Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Forget, I’m not sure I could
New York City is not big enough for my dating life.
Last week, just as I realized that I had left my debit IN the ATM a few hours before and stood on the street frantically calling Washington Mutual customer service, Dave walked by. Dave, the investment banker that I dated last summer who on paper was fabulous, but became freakishly controlling and had some suppressed rage that scared me a little. I didn't stop him, I was too involved in the events at hand, but I was freaked out a little that this is the SECOND time that I have seen him on the street since I stopped returning his phone calls. I'm hoping that it is the last.
Then, just now, as I left my building to go get my eyebrows threaded, I passed The Italian. I couldn't say anything as I watched him pass me. I completely froze. I was screaming inside my head, but I couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. The super-fantastic icing on the cake is that he didn't recognize me and HE CHECKED ME OUT. Now granted, I was wearing sunglasses. But one would think that a person would remember someone that they scammed out of an incredibly expensive dinner. Once I was about 50 feet away from him, I had composed myself enough to want to turn around and go find him and scream at him, but I lost him in the hustle of 42nd street. Yeah, not QUITE how I had hoped that would go.
Why can't I happen upon people that I WANT to see? Like Derek Jeter?
Today's Title from: Not Ready to Make Nice by Dixie Chicks
Last week, just as I realized that I had left my debit IN the ATM a few hours before and stood on the street frantically calling Washington Mutual customer service, Dave walked by. Dave, the investment banker that I dated last summer who on paper was fabulous, but became freakishly controlling and had some suppressed rage that scared me a little. I didn't stop him, I was too involved in the events at hand, but I was freaked out a little that this is the SECOND time that I have seen him on the street since I stopped returning his phone calls. I'm hoping that it is the last.
Then, just now, as I left my building to go get my eyebrows threaded, I passed The Italian. I couldn't say anything as I watched him pass me. I completely froze. I was screaming inside my head, but I couldn't make the words come out of my mouth. The super-fantastic icing on the cake is that he didn't recognize me and HE CHECKED ME OUT. Now granted, I was wearing sunglasses. But one would think that a person would remember someone that they scammed out of an incredibly expensive dinner. Once I was about 50 feet away from him, I had composed myself enough to want to turn around and go find him and scream at him, but I lost him in the hustle of 42nd street. Yeah, not QUITE how I had hoped that would go.
Why can't I happen upon people that I WANT to see? Like Derek Jeter?
Today's Title from: Not Ready to Make Nice by Dixie Chicks
