Well, so this post will probably resemble more closely the stuff I was writing in the early months of the blog, and I’m sure it’s basically going to read like a page from one of my gazillion half-started journals. Pick a year, it’s all the same basically.

So it’s love trouble, of course. Here’s the situation: The Lady Friend and I have been dating for quite some time now, and I’ve gotten to the place where it feels like we should be living together. I can’t just say, “I want us to live together,” because I think deep down in my damaged child of divorce little boy heart I just want to be left alone in my room to feel sorry for myself and play with my toys however and whenever I want.

But really, we should be living together. I’ve done it twice before, and I know that there are some serious benefits that come along with and make up for the sacrifice of personal space and freedom. I’ve even convinced myself that her three cats would be fun to have around...comforting and such.

So, after Lady Friend had finished a slow emotional breakdown involving thinking she’s done with life in NY and wants to move to a different city nearby, coupled with the apparent anguish I was causing her by implying she should find people to give her cats away to (which had caused her to take it just seriously enough to enact in her imagination the heartbreak that separation would entail), I said: “Forget about all that shit, would you like to move in with me instead? You can keep the cats.” And she said “OMG yes, that would be amazing and fantastic, etc.”

And all this exposition here has got me marveling at how cynical and cold and inhuman I am, but it isn’t like that, really.

Not 30 minutes after we agree to move in together here at my place, she starts pointing out all the signs that I’m not really into it. Fast forward to earlier this week. We had a meaningless fight on the phone in which I was trying to describe some hipsters I had seen in the window of one of my favorite local bars, but she wasn’t quite following. And then she had no idea what I meant when I said that one guy had this cap on, you know, like The Irish stereotypically wear? An Irish cap? Sort of pinched in the front with the bill?

She wasn’t getting it (“Like in Lucky Charms?” she wanted to know), I was getting frustrated, and this was scaring her. She was shrinking/wilting like a violet. This is something she tends to do and I’ve recently begun to have moments in which I can’t deal with it anymore... It’s like reaching your arm through a fence to grab a ball you lost on the other side, but you accidentally push it a little out of reach. And then it slooooowly rolls back, only to slide away under the pressure of your extended fingers. Maddening when it happens a lot.

Anyway, she ended the call, I spent the night text-apologizing for being a dick. And I WAS being a dick. But at some point doesn’t a couple have to be able to relax and let it out a little? Like I wasn’t calling her names, my voice wasn’t raised TOO much; I was just excited and really wanted to share, and she wasn’t getting it... (some context: when we have conversations in person, or even when I’m answering direct questions, she has a tendency to stop listening, instead sort of glazing over and doing that thing where you get distracted by looking at someone’s mouth moving instead of hearing the words coming out of it. So I’m a little sensitive to her not listening). I’m not saying she’s the bad guy, but can’t a girl just go, “Hey, you were a dick, but I get it”?

Instead it evolved last night into her theory that I don’t really want her to move in with me. This in turn under my examination evolved into “Maybe I have some reservations, which are the normal guy reservations, but I think I’m not the only one, can you explore your own?”... To which her delayed response has been, “My reservations are that your reservations are making you a dick and I don’t want to be stuck with that.”

Reasonable? yes. A cop-out? yes. That most recent conversation didn’t end well. It didn’t really end at all. I clammed up because what i have to say to that isn’t proper phone conversation, and she took my clamming up to be seething rage or cold indifference or something else coming from me. So we said polite goodbyes and that was it.

Here’s the thing (and I’ll wrap this up because when it gets this long I feel like I’m imposing on the one random person who’s stumbled on this blog), I wasn’t a dick because we are suddenly moving in together and I resent her for it. I was a dick because generally that’s who I am right now and probably forever more. I can’t stand my job, my neighborhood is stale, and I don’t spend any time on friendships or creative projects anymore (like i ever really did?). I get punchy and spunky and sarcastic. I’m super good natured and really care about the people I care about, but I like to cut loose and be rough around the edges. And she doesn’t. I agree that her way is infinitely better, and I’ve been able to play along sometimes, and really feel how warm and great it all is. But I’m afraid I can’t keep it up much longer.

So this is more than a fight about how the thought of her two litter boxes stinking up my apartment has made me cranky, it’s something really close to deciding whether the differences in our personalities are more important than the similarities or not. That’s break-up level talk. I don’t think I’m up to that just yet. I still think deep down that Lady Friend is more like my style of rough quick banter than she thinks... and I’m less combative deep down once I get to a secure, rewarding place in life. I could be wrong about us, but if we take the present snapshot for the whole deal I think we’re gonna end up splitting. And I really don’t want to do that.

Tags: cohabitation, relationship trouble

Oh man. Ohhhhh man. So here’s an interesting thing. Depending on how I tell this story, my Friday night was awesome, or it was bizarrely pathetic. I will now attempt the awesome version.

