Larry, WPITW, Part Eight

Larry apologized profusely. I wrote back explaining why I felt it necessary to describe him to himself in such terms. I asked him not to lie to me anymore and I aske him not to pretend he didn't realize he had so many girlfriends. And then I said I needed out of the trip to Peru. He had already refunded the money Bee and Sri gave him, and I really didn't want to spend a week with him.

He refused.

His argument was that since I wasn't sleeping with him, I shouldn't expect to get out of going or get my money back. That's right, people: Larry expected me to incur a financial loss because I was NOT SLEEPING WITH HIM.

During what I now refer to as "The Bitchening," Larry was slapped in the face twice, spit on once, completely abandoned by at least half of his friends (a pretty low figure, all things considered) and twice threatened with violence. During this time, I was on the sidelines, trying to decide whether to lose the money, or go to Peru anyway.

Before I chose one way or another, I asked Larry to meet me at the river and discuss. He was very angry that I should require this of him, but he agreed, and I explained to him why he should let me out of the trip. He agreed with me 100% but told me that just because he should did not mean that he was going to. If I didn't go, he would lose money on the trip. So I was either going or taking the loss. But most of that four hour conversation was not about that at all. The money, while annoying, bothered me a lot less than my 100% conviction that he would do this again. I won't explain all that was said on that subject except to say that Larry and I carefully reviewed the diagnostic criteria for both anti-social personality disorder and borderline personality disorder, and he agreed that he is at least anti-social, which in his vocabulary is "hopelessly fucked in the head." He refused to get help, and told me that he could control his behavior, thank you very much and that - I am not kidding - there was no use trying to get better because eveyone knows that anti-socials don't get well; they just learn how not to get caught. When we said goodbye, he hugged me and said, "You are right about one thing, though. I am never going to be happy." Then he went right back to scratching his skin half off and womanizing.

I went to Peru. I was saddened, but not particularly shocked, to see that he was "secretly" sleeping with one of the girls on the trip. Everyone, even those who did not know the story, knew something was terribly wrong. At least once a day someone came up to me and said, "I am sorry about you and Larry." And then I would have to explain that I had never dated him, stopping short of saying that the whole reason I was there was BECAUSE I was never dating him. Larry and I didn't speak the entire time except for once, after the hardest part of the climb when he was openly surprised to see me summit first. And then all he said was "nice job." He couldn't even look at me.

When we got back to the states, he sent me that email, the one that basically said, "I can't be around you." Well, duh.


Recently, Bibi and Sri went to a party and Larry was there. Sri, being Sri (gosh I love Sri) decided to spit in his face and slap him. I am told it was quite a scene and that people were openly pointing and laughing. At Larry. I am told that he is regularly laughed at, right to his face, in places where his reputation precedes him. I wish this gave me some kind of pleasure, but it doesn't, not really.

A few days later, Larry made a phone call to Bibi, from a pay phone, so she would answer. He said he just wanted to say he was sorry. They were on the phone for ten minutes and all he could manage to say is "I am sorry" over and over. Bibi said Ok. and Larry said I am sorry, and they repeated this exchange about 15 times before Bibi got tired of it and hung up on him.

Bibi, Sri, and I still get a lot of news from the Larry sector. Pax, for example, has stood by Larry because, as she says, "he's done too much for me. I can't walk out on him." It is from Pax that we learned girl number nine, the one who had been with him for three years, the one who was suicidal after she found out, took him back. They were seen together recently in her neighborhood, which, by the way, is mine. The relationship is not public, but girl nine does not require that. All she requires is Larry. Well, girl nine, I think we can safely say you can have him, if you are willing to share. A whole lot.

I know you all would really like to know what Larry looks like, so I'll close with a picture. When I took this, I thought I was taking a picture of a sand dune in Morocco. Then I saw... just there in the middle... a blip there on the horizon.



I zoomed. This is what I saw:



I promised to tell the story of Larry way back in June, when I first started writing. I had two readers at the time and both wanted to know why I was so pissed off at some guy named Larry. It took me six months to get around to it, but now I've told. I am sure it doesn't need saying that I wish there were some other ending, but that's the real bother with Larry, WPITW - it's absolutely hopeless, and the only thing one can do is walk away.

Everybody ready to move on? Yes?

Let's do that then.

Happy Wednesday, and thank you, more than ever, for reading.

Larry, WPITW, Part Seven, or "The Bitchening"

Visit the archives please to read parts one through six. I am lazy.

In the morning, Larry realized that he had been smoking crack the night before if he really expected me to draw other people into his net.

He sent me this email at 8:01am:

From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To: Nina@you'readeadman.org
Re: everything
Date: June 4, 2007 8:01am

N,

I never intended any of this to happen. I didn't want anyone to get hurt. I just didn't know how to end it, how to get out.

:-(.

L

It was at this point when Nina went SpaceFuckCrazy herself. This shit pissed me off. Because by this time I had figured out that Larry, as a semi-professional athlete who was constantly giving us swag, was making money from endorsements. Fuck.

Maggie asked in comments why I would care if Larry knew about these posts, since I obviously hate him. Well, friends, readers, internetters, I don't hate Larry. I love Larry. I joke a lot about being a droid and gosh that is funny, but LARRY IS A REAL, LIVE, ACTUAL DROID. And there is nothing anyone can do about it.

And it's awful. It's awful not just because he is so unimaginably miserable, but because he is surrounded on all sides by people who now know how utterly fucked up he is, and would forgive his horribleness instantly if they thought it would help him get better.

And I, Nina, despite all reports to the contrary, am not a droid at all. I am the kind of person who, when she wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Osama, Jeff Dahmer, Charles Manson and Josef Stalin at my door asking for directions to the nearest strip club, gets up and makes them eggs and pancakes and gets them all drunk while we all wait for the police to arrive).

I get that Larry was fucking my friends. He is an evil person. But gosh, I never worried about Bee or Sri or Kerri or Darci or any of them. They are human. I knew they'd cry it out and be ok. I knew Larry wouldn't be.

Also, if I was really honest with myself, which I was, I had to admit that Larry, though the Worst Person in the World, had helped me get through the worst crisis of my life. My breakup with FB sucked. I was not ok. Larry never cared about me or about that, but he also never cared whether I had the body or the temperament to climb or to ski or to volley. He didn't care about the past or what I thought I could do or didn't think I could do. What he was interested in was making money, and getting more ass - that much is clear. But intentions be damned, what he made me do in the process straightened me out. Through him I entered a world that was not about feelings or complications, but about doing. It was not about process, innuendo or ennui. It was about stop your fucking whining and do something. I was about not talking. And about finishing shit that was scary and difficult.

Have I said yet how unprepared I was to do that, on every level? Until I met Larry, I had a lifelong, debilitating fear of heights, so bad that the first time we were up high, I looked at Larry and said, "I am going to make you wish you were dead by the time this was over." Larry ignored me. He was right to do so, because believe me when I tell you that I was, in my past, so scared of heights that I could barely go to a standard shopping mall with escalators. Because of the whatever.

Have I said yet how many times he knew he was taking me somewhere I would freak the fuck out, and took me anyway? Sure, he did it for the money. But I didn't know that at the time and gosh, I needed to be taken to those places and forced to climb.

Here's Larry at his best: one day we were somewhere we had no business being. I was climbing, but I was also running my mouth and being scared and just generally being... myself. We got to a really tough part of the climb which is to say that it was an edgy part with no margin for error. If you've never had a phobia of this nature, I don't expect you to understand this, but I couldn't go on. My knees buckled, and I started sobbing and could not talk. I was clinging to a rock and I was sure I would not live another ten minutes. I did not want to live anymore. I was... well, you know.

Here's what Larry did. He sat next to me without saying a word for a good ten minutes. Then he said, "open your eyes."
I did. He had stretched his legs out over the gap I was afraid to climb. He said, "Step on me. I won't break. Just get to the other side."

So I got up and walked over the gap, the one with 1000 feet of nothing below it, and I trusted Larry's legs to carry my weight. At the end of the day, Larry said nothing to me about this. When I got out of the car, covered in mud and shaking with fatigue, all he said was, "see you next weekend."

Larry sucks, but I climb now because of him. Larry sucks, but I love the people I met because of him. Larry sucks, but it's hard for me to picture what my life would look like right now had I never met him. And despite most bitching to the contrary, I actually like my life a lot.

All that said, people in real life know that though I love people, I do not love shitty behavior. When my own integrity is questioned, I am a judgmental bitch and I hold back nothing.

Hence, the following email, sent to Larry, WPITW, at 9:00am:

From: Nina@your'refucked.org
To: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
Re: This
Date: June 4, 2007 9:00am

Larry,


When I got Sri's voice mail on Sunday morning, I was terrified. From the sound of her voice, I thought someone had died.

