I turned down dates to hang out with friends, and ended the evening at the Chic Hotel Bar where I could have easily seen the Bon Vivant and realized I didn’t care. In fact, I checked the rooms out just to see if he was there, feeling quite emboldened.

My two guy friends who are there even more than I were holding down the bar and entertained us until after close, picking up all of our drinks, driving us the two blocks back to TB’s car, and scoring us bottles of water from the valet. Gotta love the chic hotel.

The next morning, as I recovered from being over served, I got a series of texts from LP, which were really sweet and made me very happy.

I finally decided to see the friend of a friend. It was … Awkward. We had sex, eventually, which was rather efficient. I not exactly sure why I did it and I am NOT proud. But I needed to do it. And I needed to do it when it didn’t matter.

To be honest, it was really hard for me to not think of BV, which sucked. I remember how he feels and smells and tastes and sounds, the scratch of his beard the next day on my face. I needed to have that not be the last time I had sex. I needed something else.

So, I did and it was unsatisfying, but I do care about him and he’s been going through a lot the last month, so I wanted to see him.

Eh, it is what it is.

Sunday, I stayed home. I’d had tentative plans to meet the Chef for drinks, but he had a last minute change, so I stayed in, knowing I did not want to go out on a Sunday after BV and I had broken up last Sunday. M called me to go out and I said I’d consider a movie, but not going out for drinks.

Ultimately, I stayed in watching the PBS shows I love and working on my closet.

It was … perfect.

More details to come…

Dating him changed my life’s trajectory, and not necessarily for the better.

We fell deeply for each other, without realizing a relationship would be impossible. People often ask me what went wrong and my answer is often a blithe: “when you’re 90% identical, that last 10% is a killer.”

That’s a facile answer, and not entirely accurate. He also has a child around whom his life revolves, a challenging career around which the rest of his life revolves, and a horrible ex who is still active in his life thanks to the relationship with his child.

The combination of those things, and our mutual craziness meant we were always doomed.

We have never really lost contact and we connected over facebook in December. He is keeping up with my life, and I am keeping up with his. He has been more involved, reaching out more often, and it’s been heartening.

In the old days, I dated men who were never a threat to my heart because really, it was just him.

He was my heart.

Amusingly, we have never stopped seeing each other. We were never exclusive, but we also never broke up. It is not unusual for me to hear from him on holidays or for us to engage in sexual banter. He still fantasizes about me, and wishes things could be different.

For me, they could be. He could simply choose to be with me. Choose to integrate me back into his daily life. Choose to make time for us to see one another regularly.

I could rework my life to be with him. We could cut each other slack, understanding the other makes mistakes in communication, and pledging ourselves to work through it. It wouldn’t be that hard. It really wouldn’t.

I am not sure I made the right choice.

Right before I left for yoga for an 845 pm class, C and the Software Developer were getting together at a bar and C invited me to join them.  I was briefly tempted.  SD and I have seen each other once since our trip ended, as he’s been super-busy with a new project and I’ve been caught up in other drama.  C knows now, thanks to Jerk Face, that I’ve slept with SD, who has had a crush on C for like a year and routinely follows her around like a puppy.  The funny thing about that is that SD is a hugely popular guy who is regularly pursued by women, by C is like his white whale and she flirts with him just enough to keep him interested.  They’ve made out.  They have spent the night together, and they may have slept together, though they each deny it.  Anyway, despite the inherent weirdness now that she knows I slept with him, I still was sorely tempted.

I was less tempted by friend of a friend.  He’s very good in bed.  He’s easy to deal with.  There is no romance, but we have a nice friendship that’s developed.  But I am just not ready.

And when I am ready, I don’t think I am ready for super-casual.

The commitment I made to the Bon Vivant last week was really a commitment I made to myself.  I am doing more things for me on a fundamental level, holding myself to a higher standard, living more authentically.

I want to be the best version of me and part of that means taking myself more seriously than I did in the fall.  I had fun, essentially to keep passing the open window, but now it’s time to make bigger changes and bigger shifts.

I have been extremely depressed for a while.  Being with BV helped that.  Being with other people helped that, too.  I picked fun over sense because I needed fun.

Now, I need more than just fun.

I am angry at BV because he lied to me.  I am not angry that he was on a date, as I always assumed he was when he was not with me.  And he took such offense at that implication.  Which was TRUE.

Such a douche bag.

So, his being on a date: no big deal.

His lying to me about it: very big deal.

By choosing yoga — and meditation in a dark room — over drinking with my friends, I thought I was making an excellent choice.  I didn’t, though.  I am not ready to meditate.  I am not ready to empty my mind.  Instead, I saw his face and wanted to cry.  Then I saw his face and got really angry.

I am angry, which puts me on a better pace to healing.

I have other men in my life, but I am not ready to date anyone yet.  I am not ready because I need to be less hurt and angry.  I am also not 100% certain that BV and I are done with each other.  After all, we’re never done, every time I think we are.  Every time he disappears from my life, we reconnect.

When I decide to move on, it’s to move on to something real, not something else.

I am tempted to revisit LP, though he is my white whale.  I reread an entry from when things were “good” between us and I loved him deeply and ridiculously, as he loved me.  It was all too much.  I am older and smarter now, and I do wonder if things could be different.  He is present at times, and I wonder if I could just say to him, let’s grab a glass of wine tomorrow and catch up.  It’s been months since I have seen him — an impromptu dinner and then a chat in his car he’d just picked up.  We held hands. We kissed.  We made plans.  It was lovely and sad.  Like our relationship, which has never really been over.

