brainygirl's thoughts...

Betrayal...is more than a four-letter word

I don't know how it happened. Or when it happened. The exact moment when my life spiraled so swiftly and deviously out of control, how what started as an innocent silly text conversation over the internet became larger and sharper and cut in two something I thought was solid, but was nothing but a transparent illusion of depth and substance, a hologram of a relationship. Suddenly I am going from flirtation to break-up, from innuendo to I fucking never want to speak to you again, to how could you treat me this way?
Then it got worse.
I made the grave error of involving a third party, a mutual friend, or aquaintance of mine, really. She had introduced us, ironically, by speaking about the boy she was supposedly dating, the one who broke her heart, Bad Stephen, she called him (yes, his real name). Two days later I was unwittingly to meet him on the internet, he was to woo me, win me over, only to discover that he was in fact Bad Stephen, in the flesh. By then it was too late, I was hooked, we were dating, or so I thought, and he would surely tell her any minute now. He didn't. He chose to prolong the agony for two whole months, continuing to see her at dinner parties and the like, to revel in her adoration, and not tell her about me until the night we broke up. Why, I have no sweet clue. He claims it was the first time he realized I was upset he hadn't told her (you have to be an emotional cretin not to figure out that it would upset the woman you are dating to continue to hang out with the woman who is obsessed with you, who knows the woman you are dating, and to not TELL said woman. I guess he is either fucking retarded or the meanest person ever).
So, in my wrath and upset, I email her. I apologize for not having contacted her sooner, for not having told her myself. I ask if we can put this behind us and be friends.
She all too eagerly replies "Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuure..." the sugary words still cooing in my ear as she proceeds to regale me with semi-truthful statements like "Oh, honey, I hope you didn't sleep with him...you know he sleeps with girls on MySpace and goes out on about 5 internet dates per week..." just to cite a few...

I vomit. Or I want to vomit. I feel the primal heat of fight or flight coarse through my veins and flush my cheeks. My heart thuds, leaping out of my chest, I speak but I don't hear the words as they come out of my mouth. We have girl talk for two hours. Two excrutiating hours of self-discovery. I'm doing this for your own good, she says, You didn't actually think he was dating you, she says, He's emotionally empty, a bottomless pit who will suck you dry and give you nothing back, she says...yet she is still addicted to him.

I text him. He texts me back "OH jesus...well, fuck you very much..."
I guess he didn't like the fact that we had spoken. I had no idea of the nuclear pandora's box holocaust I had opened, but let's just say the last 24 hours have been pretty special. We've exchanged countless emails, seeping with emotion and apology and some semblance of clarity. We actually spoke on the phone for an hour for the first time since our initial courtship, after we learned that she had sent me hate mail, accusing me of "ruining" their relationship...
Jesus fucking christ. How did I get here? Trapped in some telenovela? Exiled to highschool confidential hell on earth? All I know is that I never, ever, ever want to feel this way again. Ever. There were SO many countless things I did wrong, so many TSN turning points where I zigged when I so fucking should have zagged...I just can't. Ever. Trust. Anyone. Ever.  I've written pages and pages of emails over the last few days, so I'll share some of the high (low) lights:

I'm not mad at you per se, just overwhelmed a bit by the emotional roller coaster I've been on these last two months, partly of my own choosing; my ENFP ways do not allow me to abandon a lost cause, but rather to struggle valiantly, never admitting that something is not possible, because, heck, I can bring out the best in anyone or any situation with my sheer will and optimism. And things started off so well and  I do think we are very compatible in a lot of ways, which is so hard to find in this city, or really anywhere, so I kept working at it

I guess part of my problem is also my massive ego...I absolutely could not fathom how someone would not want to be with me, rather than examining the reasons behind their inability to be with me, which is something else entirely...                   this dichotomy gets me in deep shit on a regular basis

Funny, the title of my next post will be Betrayal - you, M, myself most of all, which is the irony...we see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe, and that is what results in the biggest betrayal and damage. Only if there weren't men like you out there this would not be an issue.
Just think more about what you do, how your actions affect other people, what sort of imprint you want to leave on those around you and hopefully you can begin to change, or value yourself enough to believe you can change and be worthy of more if you become more of that person.

I won't argue against IM-ing, because frankly I just don't have the energy, but here goes...I IM my sister all the time. Well, not all the time, but a lot. And we love it. It's funny, light, she's hysterical because she doesn't know any of the lingo or abbreviations and the whole thing is wonderful. I've also known my sister for 32 years and we have a pretty solid, great, established relationship. We never misinterpret anything or misunderstand tone or get insulted by some remark that was made in error. We also talk on the phone whenever we can and see eachother as often as possible: she also lives in another country and is broke.
Those are really the only times I see IM as being fun and/or useful. OR, if you are legitimately dating someone and it is a quick, witty flirtation, idle sexy banter, or whatever. But with us it not only became the primary and solitary mode of communication, it took on a sarcastic, quick tone that allowed us to say all sorts of hurtful things without a second thought. It was just sort of addictive in a really bad way, like any drug, a tiny high and a very big low. I kept engaging, hoping you might actually apologize or say something truly sweet or complimentary or remorseful; that never happened, or if it would for a moment it would be followed by a truly shitty comment, or something so gauche or hurtful I had to wonder if you had any emotional intelligence at all, or if you just deliberately were trying to exercise meanness.
I think it enabled you to keep me on the hook, so to speak, with really, really minimal investment or effort on your part. And that's my fault for allowing it to substitute for real, meaningful contact.
I'm not saying you didn't reveal a lot of very intimate things, you did. And so did I. And we probably shouldn't have - it was the medium seducing us into disclosure of fabricated raw pseudo-honesty. I mean, I was always honest, but I used it to establish what I thought was closeness or intimacy with you, which is ridiculous - I was baring my soul to a fucking computer screen.

As for your therapist and his theories of polygamy, I don't know what to say, except that I've been told the same thing repeatedly: "Girl, you HAVE to date multiple guys at once!!!!!" and I try, really I do, but it just doesn't work for me. I have enough else on my plate that I could date a lot of men badly, or one really well, and I choose to do the latter. Or attempt to do the latter, because it seems they all do the former which results in a total fuckshow of a situation. You should have heard me ranting fervently about the post-sexual revolution fallout and how men have devolved to such a point that I barely want anything to do with them anymore, especially given their current levels of selfishness here in New York, the likes of which I have never seen before.