When you asked me to call you, I knew that whatever was wrong had to do with the mess that I already knew was your personal life. What you didn't say on the phone confirmed that... And when you asked me to try to calm people down, it seemed reasonable to me.

However, listening to S on Sunday morning, it was very clear to me that it was far beyond my skill to have any calming effect whatsoever. There was nothing "reasonable" I could say that would have helped anyone.

You can't un-drop a bomb.

Since I failed at being the voice of reason with Bibi and Sri, let me give reason a try with you.

You have noticed that I have made no comment in the last few days about what you have been doing. I have tried to resist judgment, but even if my relationship with you is not personal, my relationships with Bibi and Sri are, and I spent most
of my time this week exchanging email and text messages with people who are destroyed by what you have been
doing - and I am talking about people OTHER than the girls. This fact personalizes my relationship with you - against my will and I know against yours.

Out of respect for my time, the time I am taking to write this, please thoroughly read what I now have to say.

You have built a business, a very successful one, based on goodwill - by creating positive regard for yourself and converting that regard into business. Yes, I said business. Sure you, have a job, and sure we all benefit from the time you spend planning things for us to do. But everyone knows, that you get endorsement money for head count, not for sales, and everyone knows that you take a cut from some of the events you plan. We were all fine with that. We valued what
you did for us. But people hang out with you not just for what you do, but because they like YOU and think you are good person. I am sure that you think you are good person too - almost all people believe that they are.
Ask anyone if they are "ok" with themselves, and they will say yes, and they will believe they have good reasons for saying so. And yet it's clear that the world is run half over with people who are less than decent, and some of them are just plain evil. Many or most of those very same people believe that they are "good".

How is that possible? It's possible because good people know what good and evil are, and they choose good over evil. But bad people don't know anything about good - or anything about evil - either. This ignorance allows them to
believe that they are "good people" when in fact, they are not. And of course, there are a select few who choose consciously and consistently to do wrong. I, personally, have only ever met one person in this special category. And it's you.

Larry, you just kicked the shit out of more people than I can count on one hand. Two fo them are close friends --- people I thought you cared about too. Did you really, truly have no idea what you were doing?

Whatever your answer, I no longer think you kept your cards to close for honorable reasons. Your "privacy" created the illusion that you were available, and you used that illusion to get foolish, ignorant women who thought you were "good looking" to come out with us. Your "privacy" permitted them to think that you might someday look twice at them if they just showed up a few more times. Your "privacy" made it possible for you to get royally laid with a variety of women whenever
you wanted - and get the women you were laying to give you money to spend time with them. You let Gwen follow you around like a dog, knowing full well that she did it because she was crazy about you and would have done anything
to deepen your relationship, including work for you for free. And Kerri? Wow. You did all this all the while knowing that they guys were showing up and increasing your headcount to get access to the all the "supposedly" single women in the group. You did this knowing that the very nature of what most of what we all did together accelerated the process of establishing trust, and you did all this so you could get laid, make money, and, most important, make
fools of everyone around you.

The women you chose, are, as you know, not silly or ignorant or foolish. Among the rabble of women you could have chosen for casual sex, you chose not the women who would have wanted sex only, but the smartest, the prettiest, the most accomplished women you could find - the very women who would mind being lied to and manipulated the very most.

And you made a project out of it. You deceived them - not by lies of omission - but by looking them in the face and lying. You made them believe that they were special to you, that they were your girlfriend. You counted on their integrity - the quality you yourself lacked - to make them keep your relationship a secret so you could have them and keep the ignorant rabble of hopeful girls around... and make lots of money at the same time.

There are no words to describe what this makes you. Evil is too kind a description. You not only chose to do harm, but you chose it knowing what you were doing, and that makes you not only a bad person, but one of the special few who is bad...and knows it and is so thoroughly selfish that he does not care.

Do not pretend that you never meant to do any harm or that you simply got in over your head. You chose to do what you did. You had more than one opportunity to stop doing it. But you didn't. You let it go on for months, and you slept with everyone without a condom, having apparently no regard for their health at the same time as you had no regard for the very
real feelings they had for you. You sent them identical text messages. You called one to make plans on your way out of the apartment of the other. You had sex with one of them in the morning and the other in the afternoon. But worst of all... You let them think you cared about them.

The ignorant rabble of hopeful girls? You treated them like cattle - and, well, OK. You get a pass for that. It was good business. But what you did to Bee and Sri and K (and you know, we all think L and D and many others too. We'll
find out soon enough) is what a person would do to people he vehemently hated, people he was trying to humiliate and destroy. Obviously, you took them on the same trips and watched them innocently rooming together, blindly obeying your command that they never, ever tell anyone who they were dating. Obviously, there were nights when you had the arrogant, prideful satisfaction of deciding which one of them you were in the mood the sleep with. Obviously you had, for months, the thrill of sending them the same text message and then waiting to see which one would get back to you first. So never, ever, say that you never intended for anyone who get hurt. What you intended was to get what you wanted. The fact that people might get hurt was absolutely fine with you.

I have had moments in the last twenty-four hours when I have felt very, very sorry for you. I feel sorry for you not because of the consequences you now face, but because I fear that you are unable to understand the nature of what you did. To understand it, you would have to know what it is like to love someone and to want good for them more than gratification for yourself. To understand it, you would have to know what it's like to feel anything other than lust or greed. When I consider how awful it must feel to have people yelling at you and walking out on you and telling you to fuck off, I
don't pity you. But to be a person who is content to do people harm to get his needs met, to be a person who devises a way to make money in the process, to be a person who does people harm just because he can? To be a person who is so lost in his own lies that no one could possible weed through it all and really, truly know him? To be a person, therefore, who is not only incapable of loving anyone else, but also completely unable let other people know who he really is and love him in return? I wouldn't wish that on anyone, including you. You must be very, very lonely.

Sadly, no matter how many women you sleep with, no matter how many "friends" you make, you will always be lonely. In addition, you will create a never-ending list of people who tried to really know you, people who thought there was more to you being a badass, and were saddened to find out that there wasn't. The women you abused will move on, and they will be
fine. So will all the girls you did this to before. But I doubt you will ever be anything like fine, in any sense of the word, and that is heartbreaking.

I have known for a year that you had an appalling record with women - but I didn't know who the women in question were. And I thought that since I, personally, never liked you in that way, it was of little consequence to me. But the consequences to me are now enormous. For one thing, we, meaning you, Bee, Sri, Mischa, and Pax are supposed to go to Peru together. We've already paid you for the trip. But now, at least half of my friends aren't going, and I haven't noticed you offering me a refund. The fact that you sold me on the idea that you were a "good" person made me trust you enough to let you book
the entire trip for us. I now know better, and thankfully, all I risked was money.

I am sure that reading this, you think I being terribly unfair. I know you are thinking "but I never thought to myself how it would be fun to have nine girlfriends all that the same time. It just happened." Larry, if you were walking around all day with a loaded gun and somehow by pure accident nine people got shot, no one would excuse you for shooting people on the grounds that you forgot what guns are for and you had no idea why you were carrying one and you weren¹t really aiming when you pulled the trigger. Nine times. And you should not excuse yourself. You can try to explain and make amends,
but there is absolutely no excuse.

Nina

What followed is what I call "The Bitchening"- the period in which all the women he had betrayed came forward and confronted him. Ever hear that phrase? Hell hath no fury? Oh, my. Fury, indeed.

Info: Re: Larry, WPITW

A few things I should have mentioned:

1) Names and occupations of all involved parties have been changed. No one who showed up here and read this story would be able to figure out who Larry or any of the rest of us are unless that person happened to know us in real life.

2) If someone who knew us did by some miracle find him or herself here, it would be istantly clear who I am and who was being talked about.

3) Even though it's unlikely this will happen, I don't want it to. Not at all.

4) Site traffic spikes something fierce on Tuesdays and all these hits in New York City are making Nina all itchy and uncomfortable.

5) Though I am convinced that the telling of this story can do Larry no harm in real life... well, you know that scene in The Untouchables where Al Capone (Mr. Robert Awesome DeNiro) screams "I want him DEAD. I want his wife DEAD. I want his children DEAD. I want his cousins DEAD..." etc? Yeah, that's about what Larry would say about me if he read this.


For these reasons:

1) The telling of this story really must come to a swift end both because it's getting old and because it's making me nervous.

2) Once the story is fully cooked, I will be deleting it. It's ugly. It can go away. If you really "like" it for some reason, just cut and paste it and you can ogle Larry's awfulness all you want long after I hit the delete key.

I have to go teach now. I'll type out episodes seven and eight when I get home and I will do my very best to get done with the final installment this week.

Until then, I just want you to remember one thing: I did this for you. I just couldn't help myself. Because you are so beautiful.

