I try never to post back-to-back journal entries because it’s redundant, and redundant = boring. But I just found this episode and it’s too juicy to sit on.
February 12, 1992
A few months ago, Candace and I had a fight on Avenue A. We got into a terrific shouting match—I don’t remember what over—and in the heat of it, when I was mid-rant, she turned to walk away and I reached out and grabbed the collar of her coat to stop her. She thought I was going to hit her. Of course, I wasn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t, but she was convinced I was. That’s her reality and it’s as valid as my reality that I’d never, ever strike her. Or anyone. I’ve got a clean record.
We didn’t talk for about a month and then she called and we reconciled. I can’t say it’s back to the way it was. She won’t kiss me anymore and probably never will again. That’s gone. But we’re friends and for that I’m happy. We’ve put it behind us.
Well, she did kind of a dumb thing. She told Laura [Note: her girlfriend] that I lost my temper and was going to strike her and now she’s livid that Candace would spend any time at all with me. Apparently, Laura’s hatred towards me is an all-consuming inferno that’s growing inside of her. She’s hoping to bump into me on the street to, minimally, give me a piece of her mind or, if she’s in a bad mood, plunge a knife into my chest. Candace mentioned on more than one occasion that Laura is emotionally unstable, so it’s no joking matter.
I met Candace last night after work. We were supposed to see Reno perform at Dixon Place but we opted to shoot pool at Soho Billiards instead. It’s a new joint. It’s on Houston right across from The Knitting Factory. The table felt is bright and clean. The cues are smooth and straight. The tips aren’t all fucked up. $7/hr, which is the going rate, even at a dump like Julian’s on 14th Street. The clientele was mostly Latino and Chinese dudes (and some very hot Chinese girls) who carried their cues in expensive leather cases. There were a few white people on dates.
We finished playing and walked to a bar on 3rd Street and 1st Avenue. We sat at the bar and watched the Olympics for a while. There was a small pool table in the back where we played a Chinese guy and some old-timey Lower East Side barfly and got our asses kicked. Candace keeps telling me she’s a great player but I haven’t seen evidence of it yet.
After that, we took a table by the window to watch the Big Parade of Humanity on 1st Avenue. Best show in town. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone all bundled up glide by on a bike. It was freezing outside and I thought to myself, “What kind of idiot would ride a bike at this hour of night in this cold?” Candace said, “Jesus Christ! That’s Laura! I don’t want her to see me” and she kind of slouched down into her chair. Laura was out looking for her in all our old, familiar places that this heart of ours embraces.
Well, she spotted us through the window and stopped her bike a few doors down. Candace went out to talk to her. She came back a few minutes later. I asked what happened. She said, “I told her, ‘you know who I’m here with, so you can’t come in.’” It’s a good thing it was sub-zero outside or I’m sure a lengthy screaming match would’ve ensued. Candace said she’s got a couple of friends who want to be called right away when Laura confronts me because they don’t want to miss the fireworks. It’s all very exciting except for the part where I could get shot.
Poor Candace. She’s just trying to live her life and she’s in the middle of this mess. She said they fight all the time and she can’t leave the apartment without providing an explanation of where she’s going and who she’s seeing, which she absolutely loathes doing. It’s all going to implode soon. I might be even LESS safe after that happens.
I’d been drinking for a few hours and the notion of trying to kiss Candace started to percolate in the bad idea part of my brain. She was lamenting that one of her biggest failings in life is getting involved with people who turn out to be psychotic, but not having the wherewithal to recognize the warning signs early on. By the time the truth is revealed, it’s too late. After that, I decided against making a pass at her.
I told Kat about the whole episode and she got very angry at me for referring to Candace as my ‘bisexual friend.’ She’s got a point. Candace is my friend. There’s no need to qualify her sexuality. I don’t refer to Klinger as my ‘heterosexual friend.’ I’ve still got a few things to learn but, just between you and me, it’s kind of hard to ignore. It’s quite a distinction.
The day of the Ohio primary, this semi was parked near my brother’s house:
Keep Mexican dope in Mexico.
How did this clown get this far? Howard Dean got tossed from the primary because he screamed “YEAH!” too loud. Michael Dukakis lost the election for wearing a helmet that was too big for his head while riding a tank. And poor Gary Hart! Hilary isn’t such a hot candidate, either. She’s the second worst thing that could happen to this country. Four more years of gridlock. In any other election cycle, neither one of them would’ve made it past October.