Thank you for the final semi-backhanded compliments; yes, I know. I cannot count the number of times I have been told I am the most amazing woman (insert name of boy X)  has ever or will ever meet, that I have changed boy X's wasted life by my mere existence, that I am "too good" for boy X and will likely soon find someone worthy of my luminosity.
Still waiting for someone who fits that description.


And that, my friends, is what I call drama. And I am so done with it. It is exhausting. I feel like I've run the New York marathon (and I probably have in terms of emotional energy expenditure), and all of this angst really does take its toll. The one bit of good news is that I have not shed a single tear over this one. Nada. I'm dry.

Indecent Exposure...

Well, here we are again...I hope some of you are still reading after that last traumatic post.  It's not that I've "moved on" because I haven't and probably never will, but I do think it is important to continue to live our lives, carry on this business of living as best we can, feel the pain and the loss but don't let it cast us into a bottomless pit of despair. And drinking definitely helps!
My new neighbour has been a godsend - he's adorable, funny, so much fun to be around, he tested my limits in Central Park on an incredibly hot day (he's a pro triathlete and we ran together!!!!!), and he introduced me to my new favourite neighborhood dive bar, La Negrita! I had been there once before on a godawful date with the Indian Dandy (aka Brando!) so it had been kinda tainted for me; I remembered it as a dim, dingy place populated with one or two latino locals watching pool on cable access and drinking Corona...Depressing! But, not so - it is now this cute, happening place where everybody knows your name, in typical Cheers-like fashion! And it was here that I met the latest object of my affection...SIGH...double, triple, quadruple sigh...(If you could see him, you would know what I mean...he is THE most beautiful boy I have ever seen!!! And not just because he is drop dead adorable, but because of what is on the inside - and that's a direct quote from something he said about ME!!!).

BUT...if you think there is no trouble in paradise, you obviously don't KNOW me, people!!!
Of COURSE things are not going smoothly, of COURSE things are all fucked up and we've barely just begun, and of COURSE I am head over heels in love (lust?) with this one...AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!
And it's got to stop.

It's time for me to step up and take responsability for the systematic sabotage of EVERY single relationship that has ever mattered to me and I AM NOT GOING TO DO IT AGAIN if it KILLS me!!!!! Ok, strong words, sorry, sorry, but I just need to do this...
I know who I am: I am woman, hear me roar and moan and philosophize and talk and talk and emote and spill and gush and love and do alllllllllllllllll those things that drive men so far away they barely manage to stay on the planet. And it's really hard for me to change that. In fact, I can't change it. Nope. BUT, what I can do, is not do all of it all at once all the freakin' TIME. I have to give this boy a chance to get to know me and fall in love with me for who I am, if that is what is meant to happen...and me talking about it 24/7, obsessing about it 24/7, texting, calling, emailing, going over to see him 24/7 is a recipe for disaster, I do know that.

Part of me wants so badly to be in love, to be in that initial butterflies, can't-spend-a-moment-apart, you hang up, no you, no you phase, (fuck, part of me is unfortunately already there!) and I SHOULD be allowed to be there with someone who is there with me!!!! And I know he was/is/could be...we just hit a bit of a speedbump (ohhhh, great analogy, Brainy!) and I have to wait it out.

So, there it is. There will be NO MORE mention of it in this blog, in my emails to friends, in my conversations; I will be on a strict relationship diet.
And like the jolly fat girl everyone likes to have around, plying her with sweets and candies, oh, give it to chubbomatic, she'll eat it, PLEASE don't..I mean, don't enable me. I know you love to, I'm everyone's favourite drama queen (no offense to Rufus and Benjalina), you all live vicariously through my oh-so-exciting single life, and I love to talk about it! Look at almost every page of this self-indulgent blog (oh, which blog isn't??)!
But I'm on a diet, now...and look out for bikini season!

Forecast: It's Raining Men...

I know, I know, once again I've let this blog go to seed; what with the recycled article-posts (but hey, it was a great article! And it did get published in La Scena Musicale!) and the France overload, I just sort of got out of the habit. It's not that there hasn't been stuff happening...ohhhh, there's always stuff happening in the wild, wild world of brainygirl...I'm actually contemplating starting another blog, a completely anonymous one, as this one is getting a bit too frequented by friends, family and exes (you know who you are!).

When we last left our plucky heroine (with an e), she was battling the men of Gotham, one failed relationship after another with one fucked up wanker after another, which is enough to leave anyone demoralized, bitter, broken, and defeatist! After some much-needed R&R (and loads of work!) in gay Paris, she came to some pretty serious conclusions and decided to make some drastic changes:

First of all, I love my life: I've got an amazing job working for my dream boss, constantly learning, discovering new things every day that may change the shape of the world and actually help humanity on a small and large scale - not too many people can go to work every day and say that. I have a phenomenal apartment in the best city in the world; I learn something new from Manhattan every day - a new neighborhood, new faces, new flowers blooming on the sidewalks. I am blessed with the most amazing, loyal, adoring friends all over the globe, and my best friends from highschool, well, we're still very close, emailing or seeing eachother whenever we can (it was great to jump through all sorts of hoops just to see Mark and Michele and little Jake even for a few minutes!). I have a super family - sure, they're a little nutty, what family isn't? And aside from the requisite drama, the fights with the stepmother, the father issues, little spats with my mom and my sister, we love eachother SO much and would truly do anything for eachother, I know that. I am the luckiest woman on earth. So, why was I so miserable and felt so sorry for myself? ENOUGH, I said.
And so that's how it is. I simply decided to get on with my life, sans husband, sans baby, sans family of my own, and live for what I have, not long for what I don't have.

I started taking singing lessons again and have found a wonderful teacher! I decided to take tango lessons! I joined a french language conversation group. I'm planning to get season tickets to the opera. I might go to Argentina in the fall. I went to a few social events and parties, not necessarily to meet "the guy" but to just socialize and have fun, maybe even make some girlfriends, and you know what happened?

Men have started pouring out of the woodwork, of course, as promised: "When you stop looking, that's when you'll find it..." bla bla fucking bla! I don't believe that crap, really. Aside from the obvious results, the not-so-obvious interpretation is not that it's about looking, or not looking: it's about loving your life, about being so happy on your own, in your own skin, that you radiate something, and people start to respond to that. And it's ok to still want it, but even better to not want it too much; if I can't be with my soulmate, with someone who makes my already wonderful life that much richer (gonna be VERY hard to find), I am done busting my ass and breaking my heart trying to spin straw into gold. I know, I know what you're all thinking: "It all sounds too perfect, like she's trying too hard to be happy with her sad lot in life...can't she just meet someone already?"
But it's not like that.

