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| Wednesday, January 09, 2008 |
| Office Space |
The days immediately following the Red Sox World Series victory are still a bit of a blur. Too much alcohol, too little sleep, and a whirlwind trip to Boston for the victory parade all contributed to a no-longer-knowing-what-day-it-was Finy. So when I met MBB (the name will make more sense later) I was completely shocked that he asked for my number, never mind that he actually used it.
But after meeting me at my absolute worst (read: on no sleep, fresh off the sox parade, slightly buzzed and looking like hell on an Amtrak train) he did, in fact, call. While on the train I had found out that he was 32, lived in midtown, and was a former marine. He was now the part-owner of his own company and had a pair of eyes that could seriously melt a girl. When he planned our first date as dinner and drinks at a sports bar before sitting in tenth row seats to a Knicks game I was pretty much sold.
Ok, so there were a few red flags. I wasn't a fan of the fact that he'd never gone to college. I was worried the marine thing would put him staunchly on the right hand side of the political line. And who lives in midtown? But you know what? I was having a damn good time with this guy, and all of those things I had been worried about turned out to be totally unfounded.
And then he dropped the bomb. The "I'm divorced and have two kids" bomb. This came on about our 5th or 6th date. We had had dozens of long conversations on the phone. I was really starting to like this guy. But an ex-wife? TWO KIDS? But again, after a long conversation about it I decided, you know what? I'm having a damn good time with this guy. So we continue dating.
Flash forward: MBB and I have now been dating for about a month and a half. And we haven't hooked up once. Oh, sure, we've made out like bandits on random street corners, but that's as far as it's gotten. I realize that I'm the first girl he's really dated since his ex-wife, but damn! So one night we meet up. We get outrageously drunk. I decide that this is absolutely the night that I am getting laid.
It is now 5:30 in the morning and we have just exited what feels like the tenth bar of the night. He looks at me and says "Do you want to stay in midtown tonight." After telling him that it is no longer "tonight" I say yes. What I really want to say is "Do you honestly think that wasn't my intention? We've been molesting each other in public for hours now". I restrain myself. Barely.
As we walk into his building the following conversation ensues:
MBB: You are finally going to see where I live.
FINY: Yeah I am excited.
MBB: Me too.
FINY: It kind of looks like an office building.
MBB: Well, it kinda is.
This should have been my first clue that this was not going to go the way I had hoped.
As the elevator doors open we are deposited into a reception area. The logo of MBB's company is hanging on the wall above the front desk. MBB takes my hand and gives me a quick tour. As we wander through the cubicles it still hasn't hit me yet. I'm wasted, I just don't get it.
Then we reach an office in the back corner. Like my office, the wall that faces the hallway is floor to ceiling glass. Unlike my office, this glass is blacked out somehow.
MBB takes out his keys and unlocks the door. I am now just flat out confused. What are we doing here? MBB steps inside the office. The door is only half open. And then I see why.
There is a Murphy Bed unfolded from the wall blocking the door.
That's when it hits me.
This is where Murphy Bed Boy (MBB) lives!
Inside the room there is just the Murphy Bed, a dresser with a TV, cable box, tivo, and playstation, and an odd compartmentalized closet type thing. This should bother me more than it does. But the minute his lips touch mine I forget where I am. The copiuos amounts of liquor probably had something to do with it too.
Then, suddenly, it's morning. Or, more accurately, later in the morning than it was when we fell asleep. Now hundreds of questions are running through my head. The most important of which are the immediate ones. Where in the world is the women's room, and IS THERE GOING TO BE SOMEONE WORKING IN THE CUBICLE OUTSIDE THE DOOR!
I wake MBB to ask these questions and realize that the reason I am freezing is that they turn the heat off in office buildings on weekends. After a thousand assurances that no one will be outside, i quickly dress and head towards the women's room. Two things happen here. 1. I find mens shaving gel next to the sink. 2. I hear someone moving around outside and almost die of a heart attack. I imagine exiting the bathroom and running into one of MBBs coworkers. What would I say? "Uh, hi, I'm Kim. I'm just visiting MBB ... at 10am on a Sunday morning. With bed head. And his shirt on. Nice meeting you!"
I basically run back to MBBs, I don't even know what you call it, his room? and find it empty meaning that whatever I heard before was him. I breathe a sign of relief. It's a quick one because I then find my own shirt and have my coat on before he returns.
He tries to convince me to stay and watch football. Not once has he made any mention of the fact that we are in the middle of his office. He's acting like this is totally normal!
Me? I bolt as fast as my aching, heeled, walk of shame feet can carry me.
