The Virginity Monologues

My eyes are hurting from concentrating intently on my computer screen all day. I am worn out and tired. Everytime I turn and glance at my calendar, I feel overwhelmed.

Dinners. Events. Day trip to a printing plant. Horseback Riding. Paintball. Trip to Chicago. Business dinners. Business parties. Business meetings. My dad coming to town. Plays. Another day trip with Burning Man people that I have no idea where we're going.

Tonsillectomy. A visit from my sister to nurse me back to health after the tonsillectomy.

They're all staring me in the face. And I know that in the month and a half before my surgery, I WILL get sick again. I haven't gone 2 months without getting sick this entire year.

In the meantime, work is insanely busy. I'm buried deep in spreadsheets all day, every day. People have just stopped ignoring the headphones in my ears meant to point out that I am busy and focusing and please leave me alone.

And in the meantime, I'm fighting bitterness. I feel it creeping in and taking over. Enough so that I am cancelling dates. I almost cancelled with the guy I met last Friday night, but just didn't get around to it during my long and harrowing day yesterday and I am glad that I didn't, as I ended up having a pretty decent time. I'm not smitten and its not all that I'm thinking about today, but maybe it will be fun for a while. All I know is that a relationship- the last possible thing that I want right now.

I don't want drama. I don't want anxiety. I don't want to cry. I don't want to believe. And I don't want to hope.

It's just all so exhausting.

Today's Title from: The Fear You Won't Fall by Joshua Radin

To say that I had a great weekend would be grossly understating how much fun I really did have.

Friday night:

I met Ana at her office and the 2 of us headed up to Yankee Stadium to meet her boyfriend and another friend, DreamyE. It was Ana's first baseball game and it was such a joy to see it through her eyes- to answer all of her questions and to laugh at her confusion. We ate hot dogs. We drank beer. We hollered at the vendors. It was a perfect night. Marred only by the fact that we left early in what would be a 14 inning game.

After the game, Banana went home and DreamyE went with me to meet up with my friend, Michelle for a night of boozing. We started in the West Village, which was a bit of a bust, then made our way to Fat Baby in the Lower East Side, where the night got interesting. As we were dancing downstairs, I made some significant eye contact with a cute boy. By the end of the night, we had done some pretty hot making out, and a digit exchange. (We have since made plans to go out on Wednesday.)

Saturday:

There is a guy who lives in my building and I see often on the street, who we shall call The Pharmacist (some of you may get that, some of you may not. If you're terribly confused, email me and I'll explain it). We have a mild flirtation going on, as he pretty blatantly hits on me almost every time he sees me. He's OUTRAGEOUSLY hot and has maybe the most amazing body I've ever seen, but I keep my distance, despite his persistence, as I disagree with some of his life choices.

So, Saturday afternoon, I had just stepped out of my elevator and was checking my mail. With my head bent over the mailboxes, I wasn't paying much attention to anything else around me. I felt a hand, wrap around my waist, and a set of lips press against the back of my neck (my hair was in braids, so the back of my neck was particularly exposed) and a shot of electricity spread all the way down to my toes, as I whipped around to see The Pharmacist disappearing into the elevator.

Holy smokes that was hot.

I made my way down to the West Village to meet Spatch in a daze. Unable to focus on anything in my head but those lips. And my neck. Rowr.

Spatch and I pamper ourselves with a manicure/pedicure before we are off to meet my friend, Dan and his friend, Jack, who expressed an interest in Spatch after we ran into them last week. Since it was a bit of a blind-date set up, Spatch and I chose tapas for dinner as its a great group meal. Email Boy was also set to join us as he is very good friends with Dan.

Dinner was perfection. We laughed. Spatch regaled us with Burning Man and other fascinating stories. Spatch and I ordered round after round of food and the boys ate it with gusto. The conversation flowed seamlessly and seemed to touch on almost every topic imaginable. Dan (who I've had a MAJOR crush on for about 2 years now) and I fed each other and were definitely the comic relief/dirtiest people at the table. Just thinking about it brings the biggest, most ridiculous smile to my face.