And I have met people, LOTS...in the last two weeks I have had seven guys try in some way or other to date me. It's insane. Two came all the way from Montreal, one came from LA (apparently carrying a long-burning torch - 12 years!!!), one I met at a party, two were repeat offenders, guys who had asked me out in the past, flaked in one way or another, and wanted a second try. Then, on top of it all, I get the most pathetic excuse for an apology from FOF (Fat Old Fucko, aka CardioDad): "I'm really sorry, truly I am"
HAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHA, that's the best you can do???????? Honestly???????

But all of this got me thinking, about him, and about every other man who has done me wrong, broken my heart, fucked me over and never looked back (hope those ones are actually rotting in hell). Lately I have had something of a revelation about all of the relationships that ended for me, and ended badly (as they all did!): I used to hate these guys, curse them, spit fire over them, scream and rant about how they were these colossal assholes, how dare they do this to me, treat me this way, etc, etc...BUT, now that I have calmed down a bit, had a few years to think, I've realized that these men were not assholes or players or malicious toawrds me, at least not intentionally. They had good intentions, they just weren't capable of being with me at that moment, for a whole host of reasons, none of which really had anything to do with me, but more to do with their own inadequacies.
That' s not to say that I don't wonder: "I know, it's not about me, but....WHY is it never about ME???"

A friend of mine recently ended a fledgling long-distance relationship because the guy somehow didn't feel it was right, and she began to question whether he wasn't ready, or if she just wasn't "the one" and I know exactly what she  means about never being "that" woman, the woman who is going to make the guy decide to be with her, but...I can't think that way, I cannot blame myself, but only the fit and the timing, which were all off, only I always tried SO hard to make it right, turning doomed, impossible situations into fantasy futures!!!

But now it's a whole new ball game...now the pressure is off, I have no interest in being in just any relationship, I'm calm, aloof, I field phone calls and dates, not worried about what I say or do, because so far, although a lot of interesting guys have crossed my path (yes, just this week!), none of them have made me fall in love with them...yet.

There's always tomorrow, and there is something exciting about not knowing where or when your soulmate may...or may not appear. Until then, I'll carry my umbrella, and watch out world!

'S' For 'Still Single'...?

Ok, once again, shameless lack of posts, I know I know, sorry to all my (5.5) devoted fans!
Seriously, though, my life unfolds at breakneck speed, faster than my little fingers can type about it, so, now you're just going to have to accept the retrospectoscopic account that follows (but I'll try to pretend that I don't know how it ends, keep the suspense up for y'all...).

When last we left our plucky heroine she was in love limbo: caught between a new guy whom she felt lukewarm about, and lots of other potential suitors (none that compelling), plus a few random fantasy men thrown in (mi Porteno and Dr. Love). I figured might as well play it cool, continue to date ad libitum, make sure I don't get too attached or invested, because clearly, this guy cannot be The One (43, kid, ex, catholic, from upstate NYC, a sales rep...JEEZ!).

So, I continue to date. G for Graphics, beint the most incessant caller/emailer got the first shot. He was celebrating his new weblaunch, and, well, wanted to do that with "a certain girl who quotes 'Amelie' and salsa dances..." Yep, that would be me.
So, we met for dinner at a cute latino place, El Camino, in the garment district, then went on to see 'Thank You For Smoking' due to my free passes from TONY. HA! So we thought...turns out you have to line up for these things like a year in advance in order to have any hopes of getting in! (they oversell the free passes).
Anyway, speaking of no hope, the date progresses pretty much as I had forseen it, based on the last date: disastrous downward spiral. I'm not entirely sure why I gave this guy a second chance, but he did seem decent, and, well, not a total freakshow, nice, jewish, 36, sort of sexyugly, dunno...The problem on our first date was that he was:

a) a close talker (I literally was fleeing him on my barstool, and there ain't a lot of room to back away on those tiny things at a crowded bar!)
and
b) he tried to clumsily smooch me on the subway platform as I was trying to board my train. Not good.

This date entailed him walking down the street with his face plastered to my fluffy wool beret ("I'm cold, your hat is so warm!"), YIKES, another attempt at pashing in the elevator at the Hilton hotel (don't ask - when we were booted from our freebie movie, we decided to see another one. 'Failure to Launch' was my choice which sent us both into angst-ridden hysterics as we realized that his website had done exactly just that this very day!!!!  We settled on "'V' for 'Vendetta'" which started later, so we had time to kill and he suggested grabbing yet MORE alcohol, hence the brief stopover at the Hilton). Bon. Once inside the theatre, we got settled and he remarked that the armrests/drink holders between seats were in fact moveable, and look! They swing upwards! I was not too excited about that prospect, as that meant the removal of the last physical barrier between seats...But wait, it would only get worse...He went to get popcorn, and when he returned, I kid you not, he actually SAT ON ME. I'm not exaggerating, here, we're talking half of his shoulder and leg on top of me. This did not last long. "Ummm, you're kind of actually sitting on me, so, could you move?" I blurted out. His response? "Ohhhh, but I just wanted to be close to you..."
Riiiiiiiiight!!!!!!!!!!! Date over!!!!!!!!!!!!

The movie, mercifully, was so compelling that I completely managed to obliterate personal spacehog, and concentrate on the flick. Nathalie Portman was nothing short of riveting as the tragic protagoniste, caught in between darkness and the hope and promise of light, in a dystopian London in the not-too-distant and hauntingly-not-too-implausible future. The movie weaves it spell and you are all at once completely absorbed, rooting for the masked anarchist and everything he stands for, even if it requires bloodshed. I don't want to give anything away, except to say that this is an important movie, required viewing for us all; we should never get too complacent with society nor it's dictums; with our government and the pablum it feeds us as reality.
"Artists use lies to reveal the truth, while politicians do just the opposite"
Mmmm. Brilliant. Some great songs on there, as well, most specifically 'I Found A Reason' superb Velvet Underground cover by Cat Power.
Needless to say there will be no third date. Ever.