Only in New York, folks. Only in New York.Labels: dating, NYC |
posted by FINY @ Wednesday, January 09, 2008   |
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| Saturday, June 09, 2007 |
| Oh, SNAP |
So recently, before Cope and I started whatever it is we've started here (we're not defining it at the moment) I had tentatively waded into the Match.com world. I wasn't really all that proactive about it, but I had traded emails with a couple different guys, all of whom I haven't talked to in over a week now.
But today I receive the following message "from" a guy I had been talking with from Long Island:
Just so you know he is a liar, cheater, and a scumbag. This is his girlfriend who was stupid enough to fall for his line of shit. We currently live and own a house on LI.
Now, I know I shouldn't be laughing, cause this poor girl is probably going through some REALLY tough shit right now, but all I could do was laugh and think, "Oh, this dude is SO fucked".Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Saturday, June 09, 2007 |
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| Monday, June 04, 2007 |
| A World I Just Can't Escape |
I've never thought of myself as an internet junkie. I mean, sure, I've got my blog. And my myspace page. A few mentions here and there on old job websites, Alzheimer's Association newsletters, etc. Oh and of course there's my account on my new favorite time waster: www.goodreads.com.
Then of course there's the three email addresses. The AIM screen name. The dozens of blogs I read and comment on. I pay my bills almost exclusively online. Hell, I even order my groceries over the internet!
Is there an Internet Addicts Anonymous somewhere out there? Because I think I need to become a member.
Then again, it's got its upsides. I mean, without the internet, it would have been impossible for the almost instantaneous sharing of photos from the reunion this weekend (one of which features me kissing a gay guy. I’m sure that one will make mom proud). And I never would have met some very good friends I've made through this site. I also probably wouldn't have ended up making a scene in the middle of one of my favorite Boston bars this weekend, but what would the fun in that be?
That's right, Finy's got a story about being drunk and making out. Who's shocked? Yeah that's what I thought.
I haven't thought up a moniker for him yet (which he's going to be VERY disappointed by), but Saturday night found a long-time online friend and fellow blogger and I kind of sheepishly admitting mutual internet crushes on each other. Not going to tell you which one, since he very rarely talks about his personal life on his blog, and far be it for me to out him. But with so many drinks that evening, said admission did lead to making out like horny high school kids in the middle of a very well-lit bar. I'm nothing if not classy.
So while some people may not understand the internet addiction, I think I'll just ride mine out for a while. As if I ever really thought of escaping it in the first place.Labels: blogging, Boston, college, dating, drinking |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, June 04, 2007 |
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| Tuesday, May 08, 2007 |
| Post Break-Up Code of Conduct |
We all know those unwritten rules of how to conduct yourself a break up. We each have our own, and of course they're all taken from personal experiences, but nevertheless, they're there. One of my unwritten break up rules was broken by The Twin a few weekends ago, which begged the question; what IS the code of conduct after you end a relationship? This is my attempt at answering that question.
Rule Number 1: The Division of Friends All friends will revert back to their original relationships. No calls or emails will be made to the former-significant-other's friends. This rule can be weakened if the ending of the relationship is amicable.
Personal Example The first time The Twin and I broke up, he and the Welshman remained on speaking terms, at least when they ran into each other at the bar. The second time? He has tried to start conversations with him multiple times, to no avail. 'Cause one of my best friends is really going to want to talk to a guy who broke his friend's heart not once, but twice. Yeah, that makes sense. But when Barnard Boy and I split, and have since remained friends, the mutual ties remained unaffected.
Rule Number 2: Childish Acts of Anger Directly After the Breakup CAN Be Forgiven Depending on the severity of said break up, the dumper shall excuse the dumpee for a myriad of harmless acts that are founded on deeply hurt feelings.
Personal Example When The Ex moved out, for about two months after any guy who asked for my number, I gave his cell phone to. Now I am sure that most of them didn't actually call (they never do) but it gave me a tiny little laugh that guys could be calling him and asking for me. Childish, yes, but after the extreme severity of the case? Well deserved, and in the end, completely harmless.
Rule Number 3: Any Personal Possessions Left Behind By the Dumper Immediately Become Property of the Dumpee … and can be disposed of in any way the dumpee deems fit. This includes CDs, t-shirts, DVDs, etc. The dumpee should try to avoid at all costs, wallowing in his or her sorrow by wearing said t-shirts, listening to said cds, or watching said dvds.
