The Virginity Monologues

Reason #3,246 why I love Email Boy:

That I can effectively win an argument with the statement 'yer mom'.

Present Mood: Disillusioned

It has not been a good week for men in my world. Other than, obviously, my beloved Email Boy, and a wonderful friend that I had dinner with on Thursday (whom is uncomfortable with me blogging about the evening, so I shall refrain), men have done nothing but disappoint this week. Ones that I thought of as decent are not so much, and ones that I knew were pretty skanky are even more so.

Not to mention, I am still frustrated with Oscar.

We haven't spoken since I left his place on Wednesday morning after a long and harrowing evening, and even though everything was technically resolved- something still nags. It pulls on my sleeve, does a little attention getting cough and says, 'Chloe. He's not good enough for you. He'll never be what you want. Distance yourself. Fortify your defenses. Get out before he really hurts you.'

Because, mother of god, am I afraid of getting hurt.

There's got to be place between Constant-Hurt-Because-I'm-Continually-Trusting-The Wrong-Men and So-Cynical-And-Closed-Off-That-My-Heart-And-Vagina-Have-Been-Untouched-For-Seemingly-Centuries.

My Happy Medium, where are you?

And WHY? WHY? did the universe suddenly send my Long Lost College Best Friend back into my life, complete with a myspace page filled to gills with pictures of him and his beautiful wife and their beautiful son. What is the point of reminding me of the best friend that I loved FERVENTLY and is still one of the Top 5 People that I Have Been The Closest to in My Lifetime?

Yes, Universe, I know that there good men out there and that he's one of them. But Universe, remember how The Good Ones never want to be involved with me romantically? Sure, they love me to pieces and I inevitably become their best friend, but it never goes further than that, because Universe, let's just face it- you hate me. After my years of nothing but horrific luck where men are concerned, that point has been driven home.

So please. Don't send any more really fabulous men back into my life that have left their mark on me indelibly, but then married somebody else.

I don't like it. It's not fun.

Today's Title: Tears Dry On Their Own by Amy Winehouse

Labels: Oscar

After Oscar opted not to call me until 11:00 last night, there was a fight. A big nasty fight.

And I don't really want to talk about it anymore. There hasn't really been any resolution and I don't know what to do or how to proceed, so I'm giving myself a few days to not talk about it and just let everything settle in my head, while I figure out what I can put up with and what I can't.

Thank you everyone for your comments yesterday.

And thank you especially to Spatch, who was with me last night and figuratively held my hand as I descended from irritated to irate to crying on her massage table. Along with my anger issue, I have an anxiety issue and it's such a comfort to have someone witness it's truly spectacular grip on me, walk me through it, and still want to be my friend afterwards. When I was at my worst point, she laid me down on her massage table, cued up some Bach cello solos and gave me the most relaxing massage of my life, for which I am eternally grateful.
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One day, I was riding the bus home. And a girl came and sat in front of me with a McDonald's bag. I watched in wide-eyed fascination as she pulled out a double cheeseburger, opened it up, put a handful of fries in the middle of it, closed it back up and ate it.

Fries! In the middle of the cheeseburger!!

Having been officially diagnosed with an unhealthy obsession with french fries (well, really all things potato, but mostly fries), I was PISSED that I had never thought of this! Such a genius idea!

Since then, I have been on the lookout for more opportunities to incorporate potato related food items directly into other food items (I'm still undecided about whether or not I want to try incorporating hash browns directly into pancakes).

Today, I got a turkey sandwich for lunch and a bag of potato chips. And I know other people have done this before, it's not like I'm reinventing the wheel or anything. But I decided to try the potato chips IN the turkey sandwich. Which not only introduces a bit of potato into my sandwich (always a plus), but it always makes my sandwich crunchy. And people- I LOVE crunchy. I am in constant search of crunch.

Oh, that sandwich was heavenly.

And I am officially converted. I can't wait to try Doritos in a sandwich. I realize that Doritos do not contain potato, but they pack a hefty crunch and they are beyond delicious to me, so I imagine the marriage of Dorito and sandwich will be every bit as wonderful as the potato chip and sandwich.

Mmmmmm.

Today's Title from: Tell Me What We're Gonna Do Now by Joss Stone

Labels: Oscar, Spatch

I have a problem with anger.

Sometimes I don't get angry enough. Sometimes I get too angry.

