Category Archives: moldies but moodies

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

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Well last night I went to the Yankees/Blue Jays game. Bill was right, saying that he didn’t want me to be intense, he wanted a good time. I wanted a good time too. Bill enjoyed himself, I didn’t. More about that further down the line. In the interim, here is the third installment about 1991/1992 written in 2002.

“What are you talking about?” Miss Pasty asked. “I have nowhere else to go. I’ll do anything to stay here. I like you guys. Please reconsider.” Mr. Derf and Miss Pasty looked at each other.

Mr. Derf said, “Well we had a problem with you dropping the coats on the chair and the chair crashing and you guys thump around a lot but we didn’t ask you to leave.”

Miss Pasty chimed in, “Where did you hear that?” “Little Willy told me that you guys wanted me out.” “Our parents rented the place to both of you and that’s it. You and Little Willy.”

Mr. Derf added, “If one of you goes, then the other has to go too. At least that’s what my father said.” “Yeah, you should talk to Little Willy.” “Thanks Pasty, I will. Have a good dinner.”

I was relieved and confused. I saw Little Willy and asked him. He shrugged his shoulders, ran into his room and hid. Monica was still floating around the apartment.

It was now about 6 months after we moved in. I ran into Miss Pasty one day outside the building. She mentioned that her mom wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of three people living in my apartment, and then she dropped a bombshell.

“Your roommate’s girlfriend has been going around the neighborhood telling all the neighbors that you’re gay.” Wow. Monica? What did I do to deserve that? I mean I was gay, still am, but never been one to be all up in your face about it.

“Everyone?” I asked Miss Pasty. “Everyone, even the firemen.” “The firemen? Hmmm….kinky…” Miss Pasty laughed, “Even my mother.” “Oh no, what did she say?” “She told Monica, that it was none of Monica’s business and it wasn’t her business either. She thinks you’re a good boy. She likes you.”

It was good to have someone in my corner.

I found out that Little Willy told Monica that he was going to kick me out and have her move in. And apparently Monica didn’t think Little Willy was acting fast enough so she decided to speed things up and attempt to slander me.

It didn’t work.

Monica being a German tourist figured that these Americans with their meat eating ways would be so disgusted that I’d be run out to the windmill like the Frankenstein monster chased by villagers.

Little Willy started playing both sides against the other. I was working at a video store and giving video rentals away to various friends and bartenders I knew, and also DJ-ing at McSwells. I was a DJ, ID checker, doorman, and bar back sometimes on consecutive nights.

There were records usually piled up by the stereo system that Little Willy and I shared. 2 Live Crew had a smash hit called ‘Me So Horny’. A decent song, usually guaranteed a laugh from me and my friends.

The B side to ‘Me So Horny’ was an aptly named song called ‘Get the fuck out of my House Bitch’. I left it lying around so Monica would see it.

She did.

One night while I was in my room, there was a knock on the door. It was Monica. Her German accent furious, eyes full of rage, she started screaming at me about how I was trying to seduce Little Willy.

“Leaving a record called ‘I am so horny’ around the apartment. Don’t take my man!” I laughed which enraged her even more.

“John, Little Willy said you were leaving. When will you leave?” “Leave? Monica, I ain’t going anywhere! And it’s not ‘I am so horny’ and I’m not horny for Little Willy. He’s not my type. I like MEN. Not skinny little toothpicks that can’t stand up straight.”

“Well he said…” Monica continued. “I don’t care what he said. And it’s the flip side you bitch. It’s called ‘Get the Fuck Out of my House Bitch.’

You should play it sometimes. It should have instructions on what to do.” She yelled. I yelled louder. Little Willy hid in his room.

It ended with me screaming, “Get the hell out of here you hag!”

Blue Jay Way

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Well I am actually doing something today. Visiting Greg Stevens office for a few hours then meeting up with Bill and some of his compadres, heading off to see the Yankees/Blue Jays tonight. So since I won’t be back until late, here is part 2 of what I wrote in 2002 about 1991.

It seemed like a great deal. A nice apartment, close to the city, good neighborhood, and a decent room mate. I would find out later that 3 out of 4 wasn’t bad, but wasn’t entirely good either.

I was living in Lodi with my father who I hadn’t been getting along with for about 20 years. I moved in with him despite everyone’s warnings. I had seen a side of him that I had never seen before.

He was grieving.

Quite sad, his wife, my mother decided to leave her mortal coil on Mother’s Day. Talk about making a statement. May 12 was a day of infamy for me and my siblings. So having seen a side of him that I had never seen before, I moved in with him into the house I grew up and threw up in.

It was hell. Everyone was right. It was a mistake. I started drinking a lot and at night when I was hiding in my brother’s room where I slept fitfully at night. One night I had to pee but I didn’t want to risk waking up the old man who slept across from the bathroom.

So I did what anybody would do in a similar situation. I opened up the window and pissed down the side of the house. It seemed to be the only peaceful solution.

After battles and wars, I told my father I was moving out. Little Willy had parked his dilap-a-van outside and I warned him to stay away from the house I’ll bring my stuff outside to the van. Dad was watching me like the crotchety old hawk he was.

Annemarie, my sister was there at the time, calming me down and acting like a buffer between 2 grown men who couldn’t stand each other. Little Willy and I got all my stuff down to Weehawken.

Annemarie was sad to see the relationship die between my father and I but I was glad to see a toe tag on the body of the relationship.

It was quite pathetic when I moved. I didn’t have a bed; I had a sleeping bag lent to me by Raul the owner of the video store and a strip of foam rubber padding that I was using as a mattress of sorts.

My cat Zed was able to return from exile. I brought him with me to Lodi and he basically lived in the basement until my father almost tripped on the stairs one day and swore that Zed was trying to kill him.

I then brought Zed to Hoboken where he lived in the basement of the video store, which was actually the storage room rented in a basement 2 doors down. Poor Zed felt abandoned but now I was able to put a bona fide roof over his head.

Little Willy and I seemed to get along. I didn’t know then that he told Monica his traveling companion that he was going to kick me out and the two of them would live in quasi-Aztec bliss forever and ever.

Little Willy told me after a month or two that Miss Pasty and Mr. Derf were quite upset with me and wanted me out. I didn’t understand it.

There were one or two incidents where a chair over laden with coats crashed one late night hang out, but it was taken care of.

Sure there would be an adjustment to the fact that instead of one old man who couldn’t walk much living above them was now two men who can walk with relative ease taking his place. I asked Little Willy and he was vague, saying he didn’t know what was going on but I had to go.

Panic stricken and faced with no options, I was leaving the apartment one night when I saw Miss Pasty and Mr. Derf. I asked them I pleaded with them. “I’m so sorry. What have I done? Why do you want me to go? I have nowhere else to go. What can I do to change your mind?”

They didn’t know what the hell I was talking about. All they wanted to do was to go to dinner next door at their parent’s apartment. My eyes were tearing up. It’s been said I can cry at the drop of a hat, and a major sombrero had hit the floor.