Personal Example When The Twin and I broke it off the first time, I didn't get rid of any of his stuff. Instead, I hid the Wakefield Warriors t-shirt I had taken to wearing to bed in a drawer, figuring one day it wasn't going to hurt so much. The second time? That t-shirt met with some scissors.
Rule Number 4: All Requests Regarding Communication MUST Be Honored If either one of the two parties does not want to continue a friendly relationship, the other must adhere to the request. If broken by the dumper, they just look like an insensitive prick. If broken by the dumpee they just look pathetic.
Personal Example The Ex and I were not able to speak until years after our break up, and even then, I had to let it taper off, I was still too mad. When The Twin and I broke it off the first time, I was ok with being friends. The second time I explicitly told him never to contact me again.
Rule Number 5: The Division of Hang Outs Much like Rule Number 1, all bars that had distinct lines of "ownership" to either party revert back to said party as soon as the breakup occurs.
Personal Experience We all have these. Those places that are just yours. For me, it's Professor Thom's. The owners have become more than just the guys that serve me beer, but friends. The regulars have as well. I'm there all the time, I love this place. Well, after a 6 month absence, The Twin decided it was ok to come back to watch the Sox. And not only that, but to bring his new girlfriend, whom he started dating suspiciously soon after we split, along with him. And while we didn't even make eye contact that night, I swear to God if I hadn't been so focused on making sure he didn't think I gave a shit, I could have punched him.
In Conclusion: Just Be Considerate Break ups, especially the bad ones, always involve some level of hurt feelings. Be considerate of one another. Ostensibly, if you've been together for any real length of time, you should know your former flame well enough to know what is going to hurt them. And if you cared about them enough to date them in the first place, shouldn't you care about them enough to respect their feelings?
All of this seems like common sense to me. But then again, I could be wrong. What are your break up rules?Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, May 08, 2007 |
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| Monday, May 07, 2007 |
| An Exercise in Pictoral Excuses |
Yes, I have been absent over the last few weeks, months, etc. But really, I've got some pretty good excuses.
First, I went to a Sox game at Yankee Stadium where I watched Dice-K pitch and the Sox win:
And ate a lot of peanuts:
After the game, I got way too wasted when the Twin showed up at Prof. Thom's after a 6 month absence. But he wasn't alone, he had the new-me with him. I held it together while at the bar, but the evening ended with me crying on the sidewalk in the Welshman's arms. Look for a post soon about the rules of post break-up behavior. I think The Twin needs a memo.
So the next day I was hoping the Sox would cheer me up when I attended the second game in the series. That didn't happen, since they lost, but at least I got to watch Wakefield pitch.
The third game in the series was watched at Thom's. Much beer was imbibed during the day. And into the night. 12 straight hours of drinking does not a good blogger make:
After a few days break in which I recovered from said weekend, I went to a very swanky and very successful Alzheimer's Association Junior Committee gala:
At which I was the PICTURE of decorum:
Two days later I was at a Cinco De Mayo party in Boston:
That didn't end until the sun was rising:
Long story short? I'm such an ass that I am not even going to promise that I'll be blogging more now (even though I will, no really, I swear).Labels: Alzheimer's, baseball, blogging, Boston, dating, drinking, misc., NYC, photos, Red Sox, sports, travel |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, May 07, 2007 |
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| Wednesday, February 14, 2007 |
| Happy Hearts Day! |
Well, I made it back from Boston in one piece. The 36 hour trip was tough but worth it. The interview went VERY well, and they've already been in touch via email to let me know that they are trying to figure out when everyone would be free to see me for a second interview. But now I am just trying to finish prepping for my interivew here in NYC in a few hours, so you'll have to excuse me while I change the subject.
So Happy Valentine's Day everyone. This is one of those holidays that whether I am in a relationship or not, I always completely forget about it until it's almost here. I've got plans tonight with my buddy Ryan to play pool. We made the plans last week, and until Monday, I hadn't even realized we had made the plans for Valentine's Day. Oops. Luckily we're going to a tiny little dive bar that is not exactly going to be packed with VDay dates so it shouldn't be too crowded.
Anyway, I hope you all have a very Happy Valentine's Day. Update later today on how the interview this morninng went.Labels: dating, misc., Unemployment |
| posted by FINY @ Wednesday, February 14, 2007 |
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| Wednesday, January 31, 2007 |
| Fantasy and Reality |
Fantastical thinking, or, thinking about the world in a way that is inconsistent with real-world knowledge, is a basic level of human development. I know, I used to work on psychology textbooks. The field of psychology teaches us that children are really young scientists, trying to rationalize the ways of the world, making mistakes in order to find the correct path, imagining impossible scenarios until they can figure out the truth.
