breakups

Sunday, November 24th, 2013 (Part 2)

I’ve always been good at first dates, though. Our first date certainly turned out well. I have the habit of extending them beyond their expected life. Our getting coffee turned into getting dinner as well, a previous first date (in my sluttier days) moved from dinner right into a night cap at the guy’s apartment. After a first date guys always want to continue dating me. I really don’t know what it’s like to fail at a first date, and I guess that’s why I like going on them. I don’t know what it is about me that makes guys want to date me. I just go with it.

Some of my girlfriends hate going on dates, especially first ones. I don’t really understand it. Even if a date doesn’t go well, it’s still fun to get out and do something, meet someone new and put yourself out there. It’s all good practice. And you should always have an exit plan for truly horrendous dates.

Something I like to do on first dates is ask “What’s a good story that defines you?” I know it sounds super cheesy, like something a college admission’s councilor would ask, but when you’re talking to someone for the first time, it gets awkward and feels like an interview. Why not try to make it a little more interesting? I feel like everyone has that one story they like to tell at parties, or that one story their friends tell when introducing them. Usually it’s something funny that hits at the core of a person’s personality. You’re actually the reason I have my story.

We were over at my friend’s apartment drinking before going out for someone’s birthday. And one of my girl friends gets there, and she’s wearing this truly unfortunate outfit. (It happens to all of us from time to time.) She was wearing this like white t-shirt that was made of jersey or some similarly cheap-looking material. And it had silver rhinestones all over the front. Nothing terrible, but nothing good for going out either. When she asked me what I thought of her outfit, I, being my bitchy self, told her that it wasn’t really a going out kind of shirt and that it was something that I’d “clean my apartment in.” (Luckily my friend has thick skin and I think takes some sort of pleasure out of my harsh critiques because she continues to ask my opinion.)

Now you and I know that the whole “cleaning my apartment” line was something you said. And I have tried to give you credit when my friends re-tell that story (which happens more often than you’d think). But they don’t believe me. And now that we’re not together, I’m going to take full responsibility. It is something I would have said. I’m sorry I’ve stolen it, but really, my friends stole it for me and it makes a great and funny vignette about who I am, my bitchy judgy-ness and all. Maybe not the best first date story, but I’m sure it’ll play well with the gays.

Have you been on any dates yet? In my previous relationships my ex-boyfriends have always moved on more quickly than me. It drove me crazy, my overly competitive side rearing its ugly head. I think the feeling was amplified back then, though, because at my college there was such a microcosm of gays. It was all so incestuous and once someone had hooked up with one of my exes that pretty much crossed them off my potential rebound list.

If you are dating already, I wouldn’t hold a grudge. I don’t necessarily want to hear about all the details, but I’d be happy to know that you were happy. Or I at least wouldn’t feel gut-wrenchingly jealous if you’d moved on first. The one good thing about our break-up is that you ended things because you didn’t want to be in a long-term relationship. As long as you weren’t lying to me, that means that I don’t really have to worry about you showing up with a new, serious boyfriend anytime soon. Because that is something I don’t think I could take. Not yet, at least. It’s only been three and a half months. It’d make me feel awfully replaceable to see you’d moved on so soon.

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Saturday, November 9th, 2013 (Part 2)

Kyle and I cabbed it out to his place in Brooklyn, stopping by his neighborhood bodega for some snacks. For some reason, during the cab ride home, we’d become obsessed with the idea of getting Pringles. (I know, who doesn’t love Pringles? But then again, it’s not exactly the first drunk snack that comes to mind. Usually I go for something like a bacon, egg and cheese all pressed between the buns of a crispy bagel and oozing out or a burrito over-stuffed to bursting with chicken and sour cream and rice.)

Drunk and loopy on tiredness, I’m sure it was a sight seeing us order our Pringles. The bodega itself was closed, but they had a guy in there running things through a little order-out-window. We got just about every variety of Pringle they had…which was really only two — BBQ and Jalapeno. (If you’ve never had Jalapeno, go out and try it immediately! It was the best thing ever on a drunk tongue. It’s flavor scorched right through the boozy coating on my tongue left there after five hours of drinking and about eight whiskey-cokes.)

