It's only appropriate...

There are so many!

A little blast from the past, if you will...

Caught Between a Rock and a Soft Place

The Comic: brutally honest. Blatantly affectionate. He's been telling me who he is since day 1. Like it or leave it. But I like it. It hasn't always been easy. We both try and explain ourselves all the time. "I hate being told what to do," he says. And I counter with, "I'm not changing who I am for you." Neither is asking what the other is contesting. But we're both afraid that if we don't say it, we won't get it. He could be the passionate love of my life. Or he could split my heart open and crush the pieces.

The Hometown Boy: I hadn't heard from him since I was 19 years old. We had drinks on Tuesday and it was perfect. We can go on for twenty minutes, talking in pure sarcasm, and then talk about gay marriage in the most serious tones. "I think someday people will look back on the gay marriage issue like we look at segregation," he said. I was shocked. I use that line all the time.

HB has started texting me. I thought maybe there was an off chance he asked me to drinks as friends. But today he promised to bring me back cookies from our hometown grocery store the next time he's there. I guess we're not friends.

TC is intense as ever. He's all "baby" and "I miss you" and about to move into my neighborhood. He could be someone important to me. But how will I know with the "perfect on paper" HB hanging out in my periphery?

Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now

11PM. An almost-empty bar in the East Village. Two people in the back, three drinks deep, four weeks in. She could tell He was going to be important to Her.

"Play 'King of Wishful Thinking!'" She shouted at the DJ. The song began to play and He spun Her around in the space around the tables, singing along and bumping Her hips.

"Hey!" He called out to the DJ. "Play that song from Mannequin next!"

And She knew He was a Keeper.

The Friendly Ghost

It seems this week my past has come back to haunt me. But it’s more Casper, less Poltergeist.

Right after E. broke up with me, way back in 2004, I started hanging out with new friends. Guy friends. It was nice to be surrounded by testosterone but in a non-threatening way. It made me feel relaxed, like I could finally figure out who I was unattached. This new group of guys also introduced me to JB.

JB was attractive to me in all the ways that E was not. He was 6 years older, about to go to NYU for graduate school, funny in the most sarcastic way, and so comfortable being one of the guys. He heard I had a crush on him and started sending me instant messages. He was sweet. When I got into NYU for undergrad, he was so excited for me. “You can come over and we can do our respective homework together,” he said. He was six months ahead of me getting to New York.

By the time I got there, he had met someone.

We’d chat every once in awhile online about everything from politics to new music (did I mention he was born in Seattle?) and then one day he deleted his AIM account. And then his Facebook profile was gone. It was 2005 and our mildly flirtatious friendship was over.

Cut to today. July 2010. Five years later.

Hey Lauren,

It appears I reactivated my Facebook account just in time for your birthday. Happy Birthday!

How's life? What's new?

JB

Hello, Casper. Nice to see you again.

Hating the Player

Saturday. 3:30PM.

"You don't want to watch the Germany/Aussie match tomorrow, do you? 2PM? For your birthday..."

Saturday. 9:00PM.

"Awww you remembered! I'm getting drunk with cousins tonight so I might be recuperating but if not we could hang out later in the day?"

"Sure." You'll be recuperating until 2 in the afternoon? I let it die. His birthday. His day. Chill out, Lauren.

Sunday. 1:46PM.

"Probably watching the game at Van Diemens today dear." Is that an invite? Is that a statement? Wouldn't he have said, 'Want to come and meet me at Van Diemens at 2:30?'

"Okay."

No response.

For the past month I've been the one suggesting plans. He either bails or tries to reschedule. I imagined myself walking into the bar and facing him and his friends, all surprised to see me since I was never technically asked to join. It was a possible confrontation I didn't want to endure.

Sunday. 7:10PM.

"You never made it."

"I didn't know if that was an invite or a statement. Probably for the best. Ouch, Australia."

"It was an invite, silly."

Am I wrong to want to be wooed? Invited? Wanted? We split every check. After I spent the night at his place for the first time and told him I really liked him, he didn't have time to see me again for a week and a half. I haven't seen him in a month because he is incapable of making plans in advance or following through on anything. He went to Europe for two weeks and texted me the day he got back. To ask to see me? No. Just to say hi.

"If he really liked me, he'd want to see me," I told a guy friend. He shrugged and agreed.

"Yeah."

Occasionally I feel crazy. I feel like I want too much, like I hold men to standards that no one could ever meet. But I think that I am not wrong to want to be wanted.

The Heart Wants

"So, I'm calling because I'd like to move back home the last week in June. And I need to know if you're okay with this so I can start putting things in motion."

A pause. A long pause. There is never a pause in conversation with my mother.

"Well, yeah, you know we're always here for you! But... what will you do if you can't find a job?"

"I'll have saved up enough money as a cushion and then I'll move to Seattle at the end of August."

"Without a job? Without health care?"

I felt my confidence deflating, slowly, slowly. My chest tightened. My eyes threatened tears.

"I have to do something!" I proclaimed, my voice wavering only slightly. "I can not stay in this job, I can not stay in this apartment, I can not stay in this city. I have to do something!"

I feel so helpless. I feel trapped in technicalities like money and health care when my entire heart and soul is telling me to go.

"I don't think it's that crazy!" I exclaimed, trying desperately to pull her to my side. It's not crazy, you're not crazy, this is not crazy. Maybe it is crazy. Maybe I will get to Seattle and have a break down and think to myself, My GOD, what did I do?!

Or I will stay in this dirty, overpriced apartment, in my dead end, brainless job, in this cruel and soulless city, and I will break down in a different way.

