A few years back, I wrote a lengthy essay on my somewhat excruciating experience with a couple of girls, and this is gonna fall along those same lines. I got made fun of a bit for it, but I don't especially care. Enjoy, or don't read. Your perogative.
This is so random, that I feel like I need to set the table with some background. About a year ago, in an effort to stave off my increasingly debilitating depression and social anxiety, I started fishing out local underground poker lairs (I never said this wass smart). Mainly in Bridgeport, CT, which was just voted the nations 4th most disgusting city. It's generally a group of disgusting humanity that cycles from even disgustinger rental hall to another. I've had some luck, mainly because I can do rithmatic, and most of these fine gentleman range from not having teeth, to the other end of the spectrum, which is the dude whose car lease payment is more than his unemployment benefit, but he makes up for it by selling weed out of the trunk. These really aren't places I should be, but whatever.
One night I go in, and as I'm chipping up, I see a stunning, like rediculously stunning, asian girl already sitting. I don't go to these things very often, so I calmly ask the chip guy ... "Who the **** is that!?!?!" He tells me not to bother. She barely speakuhduhinglush. But neither do most of these degenerates, so I figure I'll give it a shot. I go sit at her table, and in spite of being a fat, bald, middle aged, jackass, I still spit pretty made game I gotta say ... okay so I don't spit mad game, but at least I have the patience to listen, and don't come off as an aspiring raper, or aspiring rapper, which really lets me stand out. Her name is Aisha, she's 26, she is Kazakhstani, she goes to the local college studying english.
We wind up getting along pretty well. We hang out a few times. In large part because she has no car. But most of our time is spent at various poker tournaments. She's a bigger degenerate gambler than me. But in spite of my effort, I'm unable to close the deal. We just don't see each other that often. And as much as I'd like to spend more time with her, the language difference has limited our interactions to monthly poker tournaments, and requests to go to various "clubs". Now I didn't go to clubs back when I could've been going to clubs. So now I'm just a bald guy buying drinks at the club with a handfull of foreign girls who I couldn't understand if my head was not being drummed with trance music. But I have little to lose, and once a month or so, I'm at least enjoying myself.
At one point this summer, I manage to get her to go out to dinner with me. This was a much more difficult proposition than I figured it would be. I sort of beat around the bush a little with it for a while, but everytime I tried to bring up food, she's say she doesn't like this or that. Who doesn't eat pizza. Of course that's why she looks like a mermaid and I look like a baked potato, but whatever, pizza is life affirming. Everything she likes ends in ...krblsh. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner, but I finally stumbled onto sushii, every girl likes sushi. So I convince her to go out with me for sushi, and I rush home from work, shower, change, and my dipshit buddy is at my house because there's something wrong with the Johnson Rod in his car, and he sees me heading out. He asks where I'm heading, I basically tell him the first couple paragraphs here, to which he points out "wasn't Borat from Kazakhstan?" Now all I can think of is Borat. He says I should consider asking her to wear the Borat bikini for me. I pick her up, and I continue to chuckle to myself through stilted conversation between two people who can't really communicate. Eventually she asks my why I keep chuckling, and in my infinite wisdom, I ask her if she's ever seen Borat. She tells me "We go home now!!" Half an hour back to her appartment, and not for good stuff, in more or less complete silence. The lesson as always is that I'm not that bright ... and that my buddy is an asshole.
A few months go by, and in spite of a few sincere apology texts, I get little response. We hung out again for the first time about two months ago, going to the city to play in some game she knew about, and hang out with her old roommate Anya.
Anya is another one. A little older, just turned 30. She worked in insurance in Russia, the company sent her to US to learn English. Her's isn't as good as Aisha's, but you can sort of tell she's more mature. She left Bridgeport to start studying at some language school in NY while she works at the insurance company's Manhattan office. She hates it, because she's basically a file clerk now, where in Russia she was some adjuster or some crap. Either way, she looks like Ke$ha is supposed to look (I know in real life she's disgusting), and I feel like Costanza when he has that picture of the hot dead girlfriend and it allows him to get into all these secret hot chick clubs.
Now I get a phone call a couple weeks ago, and they're going to some awfull club for Aisha's birthday in Stamford, and she asks me to go. I get down there and I'm surrounded by sketchy russian dudes and hot chicks, and couldn't be more out of my element if I had gills. The place is loud, and dark, and crowded, and I can't completely talk to anyone, so I get really drunk, and eventually head home. Aisha drags me outside before I leave to invite me to a party she's having at Mohegan Sun Monday night, for her real birthday. I tell her I'll go, but this is seeming more and more like a sunken cost, and I'm probably not going. I'm already backed up at work, we lost a week with Hurricane Sandy, now I'm just coming back from Thanksgiving, why am I running up to Mohegan Sun on a Monday night?