But what happens when an individual escapes into adulthood holding on to just a tiny little piece of that? Where is the line between a dream, or a goal, and an all out fantasy? And are they all bad?
I ask this after a conversation I had with a friend a few weeks ago. We were discussing some of our friends, trying to figure out what kind of film they imagined they were living in. Romantic-comedy. Film noir. Drama. Documentary. Porno.
It got me thinking. I like to think that I am a pretty grounded human being. I've seen enough of the world to know the damage it can do, but also the opportunities it presents. Yes, I've got a hyperactive emotional side, but I'd like to believe that that only serves to make me a more caring human being. That it helps me be a more compassionate friend, sister, daughter. But I'm sane and rational enough to know that, for example, if I don't work my ass off to get every resume out there I can that a job will not suddenly appear. I know the cast of Friends never could have afforded to live in New York City, and I know that Carrie Bradshaw could not have been able to buy all of those Manolos on a columnists salary.
So why is it then, that when it comes to love and relationships, I was the one that could best be described as wishing she lived in a romantic comedy? I don't believe that a white knight will one day come along and sweep me off my feet, but you've got to admit that the true-love aspect, the over the top romance, can be appealing at times. And come to think of it, the female protagonists of those films are typically strong, independent women, but who have their own set of flaws. By and large is that so far off from the norm? From personal experience I'd have to say that the men in those movies don't exist, but then again – I'm just waiting for a guy to prove me wrong.
And it's not as if I sit around at home waiting for said guy to come find me. If he's not around at the moment, well then fine. I'm going to continue living my life. But I don't think it's unhealthy to fantasize that he might actually exist. Many of the single women I know, especially here in New York, quickly become jaded. They assume the worst of men, having been let down too many times, and in too many ways.
I, on the other hand, choose optimism. I choose hope. I choose to believe that at some point I'm going to find a guy that loves me as much as I love him. I choose to believe that I don't have to go scowering the Manhattan skyline for him, that we may just meet one day. Hell, I could have already met him for all I know.
If it's meant to be, it will be. That's cheesy, and corny. And perhaps it is "fantastical thinking" that real-life romantic comedies can exist, but I don't care.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go play in the sandbox. Anyone care to join me?Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Wednesday, January 31, 2007 |
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| Monday, January 29, 2007 |
| It Really IS A Small World After All |
It's a small, small world.
The song has been running through my head lately (and now probably through at least a few of yours). It's easy to think that in a city of a couple million people it would be easy never to run into people, never to have that kind of random coincidence type of moment. But in the last week, I've had more than my fair share. Luckily, all of them were in a good way.
Thursday of last week, I went out to drinks with my Philly Fan Friend (Let's call her PFF for short) for drinks. While we were out playing darts we ran into a guy that works at the company that I had my first job out of college. In and of itself, not random, right? Thing is this guy is based out of Boston, is rarely in NYC and just happened to be staying at a hotel across the street. Add to that that he is about four rungs up on the corporate ladder than I was when I was there, and just happened to be handed the resignation of one of his team members just hours before seeing me, and you've got a very productive coincidence. He asked me to send him my resume, which he has since passed on for consideration. Small world episode number one.
The other two both happened on Saturday night. The Midwesterner, The Guy Magnet and I went out for a night on the town that night. Just out of the relationship with Barnard Boy, wearing my glasses, and not feeling all that up to trolling for men, I was going along as the wingwoman. I just needed to get out of my apartment.
A few hours into the evening we're leaving a bar and I run into an exroommate, her boyfriend, and their friend (hi guys!) who I hadn't seen in ages. I had never been to the bar we were at, and we were just leaving as they were coming in, but it was fantastic to see them and remind myself that I really should give them a ring to hang out soon. Small world occurrence number two.
Number 3 is really the most bizarre though. That same night, at our third bar of the evening, I am starting to get sick of this scoping men out thing. Since I wasn't in the mood to meet anyone for myself and the girls were pretty focused on it, I was getting a bit bored. So I separate from them for a few minutes and head out to have a cigarette where a guy asks me for a light. We start talking, and yes, ok, kind of flirting, and he and his friend join the girls and I for a drink inside. As this guy and I are talking I ask him where he's from.
Guy: Rhode Island.
Finy: No way, me too. Where in RI?
Guy: Barrington.