St. Patrick's Day rolled around and a few of us went out drinking in NYC to a little dive bar in the east village, St. Dymphna's, which was a fabulous place. I've been spending loads of time with JJ from work, and really, we have totally bonded. He's engaged and it's really not like that at all, more of a mental connection, a true male-female friendship (yes, it exists!). He started an NCAA pool in the lab, which had us all in daily hysterics as none of us know anything about basketball! During our lunch hours, we wax poetic about past relationships, emotional scars, and our trying, Kafka-esque times at McGill (ok, more mine than his, but he gets it!). I am really going to miss him terribly when he returns to Montreal next week...:(

Saturday I saw CardioDad again, and was actually looking forward to it with some anticipation, although I was peeved that I had not really heard from him since last Tuesday when we made the Saturday plan, and, well, call me crazy, but by 4 pm of the day of, I like to know what the hell is up! So, he finally called, and I actually let him have it a bit, railed about how I like just a teensy weensy bit of advance notice, how I have loads of other offers to go out (I did), and how it makes me feel taken advantage of and taken for granted when a guy believes he can wait until the last minute to make plans with me 'Good ol' brainygirl,  always available, no need to actually make a plan with her, I can just wait and see if something better comes along and then if not, call her an hour before!' Well, fuck that, it's not gonna fly with me anymore! The ironic thing about all of this is that he is actually one of the good guys; he's actually NOT a dick or a jerk or a player and really is not intentionally messing with me. He's just a busy guy with a 5-yr-old son to look after, and a lot of demands. He was honestly contrite and made it up to me by picking me up and cooking me a lovely dinner. I went home really late that night, and he had an 8 am flight to Arizona for a conference. He said we'd see eachother later in the week, and my flight and flight more response kicked in and said "Ummm, yeah, maybe, whatever, we'll see...call me..."
Ughhhh. I immediately regretted it and felt awful. While he was away, I confess that I actually missed him. A lot. And that is when I decided to end it with all the myriad others. I wrote polite Dear John emails, and said I was taking a break from dating for a while. Which is true...a break from dating them! Fuck it, they don't need to know all the intimate details of my life...(unless they are reading this thing, which I don't do anymore. No more guys I may or may not be dating reading my blog!).

So, of course in typical boy-girl, pursuer/pursuant fashion, just as I start to develop a serious interest, he pulls away. No calls. No texts. No emails. I felt like shit. TWO days after he got back I texted yet again: "call me" and so he did. Turns out there was a death in the family, yadda yadda yadda, he needed to spend a lot of time over at the exe's looking after the kid, etc, etc....it all sounded very legit, but frustrating as hell. Just when I decide to play ball, game over, so to speak.
We played phone tag and mixed signals for a few excrutiating days and nights, one of which I was blotto after a drug dinner and phoning him from various bars..."where are you...????" I thought for sure I had ended it.

But here is the thing about relationships, real relationships with real men: they aren't as flimsy as all that, and they don't scare easy. I'm not sure what else I would have to try with this guy to actually freak him out, as I seem to have pulled out all the stops on crazy and he is unfazed. I have always been so worried about driving men away, about them fleeing, not loving me enough, me not being perfect enough, doing the right thing, saying the right words, acting the right way, that I probably did drive them away with my perfection and lack of backbone. I've been fairly brutally honest with this one about my flaws, my neuroses, how I've been hurt really badly in the past, how I have so many scars, visible and invisible, and it seems to be working.

Wednesday and Friday night I got some respite from the melodrama by hanging out with my spectacular girlfriends. I am SO lucky to have found these Sex And The City bffs, and am SO sad to be losing one when she goes back to Argentina at the end of next week...actual tears will be shed! We had such an amazing time on Friday night: cocktails, cupcakes, red velvet cake, thai food, drinks, girl talk, hilarity, vive le puppenwagen!! (Long story, german eBay, antik-sport-puppenwagen!! don't ask...helping my sister with her play I came across this item for sale and we have all been cracking up hysterically over it ever since!!!!).

I've been listening to a lot of really, really great new music lately: Neko Case, Martha Wainwright, Hawksley Workman, Ben Harper...I strongly suggest you run, don't walk to pick up these tunes, as I think they are the best work by these talented, original artists!!

So, how do you know? How do you know if you're actually in a relationship? How do you know if it's a good one? How do you know if it's the right one? THE one? I've been waiting for a sign, a feeling, that lightning bolt that strikes you down (doesn't sound very appealing or life-affirming), all the while trying to sabotage this at every turn, because that is what I know best. When I take a very long, very deep breath, take a step back and try to quiet the naysaying voices that are screaming in my head, try to picture myself as one of them, one of the people who get to be happy, who get to have the white picket fence and the great solid marriage and the gorgeous kids, or some reasonable facsimile thereof...and when I try to do that, I see that I don't see myself as being single for very long.

The Game. Set-ups. Match Point

As the slush poured down this week over the streets of Manhattan, I felt strangely at home; dodging lakes of brown ice water, skating down the sidewalk, socks sopping wet, boots leaking despite waterproofing...this is exactly the same thing I do in Montreal, and bitch and moan about it every frigid step of the way.
It's been a tough few weeks:  major highs and lows, excitement, disappointment, heart going pitter patter, heart aching...and that was just today!
;)
Seriously, though, it has been harder than usual. My euphoria over the new job is wearing off, coupled with the fact that my boss has been so incredibly busy, too busy in fact to review my teeny tiny projects, like a 35 pp article I wrote, and was sending a medical student who speaks not a word of french, to France, instead of me!!!