Larry, WPITW, Part Six

Read Larry, WPITW, parts one, two and three, four and five here... here... and here, here, and here.

While waiting for a text back from Larry, Bibi and Sri compared notes and discovered the following interesting facts about their respective relationships:

1) He had a designated night for each of them. Sri's was Tuesday. Bibi's was Sunday. Other nights of the week were spotty at best.

2) Over 50% of the texts he sent were duplicates, meaning he had sent them identical texts. It was commonplace for him to wake up in the morning and send a text that said "Good morning, how are you today? :-)" and send it to both of them. One of the more amusing identical texts were "Hi, just passed your apartment on my way back from a meeting. Thinking about you. :-)" Bibi and Sri live on opposite ends of town.

3) He had used the same script to get both of them. He said: "I know I shouldn't do this but I really can't resist. It's bad for the group for people to be in relationships but I am just so drawn to you" and "It's really hard for me to act like we are just friends when I am feeling this way, but I know it's important. When people start to catch on, I just tell them we are really close friends. You should tell them that too" and "You are just so beautiful that I can't help myself."

4) He had a designated restaurant and a designated movie theater for each of them. He never wanted to go anywhere else or try anything else and he never wanted to see them outside their respective neighborhoods. He always came to their places and was always too tired to do anything but grab dinner and grab some ass and fall asleep.

5) He never allowed either of them to see his apartment, despite multiple queries about it. He had told both of them "it's just too embarrassing. I work all the time and there are papers and boxes everywhere. It looks like a construction site. I just can't have you over."*

5) He had used an identical script in bed. It involved (close your eyes if you are uncomfortable with sexuality discussed in a less than sexy way) undressing them, pulling them on top of him, penetrating, saying "you are so beautiful" flipping them over, pulling their knees up with his hands, and then - GET THIS - pulling out just before orgasm, putting on the condom, re-penetrating and then having an orgasm and then promptly falling brain-dead asleep. This routine was consistent and identical in each relationship. If that doesn't sound remarkable, picture being in a relationship in which the sex is precisely, exactly the same, right down to the dialogue, each time. ??? Bibi had been putting up with that for over a year, and Sri had been for three months.

6) If that doesn't disgust you, please note that unless he was in the middle of orgasm, he refused to wear a condom. Pregnancy? SCARY. Communicable diseases? Whatever. He even went so far as to tell them both "oh come on, I haven't been with hardly anybody. You know how shy I am."


The list of horrors discovered by Bibi and Sri that evening are, I am sure, not fully known to me. But the Great Screaming Sidewalk Hissy Fit of 2007 has been related to me many times. It is as follows:

Larry didn't show up at Bibi's when she text him. He knew Sri would be there so instead of taking it on the chin, he went about his night as if nothing had happened. Luckily, Bibi had a very good idea of what that night would entail and where to find him. She alo knew that if she and Sri jumped in a cab, odds were 99:1 they would find him at a particular location and that he would be with about 10 other people, including Pax and Joe.

As luck would have it, not only was Bibi correct about where to find Larry and who would be there, but Bibi and Sri also had the great good luck of finding him leaving a bar, such that everyone was there on the corner with him. When the cab pulled up and Bibi and Sri got out, Pax instantly knew something was wrong. Larry walked over to the cab and tried to herd the girls away from the rest of their friends. Pax, seeing what was about to happen, herded our friends the other way. But by the time Bibi's feet hit the ground, she was screaming at him - and by the time Sri's feet hit the ground, the screaming was in stereo. They screamed the things you might expect: Rat bastard, piece of garbage, no good lying loser-fuckhead, and more terms I am sure I know nothing of. Then they shoved their phones with the identical text messages displayed into his face and screamed "dont' we deserve unique texts?" and then Bibi really lowered the boom is said "You SMELL horrible and you SUCK in bed." Then Sri lowered it a bit further by saying "I FAKED it. Every time. And you have a TINY, LITTLE, DICK." Then, because the two of them are so awesome, they re-enacted his whole sex routine, in full detail, including the breathless unwrapping of the condom and the instant coma. How did Larry respond to all this?

Keep in mind that about 20 feet off, where Pax was shielding our friends from the disaster that was unfolding, people could certainly tell what the problem was. Keep in mind that the stream of pedestrian traffic surrounding this little gem of spacefuckedup goodness slowed to a halt to watch. What do you suppose Larry said?

Larry said, "What was I supposed to do? You are both so beautiful that I just couldn't help it."

Gosh, was that ever the wrong thing to say. Because by this time, Sri, being a real spit-fire, was back to high volume name screaming. Bibi had started to cry and had walked away. When Sri was done screaming, she rejoined Bibi and the two of them found a bar, called me, and proceeded to get thoroughly drunk. I can't say I blame them.

I was out with Lola and Merry that night, or I would have joined Bibi and Sri instantly. But I didn't answer my phone when Sri called, and so I got in on the Great Larry Debacle the next morning, when Sri called. By the end of the day, Monday, I was in email contact with Larry pretty much every hour. Despite the Great Sidewalk Hissy Fit of 2007, which, as previously noted, took place in front of a sizeable audience, he still wanted to me try to keep this thing quiet. I was, as you will see, trying my best not to be a complete bitch to him, and at the same time, trying to get it through that he was in serious trouble. It was then that I finally understood why he had been sucking up to me all those long months. He knew if I left him, others would follow. And he knew the opportunity cost, in terms of new people, was huge if I abandoned him.

The following emails are nearly word for word what was said between Larry and me that day.


To; Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
From:Nina@youareadeadman.org
Re: wow
Date: June 3, 2007 4:02pm

Larry,

Curious, why do you think it would do any good to calm anybody down? I'll try, since you asked, but what's the point?

Nina

From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To: Nina@youareadeadman,org
Date: June 3, 2007 4:14pm
Subject: re: wow

Nina,

I was hoping your calming influence might help. It turns out they are telling everyone. Please help me. Do what you can.

Larry

From: Nina@youareadeadman,org
To: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
Date: June 4, 2007 4:51pm
Subject: re: re: wow

Again, Larry, what's the point? This is obviously too much for me to contain. You're caught. Who cares? What would it help if I could calm them down?


From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To: Nina@youareadeadman.org
Date: June 4, 2007 5:11pm
Subject: re: re: re: wow

Please stop them. Help me. I need your help.

From: Nina@youareadeadman.org
To; Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
Re: who cares?
Date: June 5, 2007 5:35pm

L,

Please tell me what would be accomplished by them not talking. I understand to a point that you want to protect your reputation. But everyone knows. What's the big deal?

,N

From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To; Nina@youareadeadman.org
Re: who cares?
Date: June 5, 2007 6:16pm

Not everyone knows. But no, it's not like my reputation was any good to start with, so it's not that, and I will lose friends, yeah, but that's not it. I just don't want anyone else to get hurt.


From: Nina@youareadeadman.org
To: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
Re: what the fuck?
Date: June 5, 2007 6:57pm

Like who? We already know about others. Why not just disclose it all? People are upset and they couldn't be more so even if you added more people to the list. What do you have to hide, at this point?

From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To: Nina@youareadeadman.org
Re: re: what the fuck?
Date: June 3, 2007 7:01pm

Please just help me. I need your help.


From: Nina@youareadeadman.org
To: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
Re: re: re: what the fuck?
Date: June 4, 2007 7:30pm

Larry,

I will do what I reasonably can.

Nina


From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To: Nina@youareadeadman.org
Re: thanks
Date: June 4, 2007 8:04pm

You have no idea how much it means to me that you are still here for me and that you will talk to me. Please help me. I need to change and it is going to be hard. You are such a good listener, Please help me with this. I need to change and not be like this anymore and I need help. Please help me.

From: Nina@yousuckmonkeyshit.org
To: Larry@circlingthedrain.net
Re: re: thanks
Date: June 4, 2007 8:40pm

I don't mind the loss of time and energy listening to people, but I am not sure you know what it's like for me to find out you were screwing all my friends and forcing them to lie to me and each other. I care about you, and lots of other people care about you too, but I can't offer you any help under the guise that you believe I approve, even in some small way, of what you've been doing. If you want my help, you have to listen to everything I have to say about this, not just what you want to hear.


From: Larry@ninthcircleofhell.net
To: Nina@yLarrysucksmonkeyshit.org
Re: re: re: thanks
Date: June 4, 2007 9:00pm

OK. Send email explaining.


To: Larry@ninthcircleofhell.net
From; Nina@Larrysucksmonkeyshit.org
Date: June 4, 2007 9:16pm
Subject: OK

Larry,

Before I do explain to you my why all this is upsetting to me, you should know that we've now talked to Misty, Darcy, and Kerri. We suspect also Val and Jenny and others too.

Nina

From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To:: Nina@you'rearatbastard.org
Re: re: OK
Date: June 4, 2007 9:18pm

Nina,

OK.

