Walking down this particular street in our town makes me emo.
There are so many memories on this one street:
- a building at which I’ve had to make emergency foreclosure-preventing payments
- a building in which I worked for three years
- a building in which LP, the Alternate Reality, and another former beau all work
- a building in which I met A
- and the Chic Hotel Bar, which is the headquarters for many of my adventures and misadventures.
Now, I am sitting in the CHB before5 pm, drinking a glass of champagne and thinking about what I want to do with my life.
Short answer: No idea.
Longer answer: No, really. No idea.
I came downtown this afternoon to make a payment at a lawfirm that is stressful. Fortunately, they did not realize I was late on the payment. I missed the bus, so I had to take a cab downtown to meet FM, who owes me money, also at a place on this street. Then, I wandered off to the bank, grabbed coffee, and then called the lawfirm.
I am glad I made the payment, glad I do not have to worry for another few weeks.
I need a job. That’s the bottom line. We instituted new procedures that would allow me to survive in the interim, and yet, I have received none of the money that has come into the company. That’s been my red flashing sign that I need a new job.
[I am a genius.]
So, I talked to PR and my aunt and I am hopeful. PR told me what I knew he would: […], […], […]. As he is a […], as is the Alternate Reality, I am hopeful I can find the right thing. I need to figure out what I want. It’s harder than you’d think.
I have a lot of skills, some talent, and the opportunity to do great things, I think. But, what?
As I sit here, I am also thinking about my love life, of course.
Fifteen feet from me is where I got into an ugly fight with LP . . . while I was on a date, unbeknownst to him, with someone else.
I feel weird about LP and PR. I mean, I slept with PR, obviously, which sort of feels like a betrayal of LP. Mainly because LP and I are “seeing” each other (even though we’re not) and because he texted me while I was with PR . . . twice. The first time was when I was naked in PR’s bed; the second time was when I was at PR’s show.
Being with PR was not technically a betrayal of anything . . . we are both single, we’re both adults, but it feels like a mistake for reasons I cannot quite comprehend.
I assume the sex was at least decent . . . we were hammered, but he did finish. We still have enough chemistry that I found myself aroused just being in the same room with him. And now, just by thoughts of him. It’s a deep chemical thing.
It’s not logical, not really. He’s still who he has always been. And, after all this time, I don’t think I love him. I do, however, have a mad crush on him.
I can tell from who is in this room I find attractive that I have a crush on PR: short, handsome dudes: no. Tall, handsome dudes: no. Short, pudgy, balding dudes: yes! What the hell is that about?!
My friends never thought PR was attractive enough for me. Notoriously, they always found him the least attractive of the men I’ve dated. Plus, he’s sort of an asshole, but I have long crushed on him.
As I sit here, writing, M texts me. He noted we were both rsvpd for an event here tonight, so he asks me to dinner. I tell him I am already here, so I tell him he should join me here. He shows up as I am dropping my phone at the concierge. I hug and kiss him and it’s good to see him. It’s been about 10 days since our first date.
We have a lovely time: I have champagne, we order food, and we listen to the show. We meet up with some of his friends, but we realized we had a better time sitting close together on the sofa than doing anything else. On a whim, he asks if I want to go to the independent theater next door to see a foreign film. I say yes. We have ten minutes before it starts. We rush over quickly and make it just as the previews are running.
We hold hands through the film and occasionally pause to kiss. We’re in the back row, so it’s not as obnoxious as it could have been. It’s really great, actually, and I am having an excellent time. He has a late meeting on his side project, so at first he thinks he will drive me home, and then he realizes he can’t. I tell him it’s fine, I will cab, but I am a little annoyed.
I do like M, but I am not certain what I want with him. He’s sort of the third on my depth chart behind LP and PR.
I am curious as to what will happen.
Because I am not entirely stupid, I am not sitting home, waiting for LP to get his head together, or for PR and I to figure out what the hell we’re doing.
While I was with M, I started to wonder what I am going to have to tell him. He knew I was dating the Bon Vivant, as he met him when we were together on our super-fun 24 hour last date and he was there when BV and I broke up. I know M is going on dates with other women, presumably sleeping with them. I do not know that he thinks I am going on dates . . . I certainly don’t think he thinks I am having random sex.
I am going to have to tell M about PR at some point. I mean, I think I am going to have to tell him I slept with a different “ex-boyfriend.” I am feeling weird about the whole thing.
I’ve not figured out yet if the PR thing. It’s different than when we dated, obviously.
A month in to our dating (last January), I wrote this:
But I mostly miss being with him in public, I miss how he looks at me, I miss how he holds me tightly as we stand together. He’s possessive of me, proud to be with me, and loves that I am his girl (when I am with him). I am falling in love with his brain. The longer we’re apart, the more I appreciate how amazing he is.
I had sort of forgotten that part, how wonderful it was to be with him. I was reminded by him on Friday when I started to tell I story to PR, Jr. and the Tattooed Brunette and him, and I had forgotten I’d already told it to him. I stopped, but he asked me to finish because he loves the story. Then he added in admiration, “[detail one plus detail two], these are the kinds of stories that only happen to The Planner.” The story is about a silly injury, but it’s against a backdrop of my being a professional badass. He loves the badassery. That’s sort of why we dated.
[The woman he started dating while he was seeing me me: huge, huge, huge deal in his world and in mine, regularly in the media and on tv, and she’s gorgeous. Like me, she’s older than he is. He is attracted to strong, successful women. Obviously.]
He didn’t really know who I was before we met — although he was following me on twitter — but he knew from how I speak, carry myself, etc., that I am a woman to be reckoned with. He always liked that I am older than he is, that I have lived interesting lives. His bandmates and friends know lots of things about me . . . because he told them. It’s not that I am attractive — it’s that I am attractive, smart, successful, well-connected. I am exactly the kind of woman a man like PR wants/needs in his life. I always forget how much he told them about me, but it’s why they became my friends, too. They know I am a big deal because PR believes that I am and told them that I am.
Because of that, because I am still the same person, but we know each other better, I do wonder if we might give this another go. It would be silly — probably — but I do like him. A lot.
He still likes me, which is why we are still friends, still making out regularly for months, and why we’ve never ever let each other go. The sex part was the least important connection we made on Friday. Everything else was much more important. I remembered why I liked him so much. I remembered how much he liked me.
But, I am dating other people now. (Presumably, so is he.)
And some of those other people (LP, in particular, but perhaps also M), will not be charmed by the fact that I have hooked up with an ex-whatever the hell he is