For now, I am focused on making my life better.  I am focused on doing things that make me feel good on a fundamental level, rather than feeling good on a momentary level.  That means, new job, better health, stronger foundation.  A better me.  And part of being a better me depends on fixing my life.

I am a woman of substance and I need to act like it more often.

So, I am recommitting to me.  This process was beginning before BV and I went sideways (again) and it’s essential for my future happiness.

I am convinced I can be very happy again.  I spent some time talking to A, my ex-husband, about his dating life.  He went from me, to a 4 year relationship with someone he met while we were together (no overlap), to now being single.  My life is better when I am better in my life.

My focus has to be internal and everything else falls into place.

This is still my fresh start.

Again.

And always.

While I waited for her, I watched the parade of well-dressed lawyers flow in and out. Well-dressed lawyers makes me think of only one thing: LP. That man can wear a suit like no one else. Mostly because his suits are awesome.

When she arrived, she mentioned him. He frequents this coffee shop, too, and they’d bumped into each other here a few weeks ago.

She then mentioned that his kid’s best friend is best friends with the daughter of one of her best friends. And then she filled me in on some details from his kid’s perspective.

Fascinating stuff. Sad for me, but a good perspective.

Late in the afternoon, back at the coffee shop while awaiting my bus, I texted him:

“Spent the day in downtown [...] meeting with my lawyers and couldn’t help but think of the best-dressed lawyer in town. hope you’re having an excellent day.”

I received an immediate response: “Sweet xoxo”

I did not follow up.

I just wanted him to know I was thinking of him.

C reminded me earlier that the happiest she’d ever seen me was with LP and that he’d been ridiculously happy too.

We know we can’t be together, but the thought of him still makes me happy. He’s out there. He exists in the world.

That’s enough.

Like speaking to him on Christmas, Boxing day, and on New Year’s eve and then when he called me at 2 am on new year’s day meant the world to me, sometimes it’s just enough to know he’s there, somewhere.

We’ve been in touch every couple of weeks since late December. Nothing has changed. He’s still making life choices based on his kid’s happiness and not his own. That’s okay. It’s been that way for years.

We will continue to see each other in emotionally fraught moments a couple of times a year, confirming always that we cannot be together.

BV is a significantly less complicated version of LP in a lot of ways. That I still have feelings for LP never had anything to do with BV.

I am with neither of them. And they are barely in my life.

LP and I split up two years ago, though it never seemed permanent. BV and I split up two days ago, and I cannot imagine that we will speak again.

When I has lunch today with W, Jerk Face and C, the guys said “you’re not to talk about your breakup as you too will be back together by tee-time.” (Or tea time, not sure which he meant.). They viewed the BV breakup as temporary. To me, it feels permanent.

My breakups with LP are never really breakups. Most of our fights ended with “we are fine.” Though we never were.  Our fight at a coffee shop feels present for me, though it happened more than two years ago.

LP is no more a part of my life than he’s been. Unless he’s able to put his own happiness as a priority, we cant be together. I know why he’s making the choices he is making and I have long accepted that is who he is.

I’ve successfully dated other people. I dated and loved BV, for example. But, LP will always be in my heart. He gives me more confidence and hope for the future. I don’t mean my future with him, but he’s integral in my personal history. Just knowing he exists, he affects my confidence moving forward. If he cares, if he’s still obsessed, then someone else would, too.

In the aftermath of what happened, they embraced me and made today a really positive day, which got much much worse before it got better. I got hit with two financial things . . . and I was saved from the most unexpected source.

I am leaving this awful few days with a new commitment to myself and to fixing some fundamental problems in my life.

RA, who is my beloved best girlfriend, was working from home today and invited me over for espresso and to “cowork.” But first, we went to the market, where everyone goes. (I have bumped into BFD there when he was with a date and PR and I got into our only fight there when I saw him randomly). As it was lunchtime, it was packed with people and she had us stick to the periphery to avoid running into anyone untoward.

Seriously.

Before she showed up, I’d been sitting outside and listening to my iTunes on my phone and the worst most appropriate song came on. I only made her listen to it three times. I was way emo still.

We get back to her place and she makes espresso and then bakes gluten fee scones with blueberries. They were amazing. I asked her, “why are you baking.” She told me: “Because that’s what I do when people are upset…” She’s seriously the best. I walk her through the whole tale over scones.

I get a comment from Kate on the Weekend Planning post that I read to RA. She is aware this site exists, but she doesn’t know what it is. She turns to me and says, the Bon Vivant *is* LP! He really is. He’s the younger, slightly less fucked up version of LP, before he got his shit together completely.

If LP stayed a rock star instead of becoming a rock star lawyer, he might be BV at BV’s age.

Were I smart, I would have fixed things with LP long, long ago. Or something.

W calls me and we discuss the terms of a settlement I need him to negotiate for me. He takes the terms and tells me he’ll see what he can do. He calls me back later and they accepted the offer. This means I have to pay $420 a month for the next six months.

Had they not accepted, the consequences would have been dire –and public. My private poverty shame writ large and I would have needed rescue by BFD again.

My relief at removing the sword of Damocles that’s been hanging over my head for 6 weeks is palpable.

Anyway, we’re having a lovely time with me moping a bit and then with both of us working. I get a text from my mother that there is a problem. It’s a big problem over a small amount of money and a delay of seven days. But the creditor hates me.

Also, I have no idea how I am going to pay the funds ($310) in certified funds tomorrow. I freak out.

But I am sort of convinced I will figure it out so far, as it’s not that much money, though it’s more than I have. BFD will ultimately help me and SD probably would, too, as he’s one of my best friends.