After dinner, Email Boy had to leave us to go meet some other friends, and the remaining 4 of us made our way to Max Brenner's Chocolate by the Bald Man for dessert, where the comraderie continued. After dessert, we all parted ways. Filled and happy.

Saturday night/Sunday morning:

I hit a stumbling block. I woke up at 4 am. And out of nowhere, I ached for Oscar. I missed him something awful. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to see him. I just wanted to hear his voice.

I blocked my number and I called. Hoping to just hear his voicemail.

Imagine my surprise when he picked up. Imagine his surprise that I then hung up. I don't know if he knew it was me, but he didn't call back. And hasn't called since last Thursday.

Probably for the best.

Sunday:

I met Spatch in Madison Square Park. Interestingly enough, as I called her and was on my way there, she was also on her way there. How convenient. I stood in line at the Shake Shack while I waited for her. When she arrived, the first thing I did was lay my head on her shoulder and cry. Cry for the ridiculous boy, who doesn't deserve my tears, who I ached for. We filled ourselves up with burgers, fries and shakes, before heading down to Battery Park so Spatch could catch some sun, and I could be soothed by the water before meeting some friends for drinks.

The rest of the night passed quickly, food, drinks and a film festival. I went home exhausted. So, so content.

And this time, the smile reached all the way down to my toes.

Today's title from: Drivin' Me Wild by Common (a.k.a. My Future Husband)

Labels: Ana, Oscar, Spatch, The Pharmacist

Yesterday, just I finished writing my post about how deliriously happy I am being single, my work phone rang.

Oscar.

In a complete daze, I watched the phone ring. Wondering why he was calling. Curious if he would leave a message.

The phone stopped ringing.

My cell phone sat right next to my work phone. It started ringing.

Oscar.

Again, I just sat and watched it ring. Confused. My hands shaking.

My work phone started ringing again.

Oscar.

Worrying that something was terribly wrong, I started to reach for the phone to pick it up. Just as my hand touched the receiver the phone stopped ringing.

3 phone calls. No messages.

I would have been willing to bet my life on never hearing from him again. Considering that I ended the relationship with a text message, I figured that bridge was burned irrevocably.

Weird. Very weird.

Today's Title from: The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore by James Morrison

Labels: Oscar

I didn't go to the Yankee game last night. I ended up getting 2 replies, but neither of them ended up working out. The only other option was this random guy that I met on the street a few weeks ago, who is exactly like every other loser that I've dated in the last 2 years and I just don't have the energy or desire to go down that road again. Plus on our first conversation he was already talking about things that I deem inappropriate so early in the game (i.e. my favorite position. WTF? Seriously).

NEXT.

So I didn't go. I only paid $5 each for the tickets, so it wasn't a major loss and instead I got to go out with some co-workers and have a couple of glasses of delicious wine, something I'd been wanting to do for ages. It all worked out in the end.

Plus I got invited to another game tomorrow night and I get to go with people that I absolutely adore.

Win-Win situation.

And I have to confess- presently, I am deliriously happy. It might have been the chocolate chip cookie I had for lunch. It might be how truly content I am with my present single status.

All I know is that exactly 4 weeks ago, I was a complete emotional train wreck. And damn, it feels good to be off that train.

Today's Title from: Cannonball by Damien Rice

Okay, I'm sure that today's post is going to garner me plenty o' hate, but I'm going to put it out there anyway.

So, I get a LOT of shit from friends/family/acquaintances about my unwillingness to date white/caucasian men. I get lectured constantly about how my dating life sucks because I limit myself to such a small group of men (that group of men being black men, preferably with large arms).

