The Ibanker

Perhaps it's a bit presumptous of me to write an entire post devoted to one person, but whether I like it or not, he is the person I have hung out with the most since I've been in NYC. Quite a feat, considering he is so elusive, one of his bad qualities. Others include his significant drinking problem and the fact that he is a huge tool (lots of boat shoes and pink in this one's closet). He is a rich dick as well--he has been all over the world, goes sailing and skiing, and when I invited him to be my guest at the members' only exhibit opening at one of the museums where I interned, he walked around typing on his blackberry the whole time. But for some reason I find this guy endearing. He's fun and funny. He takes me out, compliments me and has never pressured me to sleep with him (if anything, it's the reverse....). I think he is a decent guy, though, who knows, he could surprise me.

As a recap, we met in the Balkan European country last summer and hit it off. He was really the one good thing that happened in my horrible last couple weeks in Europe. We continued to email after the trip, and met up the couple of times when I went to NYC last fall. And here we are.

The day after my night out with OG, Javier, GF and the French girls we met up for dinner. We were supposed to meet up the night before but he was too drunk to make a coherent plan. He showed up to our 6pm dinner date (Italian place in the West Village) really hungover but trying to act like he wasn't. We sat and I could tell immediately that he was not well. He was slumped over and he looked pallid in comparison to his pink polo. I was concerned that he was going to pass out, although more for my sake than his. He went outside for some air but upon his return still was not better. He refused to leave so not knowing what else to do I went to the bathroom and sent a venting, desperate text to OG. When I came back to the table he had finally relented and had our food wrapped up, along with our entire bottle of wine (his stipulation to the waiter when ordering was that he preferred it to be "under $100"....just another illustration of our financial differences). We walked out of the restuarant with our packages and I was slightly embarrassed. We hopped a cab and went back to his apartment to finish the meal. We set up shop in front of the TV and I almost immediately kicked an entire glass of wine all over the carpet and in one of his boat shoes. I told him to take care of the shoe while I dabbed the carpet with a wet paper towel (no cleaning supplies present in that apartment). I finished just as his roommate (the owner of the rug) walked back in. After he walked by Ibanker commented that it would have been hilarious if he had knocked over a glass on his way by and then we would of course make a scene. We finished out the night watching episodes of Always Sunny and 30 Rock on Hulu and due to his condition I went back to Queens afterwards, probably the only time I have not stayed over there.

I spent my last night at his Union Square apartment the night that I returned from DC. It was his last night there as well; he was moving out the next day. I went immediately there from the bus ride, disgustingly sweaty and recovering from the embarrassment of having my dress blown all the way up when I stood on a subway grate while waiting for my bag. His text to lure me over was:
"I am on an aero bed in an empty apartment listening to a british periodical podcast and drinking leftover wine. You will never look at me the same again".
His description of the situation was completely accurate. No furniture whatsoever in the apartment, the Economist playing on his laptop and his token Trader Joe's wine. It was ridiculous and I was pretty happy about it. This continued when we had to walk down to the bodega to get toilet paper. For some reason I was so happy to be living in New York at that moment, walking down the street at night in the sweltering heat with Ibanker and his madras shorts. Maybe because it reminded me of when we met the summer before. Enough of the sentiment though, we went back and hooked up on a twin aero bed. We also chatted and he told me a good story about when he studied abroad in Scotland:
--His roommate was a complete Scottish hooligan and Ibanker could never understand anything he said. Upon their meeting the Scot mumbled something and he responded with "Yes". Scot then yelled that he asked him his name and Ibanker's response was again "Yes...?". At one point during the semester he had a friend from the US visit and he brought dip with him. They gave some of the "Yankee shite" to the Scot and met up with him a couple hours later at the bar. He did not look well and kept taking deep drinks of his pint. Upon investigation into his issue they determined that the Scot still had the dip in his mouth and for the past couple hours had been swallowing his saliva, rather than spitting it out. He was somehow still alive and just "didn't feel well".
Here are other samplings of Ibanker stories:
--In high school he had a college admissions interview at the school where his brother went. He had gotten tanked the night before at his bro's frat and even witnessed a frat guy jump off the roof and break his leg. Ibanker's interview with the Dean was at 9am the next morning. Needless to say, he was extremely hungover. The interview seemed to be going well, though, until halfway through he had to excuse himself. He ran to the bathroom off the office and puked his face off. He then returned and finished the interview. A few months later, with his acceptance letter, he received a handwritten note from the Dean telling him that it was one of the best interviews he had ever had with a student.
--A few days before we met, in the Balkan European country, Ibanker cut his hand open on the sailboat they were chartering (white guy problem for sure). He had to go to the local hospital which looked like it had not been modernized since the country was still part of Yugoslavia. When the doctor came in, Ibanker, charmer that he is, said "So you've done this before right", while smiling. The doctor looked right at him and says completely monotone and with no expression, "Haha Yes". Ibanker has a large scar on his hand.
--He takes frequent business trips. On one to LA (he hates California): he sent me this text "I've been here about 20 minutes and I'm already weirded out. I think my driver is on lithium and he seems like he may break out into song at any moment". He then proceeded to tell Ibanker all about Russian mobsters in LA who kidnap people and harvest their organs. Luckily he did make it back to New York.

So back to the empty apartment and the aero bed, I determined that was much better than sleeping at my non-air conditioned apartment so I stayed. We squeezed onto the bed and since I had complained about being hot Ibanker turned the AC down to 60. I shivered the whole night, but I did catch him covering me up with more blankets when he thought I was sleeping. In the morning I made my final departure from the apartment where we had spent a good deal of time and I haven't seen him since then.
I don't know what our deal is and I don't really know what I want it to be at this point. My plan right now is to wait to see if he invites me to his Hamptons share for July (fingers crossed!- I will be insulted if he doesn't) and then go to the Cut Copy concert with the group of Ibankers. Then I plan on asking him for clarification on our situation. It will have been a year since we met so I think that's fair. But for now I will keep harassing him to hang out with me, put up with his bullshit and enjoy it when we actually do see each other.