Finy: *Stunned Silence*
He's from my hometown. No joke, we went to middle school together. We don't remember each other, but MUST have had some of the same classes because we had all the same teachers, and we're the same age/class (though he went to private high school while I continued on in the public school system). We know some of the same people, and our houses were probably a mile and a half apart. We spent the next THREE HOURS talking about home, who we knew, retelling stories from middle school, where we go when we go home now, etc. etc. etc. I left the bar that night and still couldn't believe it.
Moral of this story: "Though the oceans divide and the mountains are wide, it's a small world after all."Labels: dating, drinking, misc., NYC, Unemployment |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, January 29, 2007 |
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| Saturday, January 13, 2007 |
| The Right Thing Doesn't Always Feel Good |
I haven't talked a lot about my relationship with Barnard Boy here at Miles from Fenway. It just, well it didn't feel right knowing how many mutual friends we had that read here. In the end, I know that ending the relationship was the right thing to do. But knowing it was the right thing to do. Knowing that in the end this was the best decision, does not make the knowledge that I hurt him feel any better. I feel awful that I've hurt someone I care about. But in the end, I guess that's just something I'll have to live with, and hope that, eventually, he'll realize that this was the right decision too.
So I guess this is a completely fresh start for me. New year. No Job. Newly single (and planning on staying that way for a VERY long time). My friend Meegan said to me a few moments ago on the phone "I think this is going to be the year of Finy". I hope she's right.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Saturday, January 13, 2007 |
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| Monday, November 27, 2006 |
| Behind Closed Doors |
I have a history of being in misunderstood relationships. Starting all the way back in high school with Yact Boy, people have questioned my choices in partners. My high school sweetheart, WPI Guy, The Ex, Crazy Rebound Guy (ok those were well-founded), The Twin; all relationships that lasted a year or longer, during each of which I heard things like You two are just so different, He's so insensitive, and You can do better. Even my current relationship with Barnard Boy is under scrutiny, It's so soon!
For almost a decade I've been repeating the same mantra: Unless you're in the relationship, you just don't know. And I really do believe that. But why is it so hard to remember when you're talking about other people's lives? When it comes to ourselves, we understand. No one but the two of you knows what goes on when you go home at night. People see you together, out at the bar, at dinner with friends, or at a party. But alone, on the couch watching TV, in a cab, behind closed doors? No one sees that but you.
And yet, as a society, we forget that. When couples like Ryan Phillipe and Reese Witherspoon, Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt, or even Britney Spears and Kevin Federline call it quits it's front page news. You hear things like I thought they were so happy, How could this happen, and Well, it's about time. Forgetting that not only do they not know the intimate details of these people's love lives, but that they don't know these people full stop.
And we don't just do this with relationships we think are doomed or are already troubled. When we see celebrities, friends, or family members in relationships we think are happy. Stable. We're shocked to find out that there are problems. As if every relationship doesn't have them. Why do we hold on so tightly to those that we think set the ideal, be it our parents, our friends, or people we don't even know? Is it because, for those of us who are not married, we're looking for confirmation that the institute of marriage can work? That in today's culture of short marriages and high divorce rates we crave the affirmation of a happy couple?
I don't know the answers to the questions I've just posed. Hell, I am not even really sure there are any. What I do know is that I've got two friends who are going through some rough stuff right now, and I feel like no matter what I do, no matter how much I offer my support, my shoulder to cry on, any comfort I could possibly give, it isn't going to make it hurt any less. And when my friends are in pain all I want in the world is to take even just a little bit of that pain away. For now I am just going to have to hope that my being there is enough. Cause when it comes to stuff like this, there's not much someone outside the relationship can do.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, November 27, 2006 |
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| Monday, October 23, 2006 |
| What a Weekend |
Certain people fascinate me, and she was absolutely one of them. sitting on a folding chair smoking a cigarette, her frizzy grey curls forming a halo of hair around her head. She wore a mauve mock turtle neck, paired with the type of jeans you just know had an elastic waistband. And all around her were twenty-something women in varying states of undress; each of them teasing their hair, adjusting their break-your-ankle heels, painting on their makeup, or examining their exposed breasts.
This is the version of the strip club most never see. Here in the ladies room of the Manhattan genlemen's club called Private Eyes, I could barely contain my laughter. There I was, wasted, in my first strip club, continuing a conversation with one of the girls that had started while she was gyrating on a pole in front of me.
What can I say, I really liked the lingere she was wearing!
The entire scene had been perpetrated by The Redhead who had surprised us all the night before (Friday) by simply appearing - as if out of nowhere - from the left coast. See, while he had flown in just the previous day, his flight back to Los Angeles left at 6am Sunday morning. So clearly we had to stay up all night or risk him missing his plane. Clearly we all needed to take one for the team. And what better time for me to see my first strip club?