Last week I attended my first 'Lock and Key' party, hoping someone would, you know, unlock the secrets of my heart. HA. It was the usually collection of semi-attractive women and just terrible, overeager men - a friend said it would be an ego-boost, and, well, it would have been, if you like shooting ungly fish in a barrel! Disaster.
After that, one of my adorable Argentinian friends dragged me to this SoHo bar, Pravda, to meet some of her work colleagues, and even promised me an "Argentinian guy! Maybe he's for you!" Ok, ok, so I have a definite weakness for Argentine men, probably ever since Roman from Architecture section in college...SIGH, what a Roman god he was, replete with dark spanish eyes and rollerblades, long before they were the "in" thing...
So, we arrived at the restaurant, and, well, my fate was sealed. He could not have been any cuter or any more charming, with his little spanish/brit accent, beautiful shining smile, deep hazel eyes, and scruffy charm (one of the littles!) that I love so much. We bonded instantly, and were inseparable for the rest of the night, probably seeming, to all appearances, like long lost lovers, finally reunited after a considerable absence. We moved on the the Pegu Club (a new favourite), and then shared a cab home. To our respective homes. I really don't know what made me hesitate, but I just couldn't bring myself to sleep with him on the first night we met, or even to go home with him. Maybe Dr. Love left a bad taste in my mouth, or maybe I just knew he was leaving to back to BA at the end of the week, but either way, I went home alone. I waited for a day or two, knowing he wouldn't call, but, then the strangest thing happened: he did. And we talked and talked and talked, for hours on end, day after day, which probably scared the living shit out of the poor boy, 'cause he suddenly became very "busy" for the rest of the week. I mean, yes, he was here to work, iBanking crap, so I KNOW how busy that can be...and when he said he was getting home at 2 am and couldn't phone me or see me, well, what choice did I have except to believe him? I mean, why on earth would he toy with me? He's leaving town, he has zero obligation, we have no friends in common, so why continue to call and email??? We finally spoke again on his last day, before he left for the airport, and he says he'll stay in touch. He'll be back in town a few more times before he moves here at the end of the year, and I was planning a trip to Argentina anyway! (I swear!! See my 'Tango' post back in Aug!!!). Part of me thinks this is the same old same old, passion followed by panic, skepticism, and flight, on the part of the boy. It always unfolds the same way, and why should this be different? Just because he claims he has never met anyone like me, that he has never felt like this, etc, etc...!!!!!! Because he is actually jewish (half russian, half moroccan/spanish - OY!!!!!!!!!!!), and we just seem to completely understand eachother, despite linguistic and cultural barriers?
I guess I just have to let it go, give it up, put it out there into the universe and see what it spits back at me...

The night I was supposed to see my Porteno I sat at home by the phone, watching American Idol, in my pyjamas, eating ice cream, when CardioDad phoned. He's been good with the phoning and texting, and generally very reliable (I guess having a 5-yr-old will do that to you...). Some background: we met on Salon, and against my better judgement, I decided to email him back - 43, joint custody of this kid...NOT my dream guy, but I decided that these are details, seemingly large, but potentially small, in the grand scheme of things. And, plus, I really love kids, and nothing is cuter than a 5-yr-old boy who thinks you're fabulous ;) We first met at the hospital (he just happened to be on a job there...some sort of cardiology thingamajig...) and we went for a quick coffee in Milstein. Very romantic ;) Actually, it was, because there was instant chemistry, he is VERY, very good looking, in a rugged, Marlboro man sort of way, but sensitive, lovely blue eyes and a goatee (!). And tall. Not crazy tall (like this guy who is 6'6" who was emailing me - sorry, that is just WAAAAAAAAAAAY too tall), but not one of the 'littles'. The conversation was easy, and he dropped a few lines about how incredibly beautiful I was, much moreso than my photo (flattery will get you everywhere...). We went out again that next night, to Sip (my local date place - they must think I am a royal slut, new guy every few days!!!), where the bartenders always seem to be new and the drinks are generally impotable, but the atmosphere is hip and funky and sexy, and it's so close to my place, therefore, it's my date go-to bar.
The night seemed endless and he finally walked me home at 2:30!!!! Dunno how it got so late, because when we left Sip it was totally hopping. Ahhhh, college kids...
He wanted to see me again Friday, but, I had another blind date with G for Graphics.

In the interim, after the fallout of my Moxie in the City rants, and some fallout with two of my closest friends (one who feels I am too venomous towards girls on this blog, particularly girls who are with guys I wanted to be with...well, yes, perhaps I am. Tough shit. This is a blog, people, not reality, not gospel, just a snapshot of my feelings in the moment I am writing them all down, a forum, a chance for me to vent all this venom so it doesn't back up on me. And if I come across as bitter and vindictive and desperate? Fine. So be it. It's more a matter of the personal affront aspect to it all, like how much of a total slap in the face it is to see these guys with waitresses, models, students, whatever...it just is such a disappointment, because if the guys I like, really smart, accomplished, interesting, deep, complex, seemingly confident guys are going to go for these very pale facsimiles of what might pass for a real woman, then who the hell is going to go for me? The other stemmed from a misunderstanding with one of my best friends, when she sharply instructed me to "erase the word 'soulmate' from your vocabulary. Now...You are deluding yourself.." OUCH. I replied:

"What, do you think I am a total moron? I know I'm pathetic, bitter, whiny, and make really, really bad choices, but I actually do learn from all of this shit. At least I hope I do.
Really, I can do without the advice from my married friends who just don't remember/know what it is like out there...It is a *TOTAL* and utter nightmare, 24/7, constantly putting myself out there, constantly getting my hopes up, constantly getting colossally disappointed, and back to the drawing board. Again. And again. And again. And no end in sight. Really, it is like being in hell non-stop...Anyone else who is not in their 30s and has never had a normal relationship and hasn't had sex in ages, and doesn't date loser after loser after loser, just cannot give me advice about this because unless y'all are walking the miles uphill through the torrential monsoon in my skimpy shoes, you just don't know what I am going through..."

Thankfully, she could see that this was not about me being angry with her, but it is about me just reiterating for my married and coupled up friends: YOU CANNOT HELP ME. You cannot give me advice, you cannot say everything will work out and be ok, you cannot tell me to "chill" or to "just forget about it and focus on other areas of your life..." I mean, I'd like to, believe me. I would be much more productive, well-rested, do more yoga, be in better shape, my liver would thank me, and I might even be happier. But, if you had a live time bomb strapped to your waist that might explode soon, would you just "relax"? Or would you do everything in your power to find people who might be able to diffuse it for you, consulting experts, reading books, going to bomb nights where the dismantlers hang out? I think few people would be content to walk around, nonchalantly with the live ammo.

Later this week, there was an amazing and terrifying article in the Voice called "Will You Kiss Me?" complete with princess and frog on the cover. It was a piece about how men have become total predators, using pick-up lines and tactics from this book, 'The Game' something I had never heard of until now. It instructs losers in step-by-step fashion how to become totaly players, using women for sex, convincing them that they mean what they say, racking up notches on belts and conquests galore. It made me totally nauseous, revolted, disgusted to think that a) this is out there and obviously eminently popular; b) men have that much resentment towards women that they would knowingly deceive and use them for sex; and c) that maybe I've been played?  I don't think I have, since I never sleep with these losers, but maybe they've tried, been frustrated, and gave up. Either way, I might just pick up a copy so I know what I'm up against...

