The book thief

Whenever I think I am a good judge of character, I think about this experience and slap myself silly.

I do the internet dating. I am not wild about it but it is convenient and provides some sort of a filter for the multitudes out there. Not a very good filter but a filter none the less. Let me add that I have met several nice guys through the internet dating. I will expand on that another day. My profile is on the Nerve personals site. I choose Nerve because I thought that I would get someone who at least knows how to read.

So I get this email from someone called Hemingway Hero. My interest was peaked. Someone who actually knows who Hemingway is. Trust me, this is not a given with the general pool of males out there. He and I chat back and forth. His emails are charming. He quotes John Berryman to me. I am interested. Very interested. Back and forth all day (on the company dime, of course).

One thing about internet dating, I don't like a bunch of back and forth over weeks. I figure, lets get this show on the road. A couple of emails, a phone call or two (I often skip this step) and then meet somewhere. I always meet them in a public place and have my own escape vehicle. Now let me preface this story with this statement, I was coming off (6 months into singlehood) a 6 year relationship I had ended. My mental state was a little weird but I thought I was solid. Ooops!

So after a day or two of emailing sexy poems we make a plan to meet for drinks. Friday after work at Pinot Hollywood. A dark, well populated bar with multiple exits. Now I had seen his photo on his profile. Cute, not too cute, bookish with a good smile. Glasses. I love boys with glasses. So I walk into the bar. Late (always be late so they get to see you walking in) and I scan the room. All the way across the room I see him. We make eye contact and he stands up and watches me walk across the room to him. Very chivalrous and sweet. I sit down and immediately I have a positive vibe. Hmmm. We order drinks and start the chit chat. Mind you we are in the darkest corner of the bar next to the fireplace. Very romantic. We talk about our families and work etc etc. I learn that he is a literary agent at William Morris. He then turns around and hands me a book. "I brought this for you". Its the Berryman he had been quoting. He then proceeds to open the book and read to me. I shit you not. Mind you, we were 3 cocktails into it but I was floored. We keep drinking and talking about books when he leans over and kisses me. I love it when the dude makes the first move.

It gets late, the bar had practically emptied and all rational thought left with the last patrons. I suggest we get something from a liquor store and head to the beach. What the hell was I thinking? No one has ever figured that one out. He is all for it. We leave his car behind (Note: always stay with your car! You can throw the guy out and keep on driving if you have to.) and head to Santa Monica....from Hollywood! We stop at a liquor store and he grabs a bottle of champagne (my favorite!). We find a spot on the side of the road by the Chart House on PCH and climb down to the rocks. He finds a flat rock and clears a spot for me. He shoots the cork into the waves and pours into the cups I "happened" to have stashed in my car. He holds my hand and we sit and drink the bottle under the full moon(seriously). By the time the bottle is empty, I am so shocked that this guy exists that I cant stand it. I ask him to come home with me. We head back across town to my place. We are stumbling and peeling off clothes as we bump down my hallway. We fall into my bed and I am stoked. Yes! Sex! No. He wants to wait. He is so overwhelmed with my wonderfulness that he just wants to soak it up. You can imagine my confusion. Isn't that supposed to be my line? A line I rarely press into service, by the way. Sex is good for you and should happen as frequently as possible, practiced safely of course.

That was unequivocally the most romantic night of my life. And this took place a few years back. We wake up the next morning. There is none of that next day weirdness. We didn't have sex so there is nothing to be really ashamed of. Except maybe all of the silly gushing at each other. I drive him back to his car and we make plans to get together that night. He comes over that same night under the pretense of watching Hitchcock movies. Once he is there it is evident that we wont be watching anything other than my undies flying through the air. He walked into my apartment, took my hand and led me straight to the bedroom. We never even turned the TV on. Yes! Sex! He stays over. The next morning he says all the right stuff. I am amazed at my luck. He walks down the apartment building hallway, stops and looks over his shoulder and gives me the strangest look. It was a look of confusion. I gaze back not really noticing.

Monday is the next day. I go to work and I do something I typically do before ever going on any date. I Google him. I am attaching what came up.

http://www.lapdonline.org/releases/1999/99_09/fcd2.htm

Holy shit!! He is wanted!! He is a rare book thief!!! The attached report does not show the mugshot that was originally included in the information. Which is too bad because it has the numbers under his head and everything. I am freaking out!! My whole family is in law enforcement! Why would he steal books? I pace around the balcony of my office and mentally prepare myself for the call. The call to find out what the fuck! I call him and get his voicemail. I leave a message that sort of goes like this, "Hey Zeke, I know this will sound weird but I Googled you and I have learned that you are a rare book thief. I don't know what to make of this. I thought you might have mentioned going to jail or being arrested or something. Anyway, if you could call me back and we could talk about it, I would love to hear about it." BARF!!!! I completely wheezed out but I liked the guy.