Larry

That's it. I say, "I know how many other people you did this to" and all Larry had to say was "ok?" I was beyond in shock. I had drama-brokered enough for one day. I went to bed.

At 4:22 in the morning, in blackberry started wiggling. I looked at it. The message was from Larry.

From: Larry@spacefuckcrazy.net
To:: Nina@Larrysucksmonkeyshit.org
Re: recruitment
Date: June 5, 2007 4:22am

Hi Nina!

I wanted to follow up with you about recruiting more teachers into our circle of friends. Teachers have the summers off and they also get more time at Christmas and New Years, so it would great if we could find more people who can take trips with us. Let's discuss soon!

Larry


I was, of course, astonished by this email. It made no sense to me whatsoever until I thought it all the way through. And then it hit me.

Larry was not only trying to get me to replenish his supply of ass - but he was somehow, someway, making money doing this. It didn't take long for me to piece together how. Nor did it take me another moment beyond this email to finally get it through my head that Larry, while the WPITW, is irretrievably, hopelessly insane.

Later tonight, I will post the full content of my reply to Larry's "recruitment" email. I will also explain how Larry was making money from screwing all these women, and I will explain what happened next as much as I am able, taking into consideration, of course, that I have 50,000,000,000 papers to grade.

Part seven, later. Part eight, next week.

Have a good Tuesday. (And thank you for reading).

Larry, WPITW, Part Five

Read Larry, WPITW, parts one, two and three, here... here... and here. Part four is right next to part five so just look down for that one. I am posting next week's installment of Larry, WPITW for LAS and Woodrow because they are two of my favorite people and neither wants to wait until next week to hear what happens next. So here is part five:

Years ago, I took a Myers Briggs Personality Type Indicator test.

I am an INFP.*

We are introverted but not shy, meticulous but easy going. We love other people, but we don't need them. We're sad that both teams can't win the NCAA Men's Basketball tournament because gosh those kids all worked so hard.

One thing my "kind" of people does effortlessly is assess a room full of people and choose the person who is least comfortable to talk to. INFPs like to make people feel wanted and welcome. We do this without even realizing we are doing it.

Larry banked big time on my doing this for him. He knew if he wanted a plan a trip somewhere he could call me and I could find ten people who wanted to go - mostly because I'd drawn people into the group and made them feel welcome, even if they didn't know how to play cricket or softball or whatever it was. I was once one of those people, so I knew. This was part of the reason Larry was scared of losing me - if he lost me, he lost the constant stream of new women to pick out and stick his dick into.

I apologize. That was rather indelicate. I know better than to end a sentence in a preposition.

After I got off the phone with Sri, Lola and Merry asked me to verify that no one was dead.

I verified.

Lola decided we should get on the train and ride it all the way to Coney Island so we'd have time to hash it all out. We figured once we were there, at the beach, we could sit and stare at the ocean and try to regulate the weather in our heads before heading back into the city.

I talked all the way there. I talked for two hours on the beach. Then I talked all the way home. More than once, the three of us were crying, which just proves that Lola was perfectly right to suggest we all go to the beach. No one notices there.

I gave them the summary version, which I will now give you. Be assured, however, that you really need the detailed version to get a full panoramic view of why Larry is the Worst Person in the World.

What I knew right then was that he had been dating both Bibi and Sri, and that horrible as that was, he had been lying to the both systematically about where he was and when - that he had been sending them identical text messages, that he had been doing shit like meeting A for lunch, lying about where he was going to dinner and asking A to help him pick out a shirt to wear to meet B. So Bibi would pick out what Larry would be wearing for his date with Sri. And that ain't the half of it.

I met Bibi and Sri later that night for drinks. (Many). We surmised that because we realized that Bibi and Sri look an awful lot a alike, there might be others. Both are under 5'2" and have straight dark hair. Both are muscular and thin and both have sweet, non-confrontational dispositions. We flipped through all those pictures in our minds and started calling anyone else who met the profile - and we were right every time.

Larry had been conducting nine "secret" relationships, overlapping at least two at a time, and at most, four at a time. The one of longest duration had been going on for 36 months; the one of shortest duration had lasted for three and a half months. All these relationships were LONG TERM and were more than merely sexual. All the women KNEW each other, and it was not uncommon for them to spend entire weekends together. I have pictures of all of them - all nine - together, with me, taken by Larry, with my camera.

All were steadfast in their belief that talking to other people about the relationship would negatively affect the focus of the group. Three of them were close friends. Of the nine, four were in love with Larry and wanted to marry him. Of that four, two were (and are, six months later) so distraught that they have yet to even speak to Bibi, Sri, me or any of the other women involved by anything other than email. One of them alluded to suicide. She is better now, thank you.

The Great Larry Debacle of 2007 began, as you may have surmised, because of Sri, the girl who had been dating him for the shortest duration. It turns out that Larry had simply miscalculated with her. He had been trying to get into her pants for year, and that day on the airplane, he had decided to go for it. Nine hours next to her on the flight ought to convince her, right? I mean, he had screwed Bibi twice that morning in Casablanca, but no matter. Plenty to go around. He texted Sri from the baggage claim and their romance was underway within the hour. Bibi never thought twice because hey, we all just got of an international flight. Of course Larry needs to get home and sleep. Of course he does.

The way Sri figured it out was this: after the camping trip, Sri noticed that Bibi and I were doing a hell of a lot of talking - whispering, texting and dashing off together to discuss. She began to wonder what it was all about. She also noticed that when were all out together, she seemed to get texts from Larry at exactly the same time as Bibi did. She did not dare think yet that Larry could possibly be multitexting, but it seemed odd to her that the two of them were always texting someone at the same time. Then she decided to try an experiment. Instead of having Larry drop her off at her apartment one night after a "date," she decided she'd ask him to drop her off at Bibi's apartment. She said she needed to borrow a sweater, and Bibi was expecting her.

In reality, Bibi was expecting Larry. Larry knew this. Larry promptly entered full panic mode, but there was little he could do. So he agreed to drop her off at Bibi's. Then he texted Bibi and said he'd be late. Sri knocked on Bibi's door to find Bibi ready for a date with Larry. The two of them looked at each other and... click.

They just knew.

They spent fifteen minutes crying and saying oh holy shit and then Bibi texted Larry: "why are you so late?"

Larry texted back: "be right there."

But he never showed. Eventually, Bibi texted him: "She's gone. Come over."

What happened next will go down in New York City sidewalk screaming hissy fit crazy history as the Great Larry Debacle of 2007. It is legendary. I am told it was un-fucking-believable.

I only wish I had been there.


* If you take then ten minutes to read that, you will know me about 97% better than you do now, and you may have a better understanding of why I behaved the way I did towards Larry during the Great Debacle.

Larry, WPITW, Part Four

Read Larry, WPITW, parts one, two and three, here... here... and here.

I sent Larry an email, revealing nothing of what had transpired between me and Bibi. I simply told him I'd be stepping back for a while. Larry took this fine, but I know it bothered him. For a guy who was decidedly NOT interested in me, he had been all over me for the better part of six months. The sucking up was constant, and while it was flattering, it was a mystery. I didn't know that he was watching me get closer and closer to everyone he was sleeping with. I did not kow the extent to which me bringing other people into the group was providing him with fresh opportunities, either. I just didn't think that way. So I backed off a bit to clear my head. I spent some time with Bibi and Sri outside "the group" and spent a good deal of time chewing over my break up with Yoyo, trying to recalibrate. During this spate of down time, I recalled a few things that, had I been prepared to find what I was not looking for, would have been Grade A warning signs.

Grade A Warning One: One the way back from Africa, Sri and I were sitting in a row of three seats. She was on one end and I was on the other. About twenty minutes after take off, Larry came ambling back and asked if he could sit between us. Of course, we said he could. It was a nine hour flight, and we slept off and on and talked. I should have noticed something strange about a man over 6'3" would voluntarily sit in a center aisle, center seat for nine hours, in a half empty plane. I should have noticed that he did that to be near Sri.

Grade A Warning Two: Several times, Sri had mentioned to me that she was seeing someone but it was no one I knew. In fact, an overwhelming number of attractive women we hung out with claimed to be "taking a break from dating" - or to be involved with someone no one had ever met.

Grade A Warning Three: That ridiculous text message.


I was scheduled to climb with Larry and about ten other people, including Bibi and Sri, on June 2nd. I backed out due to all of the above.

On the morning of June 3rd, I got a voice mail from Sri. Here is the exact transcript of the message:

Nini, it's Sri, please call me back. Right now, please. You need to know. (sob). Something (sob). Please call me back. (sob).

Well, fuck.

I tried calling her back three or four times and got a busy signal. People, this is 2007. I'll just leave you to interpret how much activity a person's phone line requires before it spits out a busy signal.