After getting our two cans of Pringles, we made our way to Kyle’s place. We sat there in his living room for about another hour, chatting comfortably and eating our Pringles. Not a single one was left by the time we made it to his bedroom.

We started hooking up, but then I fell asleep. My tiredness had finally gotten to me.And really, it was probably for the best.

When I woke up this morning, we hooked up and had a nice, casual goodbye. There was no running out of there at the sun’s rise, no pressure to feel like I was overstaying my welcome. It was comfortable. We chatted like usual.

It was nice having someone like that to just sit in bed with on a Saturday morning and shoot the breeze, like we used to do on weekend mornings when we didn’t have plans. There’s a comfort in it, in sharing a morning with someone special, even if you’re only friends. I certainly enjoyed it. It was the perfect kind of morning, bright skies outside, the light streaming through Kyle’s curtains just so, lounging comfortably in bed.

Eventually Kyle had some sort of dip brunch to get to. So I left him and walked towards the train, stopping at Chipotle on my way, getting that over-stuffed burrito that I usually want as a late night, drunken snack.

It was delicious, sitting there in Brooklyn, watching the bright street outside of the Chipotle as I thought back on the night I’d had, knowing, somehow, that things wouldn’t be weird with Kyle afterwards. Not like they were with Mitchell F.

I guess I’m making my way through friends of friends. Probably not the best strategy, but Jeremy doesn’t care. He would encourage it, I think. There’s a sense of security in it. A friend of mine is also your friend…that means he vouches for you; I know that you’re not loony. And maybe that’s exactly what I need for my rebound hook-ups, someone I can trust, someone I can be comfortable with, even if only a little bit.

Saturday, November 9th, 2013 (Part 1)

So last night was interesting. I would say I had a first, but actually it was a second. Would that make it a trend now? God, I hope not.

I was out at my new favorite gay bar, The Boiler Room — favorite because drinks are super cheap and because it’s in the East Village where I know I won’t run into you. I was there with Jeremy and his friend Kyle. I’ve met Kyle a couple of times. He’s fun. Cute. Works in fashion. The three of us were all scoping out the boys, trying to find someone worth talking to and maybe taking home.

Believe it or not, I started talking to someone. He was this super tall guy (like two or three inches taller than me), so I was surprised I took a liking to him.

(If there’s one thing that I am NOT into, it’s a tall guy. You were just about the same height as me, so it was fine. But with taller guys I always think that I’m tall enough as is. I don’t need someone even taller looking down on me. And with really really tall guys they always seem to have something a little off-putting about their look. Either they’re super-skinny, looking like a scarecrow with these really thin and long arms and legs, or their normal-sized features don’t quite fit their over-sized bodies. Obviously there are exceptions to this. But when it comes to my own personal taste, I just don’t like being shorter than a guy.)

So this guy was tall and skinny. Also kind of pasty. He was cute, though. At law school. We actually figured out that he’s grown up with a girl I had dated for like a week back in college. So we had that awkward connection. His tall problem — he had little baby teeth. Like I said, something just didn’t quite fit his over-sized body.

But still, I was into him. It was for one night. And with the liquor in my system and the foggy, dark atmosphere of the bar, I really didn’t care or notice.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one who thought this guy was cute. At some point I went to the bar to get a drink and turned back around to find my guy talking to Jeremy. My friend had stolen my man for the night.

Which actually didn’t make me that mad. So you know that I wasn’t really that interested in the guy. Let Jeremy deal with those baby teeth. Good luck to him.

With Jeremy taking my guy, I decided to take it easy for the night and started chatting with his friend, Kyle.

 

One problem with Boiler Room is that, since the drinks are so cheap, I almost always stay until closing time. So when 4AM rolled around, I was still there, exhausted, drunk and ready to go home. Jeremy had already left with my former-guy, but I wasn’t alone. Kyle was still there. And as we left the bar, both drunk and chattering away, we decided to go home together.

This is what I meant when I said that this was a second for me. The second time I’d gone home with a friend of a friend.