It shouldn't be so hard but it's the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

A "fight"

A and I both need new glasses - his being totally unflattering and mine needing a revamp after six years - so we decided to make a stop at my favorite shop in the city after watching a football (re: soccer) game on Bleecker.

We both thought it might be fun. Or rather, I thought we both thought it might be fun.

He tried on a couple, got frustrated ("I just don't look good in glasses"), and then proceeded to disengage. At first, I attempted to draw him back in - try these ones, I like those. When that didn't work, I went about my business, asking his opinion - this pair or that pair? After ten minutes, I couldn't take it anymore. The stiff posture, the glazed over gaze out the window, the flippant responses. I asked the saleswoman to jot down the style numbers of the two I liked, and we left. He grabbed my hand, and I made no effort to hide my annoyance.

"What was that all about?"
"I'm sorry, I know I was impatient, but you weren't going to buy anything just then. I wasn't going to buy anything just then. The ones you tried on were basically the same. I don't know what to say."
"If I'm going to spend $600 dollars on something that will go on my face for years and years, I want to be sure about it. Next time if you don't want to be somewhere just tell me; don't be a brat about it."
"You're right, you're right. I will."
"It's fine. We're learning each other. Now I know not take you with me when I actually buy a pair in July."

The words came out meaner, more embittered in person, but we laughed (sort of) and walked into Uniqlo. He pointed upstairs, and I let him go off on his own. When he found me again, I was standing in the mile-long fitting room line, armful of clothes. Raised eyebrows and a smile. "I'm in a bad mood. I needed a distraction."

A joint fitting room session, two button downs for him, and two dresses for me later, we were on the train uptown to meet a friend, slightly more upbeat. He didn't make fun of me for forgetting Lincoln Center is on the West Side, and he gladly gulped his wine in the 20 minutes we had before my friend left to catch a show.

Then we had some time alone. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the beautiful weather. Maybe I realized I was a bit of a brat myself. Maybe he didn't want me to be upset with him anymore. We talked it out. We laughed (genuinely).

What "fight"?

Maybe you might have some advice to give on how to be insensitive

I have this problem. I blame it on being born under the Cancer sign, and developing deeply emotional relationships with everyone and everything in my life. I cannot throw things away. In any sense. I have a difficult time breaking up with guys, no matter if we’ve been together for a week or a year. I’ve only quit one job in my whole life and I cried like a baby when I told my supervisor I wouldn’t be returning. I have t-shirts in my dresser that I haven’t worn in ten years, but they were gifts and I cannot chuck them. I feel deeply. I don’t know any other way.

I know my time at this job is up. The company is hurting and they can offer me no more money. I cannot be promoted. There is nothing left for me here, but when I imagine myself walking into my boss’s office, giving her an ultimatum and telling her that I deserve to be paid more or I’m quitting, I get nauseous. She hasn’t always been the best boss: she gives me time off when I need it, but wants to keep me chained to this position, sending her UPS packages and helping her fix computer glitches. I am the model assistant. I anticipate needs, I am efficient and upbeat, and I rarely complain about anything in the presence of my superiors.

But I am more than the exemplary assistant, and in staying here I am stifling everything I spent my whole life developing. I am rational in my thought process, bold in my statements, but I am a coward in the follow through. I don’t want to care deeply for my boss, but I do. She has invited me to dinner at her home and cried with me when I was sick and needed surgery. Quitting this job feels like letting her down.

This is just a job. It is a step on my path, and a small one at that. But it has become a part of me and I don’t know how to let go.

He's Not the One

It was a classic New York moment. I was standing outside a bar in the East Village, on the phone with The Aussie giving him directions when I saw J.C. coming at me from down the street. I could barely focus on my speech as he caught my gaze and removed his headphones.

J.C. is a perfect example of someone I thought I could change, someone I thought I could convince that I was worth being different for. Over the span of a year and a half we met, went on a couple dates, morphed those dates into a purely physical relationship, stopped talking, started talking again, hooked up again, stopped talking, started talking again, and then ended it for good. "I don't want to do the casual dating thing," I told him, when I couldn't take it anymore. "I just can't be anybody's boyfriend right now," he answered honestly. There was no hostility between us. We were just two people with palpable chemistry who wanted different things.

When I saw him on the street it was the first time I’d laid eyes on him in over a year. He was elated to see me. He told me he was on his way to a party in Chelsea but he motioned to the bar I was about to go into. “Let’s go in!” he exclaimed, always the easy going optimist. “I have a couple minutes, I want to catch up with you.” He took me inside and bought me a beer and pulled me away from my group of friends.

After the requisite job, friends, apartment details, I asked about his parents. “How’s your dad doing?” He looked surprised. “Not bad, he’s still drawing.” “Good. I remember those drawings hanging outside of their apartment.” Again, the pause of surprise. “Really? You remember that?” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I have to go to the bathroom but when I come back, can I steal you away from your friends again?”

When he came back our conversation turned. “So, is this the significant other?” he asked, motioning to my friend, B. I told him B. was just a friend but the real significant other was on his way. “I hope that’s not awkward.” “No,” he insisted, maybe a little too emphatically. “No, that’s not awkward. Totally fine. No worries.” His eyes lowered. “You know, we’re still not friends on Facebook. After you de-friended me, you never re-friended me.” My cheeks flushed. “Oh, it’s just Facebook.” He put his hand on my shoulder again. “Well, you were a significant moment in my life. I’m really glad I ran into you.”

He left shortly after and then The Aussie came and it was a perfectly lovely evening. But that line stuck with me. “A significant moment in my life.” It’s hard to work through a breakup, or a relationship that was once incredible but turned sour, but for me it is the most difficult to accept something that had all the potential in the world and never had the chance to even get off the ground.