Previous to this, Barnard Boy, Midwestern Girl, the Redhead and I had packed the day with Brunch, a viewing of The Prestige, a walk in Central Park, a trip to Professor Thom's, and a pit stop at the Blarney something, a bar on 34th Street. Call us what you will (and drunks would be appropriate) but we know how to make the most of limited time together.
I laughed for the majority of the evening. At how my first thought upon entering the club was "Gee, I really like the boyshort and cami set the coat check girl has on" straight on through to our discussions while sitting on Perverts Row about whose boobs were fake, which were too coked out to know what they were doing, and if I had to choose, which girl I'd want a lap dance from.*
Somewhere towards the end of the night/morning, we split off into two conversations. The Redhead and Midwestern Girl discussing I don't know what, Barnard Boy and I talking yet again about the possibility of us trying to be more than friends. It was a topic I had grown accustomed to in the past week, and a thought I had had previous to that. But, as I am want to do, I had been over rationalizing myself out of it for weeks. Hadn't I just gotten out of a relationship? Did I really want to risk our friendship? Could he really open up to me the way I would need a partner to?
As we sat there, discussing our pasts and debating our future, all while absentmindedly stuffing dollar bills in half-naked women's G-strings, I decided I needed to stop thinking. He's cute, he's smart, he's funny, and I already trust him. Oh and he's a Red Sox fan.** What more could a girl ask for?
So yes, it is entirely possible that Barnard Boy and I "officially" crossed the friend line while sitting in a strip club. Now there's a story to tell your parents!
After all that, Sunday hit like a ton of bricks. Barnard Boy and I arrived at Riverside Park at 9:30am - just four hours after returning to his Harlem apartment. We proceeded to sleep-walk our way through the two mile Memory Walk before parting ways.
More than 24-hours later, I still don't think my body and mind have caught up with what went on this weekend. And neither has my wallet.
But hot damn if it wasn't worth it.
* I never did end up makign up my mind, so no, I did not get a lap dance.
* How in the world I've ended up with yet another Sox fan while living in NYC I have no idea, but trust me, I am not questioning it! :) Labels: dating, drinking, NYC |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, October 23, 2006 |
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| Sunday, October 15, 2006 |
| Is This What We've Come To? |
Times like this, living alone really sucks. See, last night I had an interesting conversation with a friend in which he sounded like he was thinking about dating me like he was thinking about a business transaction. And then this morning I get an even better idea that The Twin was cheating on me, and actual confirmation that he is, in fact, dating someone new. The potential for him cheating on me is pretty fucking high and I'd be lying if I said that that didn't hurt like hell and make me want to go kick him in the balls all at the same time. While simultaneously being angry at myself because I really don't want to give a shit.
So is this what we've come to? Are these my options now? Guys that cheat on you, or who are utterly practical and rational and devoid of any sort of romantic sentiment? I feel like I am the last hopeless romantic left in New York City. I WANT romance. I WANT passion. I WANT a guy to want to sweep me off my feet. Is that too much to ask for? Becuase I am beginning to think it is. I've never been this close to the bitter line before and that sucks. I didn't think I could ever become that bitter girl. If the Ex walking out on me didn't do it, I was sure nothing could. But three plus years later, I am slowly edging closer and closer. I don't want to be that girl. I don't want to give up on romance, relationships, and love, I don't even want to be the kind of girl who fucking blogs about it all the time. But somehow, that's what I've become!
Talking to Tessie has helped not at all. And of course everyone I've called isn't around and being alone right now is not the best of options. I really hate shopping, but I'm thinking some retail therapy is in order. Barnes and Noble style.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Sunday, October 15, 2006 |
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| Saturday, October 14, 2006 |
| Should Have Seen It Coming |
Hindsight is 20-20. Or so they say. I let myself believe it was a business thing. But then her name popped up more. He was hanging out with her while I was away. And there was other stuff. I brushed off the fact that we hadn't been intimate in ages. It was a tough time, with the bugs and the moving. I really thought everything was ok. I was delusional.
Whether or not he was sleeping with her when we were together I'll never know, but odds are he is now. And you know what pisses me off? Not that he's with someone else, but that he clearly has a "type". Girl looks more similar to me than I feel comfortbale with. And from what I had heard of her in the past; we like the same kind of shit too. But she's skinnier, and even I'll admit, cuter. So this leaves me feeling irrationally inadequate. Like I was cool, but not quite good enough.