Friday night, Shalel, this adorable little basement wine bar/middle eastern tapas place (note a theme, anyone?) on w 70th....very good choice for a first date. If I had been at all in the mood for a first date. Which I wasn't. I had basically fallen completely in love with BA boy, then had a very intense connection with CardioDad, and, well, I just didn't have a whole lot left for G, but...on paper he seemed really intriguing, cute, smart, 36, jewish, graphic designer, from Arizona/Cali, knows how to salsa, and was really sweet on email/phone, and also reliable! I didn't want to become flaky girl and keep cancelling/postponing dates...(I already have three or four guys on the hook for that!!). He was cute, nice, talkative, funny...seemed REALLY into me, kept talking/sitting a little TOO close for comfort! And the bar was so damn crowded that there was really no place for me to back away...He walked me to the subway and just as the train was pulling in, managed to steal a quick, awkward, kamikaze kiss! I'm not sure why I wasn't so into him or it, possibly for the reasons stated above, possibly because he looks a LOT like an ex, possibly because he was just a little overeager, asking me out again for the next night...I'm just not used to the attention, the interest, which is twisted, i know...It feels far more familiar to feel the ambivalence, the pulling away, the not calling, the not making plans, the wondering, the longing , the hoping, and the ultimate disappointment!

I really, really have to move away from that paradigm and fall into a place where it feels comfortable to have a guy call me all the time, text me day in day out, and actually WANT to spend time with me!!! I do feel a bit of that with CD, but it's early days, yet...

Last night was my work colleague's 30th birthday bash, and we had a blast, dancing and drinking the night away! I fended off some awkward advances from another colleague, and, well, X was there and I can't pretend I didn't feel anything, but he was being such a colossal cool jerk, barely speaking two words to me, while he dirty danced with everyone else, which makes me wonder if he doesn't truly have feelings for me as well...Which would be the ultimate irony at this point. We ended up at a McDonald's at 3 am, and against my better judgement I ordered a chicken sandwich, that after eating a few bites of which, turned out to be RAW. I freaked out at sent it back, but who knows how long before the salmonella kicks in...My friends suggested I keep it for legal purposes in pursuit of a hefty settlement!

So, the Oscars are tonight, and it turns out I have an invite from CD to go over to his place and watch...Ok, totally dangerous territory, both from a physical and emotional point of view, but, at some point, no matter how cold the water is, how hard it is to wade in waist-high, you just have to dive in.

In an attempt to rectify my pathetic movie watching record of this past year (a paltry one or two movies!!!), I went and saw 'Match Point' the new Wood Allen brit-flick. I was warned that it was terrible, morally devoid of any redeeming features, and just plain 'scary' from an ethical standpoint, but, hell, I'm a curious cat. And the reviews I had heard around New York were generally very favourable (another worry about people's composition, here!). But I loved it. It was so pitch-perfect, visually appealing, and the characters were meaty, compelling, especially Scarlett Johannsen and Jonathan Rys Myers...mmmm...the passion was palpable throughout the film, as was the internal struggle, the hero becoming anti-hero, the rise and fall and rise of this everyman, living a twisted version of the brit-american dream...and the whole thing was rife with allegorical references/musical allusions. Essentially, it was one big opera - love, death, sex, power, fate, and a gripping climax. Go see it. It is also a very different turn for Woody, something totally new and unexpected (aside from a few HILARIOUS lines like "Oh, did you hear, she's pregnant! Yes,after a string of terrible relationships, she met her husband at a traffic accident! Yes, they just had all the same neuroses, meshed perfectly..." said in a posh London accent, but still unable to belie classic Allen!).

Oh, and if all goes well, I'm flying home for this mystery wedding of my sister's on Tuesday!!! Still not sure if it is actually taking place, but, with a little hope and a little luck, the ball will fall on the right side of the net cord and game, set, match, from this day forward...

 

It's a Jungle Out There...

So, here I am. In NYC. And sometimes I am so in awe of the place, like when I look up somewhere in Chelsea and suddenly see the Chrysler building, or the Empire State Building, and I have to pinch myself, realizing "Ok, that thing is really there, it's not a backdrop or a picture!" And there are the moments when I walk to work, proudly, down 168th street, looking up at the hospital and all it stands for "I actually work here; I'm a neurologist at this amazing hospital..." and I have to pinch myself again, but don't, 'cause I can still feel the pain it took me to get here. And then there are times at work when I have these intense personal discussions, or have the most wonderful dinners with friends that I want to pinch myself again, thinking "How did I get to be so lucky, having such close friends in such a short time?" (one of my superpowers).
And then I go on a date...or try to, and, well, it's just a nightmare that you can't seem to wake up from (kind of like them playing a marching band version of YMCA at the Olympic closing ceremonies???).
I have been on over twenty dates since I arrived in NYC (if you count the ones from December), and at first I didn't notice how awkward and impossible it was to actually schedule a meeting, but then it quickly became apparent that to most of these guys this is a colossal GAME, and they either have no intention of meeting you, or they are toying with you, cat and mouse, until something better comes along, or they just have REALLY bad ADHD, or they are just the most selfish, irresponsible assholes I have ever encountered. Whatever it is, it gives new meaning to "The Rules" "Call Waiting" and "He's Just Not That Into You." For fuck's sake, how would he KNOW if he were into you, because that would entail MEETING you. I thought maybe I was exaggerating that maybe I was alone, maybe I was being too hard on these poor chumps, but then I came across this post on the Moxie in the City site, and I knew I was on to something: men in New York City are colossal assholes (you can scroll down in the comments section to read my comment!). Apparently it's not just the men (yeah, right). That it's also the women (sure, sure). And that it's not limited to dating, but this rampant assholitis seems to overflow into the social arena as well (ok, this one I believe). I know, I know, it's NYC, people, the biggest, best, brightest, the creme de la creme, the top, the shiznit, the smile on the Mona Lisa, but COME ON!!!! If people are this disposable, if we have become so selfish, so technologized that we no longer call, we text; we email on occasion, we schedule dates days in advance (if you're lucky, or, wait, actually UNLUCKY, because that means you look forward to it and actually think it's gonna happen) only to have the guy wait until 5 pm THAT DAY to call and make a plan (he had no plan). It is utterly ludicrous, and I am not standing for it anymore. SOMEONE has to wear the fucking pants, and I guess it is gonna have to be the women. I hate being the bossy, megabitch, bad mommy, but if that is what these little boys masquerading as 30-40-something year old men need? So be it.
And it has been working, laying it on the line, no bullshit, "You're really not making a good impression on me; call me tomorrow or don't, but let's make a plan...etc..."