I head into work Monday, and all morning, my phone is blowing up. My Macho Man Randy Savage "Ohhh Yeah!!!!" text message alert is going off over and over and over. My cousin / boss asks me who's blowing up my phone, and I tell him it's the Kazakhstani poker girl. She apparently really wants me to come to the Sun tonight. I keep getting "U Coming rite?" "110% u com!", and the like. My cousin tells me I should really chase this down (even if my boss would prefer I stay at work), so I throw caution to the wind and take Tuesday off and head straight there from work.
I'm told a few things about the night: "I getting big room so we can all night sleep." All her former soviet block friends will be there. She will cook traditional russian birthday feast for us. "We get ****ed up plenty well." We will play cards. I will dress "classic."
I throw on my good french cuffed linen dress shirt, my ace of spade cufflinks I bought in Atlantic City after doing so well in a poker tournament a couple summers ago, my crushed velvet gray pinstriped sports coat, and stuck with jeans. I'm just guessing what dressing "classic" means, but this is what I went with. I packed up a days clothes for Tuesday, and booked my own room just for safety's sake. I get up to casino by 630, park on the wrong side, and have to walk clear across the place (the place is huge). I cut across the floor with my bag, and figure I should grab chips while I'm here. So I cash in 500 bucks. As I stroll further, I'm crossing the poker room, so I figure let me get a few hands in before I check in and she knows I'm here. I play maybe a dozen hands, catch the high end of a straight, which never happens, and almost immediately walk away up 600 bucks. I did this with my tie untied around my neck, and decide this is how I'm going to look from now on ... classic ... less tied tie. I check in. Hit my room, which is spectacular. Full jacuzzi tub and a steam shower. And I call Aisha. She gives me her room number, but says she's very busy, and I should go play. But I have to go see what I'm getting into. So I grab flowers in the gift shop, I hop on the elevator, and a guy gets on with me, and politely tells my to zip my fly. I notice a Russian accent, then that he didn't hit a floor button (so we're heading to the same floor). I ask if that's a Russian accent, and he says "Of course ... number 1!", and I say I think we're heading to the same place. He looks at me and asks if Aisha made me wear the jacket and tie, and told me I shouldn't listen to "bishes".
I follow him to the room. The place is rediculous. A 20 head dinner table. A full kitchen. A full wet bar. Two living rooms, one really for the giant TV, the other more of a huge lounge. A single giant bedroom. Two bathrooms. It's called the Wild Cherry Sweet, and I had no idea it existed. I get in there, and Aisha is working on traditional Russian dinner. It looks awfull. There must have been 40 hard boiled eggs chopped into these salads. Some hand made ravioli, that I'm frightened of what may be inside. Crepes and caviar, which tastes like whale ******. And some potato thing that I'm hoping I can eat, but then she covers it in sour cream.
In spite of my surly disposition (which I don't flash around here), it's a little known fact that I am actually the nicest guy in the world. I can't watch this girl doing all this stuff for her own birthday. So I start helping. She keeps telling me to stop, but I just can't help it. Finally she starts introducing me to people, and there aren't many there. But thankfully, Anya's there, so at least I have one person I know, while Aisha is hostessing. I'm formally introduced to the elevator guy, someone called Sammy The Jew, who they describe as "an agent". I don't know what this means, and I have few drinks and no food in me, so I'm tempted to ask, but I think better of it. Then I'm introduced to Bob, a gentleman probably approaching 50, and the only way I can describe him is creepy. Creepy Bob is american, and continues to socialize with me, but I decide pretty quickly I don't want to be linked to this guy when other people show up. I get behind the bar and start pouring drinks. A bunch more people show up, and I kid you not, it's one underwear model after another walking into this place. It appears Sammy the Jew is somehow in charge. His girlfriend shows up, with two columbian girls, one covered in tattoos, and both stunning. As a guy, I'm outnumbered in a good way. And most of the other guys there seem to have come with a girl. We sit down to eat, and I decide to muscle through this meal, and say nice things to Aisha about it, even if I have to purge later. But halfway through, some douchebag comes in, basically a guy from chapter one up there, and sits next to her, and I'm introduced to him, her boyfriend Josh. Now perhaps I'm predisposed to not liking the guy. But he comes in, smoking at the table, says he doesn't eat any of this shit, and asks her for 20 bucks to go downstairs for cigarrettes. I'm more than a little aggravated, and am actively wondering why she so pressed me to come to this fiasco. My first thought is that I'm going to be drugged and my vital organs will be removed and sold on the black market. My second is that I'm going to be jumped for the now 2500 bucks in cash and black chips I'm carrying. My third is that I've stumbled into some sort of international prostitution ring and I'll walk out of here having purchased a wife. But I start to notice at the dinner table that people are kind of paired off, and I was sort of pressed into a seat, and I'm sitting with Anya.