And so, I ignored my gut instinct and tried an experiment being championed by Ana. I bought tickets to a Yankee game tomorrow night for Oscar and I (he doesn't even know). Obviously, I am not taking Oscar. None of my friends can go and I'd really like to be there because its the end of the season, and things are close for us in both the American League East Division and the Wildcard race. Its an important time in baseball.

So, I posted an ad on Craigslist. Here's what it said:

I have tickets to the Yankee game on Wednesday. The person I planned to go with flaked, and I refuse to go to games with people who aren't Yankee fans. If you are one, this could be your lucky day!

They're playing the Baltimore Orioles, which isn't a particularly significant opponent, but it is the end of the season and each game counts if we want to lock-in the Wildcard (see! I really do know baseball!). The seats are nosebleed, but I have a bit of an adventurous streak and can be talked into finding ourselves a better view (wink, wink).

I am: White. Blonde. Cute. Witty. Intelligent. Funny. Curvy/voluptuous (choose your euphemism).

You are: FUNNY (this is a must). Smart. Attractive. Punctual.

I'm not looking for love or a LTR or a friend with benefits or any other term for a man getting the most possible sex out of the equation with the least amount of effort. I just want someone to go to the Yankees game with and to buy me a hot dog. And maybe a beer. And maybe make out with me at the end of the night, that will totally depend on how funny (and attractive) you are.

So, send me a pic and give me a good reason to go take you. And a picture of you naked is not a good reason to take you- so don't send me any of those, mmmkay?

End post.

Clever and cute, right? My inbox FLOODED with replies. Cute, funny, intelligent Yankee fans galore. I responded to many, with a picture of myself. Fairly confident that I would find someone I could at least have a good time with. I mean- I'm cute and I know it. I get hit on A LOT.

Everyone that I replied to were white guys (no black guys even responded).

Only one of them responded to me. He said, "sorry, not a match."

I've sort of been waffling about this all day. Part of me is hurt and upset and wondering if I am a lot more hideously unattractive than I've always believed. The rest of me is just thinking- meh. I already knew this. I don't know why I needed another bright, shining example of why I don't date white men.

I mean, there's a reason I was perenially single before 27. Back when I thought my stunning wit and intelligence would be enough for a man to see past the large ass attached to it. Everyone has their preferences, my outward appearance apparently is a turn-off for an entire race of men. I'm not sad. I'm not upset.

I just don't want to get any more shit about expanding my dating pool.

As I crawled into bed last night, I marvel at how the weekend seemed to fly by as if bolstered by nitrous oxide. Tired to the very marrow of my bones, I don't know that sleep has ever come faster. And I am happy, but the smile doesn't reach my eyes.

Sunday morning, I call Spatch to get her advice on a situation. She suggests brunch in a few hours and says she'll invite a few people. We decide on Essex House and I offer to go early to put our name down.

Right as I'm leaving my apartment, I receive a text from her saying that we'll be a group of 6. Ugh. I can already foresee problems getting a table. I get out of the subway to a new text. We are now a group of 8. The hostess at Essex House essentially laughs in my face. When I press her for an estimate on time, she throws out 2 hours although it could feasibly be longer.

Everyone starts arriving. They are all Burning Man people. And soon we are 9. And although I am friends with most all of them, I will never feel a part of them. Especially when conversation centers almost exclusively around Burning Man and people I don't know and places I've never been. I sit on the perimeter, observing and listening. Not really participating. Spatch promises me some alone time later that doesn't materialize. We are a large and unwieldy group, wandering around the Lower East directionless for seemingly hours. I am quiet and introspective, wondering if its worth my time, trying to fit in with a group of people that I so clearly don't belong with.

We shop in a store that I would never set foot in on my own, and as I browse the garish chunky patent leather heels, I think of the delicate stilettos that I prefer. And Spatch, noticing my reticence presses me about where I shop. I am loathe to even utter the words Banana Republic in a place such a this, for fear that I will taken into the back and flogged.

After an ice cream break in Cold Stone, we all part ways. I have some time to kill before I have to be on the upper east side, so I lounge in Starbucks at Astor Place, and call my sister.