Before I go on, I should explain something.

I had been glad Ethan had dragged me out to that first volleyball game. It had given me a social life that was not fraught with intrigue and drama. Relationships were based on doing things - action, adventure, and success. We caved, we scrambled, we volleyed, we lined, we dove, we paddled, we rafted, we summited - but we did not sit around and talk about our feelings. We were cool with tying into a grigri and trusting the others to save our lives. We were cool with carrying each other's gear when someone was having a tough day. We were cool enough that we'd wait for God and ever before we cut the rope.

But we didn't do each other's hair and paint each other's nails and air kiss each other. I already had a pod for that purpose, and I didn't necessarily need it to increase.

For this reason, I had a lot to think about after that now infamous all nighter in the bathroom of the campground. The moment Bibi said, "I have been dating him for over a year," we went from partners in crime to real friends. It was instantaneous. I was not sorry that it happened, but it gave me pause.

And now, six weeks later, I had a phone call from Sri that left me pretty sure someone was dead. That was how scary her voice sounded.

So assiduously did I cling to the comfort and safety of not seeing what I was not looking for that it never occured to me, even then, that the issue might involve something personal, something to do with the girls. Even then, my biggest fear that it was Larry and that he was badly injured or dead - because otherwise it would be him calling to tell me. I thought of all those times I had seem him free solo and scare me knocked kneed.

I freaked the fuck out. I couldn't get Sri on the phone. So I texted Larry.


Nina is everything ok?

Larry:no.

Nina:are you ok?

Larry:no. all hell has broken loose.

Nina:Larry, wtf? tell me.

Larry:Call me. Call me right now.

So I called Larry. He was in a parking lot somewhere upstate. I asked him if he or anyone else was injured, and he said no, but that he had "really fucked up."

So I said, "let me be clear: you are in one piece. So is Tess. So is ____, _____, _____, and _____. No blood, and no broken bones. Is that correct?"

He said, "Everyone is... fine. No one is... hurt. But I fucked up. I need your help."

I said, "Honey, what the hell is going on?"

Larry said, "I can't tell you. Too many people here."

I, exasperated, said, "What do you need me to do? Is it Bibi? Are you trying to save your relationship with Bee?"

Larry said, "Oh, hell no. That's totalled. Plesae just help them. Calm everybody down. Try to contain it."

I said, "Contain it?"

Larry said, "Yeah. Try to keep people from talking about it."

I said, "Larry, are you ok?"

Larry said, "No, but I have to go. Text me after to you talk to Sri."

So we got of the phone. I was thinking, "Oh, hell. What an ass hole."

Then I caught a cab to UES and met Lola and Merry for brunch, thinking Sri would call me back when she was ready to tell me what all had happened the day before.

Lola and Merry and I had heuvos rancheros and coffee and grits for breakfast. You know how I remember? Because usually, when your whole world is about to get whipped up in a whirl-i-gig blender, you remember mundane what-not like what was one your fork when you got that phone call.

Sri called at 11:09am, about three minutes before we got the check. We did not leave the table for I have no idea how long. I heard about three sentences of what Sri had to say, flipped the check over and wrote "I have to stay on phone until she is done, sorry."

Once I picked up the phone and Sri started talking, nay, shrieking, she did not come up for air for over an hour. When she was done talking, I was, reportedly, blanched white and slumped against table with my head in my hands saying, "Oh my God, Oh my God," over and over and over.

Lest you infer from all this that Larry was merely screwing a few of my friends, um, no. He was screwing damned near all of them, and if screwing had been the worst thing he'd been doing, we would probably have been over it in less than a day. People are ass holes. This is not a breaking news item.

Tune in next week (if you wish) to learn the what-all-else we had in that whirl-i-blender.

Thank you for reading.

My Aspie score is 22

According to this short test at RDOS.NET, I score 22 out of 200, Aspie, and 175 out of 200, neurotypical.* Here is a visual representation of my brain as plotted on a web-graph.


I should be thrilled to learn what I already knew, which is that I do not have Asperger's Syndrome. But what I'd very much like to know is where is the bat in all that webby neuro-typical goodness?

Thanks to The Tavern Wench for clueing me in to this little gem.

Yes. Yes, I know. It's Larry day. Give me a few hours. I have to do some work, and I have to figure out how to explain what happened next.


* Notice that little spike in the "compulsion" sector? Yeah, me too.

Happy Aftermath

I am off to spend the day with Buzz, Leta, and Liam, but before I go, I thought I'd tell you one more time why the devil* is a busy man and God is having a grand old knee-slapper of a time presenting me with material for spiritual growth. Could work both ways, actually.

Let me tell y'all a little about how I behave after a break up. Once a relationship is over, it is for me, finished. There is no need to try to be friends. There is no need to send cards and notes and letters, and there is certainly no reason for the subject to call, IM, or email me ever again. I move on. I expect the subject to do the same.

Remember MHH? You know, the part-girl boyfriend I had all those years ago? The married one who "can't forget about me"?

Yeah. Him.

MHH has caused me, in the last twelve hours, to rethink the only habit of my post-break up policy that might look like holding on. I do not delete people's phone numbers from my cell phone. My reason is that if the subject calls, I want to be sure to recognize the number so I don't pick up. (I do listen to voice mail and I will call back if there is a good reason to. And no, MHH, "it's raining and I am in Seattle and I can't stop thinking abou you" does not rise to the level of "good reason." Just saying).

So last night, I was out with my darling Sri, and we visited two bars, both crowded with drunk, lonely people. (It was much more fun than it sounds). We were having such a good time reviewing the results of my latest mammogram, talking trash about Headologist Bootstraps, and making fun of Larry and his bad teeth that the time just flew right on by. Before we knew it, it was 2am. Shocking.

On our way out, I was having some coordination problems - not - I hasten to add, with "walking" part of the exit, but with the "stuff your wallet, keys and cell phone back into your bag" part. So unweildy was this project, as I struggled into my coat and pushed the door open, that I found I needed and extra hand. So I put my cell phone, ever so gently, between my teeth until I could get out onto the sidewalk. When I took it out of my mouth, it was lit up and dialing MHH. That's right, people. Apparently my bite pattern is arranged such that incisor A hits the address book, cutter B hits, M, cutter C hits H, and incisor B hits call. All in perfect sequence.

Reader, against my will, I was calling MHH. At two in the morning.

I hit "end" before he could pick up. But apparently, he saved my number too, because he saw my call this morning and has been trying to call me back. Repeatedly.

If MHH calls me one more time, I might just pick up and tell him how much Thou Shalt Not he is committing by calling me. And you know what? From there, it's just a slippery slope that ends in us meeting in the park at 4 in the morning to make out.

Reader, I must never, ever answer that phone. Ever.

The life lessons one might glean from this experience are many. I don't know which ones apply, since I have parted ways with all sanity. You tell me. What should I learn from this debacle?

Don't date guys whose genes are scrambled?

Delete all old phone numbers?

Don't put your cell phone in your mouth?**

Stop having so much to say to Sri and be home by midnight?

Two drinks is quite enough, dumbass?

??

So, Happy Aftermath. I hope your tryptophan coma is mild and you can give me some good advice.




* God gets a capital letter and the devil does not. Good over evil. Etc.

**I am definitely going with this one. That was pure dumbassery.

Larry, WPITW, Part Three

You can read parts one and two of Larry, WPITW, here and here.

People sometimes ask me how I could possibly have been so blind. Of the women involved they say, "How stupid could they be? They deserve what they got."

Of the second statment, I will say nothing until I have finished telling the story. Of the first, I can only say that it was a classic case of not finding what I was not looking for. I simply did not want to see it. No one did. That's why it went on for as long as it did.

Back in January, Larry and I got into a fight.

We were in New Hampshire and we had just finished a climb. Everyone was tired. I was pissed off that I hadn't summited. It had been a long day and the drive home was going to be longer. Larry said something to me about riding back with Ethan, and I told him I needed to get my other bag out of his trunk. His response to this was to turn to me and snarl, "I told you NOT to leave anything in the trunk."

In Larry's defense, he had told me... not to leave anything in the trunk. However, I had two arms full of gear and thirty pounds on my back, and I didn't have a third hand and... so what? Anyone will tell you I am excellent at following directions, normally. I said, "Don't talk to me like that. Be pissed off that I didn't follow your arbitrary rule, but you don't talk to me like that, ever. Is that clear?"

Larry did not say anything. He just put down his stuff and walked out. A few minutes later he came back in with my bag and placed it at my feet. He still wouldn't look at me. When he let go of the bag, I kid you not, his hand was shaking. He absolutely would not look at me, and he did not speak to me all the way home.

