Perfectly Reasonable

Friday, February 13, 2009

Here’s some backstory so the following tale will make sense. Hopefully.

I moved back to New York three years ago from L.A., via Prague (whole other story-stay tuned) moved into a building along the Hudson River, befriended a guy who I met in the elevator on my first night in the building, who then promptly set me up with his friend a month later. 

I dated his friend, who I will now refer to as the man, for over a year and a half. It then took us another 10 months to officially break up. I was (and still might be) in love with the man. Ours was a passionate, loving and in the end, highly charged and loaded relationship. I had never felt this way about anyone. Tragic. Oh, so terribly tragic.

(The why’s and the how’s will follow in the coming months) Since we stopped seeing one another, he has never left my mind nor my heart. And even though, according to family and friends, I should be over him, I’m clearly not.

See below.

I emailed my friend last night (the one from above backstory) about having a Match.com session at his place. This consists of sitting in front of his computer with a bottle of wine, searching for someone that we BOTH like for him to date. And when we do find someone, I help him write funny-ass emails; the likes of which are Nobel worthy, if I do say so myself. It’s a lot easier to take chances when you don’t care if the person responds or not. They’re sarcastic, off the cuff, and pretty out there. I’m not sure if my friend shares my philosophy but he keeps letting me browse with him. 

These days, sadly enough, Match.com, is my prized entertainment. The emails usually illicit crazy, gutturul fits of laughter, that either has me running to the bathroom so I don’t pee my pants or an abdominal work out that rivals any at the gym. Or both.

But on this particular night, my friend couldn't play in the reindeer games because he was going out with the boys. I know the boys could mean any number of boys but I was convinced that one of the boys had to be the man. Oh, crap. Does this mean he’s in the building? In my presence, figuratively speaking. I reeled for a moment or two and in that moment.

I visited jealousy. Was he going to talk to strange women when the boys went out? Was he going to get someone’s number? Envy. I wish I had ‘girls’ to go out with. How come I don’t know enough girls to have a girls night out? And a whole host of other, borderline pyschotic, feelings. So what do I, the supposed grown up, do? I did what any self respecting grown-up woman would do.

I got dressed (it was nine o’clock and I was already in my jammies) and went looking for the boys. I put on lipstick, and gloss, and decided that now was a perfect time to go to the corner drugstore (what am I in Mayberry) to pick up the rest of my meds (shocking I take meds) I’m such a cliche. Meds are so 2001 but whatever. 

I was hoping, of course, that I'd run into the man and yet, I was petrified of the idea. Did I really want to run into him? After all this time, I still don’t think I’d know what to say. Even in my pretend encounters I have with him in my head, I get tongue tied. There was definitely a push-pull thing happening. I wasn't sure what I wanted, but my body was victorious and it pushed me out the door. Oh, and I also put on my super cute jeans and slutty boots, because if I did run into the man, I didn’t want to be in sneakers. They’re too daytime and casual and I wanted to look like I was going ‘out’ and all sexy like. The boots look better with the jeans anyway.

From the time I stepped into the elevator, to the time I reached CVS, my eyes were in constant motion. Looking, seeking, darting, roving. Nothing. I walked into CVS and the pharmacy was closed. Am I in New York or podunk bumfunk?! What’s the point in living in the city that never sleeps if the pharmacy sleeps. Great. Thanks a lot CVS.

I wasn’t ready to go back home, because it was early and there was still a chance that I’d run into the boys. I decided that it was imperative that I go to the food store, a block away from CVS, to get my desperately needed bag of organic raw sugar (I forgot to pick it up when I was at Fairway yesterday) I knew putting it on my list was futile because I'd actually have to look at the list and I never do.

Food Emporium, the dirty hell hole that it is, didn't have my brand. I left dirty little Food Emporium, dejected and well, feeling dirty. I swear, there’s something about that store that makes you want to shower and shed a layer of skin.

On my walk back home, twice my heart nearly leapt into my throat when I thought I saw the man. It’s a good thing I’m over the man eh. I walked slowly, lingering really, thinking that maybe... I didn’t want to look like I was just strolling aimlessly on a Tuesday night (like I was looking for them) just in case I did run into them, so I played with my cell phone, appearing to be engrossed in a very important task. 

While I was at CVS, Verizon was kind enough to text me that I was at 80% capacity in my text inbox. Ironic, no? Perfect. As I walked, I deleted. Now I looked busy and with purpose.

When I got back to the building, I took stock at my behavior and well, I’d like to say that I was embarrassed and went right upstairs. But I can’t. I made a pit stop in the mailroom. What was I expecting to find? What? If the boys were in fact in the building, my friend is going to say to the man, “Hey, dude, I know it’s 9:30p and the bars and women are waiting, but can I get my mail first?” I went into the mailroom and got my mail anyway.

I thought about it, and I was this close to doing it, but I stopped short at going down to the garage to see if I saw the man’s car. That's progress, isn’t it? And then, and only then, did I make my way back upstairs to my apartment, where I took off my slutty boots, super cute jeans, put my jammies back on and did Sudoku before falling asleep.