We finish dinner, and the lights go out, we start drinking heavily, a lot of vodka, a lot of tequila, a lot of white wine. I'm surprised at the lack of narcotics of any kind, although the tattooed colombian girl keeps making pot jokes, and this girl is a ten, and I'm really considering taking the sherpa hike back to my car to get the weed I have in my trunk. She makes one off handed coke comment that meets total silence, which I find really weird, and my thought is "next time ... my room will be filled with pot and coke!!!". Creepy Bob has girls posing provocatively for pictures. He goes downstairs and gets a pizza which doesn't win him any points over dinner. He winds up dissappearing with a gorgeous tiny little russian girl, and I'm starting to worry about what has become of my life, and how I wound up here. The russian trance music is pumping, and there's a lot dancing, fewer and fewer clothes, and it's sort of turning into Gomorrah out here. One smoking hot girl that was also asian looking, Dina, hops over the bar and starts dancing on top of me, I sense to irritate her dud of a boyfriend (dudes are total duds, myself included), which didn't bother me.
Now it's about 1230, and Aisha decides we should all go gamble!!!! We head downstairs, and start towards the floor. The two Columbian chicks are Wasted with a capial W. And I tell Aisha, that we're gonna get thrown out of here. I offer to help her get them back to the room, and she and I escort them back. She tells me I should stay with them, sort of implying that I can take advantage of them, which was just weird, but I go downstairs to gamble with her. We find Sammy the Jew, and he, I, and Aisha, sit down for some Spanish 21. Her loser boyfriend stands behind her. Anya sits behind me and starts rubbing my back. It's late monday night, and I'm gambling with a hot russian broad rubbing my back, and I'm actively laughing because I cannot understand what the hell is going on. I'm still aggravated about the douchebag too ... only to have to remind myself that I'm still being pampered by Ke$ha while I play spanish 21 into the wee hours of a monday with a bunch of gambling degenerates. We hop from table to table. Hit the poker room. I go play a little three card poker. I'm not doing so good. Sammy the Jew says he needs to be at Laguardia at 5am, another statement that I'm tempted to ask about, but think better of. I'm guessing it's probably to deliver my kidney's in a cooler so they can be shipped to China for use in an illegal operation on a wealthy dieing business man, while I slowly bleed out and die in the jacuzzi tub of the Wild Cherry Sweet, so I figure I'm better just not knowing. Anya, his girlfriend, he and I all head back to the room. We're joined by a friend of his, Jeremiah the Irishman, a hardcore Irishman who doesn't drink, or as my grandfather would say, a ***. He's a nice enough guy. Runs a poker room in Stamford, and I actually took his number, and if nothing else I feel like I got this contact out of the night, and I can steer clear of Bridgeport for card games. But at this point my interest has drifted to Anya, not this guy. Sammy goes to bed for a nap. Aisha's downstairs playing while her boyfriend probably rubs her back. So if this guy will just shut up at least we'll be sort of alone. I get the sense Aisha is supposed to get that bedroom, but Sammy the Jew may be responsible for this room, and he's not one you can put on the couch. Jeremiah the Irishman finally falls asleep on the couch, and Anya is laying with me on another couch, and we're drinking wine and I'm rubbing her feet. I've decided at this point that this is how I'm going to live the rest of my life. It's about 300 when the door knocks, and two new Russian dudes come in, with a girl. These guys are just getting started. They're all riled up. One is a jug of a human being. A head a straight cylinder, like a lego guy but wider through the chest and belly. His buddy is dressed in sketchy tight jeans. Both are older than me. Both are talking fast in Russian. They ask me to pour them drinks. I'm plowing them with Vodka, and they're drinking like it's water. The big guy starts asking what kind of party this is with no Blough!! Why no Blough!!! I'm getting uncomfortable. I can't understand them. I tell Anya I'm tired and I'm heading to my room. She pleads with me to stay. I'm not sure if she's not comfortable with them alone, or if she's just setting me up to be violated by this lego guy. I'm a total sucker for even the notion of a damsel in distress, even if I'm just making it up in my head, so I stay a bit longer. Sammy the Jew wakes up, and Aisha comes back with Josh the Douchebag. I feel better leaving now. Sammy leaves for Laguardia (WTF!?!?), and the lego