The next morning, he sent me an email asking me if I was ok with not summiting saying, basically, we'll try again another time, and then all casual like, apoligized for being a jerk to me.

Well. Alright already. What's the big deal?

The big deal, as I would find out, was that Larry was afraid of me, and he had reason to be. I had no idea at the time, but I had the power to destroy his empire if only I had been willing to see what was right in front of me. Had I found what I was not looking for, I would have blown the whistle instantly. Other people he could count on to take his side, but he knew if I ever found out, I would not take it well, nor would I protect him.

This is why several months later, when we were all camping in the Catskills and he drove up to meet us, he was scratching and fidgeting and pacing. It must have been right about then that Larry realized he had taken it too far. We had all climbed together that day - and you had to know Larry spent all day wondering if anyone would mention her boyfriend - the guy she wasn't supposed to tell anyone she was dating. He had to realize it was very possible one of them would talk.

No one did. But something else happened, something that was so obviously wrong that not even I could ignore it. A woman we'll call Gwen was on that camping trip, and she was, as usual, sitting near Larry, hanging on his every word. I noticed that when no one was paying attention, she would reach over and touch him - grab his elbow, pinch his ear, tug on the bill of his baseball hat. It was annoying to watch, and I know it was driving Larry, who was nervous to start with, crazy. Finally she did this one too many times, and Larry got up, grabbed her by the hood of her jacket, and dragged her into the clearing, where he proceeded to wrestle her to the ground. He did not let her up until she screamed.

It was not until then that anyone really suspected anything was amiss. We'd seen Larry play fight lots of times and most of us had done some form of it with him ourselves. Larry stepped back to the fire, but Gwen did not. Everyone was looking at Larry as if to say, "What the fuck?" but no one said anything. After an awkward silence, he said, "She's fine."

Now, it just so happens that Bibi and I were sharing a tent with Gwen, and when we returned to our tent to find her most assuredly not fine, and in fact missing, we were concerned. Bibi went to go find Larry while I checked the bathroom. I find Gwen there, leaning over the sink, clutching her head, sobbing. When she saw me walk in, she ran out past me, into the darkness. I stood in the bathroom for a few minutes thinking she might return - or that perhaps I was mistaken about manner of the sobbing, ie, that the sobbing was unmistakable man heartbreak crying.

I knew, as did everyone else, that Gwen liked Larry and that Larry did not much like her. So I stood there, thinking, she's either going to the tent, where she'll find Bibi, or on her way to find Larry, in which case there's also a good chance she'll run into Bibi, or she'll come back here. From the window next to the sink, I could see our tent. I could watch for her both places, so I stayed put.

Fifteen minutes later, Bibi walked in and she was visibly upset. She couldn't find Gwen - or Larry. Then she said, "tell me everything."

"Everything? About what?"

"What did she say?"

"Nothing," I said. "I think she might have a crush on Larry. That's all."

Bibi, aggitated, said, "Do you think she is sleeping with him?"

"I doubt it," I said. "He does not appear to like her very much."

"Yeah," she said. I could tell she wanted to say something but couldn't tell what.

"What else?" she said.

So we recounted the entire trip, going over every detail of her behavior and every detail of his. I, because I do not see what I am not looking for, did not even once think that Bibi was perhaps a little overinvested. I cared about Larry, too. I didn't know Gwen very well, but her behavior toward Larry bordered on harrassment, so I was not all that sympathetic to her. Bibi's concerned seemed to me no more than charitable interest in the welfare of a friend. Right as we were wrapping it up, I looked out the window and saw Gwen returning to the tent. And from the depths of memory, a moment I had forgotten all about thrust itself in.

"You know, Tess once told me he is a terrible, terrible womanizer."

"She did?" Bib turned pale.

"Yeah, she did. I had forgotten all about it until now."

"Oh."

"Yeah, now that I think about it, what she said was really strikingly awful."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She said that he 'murders three women a week with his dick.'"

At this point, Bibi was frantic.

"I have been dating him for over a year. He made me promise never ever ever to tell anyone. He said relationships were bad for the group. He said it would ruin the group for everyone if dating became a focus. So I have never told anyone."

So Bibi and I spent the rest of the night, until say, 4am, discussing in lurid detail whether it was in fact possible that he was also seeing Gwen. We considered and weighed and measured and finally concluded that he was not, that he could not possibly be "that much of a monster." We calculated how much time he spent working, how much time he was spending with her, and how much time he was spending planning all our little adventures. He was frantically busy. It was a wonder, we concluded, that he had time for Bibi, let along anyone else. Plus, why risk ruining all the fun everyone was having by introducing all this drama? From every angle we could see, it was not worth the risk.

Well, were correct. He was not sleeping with Gwen. But about all the angles, we were mistaken. There were apparently angles we could not see, because Larry was sleeping with at least seven other people, three of which were sitting around that camp fire that night. He had told every single one of them, in very stern, daddy knows best terms, to never, ever tell anyone, ever, about their relationship.

Because it would be bad for the group. Because it would ruin the dynamic. Because... in truth, it would limit his access to all the ass he had an appetite for.

I should have known, when he pressed Gwen's face into the dirt, that there was something very, very wrong with him. But I just didn't want to know. None of us did.

And now we come to the end of Larry, Worst Person in the World, part three. Sadly, we haven't gotten within a hundred miles of the money angle of what he was doing, nor the emotional abuse he doled out to his several girlfriends. Check back next week for part four.

Larry, WPITW, Part Two

To read part one of Larry, Worst Person in the World, click here.

I first suspected something was wrong Valentine's day, 2007, when I got a text message from Larry. Odd, I thought. What is this, Tuesday? We don't have anything planned until Friday. The text read:

"Good morning. Happy valentine's day... stay warm.. ;-)."

I could not understand in a million years why he sent me this text. I called Lola and said, "Check your phone. See if Larry texted you." He hadn't. I called Pax... no, he hadn't texted her either.

I knew Larry wasn't interested in me. Larry wasn't interested in anybody, or anything.. except sports, cars, and travel. It didn't make any sense. And yet, the text was calculated to make the recipient think that the first person he thought about on Valentine's day morning was her. I knew that could not possibly be true, so I didn't answer it.

In truth, Larry probably never meant to send that text to me. Probably, it was a miskey. Larry would never just be "thinking" about me on Valentine's day morning. Larry didn't have "thoughts" other people - certainly not of a personal "I am thinking about you" nature.

Not long after I met Larry, I realized that he was not like other people. For one thing, Larry could talk forever about sports, cars, and travel - and he could talk a little about his friends. But if I asked him a harmless question about his family, the energy of the conversation shifted. If you asked about his mother, he would say she lives overseas. If you asked if he had siblings, he would say "one brother" and then dash away. If you asked about his father, he would just ignore you. He was very good at that - shutting down a line of discussion he did not wish to pursue. He would never, ever talk about his personal life. If asked, he would ignore you or just give half a smile and walk away.

He also exhibited what I'll call "periodic isolation." When were all out together, he frequently separated himself from the group and stood by himself for a while, staring out into space. Sometimes he would stare at us as if he did not know us. Eventually, someone would reel him back in, but when he pulled himself away, he always looked sad and distracted. I wondered what the problem was, but I never asked. You simply couldn't go there with him.

Then there was the picking... yes, the picking. He obsessively picked and reopened cuts and scabs and the like. Often, I saw Larry with his hand under his sleeve, scatching at something. He'd be at it forever - and then he'd take his hand out and there would be blood on under his fingernails. A few tiimes I mentioned to him that tearing at your skin just makes it worse, and he just smiled and kept doing it.

Larry was also reckless - at any and all times - about physical safety. We went climbing one pre-dawn morning, he up one peak and I and several others up another. At the top of the next pass I turned my camera and pointed it in his direction. What I saw was Larry, hanging by one arm, his legs flailing beneath him, over 500 feet of nothing but air. Rob and Mischa were with me, looking at the same thing. Mischa shrieked and turned away. Rob swore and covered his face with his hands. I dropped my camera and turned away, my knees buckling, tears running down my face. From where we were standing, there was no way he could pull himself up by one arm and hurl his legs over the top of that crag. None. Fifteen seconds later, Rob looked, and then turned me around and pointed. There was Larry, standing on a summit about the size of a manhole cover. He was waving, unphased. Later, he asked me what was wrong, and when I told him, he said, "I have been doing this a long time. Nothing bad is going to happen to me."

That statement would come back to haunt me three months later.


Much to my surprise, many women found Larry attractive. In a way, he is. He is friendly and enthusiastic and of above average height. He has nice eyes and he is a good leader and when he is relaxed and happy, he is quite charming. For me, however, that's where it ends. Though physically competent and strong, he is all knees and elbows. His head is too big for his body and his teeth are appalling. Show me a guy who is all knees and elbows - a guy with a mouth full of bad dental work - and I'll show you a guy I would never make out with. Just, no.


