So, I guess it's that time where I'm supposed to put together all of my collective thoughts about the year and sum it all up in a neat little synopsis, tied up tight with a little red bow.
Fuck that. 2008 was a messy year, it was all over the place, and so shall this blog post be.
As I think about the events of the last 12 months, I am shocked at how LONG this year seemed. I have always felt that my life has been rushing by me with every passing birthday, but this year seemed to drag on and on, torturing me with its longevity.
Many of the milestones that hit were heavy duty and seemed, at the time, drastic and traumatic: serious breakup, turning 40, and losing my job.
Looking back on those events, however, I am able to realize that a lot more good has come out of each of those things than not. The guy wasn't right for me...40 is the new 30....and I hated my job with a passion that shone as bright as a thousand suns. So only good can come out of any of it.
Another thing that I seem to have figured out this year that I am friggin RESILIENT. I keep getting punched in the face and somehow emerge with only minor bruising. The glass has been half full more often than not, although once in a while when it is half empty I do so want to fucking give up and throw in the towel on life. But not that often.
I've had break up sex. I've had make up sex. I've had booty call sex. I've dated guys that epitomize every male in NYC, from musicians to computer geeks to writers to former Olympians...guys with blue hair, stoner dudes, artists, frat boys, playrights. ALL of them had baggage. I got myself a stalker. I now know how it feels to be a complete victim and I will never take such things lightly AGAIN (he's still calling). I've made friends with guys who have had their dick in me, and made friends with guys who WANTED to have their dick in me. I've also lost friends, also because they've had their dick in me, and have learned the hard way that fucking is not always the answer to everything.
Mysterious Guy just called. He asked me this question: "If you weren't you, who would you be?" I couldn't even wrap my brain around that. If I wasn't me, I wouldn't be anyone. Period, the end. I'm taking this life, the good the bad and all of it, and making it whatever it needs to be. The pieces of my personal puzzle will fall into place, little by little they've already begun.
So. Happy New Year and all that crap. See you in the '09.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
All I Want for Christmas is a Restraining Order
As I mentioned in my last post, I had a date lined up with a guy called Psych Ward.
Susan commented that she was a little concerned about his name....which made me chuckle a little to myself. You see, the reason I named him Psych Ward is because of his profession. However, Susan is a smart cookie, and had reason to be worried, as I will illustrate for you now.
Psych Ward and I had plans to meet up at my favorite bar (note to everyone, do NOT take a first-time date to your favorite bar-a) you don't want your beloved bartenders to think you're actually WITH this person and b) your favorite bar will never, ever be safe again, since said person now knows where you hang out and can stalk you). Psych Ward is very attractive, which I think he spends most of his life using to his advantage. He seemed disheveled, but I cut him some slack as it was snowing out and he had commuted in from LI. Fair enough.
He did, however, reek heavily of Marlboro Reds, and everytime he went to the bathroom he would come back smelling like he had rolled around in an ashtray. I finally asked him if he was smoking in the bathroom, to which he gave me a boyish grin and admitted that indeed, he was.
He then proceeded to down several beers chased with shots of JD. One, two, three went down his gullet. The date was only an hour in and he was wasted and I was bored.
He suddenly became an octopus of gigantic proportions...all eight of his hands were groping at me while we sat at the bar. I kept shoving him off of me and actually told him right out that i didn't feel a love connection so I did not want him touching me. He retreated like a naughty puppy being punished for pooping in the house, but then five minutes later it was as if he'd completely forgotten about our previous conversation and started groping me all over again.
Marlboro tinged kisses kept coming my way. I kept telling him I did not want to kiss him. Why I stayed I have no idea. I don't know if it was because it was Saturday night and I didn't want to slink home at 9pm with my tail between my legs...or because I felt bad that he had taken the LIRR in just to meet me in the snow, or if he was just that pathetic that I didn't have the heart to just leave...so stupidly, I joined him in his intoxication and somehow the night was weirdly salvaged.
That is NOT to say that I was going to ever go out with him again.
I knew he was going to call...and I figured when he did I would let him know that I had a nice time but I didn't think we were a match...so sorry....best of luck...blah blah blah. Like any normal person would do, I have manners, I'm not a bitch.
He didn't call for several days, and I thought I might be off the hook...and then, there it was, the voicemail I'd been dreading.
"I want to take you out again. This weekend."