guy and crew head down to play. The sight of Aisha and Josh at 4 am has me more aggitated, and I decide to leave. Anya offers me a couch, but I'm not really interested in the columbian vomit couch. I have a room I spent good money on. I tell her I'm heading to my room. And being the Gentleman and Pervert that I am, I offer her to join me. She sort of freaks out and says "Brain (because that's how my name sounds) ... Brain ... I'm not like this gurls". I sort of recoil, and say I don't mean like that (although I did mean like that). I have a nice clean room, that doesn't smell like columbian vomit, krebablabash dinner, and spilled patron. My bed is plenty big for both of us, I'll even put that big pillow between us, or I'll take the couch if she wants, or I'll call her in the morning ... totally up to her. She follows me downstairs, and I set up my couch (you see what being the nicest guy in the world gets you ... the couch in your own room). I decide I'm going to rinse off the 26 hours I've been awake and hop in the shower, and gods in heaven ... she hops in with me. I was in that goldy locks drunk state, and a good time was had by all. I'm also now expecting a bill for this activity at some point, and figure I better make it worth it, so again the next morning, but still no request for financial compensation. We finally roll out of bed. She's gonna head upstairs to the other room. I go check out, and go to chip out, but get an hours worth of Let it Ride going, and win another 200 bucks. I walked in with 1800, walked out with 2600. I head back upstairs. Douchebag Josh needs more money from Aisha for cigarrettes, and she invites me to lay in bed with her to tell me "Brain ... you are best!!! Thank you for coming!!!" all while she's naked, and I'm left reconsidering my existence again.
I start cleaning up, and cook us some eggs and bacon. Josh comes up and tells Anya and I to stop cleaning, that's what maids are for, "you know how much this room costs?!?" I mutter something about him knowing how much cigarrettes cost, but whatever. And we all sit down, the last four left, and eat like we're friendly couples on vacation talking about high school days. This is who I am now apparently. "Remember when Dina climbed over the bar? ... that was something!" So ****ing weird.
Anya asks me for a ride to the train station, which frankly had she asked me to knock over the casino at that point I probably would've given it a shot. Of course I will. We head out to leave. I want to stop in Puma store, and I grab some sneakers. I see her pawing through clothes and wonder if I'm supposed to pay for them ... or offer to pay for them ... or will I get slapped if I offer to pay for them ... I'm so confused. I catch a break noticing a spend 200 bucks get 40% off. So I get three pairs of shoes, meaning I'm just short, and I can then offer to pay for her stuff, and seem like I'm just trying to get the deal. She won't let me pay for them, which was a boost, but I put them all on my card and she gave me a hundred bucks, which wasn't what she owed me, but hey ... at least she didn't ask me to knock over the casino. I'm carrying our shit all the way across the casino to my car, sweating and feeling old and out of shape. She hooks her ipod into my car to hit up more chilled russian trance music. She falls asleep on my heated seat, and I drive us through terrible weather to Fairfield train station. I wake her up, and wait with her for train, then she goes, and I'll probably never see her again.
She shoots me a text from the train "Thanx fur everything Brain .... u r such good". I don't know really how to respond, so I thank her as well, and tell her whenever she's in CT to give me a call. All week I struggle to think of something I can start a dialogue with her about. I remember before she left she was looing at her Puma stuff and asked why there's no Puma store in NY. So I spent lunch on Thursday looking up all the Puma Store locations in Manhattan and texted them to her. "Wow ... it's so good ... thanx so much Brain!" I give up.
I also shoot Aisha a text. "Thanks so much for the invite. I had a great time." "Hi! I just woken up! Thnk u for coming Brain! U no what!? U R Best!"
I've exchanged a few texts with Anya since then. I'm heading to city for Pinstripe bowl in a few weeks, and I offered to bring her, but she's not into football. We're tentatively scheduled for another casino trip in January for an MMA fight. I've also offered to head into the city just for dinner, but shit just doesn't line up easily, and I'm sort of feeling some resistance. I have little invested, other than the fact that she is absolutely stunning, but I'm kind of chalking it up to a one off thing, and we'll be aquaintences who had a good night.