But honestly, he isn't unattractive to others just because he is unattractive to me. It is the emotional flatness, the unwillingness to connect - the inability to let people in that troubled me.* No one I knew had ever succeeded in getting Larry to talk about anything that really mattered to him except sports, cars, and travel. We loved Larry, but we would all readily admit that the very center of our social lives - the person that made all our plans and plotted all our victories - was a complete stranger. We were all with him all the time, but no one was close to him.

It made me sad, but it wasn't important and I couldn't envision a situation in which it would be. I was wrong.


toothpastefordinner.com

Of course it has something to do with sex. Of course it does. How could it not? Who gets pissed off on this scale unless it has to do with sex, money, or love? In Larry's case, all three.

That text message, as I would later learn, was simultaneously sent to over twenty women, and he was either sleeping with, dating, or trying to date, every single one of them.

See you next Tuesday if you want to know the how and the why and the way of this. If you think this is so last week and another story about a womanizing shithead is not worth the eyestrain, you don't know the half of it yet.



*The psychiatric community calls this SHALLOW AFFECT - or flat affect. It is defined as emotional poverty or a limited range or depth of feelings; interpersonal coldness in spite of signs of open gregariousness. In other words... Larry.

Larry, WPITW, Part One

I have promised to tell the story of Larry.

Reader, this is a long story. It will take at least five installments to write, and it may require revision and recantations as I consult my fact checkers. It's complicated.

Why should you read it? You should read it because it is just incredible. Larry is, in fact, the Worst Person In The World - and I say this, reader, about a person who used to be my friend. On some days, he (sort of) still is - but this depends largely on whether he can "handle" being around me "emotionally."

Below, a recent email from Larry:

N - I think it would be best if you didn't come out tonight. To be around you brings out not so good memories for me. I don't think I can be around you. I hope that you can understand. I wish that it all had turned out differently. I don't know what the future will bring, but for now, this is what I need. I am sorry.
L

I am sorry, but is this not the sort of nonsense you send to someone you just broke up with? Later, you will find out why this email - and the fact that we never dated - is nine kinds of ironic.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

In May, 2006, I ended my relationship with a man I will call YoYo, formerly refered to here and FB (former boyfriend). It was a miserable, protracted, wrenching break up. The only reason we are not still together is that I stopped answering the phone and eventually had him blocked. Had I not done so, we might still be hating each other and slowly quietly dying. He would still have me dangling by the end of a string. I would still be making him wish he had the courage to cut off his own hand to be rid of me.

I could say more about the break up, but all you need to know to get entree into the Larry story is that I was a mess. I holed up in my apartment for weeks on end. I never returned phone calls. I didn't read my emails. I was too twisted to even check my mail, which is very stupid.* I was in this state for about a month when my friend Ethan told me, in no uncertain terms, that he would end our friendship if I did not come out and meet him to play volleyball. Him and about fifteen other people. I hated him for it. I did not want to do it and I was very angry but he was not kidding. "Be there, or we are done," said he. Ethan was and is important to me and so godammit, I went. I hated it and I hated him, but I went.

There, I met most of the people you see listed on the right side of your screen: Bibi, Sri, Pax, and Joe - and later, Jib and Tex. Larry, who had organized the game, was solicitous of my attention - but not, I noticed, in a "I want to roll around with you" kind of way. He simply asked me questions, made conversation, cracked harmless jokes. Who was I, what did I do? How did I know Ethan? Could he have my email address? Would I be coming to the happy hour later?

Well, of course I would be. It was the weirdest group dynamic I had ever witnessed - no one was interested in sleeping with anyone else. Here was a group of thirty something year old moderately to very attractive single people that was perfectly free of romantic or sexual motive. No one even bothered to flirt. And for me, fresh out of a relationship and batshit crazy, the scenario was perfect. A bunch of people - no danger of romantic entanglement - good clean fun.

Every other day an email would hit my in-box re: some or other idea Larry had about what we could all do for fun, and my, we had a lot of fun. Twice in one year I camped upstate with Larry and, oh, the fifty or so other people we hung out with. Three times in 18 months, I went on vacation with Larry and other people I met through him. Larry was on the other end of the rope when I completed my first ice climb, and later, he got me rock climbing, too. He taught me to edge and scramble. He brought me out climbing and never said one word to me about the plain fact that I was, in the beginning, a terrible volleyball player. I was their player - I played - end of story. When twenty of us were spread out across the Sahara desert, and night was falling, and genuine panic set in regarding the hikers who were not yet anywhere near camp, Larry ran back along the route and carried two of the girls who couldn't make it. How he held down a job, I do not know, because he was always planning something. Always.

As you can well imagine, we all loved him. I adored him.

Thing have changed. Obviously. Half of us are not even speaking to him - and those who do are openly hostile. Only a few bother to be even slightly nice - and that because they have planned international trips with him and can't get out of the airfare. That is how pissed off the Entire World is at Larry. However, in all this drama, I am the only person who Larry has plainly asked to stay away from him. A man abandoned by basically all his friends has to have a pretty compelling reason to push a harmless creature like Nina away, don't you think?

What little ol' Nina do to Larry?

Reader, what I did was catch him. Once word got out, other people we prepare to burn him alive too, but it was my kind of burning that hurt him the worst - and for that reason, he claims, he cannot see me because it is "what he needs right now."

The fifty or so other people involved think he is a coward for treating me this way - but due to circumstances yet to be revealed, how Larry treats me is the least of their worries - and mine. Even though the debacle started in earnest on June 2nd, 2007, the story is still developing.

Check back here next Tuesday for Part Two, in which you will begin to understand what I caught Larry at, and why he is, in fact, the WPITW.





* See House of Sand and Fog.

Who wins, Sri or Nina?

Shocked, stunned and horrified as you all were to hear that I relapsed and kissed a stranger in a bar, I can't help but reflect that perhaps Sri's adventures were the high point of the weekend.

I spent Friday night with UES pod~. I did so because I knew that if I chose to hang out with rock pod, I would be 100% likely to run into Larry. In case you are not up to date, Larry and I don't hang out. Even in a room with 100 other people in it. It simply cannot happen. So rock pod is off to a party where Larry is likely to be and I am off the hang out with UES because it has been way too long, etc.

I expect, because I am a complete fool, that rock pod's evening among 100 other people will go off without a hitch, even with Larry in the room. Gosh I am dim. Silly me.

9:23pm: phone ringing. I look at face plate. It's Bibi.

*apprehensive Nina* Hello?


*hysterical giggling, some shrieking in the background Bibi*: Nini, why didn't you come with us??? I can't believe you missed it. It was... oh my God.


*very worried Nina*: What the hell?


*subsiding giggles, some incoherent blah di dah and dah to cab driver Bibi*: Sri just went up to Larry, grabbed him by the shoulders, spit in his face, and backhanded him. *more hysterical laughter.*


*somewhat relieved Nina*: no on has incurred permanent injury, including Sri?

*phone grabbed by Sri*: It landed on his left cheek. Huge glob of spit. Then I smacked him and said he was the sorriest motherfucking bastard and blah blah blah

*Nina, picturing scene*: witnesses?

*phone grabbed by Bibi* about ten people. Party was winding down. But it was loud and Sri was screaming and it was great. He ran out and Pax followed him... I think he left alone though because after that he started texting me like it was my fault she was at the party because she is just crazy enough to do that kind of shit. OH, and told him off. I was texting but I told him off. I can't believed you missed it. Best party since.... ever.

So, internet friends, I might be kinda gross for kissing Some Guy this weekend (hello, I still feel dirty) but I don't know... I think Sri wins for weekend drama. Three pianos and a violin and ill-advised lip locking for me... yeah. But to publicly humiliate the Worst Person In The World? Pretty awesome, Sri.

Yes, someday I will explain why everyone hates Larry. Just not today.



~Brief explanation of pods:

I have three pods of friends. A pod shall be defined as a group of people who are friends with me and with each other. My pods rarely mix but might be acquainted with each other through one or two common interests or simply through luck. Here, a summary of my currently active pods:

UES Pod: people so important and lovely that they are like sisters. Sister pod is small, obviously, but two strange things to note about sister pod; it contains people who, in terms of ethnic background and/or nationality could in no way have been sisters except by being chosen as sisters because they are so fucking awesome. Sister pod also contains at least one member who has not met the others because she is overseas.

Rock Pod; Bibi, Sri, Pax, etc... this is a big pod and it includes everyone who wants to climb and wants to hang out after climbing. This pod is super laid back, can climb for hours and ever, will go anywhere and do anything for a chance to summit something, and they are think nothing of walking into a bar on a Saturday night carrying ten pounds of climbing gear, covered in chalk, with no make up on and messy hair. I love these people. Obviously. If some of them met UES pod, they might easily become dual members.