And for the first time since I sobbed in the bathroom after getting his reply text to my breakup, I cry to her about Oscar. It surprises me. I haven't even been tempted to call him. Why am I suddenly sad and missing him?

Today's Title from: Walk On by U2

Labels: Spatch

Put it on your calendars, kids, my tonsillectomy is scheduled for November 14th. It probably should be done sooner, but I've got a conference in mid-October to plan around and my dad is coming into town early November, plus there's the 3 week recovery time to factor in. My Thanksgiving is probably going to be shot, but I just eat lots of mashed potatoes and call it good, I suppose.

The end of Oscar has been as anti-climactic as our relationship (out of bed, that is. In bed it was plenty climactic). The first day was hard-ish. My only real breakdown was when the return text from him came- that was suprisingly kind and gracious. But every minute since then has been easier, probably because I've been killing my feelings for him for weeks now. There's nothing left anymore.

And being footloose and fancy free apparently agrees with me. Last night, as I made my way from work to the animal shelter that I volunteer at in East Harlem, then over to a friends house afterwards- it was a virtual parade of men hitting on me. It has never happened with the frequency and intensity that it did last night. My head was spinning. One particular guy was incredibly persistent about getting my number, and it took some time to get him to acquiese to just giving me his number (always what I do when men are persistent on the street. Best way to avoid stalkers).

Then, I slept through the night. For the first time in ages. I didn't wake up at 3 am cursing Oscar for promising to call and not following through. I didn't wake up at 4 trying to figure out the most efficient/least painful way to end the relationship. And I didn't wake up at 5, achingly sad for what will never be.

And that is the best feeling of all.

Today's Title from: I am Somebody by Jurassic 5

Labels: Oscar, tonsils

I am officially alone. Again.

There was a phone call last night. It didn't go well. When I offered to come over tonight to talk about things he told me he didn't want to see me if there was going to be any drama. And then when I promised no drama (I lied), he said, "Well, I'm not sure. I'll let you know."

Can you say asshole?

So I sent him a text today, wanting this to be over and not caring how I did it. He no longers deserve any special courtesies.

Goodbye Oscar.

Hello very sad sex life.

Today's Title from: Kissing a Fool by George Michael

Labels: Oscar

Coming off of a truly great weekend, one of the best I've had in ages, it makes me angry that the unresolved issues with Oscar are still nagging at me and keeping tears close at hand at all times.

On Friday night, Karen and I went to a concert together. It was loud, it was offensive and it was hilarious. We made our way home that night with ringing ears and gigantic smiles on our faces.

Saturday was my day to spend some time completely by myself. I've had a hard time enjoying only me time lately, as the issues with Oscar are never far from my thoughts and in the time when I'm not busily surrounded by people and noise, contemplating his apathy has been painful for me. I haven't wanted to be alone, to be in a situation where I can't distract myself from my head.

But Saturday, I was ecstatic to just wander the city all by myself- window shopping and being more and more sure that I was going to be okay- completely alone. I was sure of it for the first time in months.

Later I met up with Spatch at her new apartment. We made cookies and drank wine and basked in catching up. Later I convinced her to have dinner at my favorite Indian restaurant in the East Village, even though we ate almost nothing, having filled ourselves ridiculously full with chocolate chip cookie dough earlier.

In a complete food coma, we made our way to the west side of Manhattan for an anniversary party for Spatch's friends Dicey and PJ. I love parties that Spatch takes me to. The people are also so very, very interesting and I invariably always get hit on. Some offers are tempting, others are not. Not to mention, the people are always incredibly friendly. They ask questions that they genuinely want to know the answer to. I generally don't want to leave.

This morning Karen and I headed up to the Bronx to go to church and lunch with a friend for her birthday. It was a perfect day. It was nice to be in church again. Its been a long time for me. And lunch with her family was wonderful and perfect and the waffles at Amy Ruth's were to die for.