I can't seem to find a happy medium. I've learned to have conversations with myself about appropriate levels of anger.

It's silly.

I think I may be irrationally angry about how the events of last evening unfolded.

During our lengthy conversation on Sunday night, Oscar and I decided we would see each other either Monday (yesterday) or Tuesday (today). He wasn't sure which night he could do, due to some family obligations. He said he would call me and let me know.

So yesterday, he called me at noon, he had a break and wanted to hear my voice. He still wasn't sure if he would be able to get together that night. I needed to do laundry and could do it either night, depending on how things unfolded with him, and I didn't have any other plans in the pipeline, so I wasn't desperate for an answer. He told me he would call me later and to give me an update on things.

After work, I went and saw my waxer, and having still heard nothing from Oscar, headed home. Still no word by the time I got home around 7:45. So I got my laundry together. I got done with my laundry and still hadn't heard from Oscar. Everytime I looked at my phone, I got more and more angry.

9:45- I'm talking to my mom on the phone about my upcoming trip home, and I get a call waiting beep. It's that fucker, Oscar. I don't answer. I'm talking to my mom and his ass can fucking wait. Not to mention, why is 9:45 an acceptable time to discuss plans for the evening? IT'S NOT. If you want to see me, you need to call before 8:00. It's not a difficult concept.

10:15- I call him back and he doesn't answer, so I leave a message for him to call me back.

11:30- He finally fucking calls. I'm irritated, but am not being really obvious about it. We are making tentative plans for today (Tuesday), when he gets another call that he needs to take and says he'll call me back, which he doesn't.

So here's where I war with myself.

Do I roll with the punches and just chalk it up to things coming up, etc, etc?

Or am I justified in that I am ridiculously fucking angry and feel like he's treating me like shit?

Today's Title from: Supermassive Black Hole by Muse

Labels: Oscar

Email Boy: What about this shirt?
Me: Uhhhmmmm. I don't have a strong opinion. It is pink.
EB: WHAT THE %*#@! It's pink?!?!?! I wore this on a date! I thought it was red! I'm such an ass.

Enter Jim, Email Boy's roommate, concerned about all the yelling coming from Email Boy's room.

Me: Jim, tell him what color that shirt is.
Jim: It's pink.
EB: How could you let me leave the house in this? You know I'm color blind! What kind of a roommate are you? You let me wear a pink shirt!

Jim and I cannot respond because we are laughing so hard we are crying.

This is only a slice of the pure hilarity which took place in Email Boy's room all Saturday afternoon as EB and I went through his closet, tossing offensive articles of clothing and where I learn that color blindness isn't EB's only impairment when it comes to fashion. He just doesn't have any. Thank goodness he has me.
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4:50 Sunday morning.

My alarm goes off. Maria moans from the cot set up in my room.

30 minutes later, Karen, Maria and I are on the subway heading for midtown where we are meeting up with our group to go white water rafting.

Here's the highlights of the day:

-A pit stop at WaWa on our way to the river, were we marveled at the abundance of fun/delightful/nutricious foods at prices that bordered on theft.
- Hilariously funny and absolutely fascinating tour guides ("captains")
- In my fear of getting sunburned, lathering myself up with SO MUCH sunscreen, that I didn't even get a tan
- "Serious Bob"- the 19 year old guide who STAUNCHLY refused to tell us when we would be stopping for lunch
- Eating the equivalent of about 50 watermelons between 4 of us for lunch.
- Learning to successfully maneuver ourselves off of enormous rocks that we were constantly getting stuck on
- An absolutely fantastic day spent on the river/in a bus with people that I absolutely adore

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I finished off the weekend with an hour and a half long phone conversation with Oscar just before passing out last night. We're still dating (almost 2 months now) and I'm still hesitant.

Just taking it one day at a time, I guess.

I don't trust him. But that's more because of the sins of those who have gone before than any reason he has given me. He's actually always been relatively dependable and attentive. He's treated me better than anybody else has in a long time. That should count for something.

Today's Title from: Better Together by Jack Johnson

Labels: Email Boy, Oscar

There is nothing worse than finishing a meal and realizing, you're still seriously hungry. This has happened to me now twice this week. The first time was at the Mets game. I had eaten a small lunch, as I knew I would be eating lots of not-so-healthy food later. After polishing off my hot dog and french fries at the game, I thought to myself- Hey, I could really go for another hot dog. I refrained though, as Email Boy and I have a 4th inning ice cream tradition and I was loathe to be likened in his brain to Chunk from The Goonies. There's limits to how many times I'll do the Truffle Shuffle in my lifetime.

