COLUMN NINETY, MAY 1, 2003
(Copyright © 2003 The Blacklisted Journalist)
A HORNY STORY:
SHANDA FUR DIE GOYIM
WARNING! FOR ADULTS ONLY! PERSONS NOT YET 18 YEARS OF AGE ARE NOT ALLOWED TO READ THIS STORY.
I received my severance lay from
Julia on a calm Sunday evening in early June. She was wearing a tight black silk
skirt with fruit on it. The effects of her drinking were showing in her hips.
Earlier, we had gone to a Chinese restaurant where the meal included all the
free white wine that you could slam back; several carafes.
"Do you want me to wear
wonder bras more often?"
"Whatever you want."
"Help me. My family is
always trying to help you be better, look better, act better."
"Is that for you or for
"For me. But I'm asking for
you. I'm so fond of you, Alex. I love you, honey. I want to please you."
She ripped the buttons off of my
shirt in her rush to get it off. I have yet to sew them back on.
"MY GAADD! YOU'RE MAKING ME
CUM WITH YOUR COCK! FUCK ME! FUCK MY WET CUNT! FUCK ME!"
Julia once told me that she had a
boyfriend that went to see the local hooker before he would sleep with her. She
screamed like that to pump his ego, my ego. (I'm sure if there was a pun it
The next morning, when I got out
of the shower, her suitcase was packed and ready to go.
"Alex, I can't handle this
relationship any more."
A major declaration. Although we
had been living together for over a year, sleeping in the same bed for over a
year, Julia refused to admit that we had any kind of relationship.
We screamed and yelled. We walked
out to the stoop and screamed some more.
"You're going to hit me!"
"Julia, I'm 25 feet away from
you. How could I possibly hit you??
"When men get angry they get
"When have I ever hit you??
"Never. But my mother said
that you might hit me, someday."
"Because you scream. You're
half Irish. Irish men hit women"
"You scream back. Domestic
Violence is not related to genetics. Tell me why, Julia. Just tell me why. Why
leave. Just yesterday and the day before you were telling me how good I was to
you, with you."
I couldn't wait to hear the
excuse. Her words came in a torrent.
"My old boyfriend is coming to town from Argentina! I asked you to shave more and you didn't listen!"
And so on. Some of her etceteras
were very interesting.
"Is it my feet?? she asked,
"No they're clean. I know
that you're making a concerted effort. WHY?"
"Alex, you just don't make
enough to buy me. I need to be bought. I need to be taken to fancy dinners and
on fancy vacations. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but you just wouldn't let it go.
I'm shallow Alex. It's not like I said that I loved you or anything."
"You told me you did
She hailed a cab and left. I sat
down and shook my head. Arguing in the daylight with a plainly deranged
That was the last time I saw
Julia. When she moved out I don't know. All I know is that I walked in and that
fucking Monet print was gone. I put up my punk rock posters. One week later, I
got a letter. Julia told me how sorry she was, it was bad timing, maybe in time,
etc., etc. and could she borrow $100.00? It ended with an Alainis Morrisette
quote. I slumped down under my Zen Arcade poster. It felt like the right way to
be wretchedly depressed. I had to face the facts. The last year of my life, my
relationship with Julia; it was nothing more than a Power Ballad video.
Three months later, after
intensive therapy with a natural but Schedule 1 fungus and the Butthole Surfers,
I was ready to find a fallback. I had but one prerequisite; (Aside from my
usual---Who wrote Tears of a Clown" I'm willing to give partial credit.)
she had to be American, WASP-y. Blonde
hair, blue eyes. No ethnicity whatsoever. I wanted a stupider version of
Jennifer Marlowe from WKRP. There was a time when I thought about dating
tall Irish red heads. In short, Mom. But the urge went quickly away. Too
With all that in mind, my first
attempt at forgettable sex (plus spankings) to forget Julia was with Chrissy Van
Hull from West Hartford, Connecticut. She was an attractive young (20) blonde
that I met in a Journalism class I was auditing at NYU. We went to dinner at the
Cajun, at 16th Street and 8th Avenue.
"Zola, what kind of last name
"Romanian, Irish, and
"Really. I'm really a Jew.
Wanna see?? I smiled and stood up with my hand on the button of my jeans.
'stop that and sit down.
They'll be time for that later." She grabbed my forearm and gently glided me
down to my chair.
She had a point. It was to far
too early in the dating matrix to be engaging in this kind of dangerous
flirting. Besides that, almost every guy was circumcised these days
"I never would have guessed that you were Jewish."
"Is it the name??
"A little bit. That and you
don't look Jewish."
"What do I look like??
"Irish. A very cute Irishman
with a wonderful cleft chin."
"I have a cleft chin?? I
"I like cleft chins."---She
ran her hand slowly up to the top of her beer bottle. It was all I could do to
keep my eyes in my head---'that and your big blue eyes and your reddish hair.
You look Irish."
"Well, that's because they
removed the horns."
"What horns? Jews have
"You went to a private school,
"Right. A private Catholic
school for girls. What does that have to do with this??
'the nuns didn't teach you that
Jews have horns??
"No. No they didn't. Wait,
you're pulling my leg. Jews don't have horns." She squeezed my arm. "Oh. You
have a muscle."
"Of course. I work out.
Seriously though, Jews have horns. They're removed at the bris."
"Alex, what's a bris??
'that's the, you know, cutting.
"You're so funny. You just
mention the word bris??
"...and your hands are in your
"Protection." I smiled and
"When does that happen??
"For boys, on the eighth
"And how about girls." She
said, thinking to trap me.
"Well, girls are named in the
synagogue. So right before the ceremony, out come the horns?
She was seriously confused. Now,
I had to close the deal.
"Look, Chrissy, where are you
from again, West Hartford??
"Yes." She threw her blonde hair from one side to the other.
"Didn't you have any Jewish
"No, not really. No one that
admitted to it. It's like, I never really knew any Jews until I came to New
'so you never saw a Jew
The two sides of her upbringing
were competing for dominance. That liberal New England everyone is a human
thing, and her native Catholic conservatism.
"Have you ever seen
"Michaelangelo. He was a second
rate Renaissance artist."
"Oh, okay. I know him."
"Well, Moses had horns."
"Yeah. See, around the 15th
Century, we learned that if you took the horns out before the 1st year, they
didn't have time to take root."
"You're lying. I know you're
lying!!!" She threw her hair around, finally pulling it into a ponytail and
putting it over her left shoulder.
"No. It's the truth." Finding
two ridges in my forehead, I ran my fingers into them. 'the only problem that
we have is that they leave these little indentations."
"Let me feel." She demanded.
"Oh my G-d. OH MY GAWD. I CAN FEEL IT. I CAN FEEL IT!" Her eyes were wide
and there was a smile on her face. Half the patrons at the bar area turned to
see what was going on. She did sound like she was achieving orgasm.
"Excuse me, are you the Zola
party of two?? The hostess came up us. Chrissy's hand was still in my hair.
The hostess looked perplexed---something like "We have to get these loud
people out of this bar ASAP."
'that's us." I said.
"Your table is ready." We got
up to follow her into the dining area.
"Good. I'm starved." Chrissy
said, taking me by the hand.
Waking up next to Einstein isn't going to be a problem. "Jesus," I thought. "How am I going to respect myself in the morning?" ##
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