Getting Dumped: 2012 Style

I feel like I just got dumped because I never heard back from Cutie yesterday after my prompt of "You doing anything tonight?" never got a response. After concluding that that was the "I'm breaking this off" text that wasn't actually sent, I hung up my Cutie "hat" and moved on. I am not devastated, nor am I in need of any consolation. I got the message loud and clear. I am left wondering at the way we communicate now in this silent culture of texting, though.

Cutie was a fascinating relationship in that I would categorize the entire interaction as a series of one night stands with the same guy. We saw each other for about 5 weeks, about once a week, and after every time I wondered if I would ever really see the guy again. The relationship was just that "casual." I have a voicemail that Cutie left on my phone by accident. I lost my phone in his room and had him call me, then he forgot to turn off his phone so I have a 45 second voicemail with no content except some background noise. I listened to it the other day and thought it was a perfect metaphor for our interaction: silence, little content, and a forgetfulness thrown in there for good measure.

In fact, Serendipity (the last boyfriend) and I had very little interaction on the phone as well. I'd send a text and get a response back in a couple hours. We talked on the phone, meaningfully, once. Otherwise, our entire relationship was a texting match or a phone call just to iron out a detail that the texting couldn't. In comparison to the first relationship I had where texts actually cost money and we had to call one another to figure out what the hell we were doing that evening, the last few guys I've dated have been all texts. I only spoke to Dominos on the phone once, and that was to break up with him!

So, I feel like now I can trump the "I got dumped with a text" statement and say: "I got dumped with a 5 hour grace period I gave him to respond to my booty call and heard nothing, so I'm assuming we're done through his use of the choice of a Non-Text." No message, but I get it loud and clear. So, I won't respond to your non response and you can take that non-commital answer as a rebuttal to your first non-commital non-response.

And, anyway: I have a pretty exciting date tomorrow night with an MFA student whose going to Columbia. Hah!

I'm Non-Texting the world right now with how much I love being single. Right. Now....

The Death of an Ex

I thought you died today!

Seriously! I thought, for a moment, that you were lying somewhere on your death bed having just expired your last breath. I jumped to that conclusion when I was asked by a friend (in a sober, quiet, and bated voice) if I had: "...heard what had happened to you today?" WHAT HAPPENED!? Oh, you had a baby and a friend wanted to make sure I was up to date so I didn't find out through some other source. OK. Phew!

It's been a while since I've thought about you. You make regular appearances in my sub conscious, and you pop up in dreams from time to time, but generally I'm concentrating on the most recent guy in my life. Unless, of course, something out of the ordinary happens that reminds me of you. But, seriously, I don't give you a lot of rental space in my brain. Your memory has slowly started to fade out, like a black Tee shirt that's been washed so much it turns a dark charcoal and loses its original, powerful, black.

Thinking about you dead made me very sad and that caught me off guard. I remember (two summers ago, when we first decided to really not talk to each other ever again) I would bike home from work late at night. I'd be biking up a really steep hill to get on the Queensboro Bridge and I'd think about you as a character in my brain that I liked to torture so as to take my mind off of how awful it was to bike that hill. I'd imagine all the things I could say and I'd scream them at you in my brain. I'd hurl insults and create terrifically embarrassing scenarios to put you in and I'd watch, in my imagination, as you were peed on by a goat and then kicked in the nuts. Or, I'd wistfully place you in a moment when you somehow ran in to me on the street after I started dating Justin Timberlake and I'd pretend I didn't see you and you'd look so downtrodden that the paparazzi following us would notice and then do a very embarrassing interview with you right there on the street, and as they do it a pigeon would shit on your face.

You know, that kinda' thing, it'd help me bike up the hill.

Thinking about you being dead today was not fun. Not at all. Even though you're in another phase of your life and we don't talk anymore and I'm very happily not married to you; I still wish you health and safety. I wish you happiness and fulfillment. I wish you the life you want to live.

Isn't it funny how death can make us all the same? Like, in war times, when one is in the trenches, it really doesn't matter who has more money or fame or a happy family life, we can all die just like the next guy. And death is a means of measuring how much a person can really mean, can't it? Death can make a memory of someone precious, when before, when that person was alive, that memory was never really recalled or treasured.

So, I guess, what I'm trying to say is: I really care about you, even after all of the horrifically awful heartbreaks we put ourselves through. I mean, I'm glad we're not together, but there is still a place in my heart that loves you and wishes you all the best.

I'm really glad you're not dead.