I start adding up my actual month’s expenses and I realize I am completely screwed. To manage my liabilities, I need to make about 1700/month.

I don’t…

I start to quietly fall apart. I then I started to formulate a plan.

As it is what I do…

I figure out I need to make about $11/hour.

I have no idea what I am qualified to do.

I decide to share my most shameful secret with RA: my resume.

That sounds way dramatic, but it’s true.

I tell her that she’s going to be extremely disappointed when she reads my resume. I email it to her from the other side of her dining table and then watch as she opens it.

She reads the beginning, looks at me, and says disapprovingly and slightly exasperated: “Planner… There’s nothing we can do with this! This is not the resume of someone looking for a job. They create jobs for you.”

Sigh.

I know.

That’s my shame.

I . . . have been wildly successful. I have held important jobs at a young age.

And now I am writing this into the notes app on my phone as I sit on a bus heading downtown to meet C for coffee.

That’s my shame.

I derailed my own career to take on an interesting project. And it destroyed me, as it fell apart when the economy died.

Since then, I’ve struggled to survive. My failures have affected my family, my friendships, and every romantic relationship I’ve had.

Before I sent RA my resume, I was telling her I wanted to work as a temp.

I have a law degree from a respectable institution. I was an associate at a prestigious firm in a coveted specialty. I was recruited to join a dream team for a dream project, where they trained me for a whole other world. I have taught grad students, launched a successful company in a different exciting industry.

Et fucking cetera.

At the moment, I have multiple deals that could solve all of my problems, and yet I am freaking out over $310.

In other words, I am done.

I am really and truly done.

I cannot live like this anymore.

RA and I started plotting what we could do and we arrived at the same answer: contacting key friends and joining a small, but growing company at an executive position.

It would not be money commensurate with my experience, but it would be a step to the next thing. Whatever that is.

I have an early dinner with RA, and FM joins us for a couple of hours. We have a nice relationship, the three of us, and it’s comfortable for us to unwind together at the end of the day.

After FM and I head home around 7, I still have to figure out how to make the payment. RA, without my asking, checked her account, but didn’t have enough.

A brilliant idea occurs to me: I have two valuable possessions, each worth several thousand dollars. I text C as I know she has borrowed against jewelry in the past to get advice.

As I had told her when she asked me to go with her when she was going to do it again this summer, she loaned me the money. That wasn’t my intention. It was in fact a complete and utter surprise.

I cried.

Actually, I sobbed.

I walked into FM’s room and sobbed.

He was blown away by her generosity, as was I.

She told me to meet her downtown in the morning at her usual coffee spot and she’d cover me.

Amazing.

What I have taken away from this rough couple of days:
– I have amazing friends who still love and support me, despite everything that has happened.
– I need to make some real changes in my life.
– I have the opportunity to make those changes, once I put myself out there.
– The least important thing that has happened was BV breaking up with me while on a date with another woman.

I have a life filled with love, and it has nothing to do with some dude.

It’s time to make some big changes and retake control. I can do it.

I have done it before. I can do it again.

BV and I broke up last night.

It was in public. It is devastating. He said to me at the end: “I love you. I promise, I will call you tomorrow and we will talk.”

He didn’t.

I am actually stunned by what happened and I cannot quite process it all. I don’t want to relive it either. Below are text messages I sent to my cousin T starting around 530 am when I couldn’t sleep, and she was up.

Technically, of course, I am seeing the Bon Vivant. But, I’ve not heard from him since late Sunday night.

My choosing to be off the market has to do with BV, but it’s also about simplifying my life.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve gone out with a lot of different people. It’s been too much. Like way way way too much.

So my pledge to BV is more about me than about him. I am giving myself the gift of freedom from concern about being in a relationship. I am in one.

Or at least I think I am.

We have not spoken since I called to tell him I was home safe. It’s not unusual for us to go days without speaking under the best of circumstances. And at the time we parted on Sunday, it was both the best and the worst.

I actually don’t know if we are still together. I mean, I assume we are, but I have no earthly idea.

What I do know for certain: I am monogamous with him and celibate on my own, if we are not together. I have turned down sex as recently as um 10 minutes ago. (FM, drunk and high, propositioned me as I put him to bed.) I turned down M on Sunday and Monday.

I will have some decisions to make at some point, but thanks to my rule, I am out of commission for about a month until my next period.

The Bon Vivant feels confident that I do not sleep around. And he’s right. I don’t. And I will be loyal to him as I had promised.

But I am frustrated with him already. I texted him on Wednesday to ask him to go with me to an art thing today. No response. Today, I sent him an invite to a show on Saturday. No response. I have a plus one on Saturday and I need to bring a date, but I can’t ask anyone who is a potential.

The show I was supposed to bring him to is PR’s show tomorrow. I don’t want to. In fact, I intentionally did not invite him. I will be fine alone on Friday as I will have my girlfriend BMG there along with all of our other friends. Because there is some uncertainty with me, with a now-single PR and with BV, I am choosing to fly solo. I have no doubt that tomorrow night will find me home alone.

Saturday is more complicated. It’s essentially a work function for me, and none of my friends will be there. I always do that stuff alone and I hate it. If BV doesn’t join me, I don’t know what I will do. tattooed brunette has a date, hot blonde has a date, RA and C have dates. Everyone else I can think of wants to date me or has recently dated me.

I am giving the Bon Vivant some space. I know he needs it. And I am trying not to take it personally. Still, it sucks to know that I may end up at this show alone. And it sucks to know that I may not be with BV this weekend after how incredible last weekend was.