There are some good contenders, now...Sommelier boy and I went out again, today, and I think we'll definitely have another date, soon...Flakeboy and I went out yesterday, just a random coffee, but there was a definite connection (he said his internet dates typically last 15 minutes because the girls are so clearly lame from the outset! GEEZ, I guess had I known that at the outset, I might have been nervous; but I give really, really good first date, so two-hours later, unbeknownst to me, he was hooked!)
I have a few more dates this week, so we'll see what happens...I guess I just have to totally stop caring. Stop wondering. Stop worrying. I have to assume nothing, have no expectations, and if somehow someone calls and schedules something, great. But you know what? I think that just sucks. That's just not good enough. X said to me recently (and, btw, that is SO over...): "You have too many expectations; expect nothing, and you'll never be disappointed." Fine. Ok, in theory that works, it sounds catchy, it adds up, mathematically speaking. But in reality, that just equates to us denigrating our social graces and compassion and courtesy towards one another. Do we really want to be rude barbarian techno-savages who fire off a few bleeps from a blackberry and pass it off as intimacy or politesse? I don;t think so. I, personally, want to do better. And I expect better. And I don't think men should get to play by different rules.

And now, in honour of the final day and closing ceremonies of the Olympics in Torino...here is my little Olympic corner:

Someone needs to get rid of Dick Button as a skating commentator!!! Some of his winners this week? ("That's a lady skating" - after Arakawa's gold-medal performance; "I mean, look at those very pleasing curves" - in reference to swiss skater's body-hugging one-piece costume...caliente!; "How nice that she could use music and costume elements from her homeland" - in reference to 16-yr-old fireball Georgian skater's slightly middle eastern music and egyptian-looking togs...OY!!!!!!!!!!!).
So, who knew speed-skating could be this riveting? I was literally glued to the television last night during the women's 5000 M, watching the Canadians make history. Cindy Klassen, winning her 5th medal of the games; Claudia Pechstein going for her fourth straight gold medal in the SAME event, and finally, Clara Hughes, a 2-time bronze medallist in cycling in Atlanta (!!!!), in the final seconds of the race, stealing the gold medal from them all! And, then, the short track: I have only two words for you: Appollo Ono. Oh. My. God. Could anyone be more beautiful to look at????? The whole Japanese-American thing, the soul patch, the drive, the desire...The short-track 500m was just BREATHTAKING!!!!!

I have always loved the olympics. I remember watching them live in Montreal in 1976 and weeping during the closing ceremonies...I wanted it to go on forever. It represents something so much bigger than an indivudual, but is also about the individual struggling against odds, against herself, against injury, against fellow competitors, against mental demons to achieve something beyond impossible. But it is also about international diplomacy, nations playing together, harmony, beauty, brilliance, fraternite, egalite...I cannot WAIT for the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Let the games begin...

In the Name of Love/Lust/Lunacy

People will do crazy things for love, or for what they feel passes for love at that particular moment of divine inspiration and sheer folly...I'm not sure quite what makes your rational brain shut down and this very primal, primitive, deeply needy part take over and insist that you go for it, whatever 'it' is, no matter how impossible, ridiculous, or emotionally dangerous.

I had reached my breaking point with Dr. Love. Here we were, more than a week after our initial hook-up, after I had spent the night at his place, exposed myself, literally and figuratively, downloaded iTunes together, shared food, and given him my number, at his behest. And nada. No phonecall. Not even a bloody textmessage, which is what seems to pass for the currency of intimacy these days! Silence. And nothing is more infuriating to a woman scorned than silence. Women seem to have this innate quest for knowledge, this insatiable curiosity ("But WHY?????????"), imbueing all sorts of complexity into the thought processes of these one/two-neuroned creatures known as men. They just don't think that much - it's either "Yeah, I guess I'll call..." or "Nah, I don't think so..." based on god know's what sort of information or reasoning. It's like trying to understand an alien lifeform, a language that doesn't even exist using english characters...it's futile.
But, after much hair-tearing and ranting and raving and burdening every single friend with this conundrum, I finally got some poking and prodding from a few key friends, most of them MALE (so I figured the advice must be good): Just go talk to him!!!!!

Ok. Fine. I'll become a stalker, I'll be allllll Glenn Close about it, if that is what it takes. If that is what men really expect us to do, well, I am about as intrepid as they come in terms of love courage. Get me on a roller coaster? Forget it. Skydiving? Not a chance. Profess my emotions to a near total stranger by showing up at his house? Ok, sure, sounds good, where do I sign?

So, I headed down back to his neighborhood, cute witty note in hand, expecting to drop it in his mailbox and be on my merry way. Yeah, except for the fact that the last time I was there it was either three a.m. or daylight, but post-insane-blizzard, and NOTHING looked remotely the same. I walked up and down the streets of Chelsea in the frigid, crisp February air for more than an hour (this is fucking dedication!), and finally, just as I was about to give up, the apartment building rose like a goliath in front of me...I stepped inside and saw his name on the buzzer: jackpot. :D
Gingerly, I rang, figuring, 'Hey, it's a holiday - he'll either be working or out doing...stuff.'
No such luck.

Dr. L: "Yes? Hello? Who is it?"
Me: (silence. panic. heavy breathing.) "Uhhhhhhhh...............UPS delivery?"
Dr. L: "Um, are you sure?"
Me: (OMG I am so fucked I cannot believe I just said that!!!!!!!!!!!!) "Yup, I'm sure..."
Dr. L: "Ok, come on up..."