I am suffering from Post-Meal-Hunger again now. But that's largely due to 2 things.

1. I am on a new budget. I have recently become aware that I spend money like Donald Trump in a hair-piece store. I don't know where it all goes! I'm fairly certain that the top 3 culprits are food, clothes and alcohol though. Anyhoo- to curb my spending I've enforced a new budget on myself that requires me to actually bring lunch from home a few times a week, instead of forking over $6-$10 to the deli next door every day. Bringing food from home means Lean Cuisines. I've got a freezer full of them. And as a delicious as they may be (I'm being serious, I think they're yummy), the portion size is meager, to say the least. Hence- hunger. Plus for breakfast, all I had was a bowl of Special K.

2. Although I'm not on a diet (just the idea of going on one immediately makes me run for the nearest McDonalds and get a LARGE fry), I'm thinking that I should maybe be a little healthier, maybe a little more aware of the weight I am carrying around in my ass. Hence, the Lean Cuisines and the Special K; and the hunger.....

So, anyone in the New York City area, if you hear the rumblings- don't be alarmed, it's not another thunderstorm. Its my stomach.

Today's Title from: Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen

I went to court this morning.

And I got what I wanted. The judge even winked at me. I'm going to think it's because I'm such a smarty-pants and not because I'm cute.

NEXT!

I had the distinct pleasure of attending a Mets game last night with Email Boy. In between ridiculous conversations involving our love lives and our incessant troubles with oral sex, we discussed his goals for the future, made plans to clean out his closet and came up with a To-Do list for his days now that he is starting his own business. Why he values my business advice, I have no idea (especially after I could not successfully divide 400 by 50. It's 8. But I said 80. Because I'm a genius), but I'm more than happy to give it.

We also discussed his new wardrobe choices.

EB: What does this outfit say to you?

Me: That you were a techno junkie in high school and that you spend your evenings working on your robot girlfriend.

EB: I want it to say- What you see is what you get.

Me: Is part of what they're getting an introduction to your robot girlfriend?

After such a stimulating conversation, I was surprised to get a call from him today, requesting my okay for an outfit he was wearing to a business meeting. I'm beginning to think that him not being employed in a 9-5 job anymore is going to seriously affect my work productivity....

Today's Title from: Closer to Fine by Indigo Girls

Labels: Email Boy

Ugh.

Current life-situations are such that I find it almost impossible to be light-hearted. Every minute of my life is shadowed by my overwhelming fear of Wednesday morning and all the legal mumbo-jumbo I have to wade through in the interim.

In order to keep the Apartment Management Company tyranny at bay as much as possible, I filled my weekend to the absolute gills.

Friday night I met my fabulous friend, Maria, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see the new Greek and Roman galleries, which I have been very anxious to see. Afterwards we grabbed dinner and talked non-stop throughout. I'm sort of anti-sappy these days, but I have to say that more I get to know her, the more I absolutely adore her.

After leaving Maria, I hit Astoria, Queens to slumber-party it up with my longest New York Friend, K, whom I haven't seen nearly enough of in the previous months. We stayed up late talking, laughing and watching ridiculous TV. We slept in late the next morning, gorged ourselves on various-fruit-pancakes with a plethora of condiments (chocolate syrup, whipped cream, maple syrup, lingonberry sauce, etc, etc), then proceeded to continue watching lots of ridiculous TV.

Exactly what I needed.

I finally dragged my sorry as home, to get ready for a house party in Williamsburg (that's Brooklyn for you non-New Yorkers) thrown by my darling Email Boy and friends. Since I only knew Email Boy and my roommate who I had dragged along with me, in my boredom, I drank myself into an alcohol coma. Not really. But I was wishing I was in a coma when I was puking my guts out once I got home.

Ugh.

The next morning dawned beautiful. I STRUGGLED to get out of bed, as I was officially the Queen of Hangover Land. But I had a brunch to be at and people to not disappoint. Thank the heavens for Aleve and Pepto Bismol.