Because I know him, it’s pretty much guaranteed that I’ll not see him. He wants time apart. He needs it. And I need to show him I am here but not pining. Even if I sort of am.

We get upstairs and sit down and we have the talk, which I have been trying to have with him for about 8 days.

I sit him on the sofa and I sit on the upholstered ottoman opposite him and say, okay, this is why I called you last week.  You’re among the very small group of people I trust enough and I thought you’d be upset if I didn’t tell you I was in trouble.  I thought it was within the bounds of our relationship and I did not need you to save me.  It was an expression of trust.  He got it, I think.  He seemed to understand it and a lot of the stress and tension melted away.

Then he said, “so, we should fuck.”

These are words he has never said to me.  These are words I have said to him.  I am rather comfortable telling him what I want.  For the record, we’ve not had sex since I think October.  We’ve spent a night together in November and not had sex.  We had a lot to drink that night, and other things, and when I told him we needed to have sex, he said it was not going to happen that night.  We sat up all night talking, snuggled in bed, and then the next morning, he was in bad shape and flew home.

In fact, I have been rather convinced that we’re not in a romantic or sexual relationship.  I mean, I have known we love each other.  That was our November conversation.  I know we scheduled a series of dates in December he later bailed on when we saw each other at the CHB and then video-chatted until 630 am.  And I know he was pissed when I greeted him as a friend, instead of as my boy or whatever we are.  And over the past few weeks since we’ve been back from the holiday, we’ve been in touch.  He’s called me to hang out on his own, but he hasn’t followed through.

So, digression aside, his “so, we should fuck” surprised me.  I mean, I kissed him when I saw him and we were affectionate as we stumbled along, but I was rather convinced we’d talk and I’d go home or we’d go to sleep.

Instead, after “so we should fuck,” I leaned forward and kissed him and then undid his belt.  Our clothes came off quickly and we started having sex before we were even fully undressed.  It had been months.  It was good, despite the lateness of the hour.  And then again, now fully undressed.  He began claiming my body, exercising ownership over what was his.  It was loving, but direct.  He meant it, so did I.  Looking into his handsome face, those eyes, we claimed each other and it was better.

After the second time, during which I had made a comment about something else we could try that he clearly bookmarked for later, he mentioned he hadn’t eaten.  That day.

[It's not unusual.  He tends to forget to eat.  It's a function of drinking, etc., and it doesn't always occur to him as he doesn't have a normal schedule.]

I said, well, then let’s do something about that.  I got up and walked into the kitchen, which is really just on the other side of his sofa — and saw he was fully stocked, and clearly not eating.  I found a frozen pizza, preheated the oven, and then we started having sex again as I broke at times to make it, check on it, etc.  While he ate, we both threw clothes on.  I found his stack of tshirts (which I’d forgotten was in his closet), he threw on clean boxers, and I got us water while we curled up on the love seat as he ate.  I had a slice of pizza before I got to him, which is why I was late.

We moved into bed, realizing we’d be more comfortable in there, as he kept eating. For some reason, he decided he wanted my side of the bed, but really he ended up in the middle of it.  We got up and he asked if I thought he should take out his contacts, which of course. I know he can’t sleep in them, as he gets eye infections.  It’s all of these little things.  We are comfortable and we take care of each other.  He loves that I remember what he needs.  He loves that I am completely comfortable at his place, grabbing a shirt without asking.

In bed, when I am wearing a vintage tshirt of his that he really loves, and he is in boxers, we are snuggled together as he puts the tv on so we can sleep, and then he flips it off and we start having sex again.  It’s different again.  It’s even better.  He asks me for something and I do, and it’s amazing.  We’re both sort of blown away.  It takes a lot of love and trust and it’s amazing.  He calls me by my name, well, the name he calls me, which is Plan, as opposed to what others call me.  I call him “baby,” as I am a little afraid I will call him the wrong name.  I really am.  I am apprehensive the whole time.  He also calls me baby of course, and there are times we are incapable of saying anything.

Because we are at this for so long and for so many times, we are figuring out exactly what the other likes and how we best work.  We are getting better each time.  He is more aggressive in bed than he’s ever been before.  He is, at times, dominating, demanding things rather than wordlessly suggesting them.  He is more confident telling me what he wants.  He trusts me.

He is also able to keep going and going and going and we’re both amazed that both of us are ready over and over.  After the 5th time or so, we finally nap a little.  It’s after 6 am and dawn is breaking.  We curl up together and we’re wrapped around each other, with our legs intertwined and every part of us is connected.  We sleep briefly, and then realize, to our amazement, that we’re ready to go again.  We spend the morning and into early afternoon sleeping for 45 minutes or so and then having sex.

By this point, his formerly clean-shaven face now has a beard growing in and we are moving each other and readjusting positions.  In fact, there are few things we’ve not tried by this point.  Every time, there are new nuances, new positions, new everything as we are really figuring each other out.

This is only the third night we’ve had sex, (I think) although clearly we’re making up for all the weeks we’ve been apart.

We are also sobering up if not completely sober by this point, which is also unlike how we’ve ever had sex as it’s always been at night after we’ve been out all night, with him ailing or exhausted the next morning.  So, we are getting to know each other better and better.  We are communicating more. We are feeling really good about everything.

He keeps saying it’s perfect.  And it is.  Everything is just perfect.  We just fit.

