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The Twin(s)

December 1, 2013

Thursday, November 28.

Paul Carter is a verb. As in to get Paul Cartered. Pickle verb-a-lized him. They used to dance often at the Moon. There was flirting. Then he told her he wasn’t interested in her. He just liked dancing with her. He started showing up at the Moon with a woman with dark, curly hair and deep brown eyes. Pickle asked Paul Carter if he was seeing her. He replied, “No, that’s just the girl I dance with.” Whatever the hell that means. So, she became The Girl Paul Carter Dances With.

A few months back The Girl Paul Carter Dances With showed up with a set of tall, handsome men in tow. The Twins. She was dating one of them: Twin J. The Twins are identical and rarely appear anywhere without each other. So when The Girl Paul Carter Dances With went to the Moon with Twin J to dance with Paul Carter, Twin M was always with them. That’s how I met them.

Identical in features, their personalities and ways of being give them distinctive looks and they’re pretty easy to tell apart. Twin J was more reserved, more cool and smooth, so it seemed. But he was preoccupied with The Girl Paul Carter Dances With, so I ended up talking to Twin M at the Moon. He seemed to be a bit in the shadow of his brother but he was more relaxed and jovial. “You’re the cool one,” I joked with him. “Twin J thinks he is, but it’s really you.” I didn’t get to know them very well, at first. Just the usual messing around that I do when I’m out. When I’m “on,” which depending on the level of obnoxiousness, often gets me in trouble. Not everybody gets me.

Several weeks ago, my child hood best friend, Beth told me she was coming into town on a Friday night. She wanted to experience the infamous Pamplona’s that she reads about in my facebook posts. Friday came around and we planned to meet around 8pm. I was meeting Pickle and friends for a burger downtown first. I went to the outdoor patio where we were supposed to meet but they weren’t there. I went inside to the bar area and I was looking around when I spotted The Twins sitting at the bar. I tapped Twin J on the shoulder and said, “Hey, Look, it’s The Twins.”

They invited me to join them and bought me a beer. Sitting between these two handsome, tall men, I ignored Pickle and our friends as they gathered outside to order food. I sat with The Twins, turning my head from one to the other, not remembering which one I had deemed “the cool one.” Twin J had broken up with The Girl Paul Carter Dances With. “It was the curls, right,” I joked. I have board-straight hair and a lifelong obsession with efforts to give it body and curl. Which leaves me with a sort of jealousy and slight hatred for those with naturally curly hair. Or big boobs, but that’s another story.

The Twins invited me to tag along with them but I protested, saying that I had abandoned my friends and was meeting Beth at Pamplona’s. They said they had never been there. I offered to bring them along. They eagerly agreed. Then it occurred to me what was about to happen. I was about to walk into my favorite place, see my childhood friend who hasn’t seen me in years and who will no doubt be reporting back to our peers about the status of newly single Marie, with two tall, handsome twins in tow. “This is going to be awesome,” I thought to myself.

I went back to the patio and found Pickle and the others. Pickle looked at me and said, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I couldn’t find you guys,” I said, “but I just picked up The Twins.” I laughed.

“What twins?” Pickle said with her hands going up and that annoyed look on her face that she often give me.

“I’ll explain later,” I said. “We’re going to Pamplona’s. Meet us there.”

So The Twins and I walked down Jefferson street and entered Pamplona’s.  Beth was comfortably situated at the bar with her husband, drinks in hand and a sleuth of tapas plates coming and going.

“Hey Beth,” I said and went over and hugged her. “Look, I brought The Twins.” She smiled and looked at me incredulously. “Are you doing both of them,” she asked in my ear. “No, I barely know them,” I said with a laugh. We stayed for a few hours, more people joining us, a lively crowd of old and new friends gathered around the bar. The Twins fell into an easy conversation with Beth’s husband. It was at Pamplona’s that I discovered which one I really liked. Twin M is a practicing Baptist. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Twin J is an atheist, like myself. He and I ended up huddled at the bar together, finding common ground on religious, political and historical subjects. We hit it off. This report continued as I joined them for a night of bar-hoping. He asked me for my number.

By 1 am, I was walking them to their apartment a few blocks from my own. Twin J took my bike into the foyer and invited me in. We talked about books as I looked at his small collection. He loaned me The Sparrow. It was late, so I said goodnight and rode home.

