ask me out! i want to date you! i think you're cute! can we date?" then i enclosed a couple of things i had written and mailed the package post haste. i think i included my digits, too. hint, hint. anyway, he called. we gave good talk. we set up a date.

the plan was that i'd drive to meet him at his pad about an hour away. i felt more comfortable going to his turf versus him invading mine. that way, i could leave when i wanted.

sadly, this was about the time of that cheerleader being murdered by the photographer. i want to say her name was linda sobowski. something like that. horrible story of him taking her out to the desert on a photo shoot and doing her in. sick. bleh. i mention this because i was extra paranoid about meeting a virtual stranger. my mom was, too, and insisted that i give her his phone number and address, just in case.

i told him this later, after we were dating for awhile, and he got sooooo pissed. "you thought i was a psycho? then why did you agree to go out with me? i don't like my girlfriend's mom having my number. my ex's mom called me once when kelly was out somewhere, expecting me to know where she was. i didn't know! i was so damn mad!" i reassured him that my mom would never call and that i had never (until now--ha!) thought him a psycho.

ok, anger issues. hi!

so yeah, in retrospect, i don't know what i was thinking to go to his converted garage apartment at night for our first date. oh, it turned out fine, but a pretty dumb move. movie of the week dumb.

i was super nervous. (surprise!) he showed me around his place and then we left for dinner.

do you ever reflect on a relationship and remember glaring red flags that waved themselves at you from the very beginning that you chose to ignore? well, he was sporting all kinds of crimson banners that night. as we walked to his car, he stayed about five paces ahead of me. he didn't open the gate or the car door for me. i figured it was because of nerves. post break-up, while reading "men who can't love" to comfort myself, i discovered the whole not-walking-next-to-you thing is a dead giveaway of intimacy issues. ah, well. you live, you learn.

we ate at an outdoor patio restaurant. i was too nervous to have much of an appetite (surprise!), so i got soup. he got an appetizer--jalapeno poppers, to be exact. i had never heard of such a thing, but evidently they're pretty popular in the happy hour circuit. then he got his entree. i had a popper and a couple sips of soup. time CAME to pay the bill. i offered to pay my portion. he accepted. i figured my share and handed him some dough. he wrinkled his brow upon counting the money, but didn't say anything.

we walked out on a nearby pier and then stopped for coffee later. it was a fun night. no awkward conversation lapses. little sparks of attraction happening. lots of "oh, you too?" moments. which puts me in mind of a c.s. lewis quote. something like: "friendship begins the moment you say, "what? you too? i thought i was the only one." true dat.

we went back to his pad, chatted, and then i took my leave. as i stepped out of the sliding glass door he had pulled open for me, he murmured these four little words:

"you owe me $2.50."

i laughed, 'cause he had to be kidding, right? two soup sips and a part of a popper means splitting the bill down the middle? no he didn't! i noticed he failed to chuckle with me, but i shrugged it off, slipped out and said farewell.

we kept on dating. he told me later that during the first date, he figured it wasn't going to work out between us. that was why he had asked for the $2.50. figured, cut his losses.

there were other red flags. he was a very negative person. always unhappy at work or with his landlord or at the guy at the store counter. he got angry easily.

he always was apologetic and remorseful afterwards. he would beat himself up after beating whoever else up first. detroit boy was the king of apologizin'. he could give two-day seminars.

but he was cute and funny and smart and sweet. i loved him.

he wore one of two shirts the whole time we were dating. i swear. i would recognize the food stains from the week before. the bottom of his white socks were black from walking around his apartment. black. literally. he hardly ever washed his sheets and towels. i don't know how OCD me handled nine months with a laundry-challenged boy. funny what love can do. my boss, who i traded tales of boys with, told me that poor hygiene was a sure sign of low self-esteem. shoida than show.

actually, way back at the beginning, i had wanted out. the red flags were piling up like so much dirty laundry. doh! but my mom, sister and counselor (who i had started seeing to help me with my post-traumatic stress disorder caused by vietnam) all told me to give him a chance. not to run away too soon. seems like a nice guy. probably hasn't dated enough to know better. hang in there. i decided to take their advice. detroit boy called my way of gathering relationship feedback in this manner "dating by committee." ha! he had a point. he was good with the zingers.

we broke up once. he dumped me in his apartment. i cried, got my overnight stuff and left. afterwards, he said, "well, you couldn't get out of here fast enough, could you?"

um, hello! you had just broken up with me! i remember my i-can't-believe-i-thought-of-that -just-at-the-right-moment-as-opposed-to-on-the-way-home response: "well, it was like the potluck was over. it was time to take my casserole dish and leave."

we got back together in the parking lot of the crown jewel of retail meccas, south coast plaza in orange county. we had been talking on the phone. doing the miss thing. we decided we should try to be friends. both kids in the hall fans, we went to see "brain candy." we kissed in the car afterwards and decided we had lost our heads and needed to try again.

besides the anger, and its red-headed stepchild, severe depression, detroit boy also had this annoying habit. the ole constantly mentioning the ex thing. now, i don't mind a story here or there. not only is it interesting to my inner gossip, but it helps me figure out the other person to hear them talk about their ex and how they related to each other. but this was ridiculous. almost constant.

we'd be in line at starbucks and he'd say: "i bought kelly that coffeemaker. she didn't drink coffee." it may sound petty to you, but her name CAME up at an alarming pace. i asked him to chill a bit on that tip. my counselor said that it was not very considerate of him and asked how he'd like it if i did that to him? not so much, let me assure you.

i remember the moment i knew all was lost. things had been super choppy between us. super duper choppy. bleh. we were sitting in a movie theater, waiting for the lights to go down. there was a girl a few rows ahead of us with a shiny black bob haircut. he mentioned it. once. twice. the third time: "i'm obsessed with that girl's hair!" mkaaaaay. could it be because it's like kelly's? freak punk ass, i thought. what is his major malfunction? just one more red flag in a series. again, may sound petty, but you had to be there. and you had to be me.

we broke up again shortly after. this time, my call. i remember he came to my apartment to negotiate making up. i was open to it, as crazy as it may seem considering our dysfunction. it started out sweet, but the conversation soon turned to him telling me what i needed to do differently to keep him around. we argued for two or three hours. hellacious, let me tell you. at one point in the conversation, i couldn't take it any longer.

"detroit, i think you need to leave," i said, my voice quavering. i even pointed towards the door, in case he didn't get the message. ahaha!

he got up. fast. he knew i was pissed. it takes a lot to get a taurus mad, but once you do, you get the horns, baby! he hurried down the hall, five paces in front of me, and out the front door of my building. i was right behind him, standing in the open doorway as he took flight. i think he squeezed out a muffled, "i'm sorry" as he fled the scene.

too much, too little, too late, apology king.

it took everything i had in me not to scream, "fuck you!" after him. now, i kinda wish i would have.

we talked later. decided to be friends again. he moved away. we stayed in touch. when desert storm dumped me, detroit boy e-mailed: "the fool should be keel-hauled." i had to look "keel-hauled" up. dragged under the bottom of a boat. heh heh. yeah. i can see why we've stayed friends.

he's moving back to l.a. now--hoping to find some happiness in the sunshine, i guess. didn't work for him last time. hope it does now. but i wouldn't bet my $2.50 on it.

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