Date #49: Rebound Turner Overdrive

Soundtrack?

Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends?
Why can't we be friends?

You see where this is going.

Turner and I's first attempt at something more than friendship was about as successful as Charles Strouse's last musical.

What was Charles Strouse's last musical you ask?

Exactly.

ME: You really want us to have our first--second--whatever, date at a club?
TURNER: I'm really hyper for some reason tonight. I need a club atmosphere.

We were at his apartment, getting ready to head out. I'm not big on clubs, but I'm especially not big on clubs in Rhode Island on Thursdays--they're notoriously empty.

TURNER: Well, maybe we'll get lucky.
ME: Why don't we just turn off the lights, play some loud music, and grind on your bed?
TURNER: That's later if you're good.

So off to the club we went.

When we got there, the place was a little bit busier than usual. Busy enough to at least dance without being "those people dancing on the dance floor." We had been dancing for about five minutes when I heard Turner say--

TURNER: Bingo.

Now, in most cases, Bingo is a good word. When coming from the mouth of an old woman in Boca who just got I48, Bingo is a word associated with joy. When sung by a group of schoolchildren led by a preschool teacher, Bingo is in reference to a dog--it being his name-o. But when Bingo is said by a guy whose just been dumped in a club while a look of vengeance comes over his face, Bingo means nothing but trouble-o.

I turned to see Zach coming in the club, and who should be right behind him but--

ME: Tommy?

This was going to get uglier than Christmas with the Zappas.

Turner walked right over to Zach, with me following behind him because I didn't want him to get into any--Oh, what the hell, I'm nosy.

TURNER: So you'll go to a club with Tommy but not me?
ZACH: Turner, please don't do this.
TURNER: I couldn't even get you to go to Reflections, but now that we're broken up you're clubbing on Thursdays with trash like this?
TOMMY: Did you just call me trash?
ME: If the can fits.
TOMMY: What the hell are you doing here?
ME: What am I doing here? What are you doing here? First you make fun of Turner for bringing this closet case to Charlie's dinner party and now you're bringing him to MB?
TOMMY: He IMed me.
ME: Ah, instant messaging--the shady slut's godsend.
TURNER: To answer your question, Kevin and I are on a date.
ZACH: You got to be kidding me.
ME: What? I'm undateable now?
ZACH: No! But when I told Turner that I thought you were his cutest friend he got all pissed off and told me he never found you attractive.

Ummm...Bo Derek says what?

TURNER: That's not exactly what I said.
ME: Wait, I'm a little confused--
TOMMY: Isn't it obvious? Zach thought you were cute, so when the time came to throw something in his face, Turner--
TURNER: That's bullshit.
ME: Actually, all of this is bullshit. I'm done. Have a good night everyone.

I left the club--more than a little pissed off.

Turner caught up with me back in the parking garage, but I didn't even respond when he called my name. It wasn't until I got to my car and he positioned himself strategically in front of my driver's side door that I was compelled to talk with him.

TURNER: It's not what Tommy said it is.
ME: Clearly it is.
TURNER: Look, I realize I haven't been myself lately--
ME: You could say that. You've gone from hot to cold to angry to deceptive--
TURNER: This just hit me really hard, okay?
ME: Well, here's an idea. Start taking it like a man instead of an overly emotional teenybopper. I do miss old Turner. I liked Old Turner. And so did everyone else. He was funny, and fun to be around, and a good friend. Then you start dating Zach the Wacko and someone you've known for five seconds becomes the most important person in your life and all your friends get demoted. Now, it was my mistake to pursue anything with you right now, and I accept what happened tonight as an error in judgment on my part, the next time you date someone who doesn't even have themselves figured out yet, don't be so surprised when they figure out they don't want to be with you. I'm done.

And I was. He moved, and I got in my car and drove away.

Did I cross the line? Yes. Do I feel bad about it? No. I think sometimes being a good friend means slapping the hysterium out of them and then waiting for them to pull themselves back together.

FRIEND: And don't we all love a good bitch slap story?
ME: I was so dumb. What made me think that could work?
FRIEND: Honey, you gave it a shot. Personally I would have cut every one of those bitches, but with the limited means you had, you did okay.
ME: I am surprised that Zach showed up at the club. I mean, this is the most discreet guy you've ever met in your life--
FRIEND: The rule of thumb with gay guys is that, believe it or not, they do tend to get better with age as far as comfort goes.
ME: Terrific. So it should be safe for all of us to date once we're, what, forty?
FRIEND: Please! I'm not living past twenty-nine and ruining my legacy. One wrinkle and I'm going off the cliff like Thelma and Hoo-Hah. The moral of the story is just date 40-year-olds.
ME: What story is that the moral of?
FRIEND: Sweetie, I don't even remember--
ME: --what we were talking about, right.

I still haven't gotten the assumed "Sorry I was an ass" text from Turner, nor have I sent one. So actually, the moral of the story is--

Keep your friends close, but not that close.