I read The Sparrow in a few days. It was amazing. I wanted to talk to him about it. I didn’t have his number and I hadn’t heard from him. I decided to leave his book in an envelope at his door with a thank you card. I put my business card in there for good measure.

Still, I heard nothing from him. I chalked it up as just another mystery. Another connection seemingly made with no follow up. Just one more for the list.

I went to see my life coach again. This time to work on this concept of dating. I was tired of playing with boys though I was still seeing Z on a regular basis. We had come to an understanding that the weird thing we had together wasn’t going to last. He knew I needed to date more appropriate men and one day we would stop seeing each other.

I thought my life coach was going to advise me to stop seeing Z and ask someone out on a date. But I forgot that she’s a Buddhist. She told me to chill out. To keep doing what I love, to be patient and to enjoy what I have with Z. I told her about my frustrations with mixed connections and lack of follow-ups. I told her about Twin J and the book. She asked me what I wanted in a relationship and my answer surprised me a little. “That sounds like a friend,” she said when I told her I wanted someone to share my life with….a little bit. “You already have a friend,” she said.

“Yeah, but Pickle won’t sleep with me, ” I countered. I told her I was afraid of losing myself in a relationship again. Like I lost myself in my marriage. I wasn’t ready for a coupling. I just wanted to date. She told me to write about it and we scheduled another session.

A couple of weeks ago, Pickle and I were out at the Moon and it was a weird night. We were sitting on the back bench hoping for dancing music. Before we knew it, people were being asked to sit on the floor and puppets were being brought out. We looked at each and asked, “What the fuck is going on in here?” There was a brass band across the street at Artmosphere, so I abandoned her and went to listen to some real music. I stood with the small crowd in front of the band watching the musicians blare their trumpets and trombones. They were good. I moved to a seat at the bar for some people watching. I was content, just letting the sights in front of me move around as I watched like an anthropologist. Then a familiar face popped up in front of me. One of two familiar faces. It was Twin M. It took about a second to determine which one he was. “Hey Twin M,” I said.

We exchanged pleasantries and I asked somewhat timidly, “Is your brother here?”

“Yeah, he’s outside,” he said. I walked out. There he was.

“Hi,” I said. “Did you get your book.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Did you like it?”

“I did.” I said. He invited me to join him and several friends sitting around a patio table. I sat down next to him.

“Why didn’t you respond to any of my texts?” he asked me. I looked at him, surprised and said, “I haven’t gotten any texts from you.” He pulled out his phone and looked up my number. I put my glasses on and looked at it.

“That’s not my number.” I said. I took his phone and put the correct one in. Twin M plugged mine into his phone as well for good measure. I sat with them for a while and joked around with the group as a whole. It was late and I was tired, so I left and went home. He texted me, saying it was good to see me. But he still didn’t ask me out on a date in the days that followed.

I was walking in the park going over in my head the things I needed to do. Pay bills. Finish stuff at work. This, that. I thought about my life coach. I thought about Twin J saying he had tried to contact me. I decided to be brave. I decided to text him. I thought about maybe bringing up the book or trying to strike up a conversation about something, but I knew that would just a ruse, a way to try to get him to ask me out. I decided to be direct.

“Twin J, would you like to have a drink with me sometime?” I wrote. I hit the send button and put the phone in my pocket and kept walking.

“Of course.” he replied a few minutes later.

We had drinks Saturday and then joined his brother and a friend for a rather weird and long evening of bar-hoping. We kissed.

We met again Tuesday night after I had a rough day at work. We fell into easy conversation about lots of different subjects. I watched him relax with me. He seemed surprised when I finished his sentences. Constantine. The Council of Nicaea. “Yeah, don’t get me started on the Nag Hammadi library. Elaine Pagels. The Gosepel of Thomas. That stuff blew me away,” I told him. We talked over wine and beer for a couple of hours. It was nice. I liked him.

He kissed me at the steps of my apartment.

