Spirituality and Rape (Girl Fail #21)

Lucid

“Ever have a lucid dream?” my friend asked.

Olivia and I placidly shook our heads. Familiar with the unconventional ways of my friend Noam, I knew this conversation was going places. However, I had no way of knowing whether its destination would deter innocent-looking Olivia; someone we had just met at this party. It was obvious that my accomplice and I were fighting for Olivia’s attention by passing around funny stories all night. May the most chivalrous man win her over as well as her number.Noam eagerly continued.

“Well, you know that it’s when you realize that you’re dreaming and you can control some things? Anyway, I had one last night. I was walking around Manhattan or something when I noticed that I was just dreaming. So I started flying around, looting some stores, having fun and such.”

“Did you have heat vision too?” I quipped. #DCcomics

“So I’m flying around when I spot two women by the park. I flew over, knocked one to the ground and landed on the other. Then I just started raping her while her friend is yelling and screaming at me to stop. And I said, ‘You shut up! Just SHUT UP! Or I’ll do you too!'”

Noam gave pause to lick his lips before finishing. “Then I did. Then I raped her too.”

mental

A fireworks display worthy of the 4th of July went off in my head. I was abject. Dammit Noam, you twisted fuck. I need to find some new friends. How the hell did I live with this guy for a whole year? Things were looking promising with Olivia until you went off the rails! Even Houdini himself couldn’t get out of this one. 

Peering over at Olivia, I couldn’t believe my eyes. fascinatedOvercome with majesty, she was utterly fascinated by this dream and wanted to hear more. Come to find out, she’s a spiritual dancer (whatever that means) and a self-trained reiki healer who happens to be obsessed with the meaning behind dreams. She pridefully claimed that her extensive dream journal was well over 100 pages long. Although Freud wrote in great length on the subject, making several revisions to The Interpretation of Dreams (1899), she was no Freud. Whether her reasoning was spurious or not, one thing was clear, if it felt right to her, it was right.

You can probably piece together the rest of her personality and beliefs. Here are a few things I instantly assessed without ever having to ask:

  • Faithful over skeptical
  • Reads her horoscope daily
  • Possibly a little solipsistic
  • Ambitiously gleeful and positive
  • Has shoddy critical thinking faculties
  • Thinks everything happens for a reason
  • She’s more emotionally “intelligent” than traditionally intelligent
  • Believes in tarot cards, palm reading, psychics, mystics, occultists, and the man by Penn Station that squeezes goat testicles while foretelling your future

Noam had won her heart via a dream of sexual abuse and aeronautics. How could the subject of rape, arguably the most traumatizing calamity a woman could ever experience, immersed in the context of a lucid dream not pose as a red flag? I suppose I was the odd man out on this one since she invited him to her next recital and they’re going on a date next weekend.

Don’t let my irreverent sense of humor fool you. I wasn’t putting Olivia down simply because she’s spiritual. I’m somewhat spiritual myself but it’s a pretty wide term and she embodied all the lazy stereotypes of it. Also, my friend isn’t an abuser or psycho – he  has a way of thinking not just outside the box but that there may not be a box at all. Watch him marry this girl and tell her folks how they met.  Surely better than a Tinder love story, wouldn’t you agree?

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

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Thoughts On White Women Stereotypes

Let’s face it, some stereotypes exist for a reason and white women are no exception. Since this is my general demographic, it would be idle to deny it as a factor in how I approach, talk, and date them.

white.jpg

For example, it’s in my best interest to assess how close they may be to the suburban/privileged white girl stereotype. Red flags may include, but not limited to, the following:

  • Hiring someone to walk their dogs – in a kid’s stroller
  • Dealing with the same adversities you dealt with when you were 15
  • #Blessed or “everything happens for a reason
  • Making a duck face while posing for a photo
  • Talking in acronyms – “O.M.G. this is, like, my jam!
  • Claiming to be a nerd b/c they once read a graphic novel
  • Saying “if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you don’t deserve me at my best”
  • Or “I love nutella, uggs, leggings, Victoria’s Secret bags and Katy Perry
  • Complicating Starbucks orders
  • Facebook check-ins
  • Googling themselves

instagram-starbucks

04I hate to sound fatalistic but I’m quite confident that if I bring one of these gals back to my neighborhood, they would think differently about the relationship. Now, I’m not exactly saying I live in the ghetto but my area has a few salient traits that rub some folks the wrong way. Last week at midday, I went to get my mail and there was a man in the dirt speaking absolute drivel to himself and smoking a glass pipe, possibly crack but I’m not sure. Remember,this was in broad daylight, he doesn’t live in my building and is a complete stranger. My neighborhood isn’t dangerous but if you’re not accustomed to these types of areas, it’s easy to become disillusioned.

Recently, I invited a woman over for dinner. Like me, she’s a NYC transplant. Dinner was great but it was obvious from the few palatable comments she made about my street that I was going to have to walk her back to the train at the end of the night. And, I did. It’s never elucidated but, instead, tacitly agreed upon that she won’t be coming back here again. So much for my bachelor pad.

Full disclosure, I’m not saying that I don’t embody a few lame stereotypes myself (after all, I do author a blog) or that any of these traits are intrinsically abhorrent. Only some of them are.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Guy Responds to 14 Single Women On How They’d Prefer A Man To Hit On Them

As a single guy who approaches women in person – which is quickly becoming more and more antiquated – I wanted to share my thoughts after recently reading an article posted by the societal blog, Thought Catalog. For all intensive purposes, I kept the format of the blog post the same and casually spliced in my commentary. You can find the original post here.