He is amazed he is not at all hung over and he realizes it’s because I made him food.  This seems to mystify him a bit.  He’s feeling great.  I can smell the liquor from his pores. Maybe scotch, whiskey, some liquor definitely though he had been drinking beer, too.  We are caring not about the wicked morning breath we each have.  We continue to kiss each other, to hold each other, to try new and interesting things.  He realizes how much he loves my body and he loves looking at me.  I never thought about how visually driven he is, but, like all men who collect art, he is very visual and that translates into everything, including his occasional repositioning of me so he can see more of what we’re doing.  [I tell him later he needs a mirror in his room.]

I am fascinated by his body, by how remarkably fit he is for someone who never exercises, by the shape of his arms, legs, by the tan lines he has from a bathing suit, by how much chest hair he has.  I am mildly in love with his sideburns, the greying and sprinkling of silver making him look more distinguished, and, frankly, age-appropriate.

He holds my hand as he sleeps.  He places my hands and legs so that we are entirely entwined and yet we can sleep.  I massage his head which makes him fall asleep and I watch him.  He’s so darling to me, this man.  He is deeply troubled, thanks largely to his idleness and associated ways he finds to fill his time.  He has lost much of his mojo and he feels often like a shadow of himself.  He feels trapped and I know he is afraid.  I am looking at his back as he sleeps in my arms and I think about the fact he is the only man I know who has no tattoos anywhere.  It’s rather shocking for a man his age, but I am thoroughly charmed.

He wakes up and he is, shockingly, ready again.  I am now thoroughly dehydrated but we go and it’s the best of the past 10 hours.  Also, the craziest.  It was like the grand finale in a fireworks display.  It was everything, but bigger and better and more loving.  And then, it got crazier.  I am not certain either of us is fully cognizant of the last 10 minutes.  I mean it.  It was just intense and it never stopped.

After, we couldn’t move, at all.  He described it later as being on pins and needles in every part of his body.  I . . . could not move.  I could not stand.  I could do nothing but lay there curled up in the middle of the bed.

He fell asleep soundly and slept for like an hour and a half.  I was wide awake, but curled up with him, checking my phone, texting RA and C and FM to let them know I was still there, as it was now nearly 3 in the afternoon.

When he wakes up this time, it’s time to get on with our day.  Though he had said, let’s just spend all day in bed having sex, the fully awake Bon Vivant gets agitated at the idea of remaining inside all day, as he legitimately has to make himself leave.

I tell him to give me fair warning, as it takes me longer to get ready than it does him and he is clear that he is not rushing.

There are times when he becomes agitated and this fascinates me.  It takes me a little time to begin to understand it.  He literally has nothing to worry about, so little things are huge.  He loses things all the time.  As a man who goes out constantly and lives to excess, he routinely walks out of bars without his phone or his keys or his wallet.  For the most part, he gets this stuff back immediately.  But when we are getting ready to leave, collecting our belongings, he can’t find his phone.  This starts to freak him out.  It would freak anyone out. Losing your phone is a really big deal, but we know, as he was angrily texting and calling me from it right before I saw him, if it’s not in his clothes from the night before, it’s at the bar where we were.  Still, he gets very agitated and anxious about it.  Okay, fine.  I happen to find it, under pillows, making him instantly happy.  We then realize as we start to head out that he is missing a favorite jacket that he doesn’t remember wearing, and he starts to think someone took it.

[He has a lot of random people over as he lives downtown.]

I convince him that perhaps his missing keys are with his missing jacket.  Later, we spend an hour exploring this mystery.

No, really.

As we get ready to leave, I make sure I have everything of mine… the boots I’d been wearing slipped into a bag and I wore flats (as he is only 2 or 3 inches taller than I am), my iphone charger, every article of clothing.  I want to be sure I am leaving nothing behind, which I mention to him, not unkindly.

At this point, I don’t know if I am expected to come back here or expected to go home and I am a little on edge because I do not know what the plan is.

We decide to check the parking garage, thinking maybe his keys are in his jacket in his car. Of course, he can’t find his car.  He rarely drives, as he’d been arrested for drunk driving 5 years ago, he never ever drives if he knows he will be drinking.  As he spends most of his time downtown, everything is easily walkable or cab-able, especially as he lives in the best possible location in downtown — a block from the park, in one of the city’s fashion and restaurant districts, two blocks from the entertainment district, one block from the Chic Hotel, two blocks from the elegant hotel.  I walked two blocks from the performing arts center to his building after seeing a show with BFD and there is nowhere in downtown from which I cannot see his balcony.

That’s a long way of saying: I have been seeing him for 4 months and I have absolutely no idea what kind of car he drives, which makes me less than helpful in trying to find it.  We do. It’s a Bon Vivant car: extremely understated, perfectly comfortable.  It would have only been more him were it a volvo sedan.

His keys and jacket are not in the car, so we head off in search of food for me and none of the restaurants we want are open as it’s Sunday, post-brunch. (Now, it’s sometime around 4.)  But, because it’s a holiday weekend, downtown is packed, so we wander west, a rather long walk, but it takes us closer to our people and to the place we met and the places we went on our second date.

We wander into an elegant lounge we know has food, and it turns out it’s hosting a watch party for the playoff game.  We’re in.  It’s amusing.  He orders beer, I get water to start rehydrating.  I am having difficulty figuring out what to eat and eventually go with “burger.”  I also eventually go with a cocktail.  He is mostly drinking beer, but from time to time throws in a shot of something.  He gets used to my trying everything he orders.  It becomes our thing.

We walk back through the calendar to figure out where his jacket and keys are and he has made some phone calls to people to ask those he think might know, and also to the Chic Hotel, where he had been for a party in one of the condos and at the Chic Hotel Bar.

