My “boyfriend” (ok, I guess it’s time to stop using quotes, he’s my boyfriend) went on a ski vacation in Colorado. I miss him, like, a lot. And I’m totally embarrassed that I miss him. I feel like one of those awful teenagers. I’m allowed to hate teenagers, right? My last “guy” would leave our bed in the middle of the night and email teenagers who lived in other states. Same reason I hate my neighbor— Mr. Kittens (oh my God I’m Carrie Bradshaw! I also hate her!) went on two dates with her (while he was dating me!) after he met her at my housewarming party. Yeah. He never wanted to be exclusive. But she was my neighbor! What if they went home together and I ran into them in the hall?
This last paragraph is all mixed up. I guess I’m all mixed up too. My good, good boyfriend who is totally all about committed relationships closed his online dating profile (no, we didn’t meet on OKCupid) after two dates, marked my period on his iPhone calendar, and is bringing me to his family’s tree-trimming party in Long Island in two weeks. We spend nearly every night together (when he’s not off skiing with his family in Denver), but as soon as I get an hour to myself, I read Mr. Kittens’ blog and twitter. It’s sick. I contemplate mailing Mr. Kittens things I find on the street that he would find funny. Like pictures of smashed meatball subs. And some little rich white girl’s “Pretty Princess Exclusive Pass”. My roommate says no. That it wouldn’t be kind. Even though he broke my heart. Because she seems to think I broke his heart too. How could I? I told him I was in love with him. He said that he wasn’t in love with me. What else is there?
Sometimes at night when I’m half asleep in a “sleep ball” (his term) with my boyfriend, I find myself muttering “Oh [boyfriend], I luh, luh…” (I need a pseudonym for him soon). Sometimes I can’t sleep because I know I’m holding back. When I talk to myself on the way to the subway I distinctly say “Fuck. I love you. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Love you. Love you fucker. Fuck you. Fucker.” And the other night I was really drunk (ok, just buzzed) and I pulled him outside and swung around him in a ditzy, girlish way and told him that I had a secret to tell him. He asked me if it was something he should worry about. And I said, “No, it’s a very good thing. I think you’ll like it.” So he said, “Ok, well, why don’t you tell me when we’re alone [our friends were waiting for us in the bar] and we can enjoy it together.”
I broke up with Mr. Kittens after I stared dating [boyfriend]. There was one crazy night when we all ended up at the same bar. Boyfriend got upset and left early because I wasn’t paying attention to him. Mr. Kittens pretended not to care that I was there, but started crying when we went outside to have a cigarette. We hugged for a long time. I tried to hold his hand and tell him that I was sorry, but when I tried to lace my fingers with his, he would let them slip. That was the last time I saw him. I left the bar and called Boyfriend, apologized for neglecting him, and slept with him for the first time that night.
A more recent night, Boyfriend asked me, “So what was that secret you wanted to tell me?”
I said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”