Sound like I’m taking more crazy pills than normal? Well, this is exactly how I feel. The issue: I don’t think I can live through another failed New York relationship. I remain fairly positive that love stories in this city, especially love stories involving fun, clubs, drinking and nightlife debauchery, always end badly. This is just a fact. Surrounded by Go Go dancers, big spenders and baby models, chances are that no matter how strong your love, it’ll only be a matter of weeks before one of you is looking for the next best thing.
At first, everything seems hopeful. This hope is more addictive and lethal than crack. You go through that adoring each other phase: Everything is new and sparks are flying as if the club was a steel factory. Everyone’s on their best behavior and you’re blissfully ignorant of one another’s flaws. Fun and sex and excitement are the only things on the menu. Suddenly, Manhattan seems full of possibilities; A place where happy ending are possible. You were just missing [insert new object of your affection’s name here].
Then the beautiful cocoon you’ve been enjoying champagne in slowly and painfully begins to unravel. The object of your affection makes it clear that they’re not looking for a relationship (contrary to previous insinuations), are permanently scarred from their previous break up (I’m guilty of that one), have a parent dying or are just allergic to commitment. Then it’s only a matter of time before you’re looking through their phone at night in search of text messages incriminating enough to make you want to permanently leave them, or find yourself with binoculars in an anonymous car outside of Scores spying and sniffing for betrayal like a rabid dog. These are your lowest moments. And you wonder in those rare and brief seconds of sanity, “How did I get here?”
Let me tell you how:
By believing and caring about this relationship from the get-go. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have morphed into a stalker. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be irrationally angry right now. This perhaps explains why so many New Yorkers have just gotten seriously unemotional about relationships, because nixing that hopeful phase means that the phase where everything fizzles isn’t as infuriatingly frustrating. But are these the people we’d consider the winners? The one’s who’ve become heartless dating robots?
So for me the only win-win scenario I’ve come up with so far is “I Like You, You’re Perfect, Go Away.” Because if the guy you’re ga-ga over magically disappears i.e. physically leaves this New York state of crazy, you can exist in that hopeful, happy phase indefinitely. You’ve eliminated the possibility of things going sour. And while the trade off is that you, well, never get to see them, you’ve created a fool proof way to ensure that you don’t get hurt and have tons of daydreamy material to masturbate to. Pathetic, I realize.
May 15th, 2008 at 12:59 am
Come on, it can’t be that bad, can it? Maybe you should start going to dinner parties instead of clubs.
And I have a friend I can set you up with (seriously). He’s a really nice guy. He doesn’t have much of a career, is overweight and balding, but he’s a really nice guy. Let me know. I’ll give you his #.
May 15th, 2008 at 7:04 pm
Amen Sister just went through the same thing, there has to be a manual men get like “here is your apt keys, job, and don;t forget always keep your options open” lame.
June 3rd, 2008 at 9:17 pm
This is so spot on, thank you for putting this into words. Love your blog!
February 4th, 2009 at 4:52 pm
I don’t buy it.
No man leaves a good woman. I know 5 players who are bored of ‘the game’,
they settled with woman who were COOL, who weren’t NEUROTIC and expected them to FIX THEM, who could tell a good joke, who could tell a good story, who weren’t clingy, and gave great head. What the F*** else could a guy want?
February 16th, 2009 at 1:56 am
…Big boobs