I am not paying attention to a lot of the messages he is sending me.  I do not realize at this point that I am with him as he is realizing just how many other things he’s supposed to do.  That he starts canceling all of them.  He blows off two sets of friends before we leave his place and a dinner party while we’re together at the lounge.  I don’t think much about it, as I am so used to him getting distracted and canceling on me, I view this as part of his character.  It’s not.  He forgets, sure, which is part of his character, but when he commits he shows up.  As long as he remembers.

That he is doing all of this for me — for us — is something about which I am oblivious.  At this point, I am just nervously trying to figure what the hell the last 12 or 14 hours have meant and how I am getting home and when.  I am on edge, knowing or thinking, that I am on borrowed time and I need to be prepared for the inevitable.

Ah, if only I remembered this later.

Anyway, we deal with his anxiety over his missing things and his anxiety over canceling a last minute invite he’d forgotten about, and my anxiety over whatever and we do unwind and relax.  I mention to him again as a throwaway that I have all of my things with me and I left nothing behind.  Unsurprisingly, he looks at me as though I am crazy.

He picks up the check here, which is about $70, without a second thought, of course.  He’d seen the push notifications to my phone, and I mentioned that I’d had a lot of friends heading to the place where we’d met on a Sunday afternoon post-game in September.  He suggests we go “for A drink.”

I know now that I will be going home after a drink, while he deals with the dinner party situation.

It’s about 7 and the bar is slammed.  He wants to meet my friends and I struggle to find any of them in the crowd.  We grab drinks.  He has me get the first round — a double for him, a single for me — and I do, as I know that’s important.  It’s also $12, which is very cheap for three drinks of liquor we like.  (They have a Sunday special.)  I get him another drink, and then I am completely broke, which is okay, as I have multiple ways to get home, and it’s only about a 20 minute walk through town from where I am.

I see my friend S, who I have known for about 8 years and who I see frequently at the CHB.  S is happy to meet the Bon Vivant, understanding he’s actually my guy, though neither of us say anything, nor are we affectionate.  It’s just a thing.  Or maybe we looked a bit like two people who’d been having sex for 15 hours.  Hard to say.

We wander outside onto the packed patio, where we find some places where we can stand and talk to each other and be heard over the loud music and the crowd.  Being here is like being at an amazing party and I love the energy.

A drunk guy stumbles up and starts talking to us, which happens at this place all the time as it’s on the small side and packed to the rafters with people.  You always end up randomly talking to strangers, which is sort of why we all love it.  He talks to us and the Bon Vivant is not particularly engaged.  Drunk dude is saying to him, it’s so hard to find people.  I mean, look at you two, you’re such a beautiful couple, he’s a handsome guy, but you know there are a lot of goodlooking guys, and you’re lucky she stopped looking when she found you …” and it goes on, and I am being respectful as I am finding this amusing, and BV is looking mildly amused, but quiet, and eventually drunk dude and his friend move along, with his friend apologizing a bit for the interuption.  BV looks at me and says, sometimes it’s a good thing I can’t hear particularly well in crowds as that guy was bringing down the intelligence in the room.  He then adds, well, I can hear when I want to, and he smiles.

We finish our drink and his ruminations on the horrors of public displays of affection: he is VERY opposed as no one wants to see that and says we would never do that.  I make some comment about well, what about having sex in the bathroom here which he laughs is not public and might possibly be something people would want to see.  We are in comfortable couple mode, which is probably why everyone asks us all night how long we’ve been together.  I honestly don’t know how to answer the question.

We wander back inside and find a place to stand.  The dj starts playing the Beastie Boys and BV starts dancing and rapping along.  I find this incredibly amusing.  He’s not bad at either.  He is really fun in every way and people tend to gravitate towards him in crowds because he fun just oozes out of every pore.  He’s energy and strangers love him.  We get more drinks and then find a great place to stand and then sit, making space for two women, who BV then befriends, of course.  I spot “Cheekbones” at the bar and I wander over to say hi to him and his friend M who I haven’t seen in months.  I’d always had a little crush on him, and secreted lamented that I dated Cheekbones and not M.  M is brilliant, and a successful tech executive, who lives in a different luxury condo in a different entertainment district than either BV or PR or SD.  I tell them that I want to introduce them to “Bon” and gesture over to where he is chatting with these women and M looks at me and says “oh, this is not just a friend.”  I say no.  So, he comes over and meets BV and they are pleasant and then I see more random friends and we are drinking more and more.  I am trying not to drink that much, but it’s a party.  I am mostly turning down drinks that are offered.  BV … is not.  Everyone is in full on party mode and we’re having a blast.  I look at this guy and I overhear part of his “so how long have you two been together” conversation with BV who answers him in all seriousness “we’ve been married for 18 years.” He drawls it, as he does have a pronounced Southern accent, which I find hilarious while making sure that I am simply smiling and not laughing.  The guy then looks at me, and I echo BV, amazing isn’t it? It just works.  The guy, who I think is super-gay, is there with a woman and the two of them talk to us about relationships and how we’ve been able to make it work for so long.  We give them relationship advice, we tell them we do not have children, and how deeply committed we are.  At one point, I lean over to BV and wink at him to say, so, you were 13, huh?  They are so charmed by us that they offer to buy drinks for us.  I decline, BV accepts.  We are playing out this role as a well-traveled, prosperous long-married couple and it is one that we could easily fall into.  It’s one of those things that could be right and we are ever so convincing.  The fact that he is 10 years my junior never seems to occur to anyone.