Badass Pod; Most of these girls rock climb, but they have an important qualifier or two that keeps them from being merged with rock pod; they live far away, as in Flushing or Westchester or Far Rockaway, and they also either have or ride motorcycles. Yes, you read that right. Girls with motorcycles. No lesbians in this pod, in case you were mentally going there... it's just that they are badasses. My connection with this pod is based on my gameness to try anything once. Except get on a motorcycle, even for a ride around the block. Motorcycles terrify me, and Badass Pod gets a lot of laughs at my expense because of this. In fact, my fear of motorcycles and the unlimited opportunity they have to make fun of me may be the primary reason they keep me around.

Sin of the Week, 10/14/07

The worst thing I did this week... not a hell of a lot. This week completely sucked, but did not include any spectacular crimes unless you count:

a) a vodka bender
b) blowing off a whole lot of people, most notably Lola and Merry because I am "not taking it well."
c) worrying my brother half to death because I am "not taking it well."
d) eating french fries at 1 in the morning because I am "not taking it well."
e) calling out sick due to crazy bad insomnia and also just "not taking it well."
f) wearing Supajewie out with my typing because I am... see above.
g) pointing out to Bibi (again) why the way Larry behaved at the party was fucked up and
h) in the process, making Bibi sad
i) conferring with Pax and concluding that no, there is nothing anyone can do about Larry, and
j) feeling not really very sorry that Larry is now wraith-like and pale and so paranoid he can't walk down the block without "texting in" to someone, usually Pax. Also, he is still scratching his skin half off and no, I don't feel too much compassion on that subject, either.
K) sucking all the hope out of the room re: Larry, and possible improvement
k) telling Sri that no, she should not call Eliot. Because hello! No calling boys. Just, no. And by telling her so, making her sad.

One might infer, then, that my week was composed of a number of lesser crimes all orchestrated to make other people worried or sad. Which is not so good, but better than actually carrying out that all those plans I had to..... never mind.

Notice a theme, lately?

1) The person at Panic-Hire U who is supposed to give me materials for the class I am teaching has not returned my emails, phone calls, or even the note I left on his door in over a week now. I am going into the classroom tomorrow morning at 8:15, for the third day in a row, unprepared. I finally emailed his (and my) boss tonight, but I still don't have what I need - and I have no idea how I am going to explain that to my students in the morning. Perhaps we'll do MabLibs or draw pictures of what we did on our summer vacations!

2) I have not done laundry in over a month, and I am fast approaching the "zero-underwear" moment. I would have reached it a lot sooner had I not a serious over-interest in lingerie and therefore literally hundreds of bra-underwear combinations to choose from. However, since 40% of the floor in my apartment (it's only one room, people) is now covered by dirty clothes, it might be time for me to snap out of it. I could make it through the end of the week, but not more. If a person stops doing laundry and the clothing runs out, what happens? Does the person just stay home and molt in his or her sticky rags? Please pray that I do not have an answer to this question next week.

3) My air-conditioner is broken. That means that my apartment feels (and smells) like a sweaty jungle. I take upwards of three cold showers a day, just so I can avoid complete stickiness. Surely, the Sisters of Charity at St. Elizabeth Academy would approve - unless they also knew that I am forced to dry off with old t-shirts because my towels all smell like mold. Check out that Catholic Convent-School website and you'll readily see that I was NOT raised to behave this way. I am a disgrace to Catholic school girls everywhere.


4) I got an email from Larry telling me that (it's complicated) he wants to avoid seeing me (and expects me to avoid running into him). He writes "I don't know what the future holds, but this is what I need right now." Perhaps one of these days when I am home in the afternoon, clutching my head and screaming because all my underwear is dirty and I do not have the moral fortitude to get off my ass and cope with mountain of sweaty-jungle clothes, I'll write a post that explains why exactly it is that a man I never dated and never liked in that way could reasonably send me a break-up email - and why I would be sad about it. Summary: so much for NOT DATING so as to NOT have to deal with bullshit like this. Because all this time I didn't have a boyfriend, I might as well have had one if I had known someone would be uttering the words "what I need right now" in my direction. Is that irony? Or just stupidity? I forget. (And I really ought to find something else to do to teach English).

5) I called my Dad today and he told me that the next few months are going to be rough. Then he said: "When I am breathing my last, it would be nice to have all my kids around me, but until then, I don't think I can handle visitors." Needs no comment, I think.


Normally, I am mentally posing in front of my misery camera* about 35% of my waking hours. Lately, it is 100%. I work if I absolutely have to and I spend the rest of my time on pointless googling and eyebrow trimming, and mole checking and waist and hip measuring. Sometimes I stare out the window and sometimes I stare to the floor. And then... oh, internet!

I fear for my sanity unless SOMETHING, ANYTHING good happens. Anything at all will do. Please. Soon.


* in case you missed it (and how could you?) the theme is self-pity.

Let's Review

Today, answers to questions no one asked.

Q: How is it that on July 10th you had only $14 left to last you until July 23, and yet on July 21st, you claimed to have $27 left? Are you a liar?

A: My funds increased because I took the drawer in my desk down to the bank and dumped the change on the counter. They gave me $22. And yes, I lie sometimes. I can't go so far as to say I am a liar, however. It's not part of my prime directive. Imperfect as I am, I've got nothing on Larry.

Q: Did you ever get any?

A: I am still working on that. I tried Flanagan's on 2nd and 42nd, but they were all out. Since it took considerable courage to walk into a bar in broad daylight and demand condoms instead of alcohol, it may take me a few more days to amass enough courage to try again to "get some." When I do, I will post about it.

Q: You said you would (maybe, whatever) post pictures of your rock climbing trip. You never did. What the fuck is wrong with you? Liar!

A: Look, I am no Mulgrew (obviously) but since you asked: everything. Thanks for noticing. I didn't post pictures of the trip because we only climbed one day (the next we hiked to Gertrude's Nose) an we didn't even bring a camera. And really, who wants pictures of Bibi's ass? (Oh wait... You might actually enjoy those. My bad). It goes without saying you don't really need so see my ass, since you see it in the metaphorical sense every time you click on my internet diary. Where was I? Oh yes. I am going climbing again this weekend. I will bring a camera. Plenty of Bibi's ass next week. Pinky swear! (Imperfect, yes. Liar, not really. I do break promises sometimes though. I recently broke one to Larry. *snicker*).

Q: You mention Larry all the time as if he is the Worst Person in the World. Ever plan on explaining that? Or are you just going to allude to your bitterness in 67.2349% of your posts until you get the memo that your blog absurd - and quit?

A: I do plan to explain. You may be thinking that another story about love gone wrong or a tirade about a man lying to women is (yawn!) not worth the eyestrain. I wish that were true. When I go get around to explaining why Larry is, in fact, the worst person in the world, you will understand why even the devil himself is embarrassed and ashamed of Larry's badness. In short, Larry will blow your doors off. But it'll take more than one post and it'll take me some time to write. If you really want to know more about Larry, keep reading, and you will.

Q: What is the purpose of your blog? I notice that you post a lot and that most of your posts are without unity or coherence. You are an English teacher. Obviously, you know better.

A: Obviously, I know better, yes. However, from my end of the wireless, forcing myself to write is the purpose. I have not permitted myself to get over-picky about content or lucidity (yet). If you keep coming back, you'll have to find a reason, a purpose of your own, so to speak. I hope you do.*


*If you are the Brazilian person who checks my blog upwards of twenty times a day... please stop. You are scaring me. I have no idea how you found my internet diary and I have no idea why you are reading my posts about climbing equipment and emotional paralysis over and over. If it's because you are waiting to hear about Larry because you think he is Brazilian, no. Brazil doesn't produce people this bad. For this special Grade AAA batch of badness, we have the Europeans to thank. And even the Europeans only manage to produce a Larry once every 200 years (approximately). So, sorry.

Also, if you are hoping I'll disclose whether I get the popular wax job named for your country, please... My mama raised me right. I might talk about other people's wax jobs, but I am a lady. I don't talk (yeah, right) about such personal matters. Where was I? Brazilian reader, I appreciate the attention. Perhaps you should see post from July 18th. I'll wait right here for you.

*****************************

No? Not intereseted? When then, Brazilian reader... you really ought to get a more productive hobby. Go away already! Off with you!**


**Just kidding. I secretly love you (a little bit) Brazilian reader. I know you are not a unique visitor, but you are still special to me. You give me the surface appearance of having a readership... I'm shallow. I'll take it. So, um... I guess you can keep coming back twenty times a day. If you really want to set my mind at ease re: your quality of life, start flying to different countries and checking my blog from unique computers. Or give my URL to other people, check my blog fewer than five times a day and get outta the house, already.

Thank you for your understanding.