One entire day goes by, it feels like a month. Finally he calls me the following evening. He is like a stranger (perhaps because he is a STRANGER!!!!!) on the phone. In this weird monotone voice he tells me about how the cops (his word) broke down his door and found his stash of stolen books. How many stolen books did you have I ask? Oh, 5 or 6 HUNDRED!!!!!!!! What the fuck???? He gets sent to a halfway house for addicts. He is there for 6 months. The court decided that he had an addition to stealing. Whatever! There is a GIANT pause in our conversation. "Were ya gonna share this with me?" It is in the past, he says. I didn't think it would matter. Huh??? The fact that he was a convicted felon was not the issue here. That fact that it wasn't that "big a deal" was the sticking point. The conversation kinda dwindled. He said he needed to go and he would call me the next day. I never heard from him again. I had NEVER been rejected. I didn't quite know what to make of it. Shouldn't I have been dumping him cuz he's a felon? I wrote a letter to help with purging him from my system. I sent it to McSweeneys (thankfully they rejected it). I am attaching that at the bottom. Its pretty dramatic but it was in keeping with the overall experience. I have had therapy since then.

The moral of this story girls and boys is you may think you know something but you don't know shit.
And always Google prospective suitors (before the date).

An Open Letter to the Man who swiped my heart and is walking around with it in his Kenneth Cole loafer.

I should have noticed it right away. I should have known. But excitement and adrenaline conspired to cloud my judgment. The lack of nervousness. The willingness to talk about difficult things with a complete stranger. This one should have been a red flag. I have been here before (Cliff). Why do you tell a relative stranger about the most difficult experience of your adult life, over Absolut and tonics at Pinot Hollywood? I am sorry your mom died. Man, I hope that wasn't some type of ploy to suck me in. But apparently this is how things are done. You reel them in, and then kill someone off. Yes? Who else would recite poetry to a girl (yep, that's me) on a first date? A blind date no less. And in keeping with this theme, who buys champagne and woos a girl in the moonlight on the beach in Malibu. Never mind that this was my suggestion. Don't listen to me. I am crazy! Clearly, it is a girl that has left her brain in the jar, that falls for all of this. It didn't help that you are nothing like my ex-boyfriend. So completely unlike him, it is as if you patterned yourself after everything opposite. I am weak. Admittedly, you had the advantage of the literary background. I am a sucker for readers, especially ones with glasses. You were chock full of amorous quotes like a twenty dollar whore with condoms. If I could just erase you from my memory. Just whiteout the excitement of kissing you. Completely eliminate how "just right" you were. When did I become Goldilocks? Of course next comes the kicker. You didn't want to sleep together the first date! WHAT? "Can I hold you for 24 hours and then ravish you for 24 days?" Promises, Promises. Did you really say that? I think so. The things that came out of your mouth. God, I should have known. Even the next morning, as I blinked at you over the pillows, I was melting inside. You knew it too. Somehow, I thought the same thing was happening to you. We had breakfast and made plans to see each other that night. Yipee!! The girl who is full of glitter and vinegar had suddenly donned rose tinted Oliver Peoples wraparounds. I bought it. All of it. At full retail none the less! I spent the rest of the day in a minor panic that you might not come back. Why was I so concerned? Why couldn't I keep you at an arms length like the rest? But you came back. Amazing and charming again. This time there was sex. And it was great! Was this some sort of cruel joke? More promises of "never leaving" and "not being able to hold me close enough". No one has stared at me for so long that I couldn't stop smiling with the pleasure of it. No one has ever said that I was remarkable or amazing. The funny thing is, when you left on Sunday and I watched you walk down the hallway I had a feeling I wouldn't see you again. Why? You had done nothing to make me think anything was wrong. Just hours before you had told me that we "felt so right". Then the next day came. Monday. The day that I learned that you were a convicted felon. A serial rare book thief. Would you have disappeared if I hadn't found out? Are you embarrassed or ashamed because I know? I was willing to accept it as being part of you and your past and move on. It was a shock initially. Now I hate that feeling of the blood draining from my fingers. I spoke with you that night. You told me about being in jail and meeting Henry Hill in addicts rehab. You said, "I will call you". I have been told that the experience of you/ the lesson of you is good for me. Laugh. But I know now that I have the capacity to love unreservedly again. That was in question before. But why did this happen and why with you? Where did you go? One minute I was lying next to you with the soles of your feet spooning my calves. The next minute you are gone and it hurts so much that I have to blink a few times. I am certain now that I will never know. I find that incredibly frustrating, almost infuriating. But I would appreciate it if you would take the little piece of my heart that you have claimed and give the rest back. Just take your left shoe off and hand it over. I was thinking of making a hat out of the remains. Something with ribbon and a little veil.