Yesterday, somewhere between updating my relationship status and hopping in the shower, Scott invited me to brunch. He, Amber and a couple of our friends were meeting up. I’d already eaten, but I told him I’d come down to hang out anyways. I wasn’t in a Bloody Mary kind of mood, but I wanted to be with friends. I needed the distraction.
Scott and Jeremy hooked up on Saturday night. I thought I’d get the juicy gossip out of the way first. It was the first thing I found out at brunch. That’s where he disappeared to after he hopped out of my cab. He and Jeremy spent some more time at Eastern Bloc and then wandered around the City at 4AM. Looking for condoms, of all things. I guess Scott, drunk, couldn’t remember if he had any left at his apartment. He did. Wasted wandering. Though it’s always good to have extras.
Don’t worry, more came out of the evening than Scott’s sex life. There were a bunch of us there at brunch. It was all kickball people. (I play in a social kickball league, you know. Every Thursday night. With Kristen, Scott, Amber, Lauren and some other people. Basically all of my good friends in the City. You met up with us at the after-party bar a couple of times. We play lots of flip cup and beer pong there. Reliving our college years.) Most of them hadn’t heard about us breaking up. Or, to correct that, they hadn’t heard it from me. They all knew. Scott and Amber had filled them in.
It was good that they all knew. It meant I didn’t have to repeat the whole ordeal over again. As much as I enjoy reveling in a juicy story, this one had consumed me for the last forty-eight hours. I needed a break.
After brunch we all went back to Scott and Amber’s apartment. Before this weekend, I think I’d been there a total of two times. Now I’ve made three visits in three days. It’s becoming my new haunt, replacing your place as my weekend hotspot.
We didn’t really do much at their apartment. Drank more, watched TV, played Head’s Up on someone’s iPhone (another reminder of you since you’re the one who first introduced me to the game). Then we decided to watch a movie. We flipped through their HBO list and looked at what was streaming on demand. Finally we settled on Crazy, Stupid, Love.
Now I’ve seen this movie before. I really enjoy it, actually. Ryan Gosling is a god in it. His suits are impeccable. And his hair and his abs – basically everything about him. And the story’s pretty good, too. There’s a great twist near the end. And it’s quite funny as far as sad comedies go. Here’s a quick set-up of the movie in case you’ve forgotten (because I know you’ve seen it before, but not with me, I don’t think).
Steve Carell plays a middle-aged husband and father. He’s stuck in kind of the typical mid-life rut: boring job, floating through his relationship with his wife and kids, a dispassionate husband, unexciting and content coasting along. I mean, the man wears New Balance shoes to work. So you kind of get the picture of how far he’s fallen. And the worst part is that he doesn’t even realize anything is wrong.
In the first scene of the movie, though, his wife (played wonderfully by Julianne Moore) tells him she wants a divorce while they’re perusing the dessert menu at a fancy restaurant.
Sound familiar? It certainly struck home for me.
But what’s worse is it wasn’t the sudden divorce that upset me, but how similar I felt to Steve Carell’s character. That pathetic, effete man who had become so comfortable in his life that he’d practically disappeared.
Thinking about my relationship with you and my life in general – work, friends, everything – I started to wonder if that’s what had happened to me. I certainly didn’t feel as in my own life as I wanted to. But could I really be as bad as that terribly sad Steve Carell character? Could I really have disappeared so much and stopped trying?