Its been the perfect weekend. Perfect friends. Perfect parties. The weather has been a little too hot for my taste, but I'm not complaining.

But all weekend the perfection was marred. Marred by a pending break-up that I don't really want to do. I don't really want him out of my life. But the good times are not worth the bad times. I have to be strong enough to do this.

Today's Title from: Stronger by Kanye West

Labels: Oscar, Spatch

It's official. I am having surgery in early November to have my tonsils removed. The paperwork to have the surgery approved by my insurance has been filled out and sent. My appointment for a pre-op physical has been made. And I've already been given instructions on what I can and can't eat post-op.

It's gonna SUCK. But it's also going to be awesome when I don't get insanely sick every month anymore.

I'm thinking of having a "Last Chance to Play Tonsil Hockey with Chloe" party right before my surgery. That would awesome. Except probably no one would come.

Speaking of no one coming- I tried to break up with Oscar last night and he wouldn't even discuss it. I feel like I'm in the twilight zone. He says he doesn't want to have this discussion over the phone. And when we hung up- HE was mad at ME.

Un-fucking-believable.

Today's Title from: Other Side of the World by KT Tunstall

Labels: Oscar, tonsils

My entire life, I've adamantly stated that I would rather be alone for the right reasons than in a bad relationship for the wrong ones.

I think its time to implement this belief.

I was awake last night at 3 am. I had seriously passed out hours before after a night at the gym and dinner accompanied with lots of red wine with my friend Michelle. I had called Oscar on my way to Michelle's and he was in the middle of looking at football tapes with his boys, so he said to call him when I got home later.

I did. And, again, he didn't call me back.

Did I mention that we hadn't seen each other or spoken in a full week at this point? And he couldn't call me back? WTF?

I'm SO tired of this shit. I hate it and I don't want to do it anymore. If I were outside of this relationship, looking at someone else in my exact position, I would shake my head in shame at them for their inability to see what a complete douchebag this guy is.

As I lay there, I chanted to myself- 'Its okay to be alone. Think of all the money you'll save on Brazilians.'

In my head, I believe it. And I know its right. But heart rebels. It says, "Being alone sucks donkeys. Not to mention, you are a horny bitch. Can you really let go of the best sex you've ever had?"

I guess we're going to find out.

Today's Title from: Alone by Heart

Labels: Oscar

Again, I have started about 5 blog posts and not finished any of them. Here's the rundown.

1. I have returned from Montreal. It was absolutely fabulous. If I could find myself a nice Canadian man to marry, I would be the happiest girl in the world. The food was fabulous. The service at our hotel was impeccable. The weather couldn't have been better. I couldn't have smiled more. It was just lovely.

2. Yesterday marked my 4 year anniversary of living in New York City. 4 years. Here's how I feel about this summed up- I've got a great job. I've come a long way. I've changed. I've grown. I've learned to drink vast quantities of alcohol and also learned that I don't like it so much. I've made totally awesome friends. I've met the worlds biggest douchebags. I've done things I swore I would never, ever do. I've found myself to a degree that I didn't even imagine possible.

I still love it.

I still can't claim to have ever had a long-term committed relationship.

Which I guess makes me not that much different after all.

3. Organic peanut butter is good. Crunchy Honey Roasted Skippy is better.

4. I don't eat enough calories in my day.

5. Karen and I are considering getting a dog. The cutest dog we have ever seen in our entire lives. It requires renting a car and driving back to Montreal to pick it up because Air Canada wouldn't let us bring the tiny 6 week old puppy in the cabin with us and we didn't feel right about checking him into baggage. We already love him to pieces and we've even named him. I'm hesitant because we aren't home much and I don't think that's fair to a dog. Especially in not-so-spacious NYC apartments.

6. I have nothing to say about Oscar. I am still seeing him. But I am distancing myself from him emotionally. The end.

Today's Title from: Home by Michael Buble