A friend of mine told me that for the rest of my life I'll think I smell cat pee, even when I don't, no matter where I go. It's like the smell will haunt me. I have a theory about this. Cat owners can smell urine from a mile away, we're like fine tuned barometers for pee conditions. I swear if a squirrel pisses in the woods in Wisconsin I know about it and I've got a bottle of Resolve and I'm on my knees in two seconds. It's like a gun shot, I just hit the floor and start spraying--clean now ask questions later. I'm like the farmers almanac for pee, I can tell you what fire hydrant on what block and which breed of dog and what the dog was thinking when he did it.
My cat sprays on the bathroom floor and I bolt out of bed like don't wake daddy and have completely mopped up the mess in under a minute and am back to sleep before the cat's finished wiping his paws off (usually on some article of my clothing). But worst is that now the kitty bombings are so frequent that I have to run away before I get hit by the cat's friendly fire, when he kicks litter all over me whenever I'm in the bathroom doing anything. My cat's poor etiquette has led to an almost neurotic hyperactive sense of smell. It could also be that after quitting smoking I smell things now that I never used to smell before.
I think that the first thing most ex-smokers realize if they live in a city is, "Wow, this place stinks." No wonder people in cities smoke. It's not to satisfy our nervous tendencies with an addiction that makes us appear cool or sexy, its to try and mask the smell of the city with cigarette smoke. And lets face it there's no accessory that is more chic and timeless than a lit cigarette. Exhibit A:
I want to be clear, I don't ever regret quitting. The two cigarettes I've had since quitting have been miserable, it tastes awful after you've regained your palate, it makes you cough and sound like a geriatric. I have no desire to take it up again. And truth be told I don't think that cigarettes ever appealed to me chemically. I like having something in my hand at all times. It used to be if you saw me anywhere in the city I'd be holding one of three things: a cigarette, a Starbucks, or a credit card. I'm always doing something with my hand. Now, it's a safe bet you won't see me out in Chicago unless I'm out of coffee creamer or going on a date.
Living in a big city like Chicago you'd think eligible bachelors would be like cabs, all over the place, easy to find, if you miss one another's right behind it. But the dates are sparse, and often unrewarding. The first date exists for two reasons: a boy's gotta eat, and a boy's gotta judge. I want a hot meal and a hot man. And I'll settle for lukewarm if the conversation's good. A few nights ago I went on a date, basically a blind date, with someone I met online. He seemed nice, normal, whatever. He worked for an airline so I just assumed he was a flight attendant. Really I don't care what they do for a living, I don't really care too much about looks, if they're wearing a crappy outfit I can look past it as long as they meet me one criteria.
Zack's one criteria for if a man is datable:
1. Is he a psychopath?
If the answer is no then he is datable, if the answer is yes I'll probably go on a date with him anyway. And I won't say my date was psychopathic, actually he was just uncomfortably inappropriate. I counted and he used the 'N word' a total of ten times throughout the meal. I'm not by any means a beacon of political correctness. In fact working in food and beverage has instilled in me a sort of heightened tolerance to racial tensions, off color jokes, and all things ghetto-fab. My threshold for these things is extremely high. I've seen, served, and been given shitty tips by people of all walks of life and I will judge them all equally, which is to say A LOT.
If, for example, someone simply had to use the word faggot for humorous emphasis I don't mind. And because typing around the word is stupid and I sound like a very uptight news anchor I'm just going to type it, I've heard plenty of jokes using the word nigger. I think the infrequency of use makes the word more shocking or offensive than it actually is. But never the less, it's used, it's sometimes funny, but I would never use it in everyday rhetoric. As I writer I have a respect for all words and their time and their place. I don't go around saying fuck all the time, not because I'm polite or classy but because when I need to use the word fuck I want someone's ears to ring. And if you say it too much the effect just becomes lessened.
So through the course of the conversation the overt frustration over races other than his own became increasingly apparent and I was inclined to just keep my mouth shut, but of course when have I ever been able to do that. So when he stopped and tried to apologize for being so inappropriate (which I honestly would have respected him more if he just owned the behavior, don't do something you know is bad and follow it with an apology) all I could say was,
"No, I think Chicago is a great city to move to if you hate black people."
"Isn't it?" he replied.
I was honestly ready to just get up and leave. This person is clearly crazy to sit across from me and so comfortably use every imaginable racial slur and then just act like nothing had happened. I thought I was being punked. I'm thinking, come on who put you up to this? Or is this how you act and talk everywhere you go? And also, how the hell do you work for an airline if you only like white people?
So the next day I forgot to return his text message, and avoided responding to the one a day later. And of course soon after I get the crazy person response. The, "I'm moving to Poughkeepsie so I don't even care that you didn't respond to me but I just think you should grow up and I didn't even like you that much anyway and I wish you wouldn't have let me pay for dinner." I would like to absolve myself of responsibility for the last one because A. you were ridiculous, I look at the price of dinner as ridiculous tax and B. you offered to pay idiot, I'm not gonna reach into my wallet when someone offers to pay. I would also like to say that crazy immature people are the only ones that ever tell you to grow up.
I deleted the message and went to hang out with the only normal man in my life, my cat Gucci.
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