So this past weekend, I head out shooting. Another tension releiving habit I've deleloped. My friend Samu and I. He's got a full blown arsenal, and we're ripping through rounds, and zombie targets, and spending a small fortune. He's had enough, but it's only about 8, so as I'm leaving and trying to figure what to do, I'm sifting through my phone and see Jeremiah Irishman. I figure what the hell, and call him to see if he has a game I can hop in to spruce up my Saturday. He does have something going in Norwalk. A half hour for me toward NY, and I should probably just keep going and track down Anya, but I decide on poker.
I head in and there's about 40 people playing limit cash. I chip up and sit down. I don't play a ton of limit, nor do I play much cash, I'm mostly into tournament stuff. But I had a little cash experience from the casino just a few weeks ago. I'm not doing well. I'm not comfortable because I don't know exactly what I'm doing, but I'm getting by. They have somewhat scantily clad girls walking around to serve drinks, and offering 15 minute massages for 25 bucks. And as I'm soaking in my surroundings while I'm losing money, I spot the smoking hot tattooed Columbian girl from the casino. She's like a totally different thing from Anya, who's tall and lean and blonde and like some kind of a sexy leopard. This girl is pettite everywhere but where it matters, and she's strong looking. Smokey eyes, long dark hair, with tons of black and grey tattoo work everywhere. Frankly if I were describing a fantasy to a police sketch artist, this might come out.
I consider saying hi, but again, this whole thing is just sooo ****ing weird. Next thing I know she spots me, and comes up to say hello. She remembered me. She was embarrassed about how drunk she and her friend were (her friend was the throwing up one). I cash out down and I go buy her a drink. We're talking, she formally introduces herself. I'm again apparently spitting mad game ... I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm sort of wondering if she's offering massages for 25 bucks, what'll she do for 50 ... for 100 ... for 250 ... do I have 1000 dollars on me? But she's really sweet, and in spite of deviant mind, I'm coming across as the nicest guy in the world ... which I am. She's bitching about being tired and not wanting to be there, and she's got cold papa john's at home. I casually point out that she's in the heart of the pizza mecca of the world. She says she just moved here a few months ago, doesn't know her way around, doesn't know any places, is living with her sick father, and doesn't have a car, and asks me to take her out.
Again, I'm beside myself and wondering what I'm doing differently. But I don't want to overthink it (which I tend to do, as this dissertation attests to), and I pick her up for dinner last night. We go out for pizza. It's nice she speaks english. She's sooo sooo young. She'll be 24 on Christmas. She's had a rough go. Parents divorced, she lived in Florida with Mom. Mom overdosed. She left for LA to become actress. Actually did ok allegedly, she was in a few episodes of CSI Miami, a Southland, and much to my 35 year old horror ... she was slimed on iCarly, and all I can think about is sliming her. As we sit there talking, and I can't see her rediculous body, and the tattoos are covered, and all of sudden she looks soo young. She sounds young. She's got all these stories about getting ****ed up, and partying, and just the type of thing young people talk about. But again, just really sweet. Sounds like she's trying to turn a corner. She had a bunch of money when her mother died, but it sounds like she burned through it (at least a little on implants) and now she's living in Bridgeport with her father.
I get nowhere with her, which I'm alright with. It's weird she went from so sexualized in my head to where she went, all while being absolutely stunning. She "loved going out to a real dinner, at a real place, with a real person" and not the shit she's used to. She asked me to take her to the best sushi place I know next Wednesday.
Now I'm wondering what happens with the other two girls as I'm on my way home, and I get a text from both Aisha and Anya telling me they heard I went out with Cali, and heard it was great, and will she be coming to Casino for MMA fight with us, I should bring her.
I have no idea what's happening with my life at the moment. I'm 35. I work 60+ hour weeks. I read. I watch prestige cable television. I'm house hunting. My friends are mostly married or at least in serious relationships. And yeah I have a couple bad habits. I probably gamble more than I should. And I've been known to binge drink. But gallavanting around with young foreign girls has never been me, perhaps to my shagrin, but still not me. And now I'm spending a night a month with them at casinos.
I'm just gonna hang on until I fall off. That's the plan for now.
Thorpe this all reads like someone really coked out or something...it doesn't even come to a conclusion of any kind really, just kind of rambling about experiences
not like you, hope everything is good
There really is no conclusion at this point. I don't understand this really at all. I'd get it if I was throwing more money around, but I'm not. I've just sort of tapped into this weird vein of hot foreign girls. I'm completely out of my element.
It's a weird experience I've shared with some of my friends, so I figured I'd share it here. The bulk of it was an email I sent out after everyone asked about my casino trip.