In fact, when I mention to M later, who by then is actively hitting on me after BV and I argue and then BV wanders off to fulfill his social obligations, he is shocked that BV is not M’s age — 35 — and is instead much younger.  He looks “old.”  Yes, he does.  It’s not just appearance, and he is by no means haggard, but he spent many years on the beach, too, and playing golf, so he does have some sun damage, but in style, he is very preppy: wearing cardigans or fleece jackets and that does read older.

We eventually get into our argument which is really a relationship status conversation: “monogamous” “love each other” “taking it slowly” “canceled my whole day to be with you” blah blah blah and we are both quite inebriated, which is a bad time to have this talk.

For the life of me, I cannot remember exactly how it ended.  I think we were fine.  I think he left, knowing I was okay, with me promising to finish my drink and cab home — not walk — and to call him as soon as I got there.

It takes me longer to get home.  I actually borrow money from M, who wants to take me home to his place (no), and then eventually find a cab after getting picked up by a handsome stranger who wanted to buy me a drink, which I briefly considered.

In each case, I had to think to myself, I just want to go home and call BV to let him know I am safe.  That was my only driving force . . . go home so I could report in to BV that I was home safe.

And then I was.  I called him from my place and he was clearly out, despite his earlier comment he was going home and his irritation that he thinks that I think that every time we’re not together that he’s out doing something else.  We speak very briefly to confirm I am home and everything’s good.

I do my hair, flatironing it and everything.  I even shave my legs, though I decide to go with jeans.  I end up wearing a very French chocolate-colored blouse with a rose scarf I received from my mother who bought it on a trip to Italy.  It’s chic and timeless and I am aware I will be in crowd shots, possibly for years.

[There are upsides and downsides to being friends with a renowned chef.]

We arrive for the shoot. I bus up, as I am becoming a bus regular, and C, who is supposed to bus up, misses it and has to cab.  C has a new job and is making a lot of money for doing not a whole lot, so she picks up dinner for the three of us, too.

We sit outside on the patio as they stage inside.  Out walk two men, both in their 40s, one is stupidly handsome.  Like Hollywood handsome. Dimpled, perfect teeth, blue eyes, just dreamy in exactly the way I like.  Also, sorta short, which is apparently my new thing.  He reminds me a bit of LP.  Dark hair, tan, Hollywood.  I am with two beautiful women, and yet, I know he is smiling at me.  Okay, hottie.  We are keenly aware of the other’s presence.

When the producer comes out, she leads us into a dining room filled with diners already assembled (although we were there before our call time).  She tells us we will be filling in at random tables, but then they decide to seat the three of us and the two of them at the bar/chef’s table.  She asks if we are okay being interviewed.  We are.

C wants to sit in the middle, so we let her.  I sit down, and then the producer seats the men next to me, with Hollywood sitting a person over from his slightly gay — though married — friend.

Chef, who has been on dates with me and with C, is completely head over heels for the Hot Blonde, who is the woman I told him to date in the first place.  She barely knows he exists. He texts me about her while they are shooting.  It’s hilarious.

The two men chat me up a bit and it’s very clear to me that Hollywood is smitten.  Because it’s a tv shoot, there’s not a whole lot we can do.  We are talking very quietly, for some of it, talking about our favorite dishes.  They tease me about claiming I live “South” when I really live downtown.  Hollywood, who apparently is a commercial model (of course), lives in the upscale suburban community where my former beau The Nice Guy lives.

C, HB and I order wine, and they want to order red until I remind them we are going to be shot for television, so we go with a great bottle of champagne. And then another.  We order entrees rather than appetizers as the producers are really telling us what we need to order.  We each order something different and our food is delivered and I realized we are really the only people being served.  And then I realize we are going to be the only people really interviewed.  Sigh.

When the camera rolls, they ask me questions first of our group and it goes really well.  It feels like it goes on forever.  I am told to look at the producer and not at the camera and it’s all fine.  She’s very very good at her job.  People are calling me as I am there, and Chef is texting me, and the whole time I am like … uh, cameras are rolling.  :)  When I am done, they shoot C and then HB.  Then they rearrange us so that HB and I can be in a “two shot” together.  It goes really well, I think.

The whole production side of it is amusing and I end up eating most of my meal and then much of HB’s second one — they made them make us second entrees to have Chef deliver them to us by name.  Ha.  They also film us eating.  Ugh.  Producer: “Can you eat some of the biscuit?” C laughs.  Each of us has varying degrees of an eating disorder and making me eat bread on camera . . . is rather funny.  But, we do as we are told and it goes really well, and we are there for hours and hours.  Everyone is starting to get a little tipsy, and we are still the only ones who have really eaten.

[It's nice to have really attractive friends.]

Finally, we are allowed to go, and the friend hands me his card and gives me one of his for my information.  As I hand it to him, and I am now rather tipsy, I say, and this is for your friend.  Hollywood hugs me goodbye, grabs my ass, and is rather adorable.  We tell them where we are going, which, of course, is the CHB.

C and I leave together, with HB off for other plans.  We look for a cab, but we’re in midtown and it’s impossible.  As we go to call one, she realizes we are three minutes away from the bus.  Score! (And $35 savings.  For her.)

We giggle on the bus all the way down to the CHB and she laughs about how truly camera shy she is.  And she really is.  I am the least attractive of the three, but I am a natural on camera as I grew up being photographed and filmed my whole life.