And I hate that I let myself feel that way. Because I know it's not the truth. But looking back I should have seen it. I've kept one and only one memento from our time together: the letter he wrote me right before we got back together. That night at the bar, him sitting in front of me, baring his soul, was the only time he ever let me in. And I know that now. Out of a year I got one night.
Sometimes looking back can be a bitch. You remember the good times, the small stuff. But when you look back and realize that it's possible you never even knew the man you supposedly loved, it starts to make things easier.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Saturday, October 14, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, October 03, 2006 |
| Anger : Attraction |
It takes a lot to get me mad. I see this as both a blessing and a curse. It means that I don't tend to fly off the handle, but it also means that I tend to get stepped on quite a bit. I'm tolerant to a fault.
Yesterday, I hit my limit. After a trip to the DMV, a botched attempt to get a replacement license, a call to the DMV which resulted in a SECOND trip to the office of I-never-graduated-from-high-school-so-instead-got-a-job-torturing-citizens-for-the-state, I lost it. There was yelling, there was screaming, there was a lot of using the word "fuck". All I want is my life back, and yesterday, it felt like no one wanted to give it to me. So I lost it. I was fuming. I could feel the steam coming out of my ears and the laser beams shooting out of my eyes.
But here's the thing I noticed about being angry. I got more compliments from random men on the street yesterday than I've probably gotten combined in the last year. Is there something about a pissed off, glowering woman that turns a man on?Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, October 03, 2006 |
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| Thursday, September 28, 2006 |
| I Officially Reject the Month of September |
From here on out, I will no longer acknowledge the existence of the month of September. Let's take a quick recap of my month thus far:
* Moved into an apartment over-run by cockroaches.
* Got dumped.
and now we can add a third to the list:
* Had purse stolen.
That's right. Last night, while riding the train home, I fell asleep. And when I awoke, it was gone. Three hours later, three hours of crying, and police reports, and waking up a super who had never met me at 3 in the morning to get his set of keys, I was in my apartment. Without my cell phone. Without my wallet. Without my camera, my Kate Spade purse, without my checkbook.
This morning has consisted of trips to the bank, to verizon wireless, calls to my management company, my credit cards, my parents. It will continue with calls to the DMV, and a visit from the locksmith so he can change my locks.
Of course all of these calls are being made from the office since I have no phone.
And it's all my fault. All of it. Everything that's happened this month falls directly on my shoulders. I should have asked MM more questions about the bugs. I shouldn't have ever let The Twin back into my life. I shouldn't be traveling on the subway while tipsy and tired.
I've hit rock bottom at this point. Here's to hoping there's nowhere to go from here but up - but I'm not going to count on it.Labels: apartment, dating, NYC |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, September 28, 2006 |
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| Monday, September 18, 2006 |
| Takeaways |
The late Israel Kamakawiwoole's version of "Over the Rainbow" is the kind of song that lends itself well to television commercials, movie background music, and any number of other commercial uses. It also lends itself well to getting stuck in my head. Last night, after hearing it during, I think, a cereal commercial, I went to download it from iTunes, and paused only briefly while remembering sitting in The Twin's wheelchair/desk chair, singing along to that very song after hearing it at the movie theater.
After listening to the song a couple times through, I went to my CD collection in search of something that would knock the beautiful and addicting song out of my head. As I searched through CDs both old and new, I realized that inside the large black binder in which I store my music, there was basically a timeline of every past relationship I've ever had.
For those of you who've seen The Runaway Bride you'll remember that one of the things Julia Robert's character took for each of her fiances was she began eating her eggs in the style with which he favored - scrambled, egg whites only, benedict (my fave by the way), etc. For me, apparently, it's music.
Apparently, I pick up a group or two from each ex. From The Twin it was Kamakawiwoole and Iron Horse, a bluegrass band who's tribute to Metallica Fade to Bluegrass completely changed my mind about bluegass in general. From The Ex I became a big moe. and Dropkick Murphys fan. A high school boyfriend rekindled the love of classic rock my father had tried to instill in me since birth. The list goes on, but I think you get my drift.
They say you learn something from every relationship you're in. Apparently, my lessons broaden my musical horizons.Labels: dating, music |
| posted by FINY @ Monday, September 18, 2006 |
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| Friday, September 15, 2006 |
| A Moment of Weakness |
I'm a crier. I am, I've never been bashful about it, in fact, I embrace it. It's a good release. I cry when I'm happy. I cry when I'm overtired. I cry when I'm sad. I cry when I'm angry or frustrated. Pick an emotion, it usually involves tears.
I hadn't cried since Wednesday. And even then it was a brief, fleeting moment that I quickly squashed. I'd been holding myself together with my anger towards him.
