Saturday, February 05, 2005

@#$%!!!

I'm so nauseous right now, I think I might vomit. Okay, so a bit melodramatic but everything is when it involves M. Biologique. (I am thisclose to getting an aneurysm.)

The day started normally enough. He rolled out of bed to meet me at our usual coffee haunt after my French class. We chatted for a good 2-3 hours, entertaining the baristas with my "foul language" and our general reckless banter.

We headed to the library and looked up words together. Since he's studying biology along with geography (and had the highest GPA in his freshmen class before his subsequent transfer to Paris. He, however, pleads the fifth), the phrases he came up with were scientific, Latin-derived (or "educated hippie" to be more precise). And since I'm ignorant of all fields pertaining to practical study, I read to him from the Encyclopedia of Ethics ("Heard of Abelard and Heloise?")

I suggested we go to Ben & Jerry's next. The ice cream guy loved us (or maybe our brother/sister ribbing schtick). He had a quirky, quick wit, looked like Dave Grohl and personalized our pint lid with a visual representation of our new flavour concoction (Chunky Monkey with mango/lime sorbet; use your imagination). So there we were, hyper from coffee, walking down meandering sidewalks, slapping each other, feeding each other ice cream in the middle of winter and waving to people behind hotel windows, diner windows, stripper windows and having a gay ol' time pretending to be a couple.

Then we went to play pool (yeah, yeah, why wouldn't he let me win?). I see my friend Lisroom and her friends, AmmoBlow and MooisianaMarinade. We all had a great time singing, watching, doing, saying crap together. (Lily: "Why don't you get a job as a bridge troll without a bridge? Charge people money to use the toilet as you squat behind them with a timer.") The sexual chemistry between M. Biologique and me was quite "deceiving" I was told. Everyone we encountered mistook us for something we were definitely not and he wasn't helping. ("Yeah, you better tell her to keep me on a leash.") Anyway, M. Biologique jumped on me to mark the end of this chapter of our adventure until we walked down Ste-Cat's and ...

... GOT KICKED OUT OF A SHISHA PLACE BECAUSE M. BIOLOGIQUE DIDN'T THINK THE EGYPTIAN NOVELTY DEALER WOULD BE A TOTAL NUTCASE!

He wanted to see this pepper grinder and this man, wearing a tunic and a butcher's apron (a blatant warning sign), shooed us out of the store ("You can only look from outside!"). M. Biologique asked him why he couldn't examine the merchandise when this was a store that sold stuff. What kind of a merchant has an actual store policy that refuses to serve customers unless they produce cold hard cash upfront for overpriced wares? The man wouldn't even let his (paying) customers speak to us ("You come in and you talk to my customers? This not a McDonalds!")

M. Biologique's American plastic didn't work with the man's money machine. The jerk blew his top and started using force to underscore that he really meant business (no pun intended) as he yelled, "You! And your girlfriend! Get the fuck out of my store!" like a menopausal mama.

I was so scared, I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Except fearless M. Biologique tried to get to the root of this crazy storeowner's inner turmoil with thoughtful questions completely wrong for the situation! Jesus Christ, I wanted to shut him up and drag him away. But I kept my mouth shut. I didn't think it would be fair to argue with M. Biologique in front of this sadist because he'd look like a fool who actually deserved the disgusting treatment he was given (when in fact, even the customers were warning me to head on out from this shop of horrors: "He's a Shisha Nazi; don't touch anything ... including the chairs.") We were 3 stores away from that site of madness when I went ballistic: "Why did you have to do that?! Why didn't you just leave when he yelled at us the first time?! I can't believe you; you know I hate confrontations!"

My last words to M. Biologique were: "Why you gotta be like that and start fights?" (Because when I'm angry, I suddenly acquire a Carmela-complex and a Jersey accent.) But no more than 10 minutes after he walked me to the metro station, I called him and apologized for being so childish and insensitive to his feelings. He was amused ("Nothing you say ever offend me") and found my manner cute ("It's all in your head.")

WHY HE GOTTA BE LIKE THAT?!

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