Letters Never Sent - Vol 10

March 3, 2002

Dear Rita,

Let me start with the good part. I wanted to say thank you for inviting me as your plus one to the wrap party for the movie you worked on. The closest I had ever been to being near movie stars was when I was as an assistant projectionist at the movie theatre I worked at in college and that time I went to the comic-con and paid $20 to stand next to Lou Ferrigno, (who you might be interested in knowing, in real life is neither as big nor as green as he looks like on TV). But I digress.

I was saying how cool it is that you worked on a movie like Signs, I am sure that this one will be just as good as The Sixth Sense, everyone says he is gonna be the next Hitchcock and that his movies just keep getting better and better and I guess I was just overwhelmed by how fancy and suave and stuff everyone was.

That brings me to the bad part.

First off, let me say, I have never been to a party with an open bar, so I may have been a little exuberant in my ordering. Second, I think that by the 3rd, (or maybe 4th, it’s a bit fuzzy), double Jack & Coke, I think the bartender may have changed the ratio of Jack Daniels to Coke substantially, and not being a savvy Hollywood-type, not have noticed this upgrade and sipped accordingly.

What follows is my best account of what I clearly remember.

I went into the bathroom.

After that, it's less clear.

Best as I can manage in my brain, next thing I know there are five or six guys standing over me like a football huddle, shaking their heads, then this really huge guy, who I had just met, named Jimbo came in and picked me up off the floor of the stall. If I am speaking honestly, and at this point, what do I have to lose, I do not know in what state my pants were when they found me, only that when we left the bathroom they were up and fastened. Jimbo reminded me a lot of John Goodman’s character from the Big Lebowski, he kind of looked like him and he kept telling me to stay in my lane Henry, (I was swerving a bit).

I have to tell you, if anyone said that I would be the drunkest person at a party where Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix were there, I don’t think anyone would believe it. Of all my throwing up last night, I can only say this… none of it was on M. Night Shallymon, Saurmon, Cheveron, the Director.

Long story short, Jimbo, saint that he was, got me outside and put me in a cab.

Now here is where things get a little ugly, and again, I am piecing most of this together like that guy in Memento. I must not have remembered my address, but given the cabby your address by mistake, because next thing I could tell, I was outside your apartment. The doorman in your building was outside and he must have recognized me from earlier, and he let me in.

It probably helped that I was calling your name, pretty loud, and he was just trying to keep the lobby puke free.

This is where the wheels fall off.

I got into your apartment, and naturally, realizing that I was pretty soiled, I tried to clean up. I went to your sink and used the hose to wash my shirt, but forgot I was wearing it still and so it got pretty wet, so I took it off. My pants too.

Here’s a funny thing that happened, and I am not sure why, but for some reason, I thought that the pretzel sticks you had on the counter were cigars and, though I have never smoked one, thought, (in a very sophisticated voice in my head), that I should give it a try. Well, not finding any matches, I naturally decided to use the stove and promptly caught myself on fire.

Quick thinking, I used the hose again to dampen my singed chest hair. I was pretty hot, so I opened the fridge.

And here we come to the part I am most sorry for.

Opening that fridge door, in my wet nakedness, I was struck by the coolness and my whole body quivered. It was in this shaking that I felt something deep inside me stir.

Again, I want to reiterate that during this whole episode, I had lost five of my six senses, only smell really was clear throughout. I think the blast of cool air disoriented me and I forgot where I was, and what I did next was… let me pause by saying in my apartment the window in my bathroom is always open, it's broken and so there is always a cold breeze blowing in, so my brain must have been convinced that I was home in the bathroom. That is the only logical reason that I did what I did.

And that is why when you came home I was naked on the kitchen floor, in a puddle of water and pretzel crumbs, smelling of burned hair, and with a poop in your crisper.

Look, I realize that this was a terrible first date, but if you want a date to the premiere .. I promise next time won’t have a twist ending.

Sincerely sorry,

Henry

(enclosed please find the $20 I promised the doorman for letting me in, and your satin robe that I ‘borrowed’ this morning to get home)