As you know, this Friday was the Friday before a Saturday Halloween. So. Sort of a lot of pressure, on account of there’s not much excuse for not dressing up or doing something because you have aaalllll day Saturday to get yer shit together. Except noone really wants to throw something together that last minute if they don’t have to, right? Right. Hence, Friday night. In fact, the special lady and I had attempted the trip to the costume shop (Ricky’s) on Thursday, failed, and instead pigged out on burgers and mac and cheese at Odeon. I highly recommend that. Much more fun than last minute costume shopping.

Ricky’s on Friday was a mad house. Line around the block (ok only halfway, but the rest of those people were packed into the super stuffy sweaty panicky basement, frantically scrambling for last minute costumes, or wigs, or blood). I almost bailed, as I was feeling a little reely from my recent successful swine flu vaccination and flu shot. I prevailed. I got a creepy latex dead pig’s head mask and some skeleton wings. Swine Flu, and people actually got it. Success... But that’s Saturday! What about Friday, jackass?!?!

Ok, I take my bag of costume parts up to 34th St to meet the lady friend and a work friend of hers at this place. What was it called? Maru? Something incredibly 90s trendy. The bar top normally cycles continuously through the rainbow spectrum (red is especially annoying), awful top 40s dance pop, and asian fusion food. And the only European whiteys are the ones you come in with. Pretty awesome, actually. The bartenders are super nice, sweet actually, and they have this deal. For $35 you get a bracelet that lets you drink anything within reason all night until 12. We got there around 7:30. Fast forward to 10:30, after some truly terrible fried calamari (think frozen onion rings) and some really good yakitori’ed shrimp and pork belly, we three drunk white douches were trying out their high end private karaoke room FOR FREE.

Now, I’d like to play this off like we scammed them with some bullshit story, but the truth is our story was legit: we wanted to get a room for New Year’s Eve karaoke madness. So they took us up, fired up the crazy remote controlled disco lights and handed us the toaster-sized control pad. Problem: the karaoke book was only about an inch of laminated pages thick. And of that, only about 5 pages were English songs! DAAAAANG. So we fired up a Britney song, pounded it out, and took the elevator to the OTHER super trendy Korean owned private karaoke room establishment in the building. We gave them the same story and got the same treatment! Awesome! Except they had even fewer English songs. I think we did a Gwen Stefani song (by “we” I mean “they”) and left.

Here’s the part that makes it tragic: they were utterly unbooked for New Year’s Eve. We could have had a sweet pad in Korea Town with an awesome view and basically unlimited drinks for like $300. But there weren’t anywhere near enough songs to fill even an hour of time. Even so, my sweet lady had her checkbook halfway out. It was that awesome in there.

End of the story: Another hour of free drinks, taxi, and we held onto my costume! Yes!

Tags: koreatown, karaoke, halloween, ricky's, odeon

Well I’m not sure what to focus on here. Job sitch: scary as fuck. Morale is at an all-time low across the board, bureaucracy is ascendant and personal accountability is keeping pace. So I’m in a work environment where blind devotion to red tape is making it hard (impossible) for people (and me) to get shit done, but a new philosophy of holding people responsible for their work means not getting shit done has consequences. Yikes. Don’t get me wrong, there’re a ton of idiots at my job who would’ve been fired years ago if they worked anywhere else, and I personally welcome any boss who decides it’s time to stop letting shit slide. I’m just worried about the whole guilty-by-association thing. How does a person decide which team member fucked up on a project? Safer to toss out everyone, right? I hope not. Let’s hope the union gives a shit.

Love life sitch: In a serious relationship. No more handjobs in bars by strange women for the H.I.E. Instead it’s trips to nearby metropolises to attend the weddings of sisters, weekends pushing the karaoke comfort envelope open, and evenings listening to lengthy recountings of daily minutiae. Lucky me those minutiae are often regarding encounters with J. Lo and Katy Perry... but I gotta say I’m having trouble sharing my hermit space with someone else. Most days it’s fine and fun to have a caring lady to cook for and talk to and cetera. And then it suddenly gets old and I can’t stand to have her around. And it’s hard not to interpret those feelings as being deeper than commitment phobia/panic and selfish desire to watch the bad TV I like. But I think this one’s going to be around a long time. As long as I work in some days off.

Except MAN i could save some serious dough if she moved in and split the rent. Holy crap. We’re talking max-out-the-Roth-IRA-contributions money. heh. Or whiskey.

Look for a more specific update this weekend as I attempt to hide from girlfriend relatives by pretending to work. Also, I’m toying with the idea of telling some dating stories just to get them out there before my new blissful state erases them from my mind. Let me know if there’s interest.

