Etiquette

I don't talk to any ex-boyfriends. I just don't. I keep my distance. I don't go to parties where they will be in attendance, I don't contact them deliberately, I don't even frequent the same parts of Manhattan as them.

Alas, they find me. Beau's birthday was Tuesday and he wanted to go to Cheapshots. Cheapshots is in the Village and is dirty and smelly. It has a guestlist of interesting and weird characters. Me, in my little pleated navy blue skirt and baby blue tank didn't quite match.

So, I'm standing there, FREEZING, looking bored, as usual (I just realized I look bored most of the time in bars...I guess it is because I am BORED), and I look toward the window and see a messy mohawk with a cloud of smoke trailing behind. I poke my head out the door and spot the notebook that looks like it is just about to fall out of the back pocket.

It is...the Balloon Man. [B-man and I dated circa Christina's Bachelorette party in February of 2008 and it ended on his birthday... it's spotty because those months were peppered with Ash]. Quite literally.

But I'm standing on 1st by St. Mark's with B-man, his clear blue eyes still shining so brightly with his dark circles speaking volumes about his nocturnal behavior. He's keeping the messy mohawk at 34 years old. He's still doing his comedy act in the East Village in the middle of the night. He's still fucking Penny (in my opinion). He still jerks his head in a funny way and sucks his cigarette in with his cheeks. Most importantly, he's still making balloons at Lucky Cheng's. The experience wasn't awkward, it wasn't a bubbling of emotions; there was no feeling of sadness or regret, no overjoyed feeling to bump into him, no excitement...There was just plain- hey, good to see you're doing well.

After B-man and I decided not to see each other anymore (which became apparent like a dump truck to the face), I had called him a few weeks post-mortem to thank him because he said things to me that no one had ever said to me about the whole A-bomb fiasco. My brother, my best friends, no one had said what he said. I don't even think either one of my parents would have thought or said what he did. Because truly, despite all of the unpleasantries of our time together, thinking about that period of time makes me smile.

And when one of my friends went to Lucky Cheng's and asked for the Balloon Man, and told him she was K's friend, he said, "Tell her I always smile when I think of her."

So funny how people don't change; how the ebb and flow sucks you into someone else's life and then spits you out (sometimes by your own choosing); and they continue on doing exactly what they were doing before and during you.

P.S. Would your boyfriend be ok with meeting an ex?

Sport Skanks

So, the bf has a blog. He didn't tell me. I kind of found out because one of his friends asked. I laughed, because a few months ago he declared that blogs were "gay", twittering is also "gay" and it is narcissistic and self-absorbed, which I admit. I digress.

Anyway, finally got the web address from his gchat away message today. I quickly copy and paste the address into the web address space. Surprise, surprise...it's a Yankees blog. I am immediately relieved. This means that a) he would never write about me, b) that he really does believe personal blogs are gay, thus sticking to his original statement, and c) it's about sports, something sports-related people read (ahem, penis carriers).

I hit enter. Two little Yankee hats come up on the header. One is pink, one is blue. My calm sea of emotions bursts into flames when I see the description...

IT'S A "HE SAID, SHE SAID" YANKEES BLOG. WHORES. BLOODY WHORES. ISN'T THAT FUCKING ADORABLE? The worst part of this whole thing, is that I can't say anything to him. Yeah, so he has a Yankees blog and it's a co-blog with another girl. Yeah, I have no desire to write about the Yankees, I don't even want to watch them more than twice a week. So, why should I complain or whine or even be upset?

I guess it's just general neglect. A neglect of sharing of information. A neglect of communication. Isn't that something I should know? Why didn't he ever mention it? Hmmm...

Beau is friends with many girls. This is something that I have no problems with. I don't feel threatened by any girls that he is friends with, but there are moments when I want to bash some whorebag's head in when his phone beeps during a sports event on television, and it's a girl, and she's texting about the game. Really? You're really that into the game? YEAH, sure you are.

I don't care how much you love some sports team. I don't care if your father owns the sports team. There is NO WAY that you do not have an underlying intention in that text message. Sorry, but it's true. I can smell a whore from 3,000 miles away via text message.

Sports skanks.

That's all for today. Here's the link to the blog: http://pinkandblueyankees.blogspot.com/

UPDATE: They wrote about haircuts today. Thank you for proving my point that girls don't know shit about sports and they're still, to the core, whores.

(Please note: I use the word whore very loosely. Do not be offended. It's more of an endearing term.)

Oppose?

There are just some things in life (in general) that I cannot place in the "support" or "opposed" category. These things bother me. I may wake up one day and think it is so wrong, so terrible but then a week later, decide that it is necessary and okay.

More confidence in my decisions and opinions is needed.

Mot, Hai, Ba...

"Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand." - Huxley

I'm back from my trip to Vietnam. Made friends I did not expect to make. Ate things I didn't think I had the power to. Witnessed things that I hope to help improve, and amazing spectacular sights. I've been bit. What is next?