Z got it out of me that I was seeing someone. I wasn’t sure when I should tell him. He texted me one night and I didn’t reply and he knew. He seemed casually cool about it. I think he thought we would still be able to come over. It wasn’t until he asked me if I had kissed him, that it sunk in. When I said yes, he said he had to go. “I lost it,” he told me later. We had a sort of sad yet beautiful exchange earlier today. He wished me the best and threatened to come and twerk at the Moon and flirt with girls. I told him I loved him.

Last night was another group outing with The Twins. This time with my friends as well. He met my son. Pickle says he doesn’t give her the time of day. I noticed that too. He’s kind of socially awkward and weird. The two of them are like a pair of weird, nerdy misfits who happened to be put into the bodies of tall, handsome men.

I asked him if he would make out with me on “the make-out swing” at the Moon. He obliged. He’s a sweet kisser, different. Kissing is like dancing, you have to adjust to the lead of your partner, I guess. I wanted to be alone with him but I couldn’t go as far as I wanted to. I had Aunt Irma visiting.

We ended up back at their apartment and I fell asleep in his arms. He’s sweet and affectionate and a little broken. I’m getting pieces of his story in spurts. He and his brother have been through some shit. Family dysfunction. War. Traveling. They grew up nerdy twins in Alabama. Twin M has already been married twice.

Today is Thanksgiving. I didn’t spend any time with family. No turkey. Just a long phone call with my daughter and a walk in the park.

Twin J just invited me over and Aunt Irma has left the building.

This morning I told him that the next time I saw him, I wouldn’t exhibit the same restraint as I had the night before.

Excuse me while I go put on some lace underwear and pack a toothbrush.

I think I’m dating Twin J.


Saturday, November 30.

“I want to share my life with someone a little bit.” That’s what I said to the life coach. I went over and hung out with The Twins, their friend Larry and their neighbor. We watched funny things on You Tube and drank beer. We laughed. Twin M is definitely a little odd. The neighbor was hilarious. A dry and sick humor. Hanging out with them I thought, “This is what I asked for. This is what Z doesn’t do. He doesn’t ask me to hang out with friends. He doesn’t share his life with me.”

Around midnight, I decided to go home. Twin J and I weren’t spending any time alone and I had a lot to do the next day.

“You’ve had a couple of beers. I think you should stay,” Twin J said. I pulled him aside and said, “Why don’t you come home with me.”

“Ok.” he answered right away. He got his coat, told the guys goodbye and walked with me to my car. It was freezing. A rare Louisiana cold wave. We got to my apartment and he looked around observing the clutter and dorm-room styled artwork all over the walls. I confessed that Aunt Irma was no longer an obstacle and we went to the bedroom.

We had sex Thanksgiving night. It was bad. Tennis Bashir bad. Same problem. When he was up and at it, he was rushed and clinical. I felt no connection, no passion. He didn’t know how to treat a woman. No tenderness, no caressing. I got nothing out of it. It was awful. I thought about Z. How we had been that first night. It had been amazing. We were so good together, so connected and excited in each other’s presence. After Twin J’s first attempt, I turned on my side and felt weird. Suddenly, the crush that had been building for him was fading fast. I wasn’t sure I wanted this to continue.

I took him home in the morning and kissed him goodbye.


It was the Friday after Thanksgiving. My friend Will was in town and we had a night out planned with Pickle. I told Twin J of our plans and invited him to join us at any time. “I might not be checking my phone,” I texted. “You know where I’ll be.” He was noncommittal.

Pickle, Will and I went to dinner, then absinthe at Pamplona’s and dancing at the Moon. We had a blast. It was so much fun. We laughed all night. We were that silly group at the bar. Will was high on absinthe and Pickle was hammered. She’s so goofy and silly when she’s drunk. We visited the Gay Fireman on the way to the Moon and made wishes.

I had another classic Moon night with Black Michael. He danced with me almost exclusively. Then he would turn his attention to a shiny blonde. Then he would come looking for me, like we were there together. When I dance with him, I want to kiss him. When I have my left hand on his back I can feel his lean muscles. He holds my right hand just so, not too tight, not too loose and moves it up and down with the dance. A couple of times he even put both his hands around my waist, pulling me a bit closer. Then he tells me that it’s a turn off to see people drunk. At the Moon, where I am always drinking. He said he doesn’t like being silly, as we watched Will and Pickle dance around like goofballs at closing time. He seems like a snob at times. I can’t figure him out.