No, no no no all sorts of HELL NO.
I fully admit that I avoided calling him back, but in all fairness, it's Christmas week, and it's busy.
Yesterday, Christmas Day, he sent me several emails, and called me SEVEN times. The messages he left were so long that my voicemail was cutting him off. I have to wonder how long he still rambled before realizing he was talking to thin air. He accused me of screening my calls. He diagnosed himself on my voice mail. He diagnosed ME on my voicemail (apparently I have self-esteem issues). He gave me all the reasons why we should be together. He tried to get me jealous by telling me he was being pursued by another woman. He told me I was a bullshitter. He cursed, cajoled, pleaded, analyzed. It was horrifying and entertaining all at once. I didn't know whether to laugh or call the cops.
It never even occurred to him that it was Christmas, and the reason that I hadn't picked up my phone was because I was spending the day with my family. It was like that episode of Seinfeld, where George leaves 500 messages on his date's machine, getting more and more angry that she's not calling him back, and it turns out that she had been away for the weekend and never checked her messages.
Except that was a really funny episode.
Susan commented that she was a little concerned about his name....which made me chuckle a little to myself. You see, the reason I named him Psych Ward is because of his profession. However, Susan is a smart cookie, and had reason to be worried, as I will illustrate for you now.
Psych Ward and I had plans to meet up at my favorite bar (note to everyone, do NOT take a first-time date to your favorite bar-a) you don't want your beloved bartenders to think you're actually WITH this person and b) your favorite bar will never, ever be safe again, since said person now knows where you hang out and can stalk you). Psych Ward is very attractive, which I think he spends most of his life using to his advantage. He seemed disheveled, but I cut him some slack as it was snowing out and he had commuted in from LI. Fair enough.
He did, however, reek heavily of Marlboro Reds, and everytime he went to the bathroom he would come back smelling like he had rolled around in an ashtray. I finally asked him if he was smoking in the bathroom, to which he gave me a boyish grin and admitted that indeed, he was.
He then proceeded to down several beers chased with shots of JD. One, two, three went down his gullet. The date was only an hour in and he was wasted and I was bored.
He suddenly became an octopus of gigantic proportions...all eight of his hands were groping at me while we sat at the bar. I kept shoving him off of me and actually told him right out that i didn't feel a love connection so I did not want him touching me. He retreated like a naughty puppy being punished for pooping in the house, but then five minutes later it was as if he'd completely forgotten about our previous conversation and started groping me all over again.
Marlboro tinged kisses kept coming my way. I kept telling him I did not want to kiss him. Why I stayed I have no idea. I don't know if it was because it was Saturday night and I didn't want to slink home at 9pm with my tail between my legs...or because I felt bad that he had taken the LIRR in just to meet me in the snow, or if he was just that pathetic that I didn't have the heart to just leave...so stupidly, I joined him in his intoxication and somehow the night was weirdly salvaged.
That is NOT to say that I was going to ever go out with him again.
I knew he was going to call...and I figured when he did I would let him know that I had a nice time but I didn't think we were a match...so sorry....best of luck...blah blah blah. Like any normal person would do, I have manners, I'm not a bitch.
He didn't call for several days, and I thought I might be off the hook...and then, there it was, the voicemail I'd been dreading.
"I want to take you out again. This weekend."
No, no no no all sorts of HELL NO.
I fully admit that I avoided calling him back, but in all fairness, it's Christmas week, and it's busy.
Yesterday, Christmas Day, he sent me several emails, and called me SEVEN times. The messages he left were so long that my voicemail was cutting him off. I have to wonder how long he still rambled before realizing he was talking to thin air. He accused me of screening my calls. He diagnosed himself on my voice mail. He diagnosed ME on my voicemail (apparently I have self-esteem issues). He gave me all the reasons why we should be together. He tried to get me jealous by telling me he was being pursued by another woman. He told me I was a bullshitter. He cursed, cajoled, pleaded, analyzed. It was horrifying and entertaining all at once. I didn't know whether to laugh or call the cops.
It never even occurred to him that it was Christmas, and the reason that I hadn't picked up my phone was because I was spending the day with my family. It was like that episode of Seinfeld, where George leaves 500 messages on his date's machine, getting more and more angry that she's not calling him back, and it turns out that she had been away for the weekend and never checked her messages.
Except that was a really funny episode.
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