Tags: girlfriend

Well boy do I have some great stories to tell. And it’s been so long since I’ve posted here that it’s probably safe to tell and assume that noone who might be hurt will read this. But maybe not, so apologies. Also, I will be reevaluating this blog’s whole purpose probably soon. Because it’s seriously lame not to update it with fun shit and stories and links and photos and whining bullshit.

So here’s some updates: I am another year older. Had a birthday party for myself, which is I guess what adults end up having to do when we get to a certain age. I’ve never seen a TV show portray anything like that, though... which means I am a loser. Anyway it was at Melody Lanes in Sunset Park, which means bowling. Out of about 40-50 invitees, I got maybe 10 people to show up. What’s weird is the assortment that came. I clearly don’t have deep membership in any big unified groups of friends. I’m pretty cool with that now.

The fucked up part was all the seriously lame excuses that people gave me for not coming. One person said that I had invited too many of her exes (none showed up), another one said last time she bowled she broke a nail, so would be avoiding it this time. My favorite was from a pretty good friend in which she decided not to come because the “subways were too messed up” that day. That night she ended up 4 stops away on a train that was running fine later that night, according to her facebook pictures from that night. In the end we were probably only 5 long blocks apart, but I was too pissed to do any reaching out.

Why have the posts dried up, you may wonder? Well I’m seriously dating a girl. That’s right, I’m pulling the cliche move where I drop everything and everyone to get rolled up in new romance. Only I’m trying really hard to keep that from happening. Problem is I can’t fucking get people to hang out! That and I’m not trying as hard to make it happen. Hopefully things will get more social now that the weather’s heating up for real.

Tags: bowling, birthday, excuses

So a recent development (or set of them) has got me thinking about how life changes in interesting ways as you round 30 and head for home (the grave). First off, a digression into memory lane: As a guy, I used to have a pretty cliched little black address book in which i kept....contact info. I mean that shit was actually necessary pre-pda and pre-internet and most people had some form of centralized repository of miscellaneous and important contact info. So stop judging, assholes.

And in this book, I of course rated girls and kept track of how many i kissed and what-not... this was high school, ok? Which led to the quintessential “Reality Bites”-immortalized practice of counting and listing at various moments (ok, immediately after the sex) the number of girls i had had sex with. Even the ladies do this, so once more, stop judging, dicks.

Anyway, remember that? Like notches on the belt, or hash marks on the bedpost, or whatever.

So what’s the new version? The one that takes over from the ego-building celebration of conquest (or circumspect cherishing of past moments of intimacy, depending on the notcher) of our early 20s? Well, it’s a masochistic cataloguing of missed opportunities, of course! A painful reminder of failures and dropped balls; a reminder that the clock is ticking and you have somehow been left behind on the race to find someone. I’m talking about people on that prior list who are now married, or getting married soon.

Marriage was pathetic when it was immediately after high school, but now that we’re talking about real adults (with whom we once had serious relationships) settling down with the soul mate of their choosing it huuuuurts! It doesn’t hurt in a conventional way, though... It’s like a little proof that there must be something wrong with you. This is getting long-winded so I won’t delve into that. But here’s my current number. Of the girls with whom I have been in meaningful relationships since college, 7 that I know of are either happily married, or getting married this month. THIS MONTH! There’re THREE of those! Sigh. Not that I want to get married, but yeah, now I want to get married.

Tags: aging, marriage, notches

So it finally happened. I did a little too much stalkering on the old facebook and got what I deserved: My ex is “in a relationship”... Dun dun duuuunnnn... And of course I’m all reeling in shock and awfulness and a little stunned. Because as a matter of fact I have been gazing fondly in retrospect toward the good times we had in the past. I mean she was the rare type of girlfriend who adores and mildly idolizes her man. Which at the time was offset by her tendency to get ragingly upset at every expression of independence i ever made. It ended for a reason. I ended it for that reason. I was right i was right i was right. I’m trying to affirm, over here, gimme a break.

I think i have even figured out that she’s in that relationship with a dude in a minor band, one with a medium small following. I hate it! Why is it taking me so long to find a terrific girl? Hmmm? And why am I so obsessed with settling down? Prob has a lot to do with feeling like I’m getting old AND feeling isolated down here in exile.

Speaking of Exile-land, I went with some chums to a new comic book store up in...Prospect Heights? Picked up some comics (my ex turned me on to comics, of COURSE). And lo and behold, somehow it comes up that the owners (who are lovely people, very awesome in fact) are new residents in Exile City with me! Awwwwwwwesome. Some comrades in isolationville.

Starting to get a little better living down here. Love life has screeched to a nonexistent halt, but I’m also slowly building up some better social relationships with some healthier people. They also live closer than hipstertropolis.

Leave a comment if you have any comic suggestions or want to let me know you’re reading this crap.