Brunch with Spatch and friends was fun. Perusing a multitude of sex shops in the West Village- even more fun. After separating from her friends, Spatch and I made our way back up to her apartment, then onto Central Tourist Avenue, otherwise known as 34th street for some shoe shopping. Once we had exhausted ourselves in the shops, we headed down to Madison Square Park for one of my MOST favorite New York City activities- The Shake Shack. I have previously put my foot squarely in the Burger Joint camp, and although Shake Shack burgers may not be the best, they are still DELICIOUS. And getting to lounge on the soft grass of the park while we ate them, was heaven.

Still feeling pretty nauseous, I eventually called it a night and headed home.

Total amount of down-time for the weekend, was approximately 5 hours.

People to Thank For Keeping Me Sane While Every Second Is a Fight Not to Cry:
1. Spatch. E-Cards and Encouragement and a perfect understanding of when I absolutely cannot talk about it anymore.
2. Email Boy. A perfectly timed call just to say hi today, when a serious breakdown was looming. And he doesn't even know about The Issue. Plus, he's taking me to a Mets game tomorrow. God, I love him.

Today's Title from: Badd Business by Phantom Planet

Labels: Email Boy, K, Maria, Spatch

The ride home from Brooklyn was long. And it was the 2nd time in 24 hours that I fell asleep on the subway, something that I have to be REALLY tired to do. My head was fuzzy with memories I was trying to imprint in my brain in all their intricate detail.

The dinner party was at the same apartment as the party I recently went to with Spatch, and in the daylight, I found the neighborhood to be adorable and charming, not nearly as menacing as the last time I was there (although on my way back to the subway later, I was followed by a very creepy man who made weird noises at me, so I'm back to being afraid of the neighborhood).

As I walked in the door, I was greeting with lovely smells and an overwhelming feeling of being underdressed, as I was the only female not in a skirt/dress there.

As always, everyone was outrageously friendly. I knew almost no one there, and Spatch sat with me for the first little bit as I got comfortable, but had some hostessing duties to attend to and left me to my own devices. I found myself immersed in a conversation with a magician, named Jeremiah, with a million fetishes, who later played with my hair for hours and who listened to the story of The Italian with rapt appention.

As I surveyed the room and the tall, red-headed man sitting in front of me, I found myself experiencing something I haven't experienced in a while.

"Ana," I said. "I realize that Jeff is white, but he is smoking hot and I would totally make out with him."

Shocked by my admission, Ana encouraged me to go for it. I declined, having been with Oscar less than 24 hours previously. But I was pleased to realize that I was maybe finally ready to step out of my comfort zone and be more open about who to date.

My lust for Jeff only intensified after he spoon-fed me rum soaked watermelon and bananas with melted chocolate. When our eyes would meet occasionally, I would suddenly get shy, nervous and unsure and look away before he could see the longing in my eyes. I was in over my head and my natural flirtatious abilities were failing me miserably.

Leaving was a struggle. It was getting late and I had a long train ride in front of me. The last thing I wanted to do was leave. I find myself frightening comfortable in my own skin when hanging out with Spatch's friends.

And I really didn't want to leave Jeff and the twinkle in his eye.

Today's Title From: Get Your Freak On by Missy Elliot

Labels: Ana, Spatch

I walk out of the bathroom, ready for work except I haven't dressed yet. A lesson I learned the first time I stayed all night.

"I have 20 minutes until I need to leave for work," I say.

Oscar moans and rolls over and looks at me.

"Judging by the look on your face, you have a pretty good idea of what you'd like to do with that 20 minutes," he says.

As I settle myself on top of him, and bury my face in his neck, I say, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Apologies had been profuse. Given to me over the phone and also in person. He'd had a lot of family obligations over the weekend and had thought about calling me, but didn't want to call when he didn't have any time to talk.

He says.

I'm completely confused on where to go from here. He had been flabbergasted when I told him I wasn't sure if I was ever going to hear from him again, claiming not to be 'that kind of guy'. When I explain to him that when I'm sick, I'm 10,000 times more sensitive and these are not the days to tell me you're going to call me and not call, he promises he'll remember that next time.

To hash it out for hours seems futile. I agree to see him the next night, not caving to his pressure to see him that night.

The situation gets even more grey as we play-wrestle in our post-orgasmic glow this morning. The good times are so good.

But I've had good times before (Scott) and ended up a bloody mess on the side of the road (metaphorically, of course).

