Monday, August 22, 2005
Day Three
Three days into my "no men" for a month experiment and I'm already grumpy. Trying to go cold turkey from men and shopping.... and well, I'm only 12 hours into my anti-new shoe campaign. This shit is hard and I needed a reward. Wedges make everything in life less painful. And it beats watching old seasons of Sex in the City.
Friday night I attended a white party at the loft of a wealthy retired investment banker from Ireland.
The cast of All My Children sandwiched me on the dance floor and I made excuses to slip away to the roof. I was tempted to flirt it up with the short guy who enjoyed bragging about his bit part as 'Jock #1" in the runaway hit "Girl Next Door". He was eyeing me most the night, but I purposely avoided eye contact as he made his goodbyes and lingered around my group of girlfriends before giving up, grabbing his paint splattered designer jacket and hitting the road with the rest of his pretty boy posse. Sure, it would have been a good story to tell--but I still would have been alone on Monday morning.
Saturday night, I did the unthinkable. I went out... with a couple. We had dinner, talked about life, caught an indie flick and I was in bed by 12:30. Sunday, I cancelled plans with a guy friend that I knew would have resulted in shameless flirting and games that culminated in a long and lusty kiss goodnight and a week of avoiding his calls and 'let's just go back to being friends' chat next Sunday night. Instead, I met some girlfriends and more couple friends for a late Sunday afternoon brunch at a restaurant in SOHO.
At the AA meeting tonight, I kept myself from scanning the meeting room for cute men, focused on the topic and shared my insight on a Big Book reading. Still afterwards, I was approached by this adorable grad student getting his executive MBA at Columbia. The old me (from 3 days ago) would have manipulated a group 24 Hour Diner experience and tossed a casual invite his way. At dinner, I would have been witty and smart--getting him to walk me to the subway stop and then exchanged numbers on the corner. But I resisted, spoke professionally and kindly with him and then busied myself with my women friends until he sulked away.
I've stacked myself with work this week so that no boy can find his way into the mix. 27 days and counting... I'm just praying that every single man in the city isn't married by the 20th of September.
Friday night I attended a white party at the loft of a wealthy retired investment banker from Ireland.
The cast of All My Children sandwiched me on the dance floor and I made excuses to slip away to the roof. I was tempted to flirt it up with the short guy who enjoyed bragging about his bit part as 'Jock #1" in the runaway hit "Girl Next Door". He was eyeing me most the night, but I purposely avoided eye contact as he made his goodbyes and lingered around my group of girlfriends before giving up, grabbing his paint splattered designer jacket and hitting the road with the rest of his pretty boy posse. Sure, it would have been a good story to tell--but I still would have been alone on Monday morning.
Saturday night, I did the unthinkable. I went out... with a couple. We had dinner, talked about life, caught an indie flick and I was in bed by 12:30. Sunday, I cancelled plans with a guy friend that I knew would have resulted in shameless flirting and games that culminated in a long and lusty kiss goodnight and a week of avoiding his calls and 'let's just go back to being friends' chat next Sunday night. Instead, I met some girlfriends and more couple friends for a late Sunday afternoon brunch at a restaurant in SOHO.
At the AA meeting tonight, I kept myself from scanning the meeting room for cute men, focused on the topic and shared my insight on a Big Book reading. Still afterwards, I was approached by this adorable grad student getting his executive MBA at Columbia. The old me (from 3 days ago) would have manipulated a group 24 Hour Diner experience and tossed a casual invite his way. At dinner, I would have been witty and smart--getting him to walk me to the subway stop and then exchanged numbers on the corner. But I resisted, spoke professionally and kindly with him and then busied myself with my women friends until he sulked away.
I've stacked myself with work this week so that no boy can find his way into the mix. 27 days and counting... I'm just praying that every single man in the city isn't married by the 20th of September.
Labels: Boy Stories, Pop Culture Casualty, Sober
