Polanski

Ew. Polanski texted me tonight. Polanski is the guy I got into trouble with at the Halloween party this past year. Normally I have a very strict rule that I never make out with any guy that is dressed as a girl, as a pimp or anyone whose costume lacks creativity on any level, but I broke the rules for this one. He was mega-hot, boyish, and wearing a 3 piece suit, passing himself off as a "young Roman Polanski." Suuuuper lame, but what can I say...I'm a sucker for a man in a vest and tie.

So we end up becoming...wildly intimate in the laundry room of the house that hosted the party. The window in the laundry room looked out into the backyard, where all the guests were gathered. A few hecklers kept shouting and tapping on the windows. Interesting side note: I later come to learn that The Comedian was one of these hecklers! Anyway, the hecklers were annoying as fuck and in the heat of the moment, Polanski punched his hand through the window. Needless to say, we were asked to leave the party immediately.

Polanski got my number while we were waiting on the corner of the street for our respective friends to come collect us, but I honestly didn't anticipate ever hearing from him again. But he texted the very next day and asked me to come over to watch a movie! I'm not really used to having a random guy that I hooked up with ask me to hang out again, and certainly not so soon after the fact, so I accepted out of sheer curiosity.

I knock on his door and he tells me to come in, and I can barely open the door because the floor is so covered in...everything. There were mountains of empty food containers strewn about the floor, an entire closet's worth of clothing piled all over every piece of furniture. At one point, a kitten emerged from what I can only describe as a metric fuck-ton of papers and started eating from one of the half-empty food containers on the floor. But there he was, sitting on the couch, even more beautiful than I had remembered. The sight of his face was enough to distract me for the time being. Then I noticed something strange.

He had a friend there. A friend that didn't speak a single word the entire night, but insisted on sitting right next to me on the couch while making sure that Polanski's glass of gin and orange juice was constantly full. Eventually, the friend retreated to the bedroom (I thought this was a one bedroom place?) and turned off the light.

Polanski had called me earlier while I was in the shower to ask what movie I wanted him to rent, but I never got back to him. He rented The Gods Must Be Crazy. Interesting choice, I thought. Though, much better than the time I was on a date and the dude put on the movie Beer Fest and then asked me to spend the night with him while the naked breast montage flashed in the background. I didn't spend the night. Anyway, so Polanski makes the first move and holds my hand. About 30 seconds later he decides he wants to get comfortable and he lays across the couch with his head in my lap. About 30 seconds after that I'm met with the sound of his thunderous snores. He fucking passed out. I tried to wake him several times, but this dude was blacked out.

I sat there for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do, when the silent roommate came barging out of the bedroom and walked straight up to Polanski and slapped him in the face while screaming "HOW DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ICED TEA? HOW. THE. FUCK. DID YOU KNOW IT WAS ICED TEA???" Polanski didn't budge. Then the no longer silent friend looked at me with fiery eyes as if I should know the answer and I, with my eyes wide open and jaw dropped, mustered the only thing I could think of at the time: "I don't know. I'm new here." That was obviously not he answer that this dude wanted to hear, and so he turned around and stormed back into the room, slamming the door behind him. What. The fuck just happened.

I had to get out. I didn't even care about being delicate with Polanski's drunken passed out head, I just hopped up and let it drop wherever it landed. I stopped at the ladies room on my way out, despite my better judgment. It was gonna be a long ride home, and I wasn't about to hold it. So I'm washing my hands and I notice a bottle of pills on the counter. My conscience was screaming at me not to look at the information printed at the bottle, but I ignored it. This could be valuable information! What if he had an STD? Or what if he was on something like anti-psychotic medication? I looked at the prescription and didn't recognize the name of the drug, but I did notice that it had expired 2 years prior. There was half a bottle left, so whatever it was that he had, he's probably still got it. But that wasn't my main concern. The biggest shock came when I saw what his last name was. From the angle that I was looking at the label I could only see the first 4 letters: P-E-N-I. Terrified of what the next letter could be, I rotated the bottle 10 degrees. It was an X. His last name was Penix. I dropped the pills and got out of that place as fast as I could.

Anyway. He's been texting me ever since. That was the only time we had hung out, outside of the party, of course, and it was wildly unsuccesful. I have no idea why he still contacts me. I guess I've been texting back because I like the attention. But he uses babytalk in his texts, which nauseates me, and he never seems to really make any concrete plans. Also, his last name is Penix. No fucking way am I marrying a guy with that last name, so what's the point? Tonight he texted me the words "sweep tight, dear." I deleted his number from my phone. Later, Polanski.