I don't want to be mad all the time. It's such a silly way to spend time in a relationship. Being mad at each other. And I don't want to be the Mad-All-The-Time-Girl. We all know someone like that. And she irritates the shit out of us. I don't want to be her!

He asked again for me to start spending more time there.

Obviously, I am still hesitant.

Today's Title from: Don't Look Back in Anger by Oasis

Labels: Oscar

I remember the first time that I heard his voice in AP Biology, my junior year, his senior. I was dozing off, when it resounded from the back of the room. So deep! I came to attention to see who had uttered such a masculine sound! I barely knew of him. I knew that him and his twin had just moved in and that their family had a lot of money. Until I had heard "The Voice", he had barely registered on my radar.

My lab partner and I managed to finagle ourselves seats at the same table as Mike, New Guy, and his lab partner and I proceeded to turn on the charm. Love blossomed over the bunson burner (for me anyway).

The first Girl-Ask-Guy dance of the year was rapidly approaching. I decided to ask Mike, unaware that a friend of mine knew I was asking him and got to the punch before I did. So when I asked him, he told me he had already been asked, but asked if he could take me out that weekend to make up for it.

Everything in me rebelled against the idea of The Pity Date, but I was so smitten with him, I had to go, not having any idea where this was going to take us.

Mike and I had a typical high school relationship, complete with a break-up where he dated my best friend in the interim before he discovered that she is a raging psycho and we got back together. We cuddled on couches. I lived in fear of his mother. We drove around aimlessly just to be together. We had a song. We slow danced in the headlights of the car. He was charming and wonderful and everything I had ever wanted a boy to be.

My god, how I loved him.

One day, we went over to his house after school to work on some biology homework together. When we needed a break, we took a walk up the hill near his house as the sun was setting. We stopped at the top to catch our breath and to bask in the view. I was telling him about a weird declaration of love that I had gotten from a classmate that day and he made some ridiculous sappy remark about how no one ever told him that they loved him.

I knew it was my cue. I'd been wanting to say it forever.

I held a flower in my hand that I had picked along the way and I stretched it out to him.

"I love you, Mike."

"I love you, Chloe."

And there it was. The first (and maybe only) time in my life that I have ever told a man that I loved him. 12 years later and it is still in my Top 10 list of Life's Greatest Moments.

We spent our whole summer together. Doing all the dumb things that kids in high school do. When I went to Girls' State that summer, he gave me a card before I left, that I later discovered he had drawn a heart on the back and wrote 'Here's my heart in case you get lonely.'

I wanted to be with him forever. We promised each other we would love each other forever. We loved each other with the kind of abandon reserved only for those people who have never been badly hurt. We didn't know how to be careful with our hearts. Our vulnerability was palpable.

That fall, he started college. I was still in high school. We couldn't close the gap between the disparity of our lives. Night after night, I sobbed, great big heaving sobs for the man I knew I was losing. For months and months, my heart took the beating of its life as I hung on as tight as I could, while he pulled further and further away.

I was the one to pull the plug.

"I can't do this anymore," I said. "You're killing me. I need you to not be in my life anymore."

I just heard from my sister. She just met his wife. The mother of his 4 children.

Can you say- dodged a bullet?

Today's Title from: I'll Stand By You by the Pretenders

Still no word from Oscar, which is fine. I could probably give at least 20 reasons why we wouldn't have worked out anyway, not the least of which was his need to have Big Production Sex every single time. HELLO. 2 hours gets tiring!

So, I'm back at Square One. A place that I am comfortable and familiar with. Completely alone.

I had a really rough day yesterday. It's a complicated legal situation with my apartment management company that this isn't really the right forum for ranting about. It'll work itself out in the end, but the small steps of getting there is proving to be quite painful. Last night, as I laid in bed, hoping to quiet the demons in my head long enough to fall asleep, I was painfully aware that there was no one I wanted to call, no name in my phonebook that jumped out at me as the person that I wanted to reach out to- a voice to make things better. I wanted arms around me, but I didn't have a name or a face to go with the arms.

I can handle things alone. I've been doing it since I was 18. I've never allowed myself to completely depend on a man, which is probably a large part of the reason that I have never found a dependable one. If that makes any sense.

I don't really know where I was going with this. I'm not bitter or angry or sad. I'm resigned. Maybe I just need to convince myself that I'm okay alone.

Today's Title from: All by Myself by Eric Carmen

Ahem.