The "Uh Oh" List

I thought about other people I would really not want to run in to: there weren't many. Usually I don't mind seeing someone I know out in public, and usually I get along with most everyone I meet, so thankfully there isn't an army of humans that would make me run for the hills if I saw them. However, I'm sure we all have those 5 or 6 people that would be at the top of the "Please Don't Be Where I Am Right Now, Ever" list.

I went invisible last night. I used my mundane superpower by holding my breath, sucking on my lower lip, looking down at the floor and slowing my pace. I did NOT want the person I had spotted coming toward me to stop and talk to me, or see me or even think about me. I sent a silent prayer to whomever was listening at the moment and begged them to let him walk past me. He did. I don't know for sure if he saw me, I don't want to know, but I did find it funny that we happened to be on the same street at the same time (2am, by the way. What the hell?)

I find it amazing that someone I saw romantically and physically for a while, someone that I devoted a lot of time and energy toward could walk past me on a busy New York street and we could just miss each other. In fact, I wanted him to keep going! That chapter is so done, dude.

I giggled nervously after he passed and allowed myself to become visible again. I took a deep breath and marveled at the power of thought. I'd been thinking about him a lot lately, actually. He'd been coming up in conversations and memories and I wondered if I had conjured him, and that the person I saw walking toward me was just a ghost. I recalled his features: he looked pissed off, annoyed, or concentrating on some big thought. Maybe the ghost of the guy was frustrated that I had woken him up and demanded that he be on the street so late at night.

I am awed by the way events unfold and history loops and people come back into our lives for different reasons. Seeing Him last night made me wonder if I'll run in to other people I really don't want to see, and that by running in to them I'd have some kind of closure, as if, maybe I was the ghost stuck in purgatory and seeing a few people on my "Uh-Oh" list would help me come out of my limbo. I have one or two guys that I am very curious about running in to, even though they are still on my "Come Not Near Me!" side. If I did see them coming toward me, I wonder who would be more freaked? Them or Me? Maybe we'd both become invisible...

Girl Walks In To A Bar...

She's looking to learn something, maybe. Or, she's bored. Or, she's heard great things about this bar and figured she would try it out. She sits down at a stool and looks at the menu written in chalk on the board. That beer looks good, that scotch looks yummy, etc, etc.

A Second girl walks in to the same bar. This girl looks very similar to the first. She's a brunette, pretty, with big brown eyes, just like the first Girl. She too decided for whatever reason to come to this bar and see what the hype was all about. She walks over to the stools and stops. Wait a minute. I know that girl. The 2nd brunette says to herself as she watches the first brunette go over the menu written in chalk on the wall.

Suddenly, an evening that was supposed to be a no-brainer, became a super-brainer.

The Second Girl sits as far away from the First Girl as possible so as to avoid being seen. She picks up a food menu that is sitting on the old wooden dinged up bar top and pretends to be engrossed with the appetizers, but is actually stealing glances at the 1st girl who has just ordered a bourbon (Girl #2's favorite bourbon, as a matter of fact). Now, why should Girl #2 be so thrown off by the first brunette who came in and sat down? What is the reason to send this otherwise ordinary night into a frenzied anxiety attack?

Girl #2 knows Girl #1, but they've never met. It's just that Girl #2 has heard a lot of stories about Girl #1and the second brunette is pretty sure that the first brunette probably has heard of her as well. Tricky? But wait! There's more! These two girls know each other because they have slept with the same manipulative bastard of a guy!! Uh oh. Hold on a minute, though. There's got to be more to the story, right? Oy, yes. Girl #1 dated the guy for years. They broke up, and the guy went and told Girl #2 that he was oh so heart broken and that he could never get back with Girl #1 again, and wouldn't Girl #2 take pity on him and fall into his bed with him and they can live happily ever after? Girl #2 stupidly obliged the offer.

Once Girl #2 spent weeks on the phone with this woman-eating asshole trying to get the guy from dramatically deleting all photos of his previous relationship, and talking him down from acting like a crazy person, the guy suddenly disappeared. Only to resurface again and state that he was back together with Girl #1, but beseeched Girl #2 to please keep her mouth shut about the fact that he had slept with her a number of times because he didn't want Girl #1 to know the full extent of what had happened.

Girl #2 was angry! Actually: beyond angry! She was horribly depressed! She felt used. She felt low and dirty and unworthy. It was a rough summer. She promised herself she would never speak to that guy again and stuck to that promise even after he came crawling back on his knees and begged. Nope. Fuck off.