When Will and Pickle were ready to go, I got my purse and checked my phone. My screen lit up with multiple texts and a missed call from Twin J. He and Twin M had gotten into a fight. He asked if he could spend the night at my apartment. Actually, later when I re-read the text I saw that he hadn’t asked me, he had told me that he “needed” to sleep at my place that night. I called him and left him a message, telling him I had a house guest and asking if he was ok. Then I read the texts from Twin M.

Twin M had been texting me all night. He wrote that Twin J was looking for someone else to sleep with that night. That he was hitting on a friend’s girlfriend. That he had been violent with a girlfriend when they lived in Portland. He accused Twin J of terrible things. “This is the guy you want to go out with,” he wrote to me. “Nice choice. You’re a genius.”

I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I shared all this Will and Pickle as we made our way home. The texts kept coming. Finally, I told Twin M to stop texting me. It was 2am. I had to drive to my Dad’s the next day. As I lay in bed, I thought about this weird end to the night. Why would Twin M be so cruel? If any of what he had said was true, I didn’t want to have anything to do with either of them. But to disclose this information to the woman your brother is seeing. The women he barely knew. Who does that? And if what he was saying wasn’t true, then he was a mean, unstable liar who plays with people for fun. No matter what, it was a fucked up situation. And I didn’t want to be a part of it.

The Twins are nuts.


Pickle, Will and I had breakfast the next morning and laughed over the previous nights events. We had had a really good time together. “Are you ok,” Pickle asked. I guess I had a kind of dazed look on my face. I was upset and confused. I said I wanted to date. I prayed to the Gay Fireman. I went to my life coach. I was brave. I asked someone out. And within a week the train was off the tracks. Fuck!

I was at my Dad’s when Twin J texted me. “My brother just told me he texted you last night,” he wrote.

“Yes, he did.” I replied. I told him that Twin M had been rude and bizarre. He apologized and told me he liked me a lot. “I hope this doesn’t change how you feel about my brother and I,” he said. I told him I was upset and needed time. But I didn’t need time. I wasn’t going to see him again. There was no way around it. By that night I texted him that yes, of course it changed what I thought of them. I told him I didn’t want to see him again.

“No worries,” he replied. “No worries.” So all that talk about how amazing I was, how great he felt when he was with me, how smart and beautiful I was and all he had was, “no worries.”


I told Z about this weird end to my attempt to date. He said he was sorry for me but then confessed that he was also excited. He wants to see me again. I was trying to grow out of that weird and slightly inappropriate relationship. I was trying to move on. I could decide not to see him again but why shouldn’t I see him? I know exactly what it’s going to be like. And it’s going to amazingly wonderful. Passionate and exciting and fun. Like my Buddhist life coach said……why shouldn’t I enjoy it?

I’m still at my Dad’s and he has a cricket match today. We’ll both be home tonight. By the end of the night, I might be back in his arms, erasing the memory of my brief encounter with The Twins.


So much for dating. This sucks.


From → Rantings

  1. One more thing, is this stuff based on reality? And a life coach, a good life coach, should be helping you set goals not talking about intimate areas of your life. they assess where you are and push you forward, I know as I have studied it for years. This post really got me thinking a lot

    • Kitten permalink

      It is based on reality. But, being a diary-like blog, it’s a short-handed, biased version of reality.
      The life coach was originally career-based. I gave her a retainer and she and I worked together for a while and then I got a really good job. After much reflection, I saw parallels between my growth as a person looking for the right work and how I may or may not be approaching dating. So I proposed to her that we use up the rest of my retainer, so to speak with an experiment in tackling dating the way we did my career. There’s more to her coaching than is presented here. As you can probably tell, I’m not too shy about the details of my private life. It kind of comes with the territory of knowing me. It is perhaps the highest compliment that my blog got you thinking. The only higher would be that it got you laughing. I’m not as funny as I was when I was train wreck. LOL Thanks again. I welcome a continued dialog.

  2. Kitten permalink

    Also….sometimes seeing someone like a life coach or a therapist works because it is the manifestation of intent. I might not have asked The Twin out, if it wasn’t part of an intent I had formalized in that way. It didn’t work out, but it was a step forward, another lesson learned.

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