In an amoxicillin/thera-flu/aleve induced coma on Friday, I, uh, may have accidentally rejected some comments. It was not intentional! I was confused about all the buttons!

So, I offer my sincerest apologies to Shaun, A Lover and a Fighter, Coco and L. Luckily, I get all my comments emailed to me, so I still have a copy of all your lovely words and they will bring me much warmth in the months to come, I'm sure.

Oscar. How I needlessly worried about him.

Here's the rundown:

Thursday night, he called me and I informed him that I was ill, and I feel like I made it pretty clear it wasn't any pansy illness, but this was Wanting-To-Die Sick. He offered his condolences and told me he would call me on Friday to check up on me.

Haven't heard a word from him since.

Seriously.

Did I mention that was Thursday?

Nice knowing ya! See ya!

I think the fact that I'm not really that upset about it is a good indicator that we weren't headed for true love anyway.

Moving on.

I'm feeling better. It still hurts everytime I swallow, but I no longer have to prepare myself for the pain of each swallow by gripping tightly to whatever is closest to me. So that's good. I was having some trouble sleeping, due to the extreme phlegm in my throat, as it would close up my airway and I'd wake myself up because I couldn't breathe (FUN!), but then Karen introduced me to the most wonderful invention ever. Theraflu in a tea-like form. DING DONG.

Hands down the best sleep I've ever had 2 nights in a row, which I think is probably a lot of the reason that I am feeling so much better.

Plus, I had a really fantastic weekend.

Saturday, Karen and I went out to Long Beach again for the day. We had hoped to get ourselves some lovely color on the beach, but the sun did not cooperate and we were forced to pack it in shortly after arriving due to extreme cold. Luckily, Maria lives mere blocks from the beach, so we went back to her place, ate some food and drank some beer and hung out with some others friends whose beach plans had been thwarted by the weather.

We also played approximately 2-3 hours of Guitar Hero. The greatest video game ever invented.

Then we all had dinner together. Then Karen and I hit the 11:13 train back to Manhattan, and I have never been more glad in my entire life to snuggle into my bed.
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Sunday morning, I wake to a text from Spatch, sent at 3:40 am the night before requesting gym or brunch? I assess my physical state and text back that maybe we should stick to brunch.

Spatch, Ana and I meet at Alice's Tea Cup (my FAVORITE brunch place) at 12:30 and manage to avoid an hour and a half wait. The three of us are such an interesting mix, I am so glad that circumstances have brought us together, because there's no way we ever would have met otherwise. We talk and talk and talk. About alter egos and the trouble with being known by 2 different names, about how Big Production Sex isn't always what we want and about my frustrations with my less-than-attentive doctor.

After brunch we head back to Spatch's place and I am green with envy at her new location and the adorable dog she gets to live with. We lounge on her bed as we discuss locations for some new lights she purchased at a stoop sale. I'm comfortable and full. I could have happily stayed on Spatch's bed for the entire day, cuddling with the dog and hearing Ana and Spatch's stories about the Burning Man community. I leave them, consoled in the knowledge that I will be seeing them again on Thursday.

Today's Title from: 9 Crimes by Damien Rice

Labels: Ana, Oscar, Spatch, tonsils

Okay, I've been a bit of a slacker lately. I've been pretty busy.


And I've been sick. Tonsilitis for the 4th time in as many months. I went to see my doctor who told me the exact same thing that he told me when I went in for tonsilitis the last time- next time it happens, he'll send me to an ear, nose, throat specialist. I am wondering exactly how many times my doctor will treat me for this before he's actually going to send me to the specialist.

I'm a little frustrated.


And my thoat hurts.


Overall though, it was a pretty decent week. Dinner with Email Boy on Monday, a night with Oscar on Tuesday, and dinner with Spatch on Wednesday. The continuous non-stop activity may be a large part of the reason why I woke up wanting to die on Thursday.


Can't say for sure though.


I haven't talked about Oscar much lately. I don't really know what to say. Things are good. We're learning how to deal with each others idiosyncracies. He calls almost everyday and he's really attentive to me. He wants me to start staying at his place for a larger portion of the week.


I am hesitant.


And I don't really have a good solid reason. I'm unusually ambivalent. I enjoy being with him, but I don't ache for him and I don't crave him.

Am I supposed to?

Today's Title from: Just Feel Better by Carlos Santana and Steven Tyler

Labels: Oscar, tonsils

Dear god in heaven. I have NO idea how I managed to fit everything that happened this weekend, into the actual weekend.

