M Backs Up Two Weeks, Starts Dating Binge

The reason my posts these past few weeks have been so sporadic is because my social life has taken a sudden upturn. It started two weeks ago when I had just spent an hour standing in the corner of the Knitting Factory during a concert for Under the Influence of Giants. Mr. X, who works for a magazine, was late and when he did arrive, was less than apologetic. He had gotten word of a tape, which mysteriously fell off the back of a truck (isn't it funny how often these things happen?) of Anna Nicole Smith drunk while pregnant.

"I just waited for an hour by myself and your not even going to apologize?" I questioned trying to retain some sort of respect. I didn't care if he was late. It was a good excuse, but I still needed to know he felt bad about leaving me alone.
"Dude, this is huge. It's being shopped around so people have seen it, which means it'll hit tomorrow if not sometime tonight. Drunk while pregnant!"
"Don't you feel bad I was left here by myself?"
"Yeah, but dude, Anna Fucking Nicole Smith."

I could have gone on, but knew it would be pointless so I let it slide. He took my hand and we moved our way into the center of the undulating crowd and I lost my anger for about twenty minutes while bouncing up and down to the rhythm of music.

After the show we were both hungry and decided to stop at a diner near by and grab some late- night breakfast. In between bites of his oozy ham and cheese omelet Mr. X talked about nothing but work. This somehow always end up being the bulk of our conversations. I am glad that he likes his job, but I don't need to hear about it all the time and especially not while trying to enjoy a stack of buttery pancakes at midnight on a Saturday. I love my job too, but leave work when I leave the office.

But feeling the need to counter I began to tell him about the new intern; a fat, semi-slovenly girl who doesn't ever listen to me. He cut me off mid-way into my impersonation of the blank, half-retarded expression she gives me when I ask if she has any questions, to explain why he hates his intern. She doesn't respect him, doesn't listen to him and thinks that he wants her. Oh, and on top of that, doesn't wear a bra.

"Mmmmkkkay. Why?"
"Oh, some guy backed out of a Knicks game at the last minute and so I went with her and now she thinks there is something going on between us."

This is where my head begins to spin out of control. He went to a Knicks game? With the twenty-one year old intern whom most likely has large wild breasts and perky nipples? I imagine her leaning over his computer, her massive and free cleavage inches away from his face and I realized right then that I have no idea what his life is like during those moments when he is not with me. Our current status of dating-but not dating, not asking each other questions and generally just seeing each other once a week with no conversation in between was not surprisingly, not working and driving me insane with jealousy.

To add insult to serious injury he proceeded to go on and on for ten minutes about how much he hates this girl, which can only be a clear sign that he is deeply into her. Again the far flung vision of this young nubile slut permeated my thoughts. There she was naked on his desk, her massive chest fit for a Playboy cover shoot heaving as she asks for a promotion, questions him how to create an excel spread sheet and rubs her cunt on his keyboard.

"Did you kiss her?" I asked with an air of what I hoped to appear as nonchalant, not really wanting to know an answer.
"Dude, you can't even ask me that. After all the trust issues I've had with you, how could you even accuse me. Your the one who cheated on me, not the other way around."
"If I'm sleeping with you now, I can ask you. You want to fuck me, I deserve to know who else is in your bed," I said as my anger boiled over and the lump in my throat that had been growing since the onset of the conversation ballooned to what I was sure was a giant goiter-sized bulge verging on explosion. I could not quite believing we were having this conversation.
"That's not how it works," he replied.

We volleyed like this for about ten minutes and the lump eventually exploded up through my eyes in a manifestation of tears and sobs. The check came and we left each other fighting on the street, me so defeated that I could no longer even scream, just mumble my disgust between the taste of salty tears.

I decided right then and there while walking away from him: I was done with it. Three years in an off-and-on relationship, dating each other while maybe dating other people and not allowed to ask, fighting over insecurities and ripping new wounds into each other. I needed to be done. I was already wounded enough. I had permanent bruises, I had scars on every inch of my soul, I had no ideals left when it came to love and the fragility of my ego was the substance of porcelain.

To counteract my heartbreak I decided to go on a dating binge. So stay tuned.