I broke down today. After getting up so early in the morning, after so little sleep, after a week that has consisted of working until all hours, killing bugs, and trying to stay strong, I finally just had to let go for a while.
I cried because I missed him. Because I am still mad at myself for letting myself fall for him all over again. I cried because this has been the week from hell, and of everyone I wanted to call, of everyone I wanted a hug from it was him.
Luckily, my parents are coming down this weekend. And this morning, I was reminded why I am so excited for the Walk on Sunday. Seeing one of our constituents faces as Harry Smith wrapped his arm around him and ushered him onto the set was enough to remind me of why I work as hard as I do. And Sunday is going to be filled with moments like that.
It was just a moment of weakness. Or at least that's what I have to keep telling myself.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Friday, September 15, 2006 |
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| Thursday, September 14, 2006 |
| A Post That Will Most Likely Be Deleted Later |
I wasn't going to post this. I even sent it to two of my friends so that I could feel like I was sort of puttting it out there in the world, but not actually somewhere where he could see it (since I know he still checks in here). But I am just so fucking angry. And I need that to go away. It's not like me. So here it is, my last post about the breakup, that will probably be deleted later.
...
Yup, I knew I wouldn't be able to stomach having that up there for long.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Thursday, September 14, 2006 |
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| Wednesday, September 13, 2006 |
| Life as Literature |
If I read life half as well as I read novels, I would have seen the signs. And not the big ones, not the "he didn't show up when he said he would"s, not the "her friends came over to help her clean up the dead bugs in her apartment and he didn't even offer"s. The subtle ones. The ones that my literature professors used to be so proud of me for finding in the densest of narratives.
I'm a book nerd to end all book nerds. This can best be summed up in the book that I'm reading right now; How to Read Literature Like A Professor That's right, I'm reading literary criticism - for fun. Says so right there on the back of the book.
So as I am reading on the subway this morning, I realize that if my life HAD been a novel, I would have seen the ominous signs. The cockroaches being the most obvious. When you see one, more are coming. They're inescapable. Much like what is to follow. They were my foreshadowing.
If I had paid attention I would have realized that I had let The Twin become a John Willoughby to my Marianne, when wouldn't we all rather be Elinor?
If I had been reading my life, instead of living it, I wouldn't have been surprised by the outcome. And really, I am just dreaming when I compare it to the greats like Sense and Sensibility. At present my life is like a bad chick lit novel. Mid-twenties, single, living in New York in a small apartment that has bugs. With my cat. Working in a publishing related field. Recently spurned by a less than worthy lover.
But then again - no story is original, and wasn't Austen one of the original romance novelists?
So if we follow that logic, better things are to come. And soon, if I'm not mistaken.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Wednesday, September 13, 2006 |
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| Tuesday, September 12, 2006 |
| How Do You Delete A Memory |
When all the phone messages are erased. When all the emails have been trashed. Once you've deleted all the texts, thrown away the mementos, gotten rid of the physical reminders, how do you get rid of the memories.
Those memories that keep creeping in throughout the day. The train ride to Rhode Island. The night in the batting cages. The flowers that were bought. The day he showed up at the office. The night we got back together. The way he smiled. The feel of his hugs. Why isn't there a switch to turn that stuff off? Because I don't want them right now. Eventually I will, but right now, this minute, I can't handle them.
I hate the fact that I let him do this to me again. I feel weak because of it. And I want to say that I am just going to build up a wall so I won't get hurt again. But I know myself better than that. I let people in until they prove I shouldn't and by then it's too late. But then again, if I did shut people out would it make me any different than him?
I hate the fact that he's out there, living his life. I find myself imagining that this isn't affecting him at all. He texted me last night by accident. Something that was supposed to go to one of his friends. He left me on the street last night and went down to Ground Zero to take some photographs. He just moved on, right away.
I hate that I can't pretend that I'm ok – he knows I'm not. He knows I can act that way because I told him I could when we got back together. After the first time, he thought I was alright, that I had moved on. I deserved a fucking Oscar for that performance. I deserve to be booed for this one.
But I am done. Completely done with him. There will be no phone calls, no emails. In a way I have moved on. I've moved on from thinking that he was even a friend to me. Sure he was the person I went to when things got tough, was the first phone call when something good happened, was the one I turned to for so many things. But I wasn't that for him. He wouldn't let me be. And you can't be friends when you're the only one putting anything into it. Nevermind in a relationship.Labels: dating |
| posted by FINY @ Tuesday, September 12, 2006 |
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