PANIC. Sheer terror. Mixed with some sort of strange calm, like 'Yes, this is what I came here to do, so just DO it, girlie!'
I got to the door, knocked, and the expression on his face was priceless...Yup, I am officially a stalker! He calmed down pretty quickly and the fear changed to flattery, as he kept repeating "Wow, I can't believe you had the guts to do that, that is really cool, actually, kudos to you, that's pretty awesome" and other such accolades...Yikes. I guess I am really not stalkerish, in that I am tiny, sweet, earnest, sincere, smile a lot, and really mean what I say. He really didn't have a good reason for not calling, except that he has "commitment issues" OY, whatever that means....! But I think I did bring him around to my awesomeness, which I really shouldn't have to do, but to be fair, he really didn't meet me for that long and probably couldn't be expected to figure out that I am the real deal, one in a million, caring, compassionate, wittty, sexy, insightful, charming, genuine, all the things that a guy should really want. He said he would call. Really. He did. And I want to believe him, but I'm not gonna wait around for it. I'm still out there, going on more bad blind dates, but in the back of my mind I do know that we clicked, we connected, there is something there, and if he chooses to turn his back on it, well, there is absolutely nothing more I can do, because I have given it the best possible chance. A chance, where there was none before, because he had completely chickened out. He told me so. Just panicked and bailed. Great. Just what I'm looking for in a potential boyfriend!!! But, part of me being the eternal optimist, I want to believe that that panic, that fleeing was based on not knowing me, and that he's entitled. Once he does know me? That is an entirely different story, and there will be no escaping to Mexico.
;)

On my way to work today, I noticed these tiny, square green posters plastered all over 168th street...They were hand-written with black marker, and all bearing identical messages: "Robert Bryson: Call Kelly! She's still in New York and is looking for you: 212-555-1212. You are not alone!" with hearts drawn all around the edges.
Awwwwwwww, a real, bona fide psychopath stalker, right in my own neighborhood! And right there it dawned on me that what I did was far from that, that there are other women out there who are SO desperate that they are willing to do almost anything, go to any lengths...No doubt Robert probably screwed Kelly over in some heinous way, probably slept with her and never called her back, probably told her to fly to New York City just to be with him for the weekend and never showed up to meet her, probably cheated on her with her best friend, probably proposed without a ring and then never emailed her back....or any number of transgressions (not that I would know about ANY of those!). Whatever it is, I hope she takes down the posters, packs her bags, and takes her broken heart back to wherever it was she came from...because you can lead a horse to water, or a boy to a wonderful girl, but the drinking part? I haven't quite figured that one out...Yet...

Love Purgatory

So, I've made it through yet another loveless Valentine's day. Relatively unscathed. Of course, watching and hearing about my coupley friends plans, emailing my mom about my sister's wedding, and seeing every single person who passed me in the street tonight carrying flowers and/or chocolate didn't exactly help ease the pain. I know, I know, it is just another stupid Hallmark excuse of a holiday, but after receiving a rant today from a friend of a friend, extolling the praises of V-Day (sounds kinda like another "great" day in history, eh?), I thought I should provide a counter-rant of sorts, how the other, single, deprived half lives, and how it feels...

Valentine's Day reminds you that you are single, alone, cannot get a date with someone non-sucky, cannot get involved in a meaningful, non-psychotic relationship, and will probably die alone. It reminds you that you have no one to cook dinner with, or for; no one to buy you flowers, no one to dress up (or undress) for, no one to kiss goodnight, and no one to wake up with in the morning. It reminds you of all the years in school when you never got any valentines, or at least never got any from the boys you really, really liked. It reminds you that no matter how hard you try, how much you want this one particular thing, it continues to elude you. It reminds you that however successful in every single aspect of your life you may be, when it comes to love you are a colossal failure. It reminds you that you are not like everyone else, shiny, happy, coupley, in love, engaged, married, pregnant, having babies, raising a family, and, as mentioned previously, will likely die alone, probably as a direct result of complications of a broken heart (I actually have statistics to back this one up). It reminds you of all the things you are missing from your life, like affection, touch, caresses, passion, sex, nurturing, comforting, and that, yeah, you kinda need those things to survive. And it reminds you of all this in a big, shiny, red ribbon, dozen roses, cream-filled chocolates, cinnamon hearts sort of way, just to sweeten the deal and fool you into thinking it should be fun - for everyone.

Then I started to think about the times when I was truly happy on Valentine's Day (and there are only two, so this should be brief). Once was with McFag, from med school, and once was with DSM-IV R from two years ago. McFag and I had been dating for a while, but not too long. I was so excited to finally have a "real" boyfriend on Valentine's Day!!!! I would finally get to live what normal couples live, a fancy dinner, maybe even gifts, surely flowers, I'd buy lingerie for the occasion (always the kiss of death in a relationship), maybe he'd even propose! I was giddy with possibility!!! As the dreaded day approached, and no plans had been made, I started to get a little queasy, anxious, worried even...His response? "You don't seriously expect us to celebrate this ridiculous excuse of a holiday???" Yeah, actually, I do!!! It's something I've dreamed of my whole life!!! So, I conceded, hung my head, cried a little in the privacy of my own room, and pretended that I didn't care. So, when the day arrived, he had swayed a bit and agreed to dinner, at his place, nothing fancy. When he came to the door with a rose in his teeth, the apartment brimming with candles, a 4-course meal complete with different wines, and some mediocre sex, well, I was in heaven.

V-Day Love, the sequel, took place in 2004, chez moi, at a 'Single's Party.' DSM-IV R walked in, and it was love (oops, lust) at first sight. We couldn't take our eyes off eachother the entire night, he stayed over, we had some mindblowing sex (best of the whole shitty relationship), and I thought "This is the best Valentine's Day ever! I met my true love!!"

So, here's the thing about the rose-coloured glasses: they distort your vision, blinding you to the utter nightmare and catastrophe that is soon to befall you. The fact that I thought I was so happy, that I was so fooled by love or some reasonable fascimile, made it all the more awful when these bastards went postal on me months later. And it begins to beg the question: is it better to be in real pain, or fake love?
As I sit here, pining over a guy I hardly know, wondering if he is ever going to call, part of me so desperately wants him to, and another part? Well, it just keeps singing that Feist song over and over in my head:

 Let it die and get out of my mind
We don't see eye to eye
Or hear ear to ear

 Don't you wish that we could forget that kiss
And see this for what it is
That we're not in love

 The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start

 It was hard to tell just how I felt
To not recognize myself
I started to fade away

 And after all it won't take long to fall (in love)
Now I know what I don't want
I learned that with you

 The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start
The tragedy starts from the very first spark
Losing your mind for the sake of your heart
The saddest part of a broken heart
Isn't the ending so much as the start

Yup, well, we aim to please here at bitter brokenhearted bitchville central...and we plan to keep on delivering quality programming for those of you who have also just been fucked over by life one too many times...

Peace out. Or as my teabag says: "Where there is love, there is no question..."

Riiiiiiiighhhhhhht.