But, here the two were. Girl #2 didn't know what to do. To what extent did Girl #1 know of the 2nd brunette? What was the etiquette of broaching the subject? Should Girl #2 just ignore Girl #1 and pretend she didn't see her? Or, should she say something?

Girl #2 inched closer to Girl #1. They both really did have a lot in common. Girl #2 felt embarrassed by how much they had in common. Seems that guy liked a certain type, that's for sure...

"Um. Hi. Do you know me?" Girl #2 asked.
"Oh my god. Yes." Girl #1 responded, her eyes getting wide.

The 1st Girl sat holding her bourbon looking agog. The 2nd Girl stood behind the bar stool looking awkward and wishing she was holding a bourbon. Nothing more was said. The two stood and looked at each other for a while, as if what someone seeing a mythical creature they had only heard in legends would look like if that creature suddenly showed up at the bar you decided to drink at that night.

The two girls were still looking at each other at the bar as the scene fades out. There were no more words exchanged... yet. But, somewhere the Guy just woke up in a cold sweat as the nightmare he just dreamt unfolded into a reality.

Oh, Shit. They've met each other...

Burning Up Old Memories

It was later in autumn; the nights that start to really bite and nip at the holes in your clothes, and the coolness that creeps up on you when you think that the day was warm enough to merit wearing that light sweater and capris. I was a junior in college out on Long Island and had been dating my then boyfriend for just about two years. My boyfriend had a group of buddies he had known since they were all practically in diapers and occasionally the gang would get together and over a couple beers laugh and joke about shared memories.

It was also not uncommon for these social gatherings to happen around a fire. A fire pit in a backyard in Long Island is not unusual. There were parties were the hosts would build up a small fire and the group would gather and warm themselves while roasting marshmallows. Autumn fires are the best, in my opinion. Summer fires are fun, but generally the added heat can draw some pleasure from the overall experience.

Therefore, it came as no surprise to me and my boyfriend to be invited to what was dubbed a "Bonfire" by one of these childhood friends.

I don't clearly remember the How's and What's of what eventually got myself huddled up against my boyfriends chest on a deserted back road staring at the flames, but I do clearly remember what I was staring at.

It was a bonfire, alright. Although, one of the old pals decided that he wanted to burn an entire box of memories. Every single scrap of paper, ticket stub, toy, letter, picture and memorabilia from the relationship of 4 years that had just ended was in that box. The Pal came out of his parents' brightly lit suburban house holding the massive stack of stuff. He set it down on the concrete out back and asked the other three couples who were there to gather around.

In a very emotional speech, he said his girlfriend cheated on him with another girl, then left him, broke his heart forever. He had wanted to propose to this girl, but his dreams were dashed, and therefore: all needed to be burned. We were to be witness to this fire; this purge from this Man's life. He then doused the box in kerosene, lit a match, and threw the flame onto the memorabilia.

I'll never forget the smell of that burning plastic, the blue and green flames leaping from the different materials burning, the smoke rising into the air, and the orange light reflecting off of the eyes of the other witnesses as we each watched in silent horror as an entire relationship's material wealth went up in smoke.

I felt, even despite the heat from the flames, that I was colder than before.

I don't remember how long we stood out there, but the Pal wouldn't let us put the flames out nor would he let us back into the house until the fire burned everything to ash and there was no more flame. No one said a word. I clung to my boyfriend like a ragged flag on a school yard flag-pole in a strong wind. There was no traffic, no sounds, no other outside force on that deserted Long Island back-road except the cackle of the flames licking, melting and destroying the evidence.

To this day, I am still shocked at the hurt and anger that can pass through someone to make them do the things they do. I imagined, once, how it would feel to take what little mementos I have left of relationships from my past and burn them, only to shudder at the idea of such a violent act of deletion. I'll keep those letters and photos and ticket stubs locked away in a shoebox at the back of my closet, and try to remember the wonderful aspects of a relationship gone past its expiration date, rather than burn it all up to ash. I wonder, too: did that Pal feel better? or does he ever miss those pieces of evidence? I never asked.

Ode to a Chair

I walked past the broken chair sitting liked a hunched bum on the sidewalk. The worn yellow stripes with the water stains at the bottom and the threadbare arms reminded me again of how much I had disliked that piece of furniture. It had been sitting in the apartment with a comforter thrown over it and had therefore given the impression that there was a far more comfortable seat under there. In fact, if one didn't know what was underneath that comforter to begin with, one would sit on that antique and for a split second think they were relaxing, until a lumpy spring began to poke into a butt-cheek.