Tags: facebook, comics, compatriots

Ok, first and foremost. Comments. If you are reading this blog, let me know you exist by chiming in or saying howdy. In the future I’ll try to create some discussion worthy posts, with questions and such. Or don’t comment. But it could be fun. You can do it completely anonymously. No need to enter any private info, just put a nickname and you can post! Sweet, i know. Click it NOW!

The juicy bits: I closed my okcupid account. Ok I just disabled it this time (yes, I have been here before). Only this time, instead of it being like I’m fleeing from the crush of psychotic and mediocre girls desperately clamoring to slice my skin off and wear it as a hipster-suit, it’s a more reasoned and deliberate flight. I have some very convincing reasons (to me) for why online dating will never work for me as more than a place to meet friends who I might possibly sleep with. Except I seem to not be interested in that at all. Basically, the process of browsing through potential matches and trying out some and ditching others is too much like shopping online. It sucks out the excitement of real life. Plus I was addicted to the constant, mild ego boost.

Also, I have purchased two badges to the northside festival, and I suggest you check it out if you want your hipster friends to like you. I will like you even if you don’t. Too lazy? It’s like if some hipsters in Brooklyn woke up and realized that all the bands that make other festivals hop actually LIVE HERE. So they all ALL are booked and playing in June in the hipster triangle. I’m just hoping I find someone to share the extra badge with, but I’m sure this time I’ll be able to sell it.

Lastly, check out the Leila (pronounced Lila) texts blog here. It’s mildly funny. The concept is that this girl gets every text on Verizon addressed to “Leila”. Which apparently Verizon lets you text to a name... who knew? I’ve met this girl and she’s hilarious. The hilarity doesn’t quite come across on the screen, but it’s still fun.

Tags: online dating, comments, okcupid

Ok, I just gushed out my day in an email and decided to just rip it off and paste it right here. So suck it, losers! (kidding. obvs):

“So guess what I did today. I "broke up" with an online date girl. I should paste some text from the email so you can rate my effort. Or some from her last email so you can see why it was inevitably going to end badly. I think this way I get to be a very small asshole and she gets to feel righteous for a week and then forget about it all. Wanna know what event precipitated this admittedly already-in-the-works dumping?

Ok, I'll tell you! So we email each other while at work, right? yeah, so she asks me what I'm doing this (past) weekend. And, because I have a pretty full lineup, I tell her exactly what I'm doing. It was basically booked thurs and sat nights. So I suggest dinner either early and limited on sat or sunday (she has some sstuff going on friday and sat nights). She says, yes. I ask which she prefers. She says sunday and I say good, sunday. Then on friday she texts me something like have a good weekend and i text her on saturday that it's gorgeous outside whoopeee. no response, which I'm personally a fan of, except I know it's probably significant. So sunday comes and I have brunch with some friends and then i text her hey, are we having dinner? no response. So I email, hey, in case your phone is dead, are we having dinner? and then i call (i hate calling, but to be the one with the justice on his side i'll do it) and leave a message: hey, i'm thinking you're not into dinner, but i still am, let me know. so she calls back and it's 7 by now, and i don't answer. because it's her turn to leave a damn message right?

Only she doesn't. She doesn't! I mean why the hell call in the first place?!?!?!?!?!?! Veeeery significant. So I reluctantly call back and she answers. She's all on the offensive: "I am sort of used to actually communicating with the people I'm spending time with" or something like that, "So when I didn't hear from you on the phone I assumed it was off....." painful silence "So I ate already"

And I said oh it's fine and then she began to launch into what seemed like a wind-up for a tirade against me (I'm sure about how I'm not sending clear signals or trying hard enough to keep her interested... I've gotten that before and it turns me WWWAAAYYY off), so I cut her off with some stuttered "it's ok's" and "you don't have to explain's" and she shuts up....

and then apologizes and says if i want some cold pizza i can come over. And I double down with, naw, it's cool I have some leftovers i can eat. And then it's awkward for a while and then we stumble through a reschedule. [and now that I'm writing all this i think i'm going to paste it word for word into my blog, along with this comment... and while I'm editorializing for my blog in an email to you, I will also point out that i think my ex knows the address to my blog, which sucks because i don't want her to read about my exploits, such as they are, and get hurt]

And then I realize it's time to end the thing. And then I also realize that I don't have to be the perfect gentleman and always end things on the phone or in person. In fact, an email saves everyone the discomfort and has the added benefit of being more likely to happen sooner, you know? Like having to do it in person makes it SO MUCH EASIER to put off the messiness. So I composed a lovely email and sent it to her, making sure it would get there when she didn't need to focus on work or whatnot because I can't help being condescendingly sensitive.

GAAAASP. done. I hope you enjoyed reading that. but seriously it felt pretty self indulgent.”

Tags: breakups, email