Friday after work, I got to my gym and realized that I had NO keys on me (my gym pass is on my key ring). I wasn't the last person to leave that morning, so I hadn't locked the door behind me and in my sheer brilliance, didn't grab my keys, something I have never done in my entire New York City life.

So, I left my gym at 125th and Frederick Douglas Blvd (8th ave- west side) and made my way to my roommate, Shannon on the east 70's. This is not an easy trip. I don't know a single New Yorker that enjoys the trip from the West Side to the East Side.

This extremely hot and muggy afternoon was no different. The next 2 hours were some of the most painful of my life.

But I finally made it home to find my keys on my nightstand, exactly where I left them, for which I was eternally grateful. After a quick shower to wash off the gallons of sweat, I headed down to the Times Square area to meet New Favorite Friend, Maria for drinks while we waited for Karen to finish at the gym.

As Maria and I sat at an Irish pub, drinking the fruitiest drinks imaginable, a bizarrely familiar face walked by. Before I could stop myself, I called out his name.

"Ben!"

He comes over to my table, and I'm not even certain he is going to recognize me. He is The Ex's best friend and I haven't seen him in 2 years.

He hugs me warmly and we chit chat for a bit.

"I heard I missed you at The Benefit," he said to me.

I grab his hand, and say, "Oh my god, please don't tell me The Ex was pissed that I was there!"

"No, no, no." he says. "Not at all. Pissed is definitely not what he was."

This statement is cryptic to me and I want to push him on what he means, but decide that it's probably not in my best interest to go there. I leave it and Ben has to get going anyway. It was a weird moment for me.

Maria and I leave to meet Shannon at Chevy's, since we are seeing a movie at the theater directly next door to the restaurant and order margaritas while we literally inhale about 3 baskets of chips. We have a really good time. I almost don't want to go to the movie, because I want to stay and drink more margaritas.

Shannon and Karen join us, then we head over to see Knocked Up, which is, hands down, one of the funniest movies I have ever seen.

After the movie, everyone heads home, while I head to Brooklyn to meet Spatch for a house party.

As I am following the directions to the party, the area gets more and more deserted and I am mildly scared, something that almost never happens to me in Manhattan. After getting a little lost, I find the building. It's the scariest building I have ever been in.

And I have lived in Russia.

And it smells. Really bad.

Ugh.

But I finally find the party and I find Spatch. We cozy up onto a bed in the corner of the room and entertain other party-goers who drift in and out over the course of the evening. Most everyone there is a part of the Burning Man community and everyone is welcoming and kind. At one point in the evening, I found myself laying with my head in one guy's lap, with him playing with my hair and the my legs slung over another guy while he massages my calves, all in a very non-sexual, non-threatening way. As it gets later and I am getting ready to go home, I learn that a couple that is leaving, lives about 20 blocks from me and offers me a ride home, which is, potentially the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

I sleep in late the next morning, it's hot out. Really hot. I can only summon enough enery to lay on my couch in front of my fan and watch the Yankees make absolute asses of themselves in Boston.

Then I head down to Hell's Kitchen for a good friend's 40th birthday party. We start at his apartment, where we drink- A LOT and eat- A LOT. Then we move to a bar across the street where we eat and drink some more. It's a helluva good time.

Sunday I can barely function. I wake up. I eat something. I have to go back to bed. I finally get my ass out of bed around 1 in the afternoon, as we have picnic plans with some friends and we have to go grocery shopping.

As we're getting everything ready for the picnic, the rain starts.

So, we move our picnic dinner to our apartment.

Our friends come over, with a surprise in tow.

My ex-best friend, R, is with them. She, who ended our friendship because of my "inappropriate behavior".

R is in town for training for her new job.

Karen (R's former roommate and my current roommate/bestfriend) and I are both stunned that she is coming. I guess she doesn't think things are awkward!

The night turns out much better than expected. We all sit around and talk and laugh for several hours, awkwardness having been dispelled rather quickly. At the end of the evening, she even proposes all going to a Yankee game together.

After everyone leaves, Karen and I sit and discuss our weekends. We talk of our dream lifes- how everything would have worked our for us in a 'Perfect World'. I am not surprised as I map my dreamworld out, that it's not much different than the life I am living right now.

Today's title from: You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse