Another piece culled from old files, this was written five or six years ago.
I was very depressed last week until Wednesday night, when my friend and former f*ck buddy Sergei came over. I called him because I hadn't heard from him in weeks. He himself was terribly depressed, having just been named "Employee of the Month" at Barnes and Noble, an honor that means he's a responsible grownup who must renounce all claims to being a hip, cool bad boy. Since we were both depressed, we decided to commiserate. He showed up with a bottle of tequila and Heat, this long Al Pacino movie, because there's a scene featuring the very Heckler and Koch assault rifle he owns (and which I fired one day at the shooting range). We watched the movie and downed a few shots and he gave me a back rub and then we ended up wrestling and it was just like Ado Annie says: "Every time I lose that wrestlin' match, I have a funny feelin' that I won...." So I have this very attractive man straddling me and pinning my hands to the ground, and all he does is say, "OK, kiss me." So I get one lousy kiss and then he gets up and goes home because after all he has a girlfriend and I don't approve of infidelity.
Now I'm depressed.
This is upsetting on so many levels. You think you know someone then, you find out they used to sleep with someone named Sergei! (No doubt, a russian spy with his vast knowledge of weaponry and the American films they are featured in.) And just because you have fired a particular assault rifle, that is no excuse to watch Al Pacino movies! Don't forget to renew your membership to the NRA!
Then there is the tequila! And the wrestling! It's all just too much... Wait. Oh, I see. This is old.
Five or six years ago, I was dating a Eurotrash spy who was fond of DeNiro, Absinthe and bondage. So, who am I to judge?
Hey, if I could find a hot Russian spy to drink tequila, watch long movies and wrestle with me now, you'd read about events that happened MUCH more recently than five or six years ago.