Then I sat down to write an article refuting Lisa
Gottlieb's hair-brained case for "settling" for "Mr. Good Enough" when I
realized I am the woman she argues should "settle." With my break-up speech already prepared, break-up
playlist compiled and hair appointment set, suddenly, I didn't know what
to do. I started a list of pros and cons (which never works for me, but
I just tried it anyway), and the pros outweighed the cons but didn't
outweigh my intuition. A couple glasses of champagne later I called him
and said, "You are absolutely stellar in every single way, but I need to
focus on my writing." Who breaks up with someone so wonderful? I
wondered. Am I going to regret this? Am I a total moron? I
reminded myself that actually I do need to focus on my writing,
this isn't the right time for me and I don't have surplus energy to
invest in this relationship right now. 
I, however, have a pre-date routine that would give Allen Iverson a run for his money. Gym, shower, Ting Tings (to remind me everything in life is done for fun), Lily Allen (to remind me that guys are mainly idiots), Kanye West (to inflate my ego). I sip champagne while I fuss over my make-up applique. For at least forty five minutes I pour over my wardrobe,chatting on speaker with my team of consults on the following subjects:How late is acceptable? (Because I will be late.) What not to ask? Whatnot to wear? What is an acceptable excuse to leave early? Usually, I go back to outfit number one, take the Velcro rollers out of my hair and listen to Music is My Hot Hot Sex and finish my drink.
So imagine my surprise when,
while arranging the Sharpie’s at the name tag table for a runner’s
design meeting last week, the nearly-forgotten med student in pursuit of
happy hips appeared beside me. I buried my excitement and acted like he
was just any ‘ol human, neatly wrote his name tag, and went about my
table arranging business. When we were seated waiting for latecomers, my
friend said, “And do you know blah, blah, blah?” He started to
nod his head before I had time to decide whether or not I was going to
admit to remembering him. “Yeah,” I said. He reminded me that when we
met, he was in with his rents. I said, “Med school, right?” Then I
paused an appropriate amount of time so to pretend I was thinking then
said, “Orthopedics?”
ends. Months of opportunity lost; what changed his mind? Why this time? Maybe it was my magic headband. Maybe it was his lucky Levis 511s. Last night the DJ did not save my life. I blame it on the dancefloor. I blame it on the Goose. Or maybe I'm just genetically wired for men like a chubby kid in a candy store. And if the 
Facebook
and like a bloody train wreck hundreds of exclamation marks stare back
at you. And you ask yourself, “Is someone truly cool ever that
openly enthused?” Consider some ultra cool men - Clint Eastwood, James Dean,
A-Trak, Kid Rock, George Clooney. Would they use exclamation marks?
Heavens no...and neither should a dude you date.
A break-up is a break-up, even if you only dated for a short period. Done. Finito. Or as I used to say in high school, see ya time.
Unless we’re eternally tied by social circles, a friendship needn’t
blossom. I have a strict routine: axe the faux Facebook friendship
(unless, again, I need it for strategic purposes), delete his number
and erase all texts, emails, voicemails. Then my friends allow a
liberal two day mourning period where I’m allowed to say “Should I
email him?” and all that foolish mumbo jumbo. On day three, I go on a
date with an adequately vulnerable chap. I bat my lashes and flex my
superior dating muscles to achieve a quick ego boost. Then I trot off
in the sunset on my high horse.
It works wonderfully unless (and there is a but) said break-up partner is a lonely boy. Lonely boys don’t have enough friend distractions. They are often able to distract themselves during the week with work, gym, and shit like that; but come Friday, they are blowing you up. Grrrrr. My most recent encounter with this stomach-turning display of loneliness involved a late night text “I just saw Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick.” So I’m thinking: Big woop. This is New York not Kentucky. Plus I have never even uttered either name in the whole five seconds I entertained your candidacy for permanency, so it’s not like you’re texting me because you just saw my actor numero uno. Clearly you’re lonely. Text. Someone. Else.
Then lonely boy goes on to say that he really wants to see a film we had previously discussed but doesn’t want to go by himself on a Friday night. And I’m thinking: Srsly? Do you need a box of tissues? Oh, I’m so sorry it’s lonely sleeping in the BED YOU MADE, but you’re going to need to take your boo hoos elsewhere because I don’t give a fuck if you see a movie alone, with your closet gay bestie or with an imported Rusky escort. Plus, who complains about loneliness to a person they just told they don’t want to date? Who does that?
I’ll tell you who – people who have trouble letting go because they want to have their precious egos continually stroked. Sometimes they are questioning their decision. Other times they are just feeling that lonely void left when your “go to” person vanishes. http://thevoguecity.com/lonely-boy
As
you all know I was recently sans phone for the second time in a year.
Unlike the first time, I knew I couldn't will it back to my hot little
hand, so I went eight days without a phone. Um, I was busy.
Duh. Saturday I arrived in St. Louis for a much needed visit with Pops
& Co. We had some delicious Malibu and Mountain Dew mixtures and
chatted the afternoon away. As the night wore on, I decided a little
socialization might be good. Plus I recently exchanged a totally
inappropriate lingerie gift for ten pairs of Wolford tights. One sheer
flowery pair I was dying to debut. When my BFF picked me up she
absentmindedly said, "Who have you talked to?"