In the daylight, in the heat, on the sidewalk, however, that seat sat like a faded bulge of yellow, exposed to the elements and left to its fate. I watched as a small sparrow flew off of the derelict, decrepit, crumpled (dare I say self-pitying?) chair and into a low hanging branch. I wouldn't sit there either, I thought. I knew that chair once as it had been when it was sitting in the still, dark apartment it lived in. It was given a second chance, taken off the streets in the hopes of providing a home with a more comfortable environment. It failed, however, moving from the living room, to the foyer, to being covered up with the comforter, to finally: the street again. That thing would probably be carried off to a garbage dump in Staten Island or maybe: some other poor sap would come along and, seeing only the possibility of how charming those little yellow stripes would be in their apartment (and ignoring the glaringly obvious water stains at the bottom) they'll pick that chair up and take it home. Who knows. After a second glance at the thing I didn't really want to find out what happened to it. It's a piece of New York City history at this point, it's moving on to another place.

Goodbye you poor pathetic chair, good luck out there in the world! I won't really miss you, to be honest, as you were not very comfortable, nor were you very stable. You were pretty, once. And even with your arms worn thin by the hundreds of times people have rested there, and the lumpy cushion were once, in your better days, you provided a comfort for those needing a break from standing, you still can give off an impression of a cute, unassuming, slightly sad looking, take-me-home-and-love-me vibe which I am sure will serve you well if ever a time comes when you're fished out of the dump and used again.

Adieu.

Extinction

Generally, as a human, I don’t give much thought to extinction. Total annihilation from the earth: not one specimen left of your kind, is not something Humans, as a species, need worry about in the near future (unless some terrible war, famine, or disease wipes us out). Yet, last night at work, as I stared at the beers on tap and thoughtlessly ran my fingers over the rough edges of the stainless steel bar I was standing behind, I thought of extinction in a more abstract way: as a means to explain why I protect people in my thoughts that I might otherwise dismiss forever.

The definition of Extinction has a couple of meanings, but they basically boil down to: “a coming to an end or dying out.” That definition need not wholly apply to a species, it could also apply to an emotion or a way to feel toward others, right? I reflected on how, in my mind, people have gone “extinct” within the universe of my brain. Their “species” no longer roam the fields anymore, save for a few traces, bones, and bits of DNA that could be left over for an excavation years later. 

I imagined the people in my life who have gone extinct. I reflected on how once, there was an abundance of them, and now: only pieces to dust off and look at in a museum. It made me sad. Humans can go extinct, just on a much smaller level than a mass apocalyptic melt-down of the entire race. The real scary part is when I realize that someone is on the endangered species list in my brain. Wait a minute, I haven’t seen that person in a very, very long time. How many of them are there? Are they being protected?! We need to make an awareness of this dire situation! Save them!  And suddenly, a person who is falling off the face of my map, may become the top of the list of important things to do. I should go see them. I don’t want to lose that friendship/relationship with that person! 

But, here’s a weird paradox: what if the species that has now become the top of the endangered list, say the American Burying Beetle, is really a nasty, gross, really hard to like, bug? Does one have to dismiss the disgust and still preserve the wonder that this insect is? Even if the Beetle is a total asshole to the ants and the grasshoppers, even if the Beetle is selfish and self-absorbed, that stupid Beetle that no one likes moves up to a new status which suddenly makes sightings an important discovery. So, an asshole bug is now a species that people want to see more of, because that means that that bug won’t be gone forever. 

People in my life are kind of like that. “Sighting today of that jerk from High school on the subway. Many thought that idiot would have been worm meat due to a lack of any foresight, however, recent steps have been taken to ensure that the otherwise massive waste of public oxygen, will be preserved in memory to the best of our ability for future generations. Although many have cited that the Jerk is the reason for getting accused of cheating on that quiz freshman year, it is important to remember that in the delicate web of life, that person still plays a part.” 

So, as I felt the lifeless dry blast from the air conditioner above my head, and smelled the fumes of money and metal last night at work, I tried to switch my brain to thinking about what is worth saving. Total extinction is pretty extreme. And when someone goes extinct from my life, like a friend or lover, the web of life changes and shifts. A person’s memory is important, and should be protected, even if there are highly unpopular qualities of that being, right? The asshole Beetle really is an asshole... and would the web of life really be changed in a negative way if that Beetle was let to die out? Hmm, actually, the scientists are still out to lunch on that idea.