Sunday, June 07, 2009

Bret Easton Ellis was being cryptic, right?

Another day, another meaningless fuck.

I met this guy months ago through one of my best girlfriends. He's in finance and recently quit his job to start his own company. We'd chatted on and off. They had a falling out recently: She said he insulted her, he said she couldn't take a joke.

So today, after a three hour IM marathon, he challenged me to come over to his place. After some back and forth, I decided to take up his offer and drive over to his McMansion.

He opened his front door, gave me a hug, and asked if I wanted a tour.

"No thanks," I replied. "Where's your room? I have to meet my friend in an hour, so let's get down to business."


It was my birthday yesterday. I spent it reassuring people that I really did not care to celebrate it. I did pay a hippie dippy lady to do a tarot card reading for me. I picked out five cards and she ... reiterated everything I already knew about myself. It was fun. The woman said the primary conflict in my life involves the desire to have a "sweet" kind of love (characterized by tenderness and the feeling of being taken care of) paradoxically intertwined with my impulse to be overly competitive. She said I have a tendency to "best" my partners and then hold them in contempt for having "lost."

Her suggestion? I should take a break from men. Or in her words: "At least the ones your age."

I think the problem lies with me. When it comes to offering insight into other people's dilemmas, I am deeply empathetic. That's why I'm known as "Miss Reality Check": I'm blunt and cut straight to the issue. Some might even call it tactlessness. However, when it comes to copping to my own vulnerabilities, I clam up and will go to the ends of the earth to rationalize away those "silly" feelings.

After my boyfriend and I went our separate ways last September, I was absolutely ready to face the world alone. I could finally enjoy singlehood after two and a half years of my bickering, his nagging, and physical altercations springing from his addiction to World of Warcraft. Unbeknownst to me, I would fall hard for a man I'd meet through a friend. A boy, really. But a very clever boy. Goofy, intelligent, directionless, yet utterly irresistible. There was no way I could possibly see myself with him. I mean, What does one do with a philosophy degree anyway, I sniffed.

Despite that, he became the last thing I thought about before bed. I would replay, to nearly obsessive lengths, the last night I spent with him, reassuring him I couldn't possibly date him.

"Finding a job is my number one priority right now," I said. "I just want something casual."

When he offered to make me breakfast the morning after, I told him I couldn't stay. He said he makes a great breakfast. I told him I really couldn't stay. Why? So I could return the car to my mom before she had to go to work. But instead of just saying that, I had to act comically aloof.

So he decided we couldn't be friends. I asked for an explanation (a rookie mistake) and he said something about being afraid of what might occur due to the "residual interest" he still had for me. Needless to say, I was crushed when I discovered he was dating someone new. No one could've known, of course. If anyone asked, I said he didn't mean anything. I knew it wasn't the oxytocin talking when, bumping into him five months later, I experienced a surge of euphoria just seeing him reading on a bench as we made friendly small talk.

I hear he's pretty happy. Not that I would know. I still reminisce about his slender hands and the way he gripped my throat just before orgasm.

And here I am, in the present, picking up attractive men and dumping them the next morning. (My car definitely comes in handy for a quick getaway.) Even the most confident rogue reveals himself to be a needy mess under the unforgiving light of day. Which indicates to me that, yes, I really do need a long ass break.


I directed the prime time evening news last Thursday. What a rush!

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