We check in at the CHB, and I become the mayor again, to my great delight.  It’s the small things, really.  C orders champagne for herself, offers me one, but I am enjoying this moderate level of drunkeness.  Then a friend texts to say he’s nearby and asks if he can stop by.  The more the merrier.  It’s a party as the room is very lively and we have a comfortable table.  He buys a bottle of champagne for us and we are having an even better time.  C goes outside to smoke and meets a random stranger, rather cute actually, who lives in BV’s building a block away.  He’s southern and he’s quite charming, but C was not really that interested when she brought him back to the table.  I am rather embittered about BV for reasons I do not remember clearly, but that have much to do with “wtf didn’t you show up last night, you dick” and I make a catty remark to C and our nameless friend about BV.  FM texts and then joins us.  He and C loathe each other and have for months, but they sort of agree to get along for the moment and then sort of make up finally later on.

The party is still booming, but we decide to head off to the bar where I had my birthday party.  We know the bar manager and our favorite food truck is there.  It’s a win all around, though there is no way I can eat again after two entrees and a dessert during the shoot.  I am not drinking there or at the next place we go to, but I do end up texting BV.

It’s a simple text at 12:18 am: “You out?”

I don’t get a text back.  I get a phone call at 1251. I agree to meet him at a bar a few blocks away.  I do not rush.  I get a voicemail from him at 109, a missed call at 111, a voicemail at 115 and at 118, and missed calls at 123 and 143, along with texts.  I am there, and looking for him, but I didn’t find him.  I sat down at the bar and a man sat down next to me and started chatting with me.

After a couple of minutes, I realize the Bon Vivant is sitting at the turn of the bar, about 8 feet away from me.  Angry.  Looking at his phone.  I jump up and hug him and kiss him on the lips and say, I was looking for you everywhere, I thought you blew me off.  He said, “who the fuck is that guy? you brought a date? what the fuck?” and I am like who are you talking about? And he’s like dude in the blazer? Who you’re sitting with and I am like, dude, he sat down next to me, I don’t know him.

BV is angry and jealous and I’ve never seen him like this.  We’re also both very drunk.  I don’t realize at the time just how drunk.  I realize it the next day when I listen to his slurring voicemails when he’s really pissed that I am not there.

I reassure him I’d been looking for him, sat down when I assumed he blew me off, and I have no idea who that guy is.  BV is in a jacket and in a hat and he looks good, as usual. Handsome man, even if he’s all pissed off.

We head off together as it’s probably last call, although we’re not aware of it.  His building is two blocks from this little bar, and we walk along, both calmed down.  He brings me in to his building and he doesn’t have his keys so the doorman has to buzz us up.  It feels like it’s really later than 2 am now, as there is a woman and two friends trying to get him to do the same thing, claiming her “husband has a place on 30″ and BV and I just look at each other and laugh, like riiiiiight.

Friday was a bit stressful with BFD promising and then failing to fully deliver on his emergency bail-out. He was supposed to bring a certified check for the full amount. He brought a corporate check for the past due amount.

RA texted me to hang out early downtown. We’ve made a resolution to not drink during the week and to lose 10 pounds during January. (So far, I am down 6…) For us, with social engagements every night and professional networking events, that’s much harder than you’d imagine, but we’re doing it. So, I told RA that I had to run an errand and she decided to cut out of her afternoon at 4 to help me.

We took the bus downtown, as I have finally convinced her that it’s so much better than driving and parking when we’re out and she loves it. She managed the errand for me, as a matter of fact, and then got me a cookie. She’s really the best and my absolute dearest friend who I trust with everything, as does she.

We go from there and walk 10 blocks to the chic hotel bar (CHB) at which we are regulars. I switch out shoes before we get there, so I can throw on a pair of high-heeled boots. We’re dressed down — sweaters, scarves, jeans, boots — in a perfect way for a chilly Friday afternoon. We arrive before 5 and order our first round of $13 cocktails ensconced in our regular seats on a long sofa with a perfect view of everything. As I am poor, RA buys my drinks, which are made just the way I like them: very spicy, very strong, and not too sweet. (Also, as I like my men . . .)

A man who is in love with RA shows up. Essentially, he hosts the rest of our evening. RA has a boyfriend, which this man knows, but he shows up just to be with her and insists on paying for everything. This happens a lot. He also insists that we order our usual steak frites, of which we only eat the steak.

At 629, I get a text from the Bon Vivant. It’s sexual in nature in a way his texts rarely are. It’s also something I am not sure whether to take seriously. So, I don’t. He’s reporting what he’d just done, so I tell him “That’s hot. So you’re home?” [He lives a single block from this hotel/condo tower, in which several of my friends and his friends live, and which houses the CHB we all frequent.] He says: no, I always do it in public and we exchange a couple of quick goofy messages, and then I respond back and say “Come see me at the [CHB].” No response.

I texted him a couple of hours later when I’d had much more to drink and had much much more fun with FM and then later JerkFace and some of his friends joining us to round out our party. I also met this older woman, who I thought was my age, but is in her 50s and gorgeous and an art dealer. We made plans to hang out, and she hung out with our entire crazy crew for a bit.

[We are quite fun.]

Anyway, I’d texted BV again because I saw his one of his boys walk in with an entourage. I see this man at the CHB every time I am there and I teased him: “how does your boy always beat you here?” I texted him again before we left for the next spot, where RA’s boyfriend and her gay best friend who is an actual psychotherapist who told me in the past that BV should be my fwb not my bf (heh).

Random drama ensued, but I had a blast. As the evening wound down, I wandered with FM to another bar. I was drinking rather lightly: two cocktails, some random sake, and then I had switched to water.  I was going to a tv shoot the next day and I was concerned about being alert and up for that.

I never heard anything back from BV which was disappointing, but not entirely surprising. He’s gotten good about responding to my random messages, even if he is still terrible about showing up.