1. “I have actually been waiting for a guy to say ‘Did it hurt?’ So I can respond by saying, ‘When I fell from heaven, yes, but that line hurt more.’ That would be so satisfying.” —Alexis, 24

I sincerely hope Alexis gets her wish because that would be hilarious. However, this line is much superior than “Girl, are you a junk refrigerator left by the curb with the door still attached? Because I want to put a baby in you.” Although, I enjoy that one as well.

2. “Don’t tap me on the shoulder, especially if we’re in a bar. It’s just weird. If you’re going to say hello, be where I can see you.” —Nichole, 25

star.jpg

This is a great point. If it’s one thing we can learn from Star Wars: Episode IV, it’s that Dr.Evazan and his fly-faced pal Ponda Baba  were being dicks to Luke Skywalker in the Mos Eisley cantina. Lest you getting amputated by a lightsaber like Evazan, you best avoid tapping women’s shoulders. Apologies for letting my nerdiest show.

3. “I like a guy who lets me approach him. Give me a couple enticing eye glances so I’m confident you’re interested, and that’s all I need.” —Natalie, 24

As for the remaining 99% of men that know this technique is utterly futile, let me just say that I hear your chuckles and see your eye rolls. It’s like my friend once said to me, “You know man, you just have to be yourself and let the women come to you.” We sat in silence for five seconds, then laughed and laughed.

4. “If he says anything that would come up on Google after searching pickup lines, NOPE.” —Valerie, 23

Wait. Are you searching Google right after someone hits on you? If so, let me retract my statement about a junk refrigerator.

5. “I think it has more to do with the woman you’re approaching. If she’s nice to a fault, she’ll be cordial no matter how you approach her, but if she’s the kind of girl who’s brutally honest and doesn’t care what people think, she could tell you to go screw yourself.” —Rachel, 26

This is the truest comment out of all 14 women. +1

6. “I just like a simple introduction. ‘Hey, I’m (insert name here).’ It’s really not that complicated or awkward.” —Christiana, 24

Disinterested-Woman

Oh, how I wish it was that simple. Unfortunately, most men have to conjure up something more eloquent and witty than that in order to avoid insufferable silences or replies of indignation. I truly feel terrible when I get the look (i.e., what the woman in this pic is doing).

 

7. “Buying me a drink is always a good start, but don’t try to guess what my signature drink is. Let me tell you so I don’t have to pretend to enjoy some fruity concoction you thought I’d love.” —Cate, 25

If this was her first thought when asked how someone should approach women, then screw you Cate. Seriously. Also, who the hell is buying you a drink, guessing what you would like, and not letting you interject with a flirtatious suggestion or hint? Screw those guys as well but I don’t think there are many that do that.

8. “I’m not too judgmental when it comes to how a guy tries to hit on me. It takes balls for him to approach a woman in the first place, so I’m not going to be too hard on him when he does.” —Michelle, 24

I want to high five this gal. If the guy isn’t acting like a pervert and/or a dick, it’s always appreciated if we get the same in return.

9. “Give a compliment, it’s simple. Nothing creepy though, don’t say anything about breasts or ass.” —Bianca, 26

gaffThis is a tricky one. First off, if someone doesn’t know you, they most likely have to compliment something material and physical. At this point, your success rate will definitely be choppy. It’s like the Jim Gaffigan skit where he claims that attractive guys can say “Hi” to women and they’ll think, “Oh, he’s nice” but when an uglier guy does the same, they’ll think, “What does he want?”

10. “Tell me I’m pretty. I’ll love you forever.” —Morgan, 23

Looks like Morgan has some deep-rooted insecurity issues. If you weren’t anonymous, I’d give you the number to my therapist   :p

11. “I like something funny. If you make me laugh, I’ll want to talk to you.” —Liz, 25

Similar to #9, this is a tough one. Humor is like religion – everyone has their own take on it, even if you’re a fan of the same denomination. Personally, I always find a way to tell a joke less than a minute into the conversation but there is no guarantee that it’ll be gold.

12. “Honesty is always best. If you’re approaching me because you think I look good, then just say that. I’ll take it as a compliment and probably engage in casual conversation after.” —Dayna, 25

Perhaps I should just give the “Hey, you look good” line a try sometime. Granted, it will probably fail miserably but I’d be trying Dayne’s advice and will write about it.

13. “Give me at least a half hour before you try making out with me.” —Zara, 25

Aye aye Zara.

14. “Just be genuine. If you have the confidence to be who you are, then you’ll be fine whether I like you or not.” —Ilana, 26

Oh, how I wish this were ubiquitously true.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Throwback: My First Time (Girl Fail #20)

G FAILIt would be illogical to write – not to mention relive – my Girl Fails without telling you how it all started. I’m going back to high school for this story; back before I had a modus operandi, back before texting and when everyone was on AIM, back when I was battling unwarranted boners and jacking off every 15 minutes, and back when I was oblivious to anything sexually tacit (oh, the irony). Despite my mercurial nature, there was a sensational brunette in my 9th grade English class sitting beside me and I was smitten.

She was shy, allusively charming and, although the same age, blasé – as if she had been on more adventures than Amelia Earhart. But, I could make her laugh. The more I did, the more confidence I acquired and even I was surprised by this recycling of energy. Her best friend sat in front of us and pretty soon we all became close. After flirting for 2 months, I asked her out. She said yes and I got her email address and screen name (not many kids had cell phones at this point). I was ecstatic and eager to fill my friends in on my success, which is why I was surprised to find a rejection note in my locker the next day. She said her life was complicated, she liked a man in another state, and that I was a good guy. It was my first real rejection but I didn’t let it stop me from trying again.

FriendClass was awkward for a week but we got back into our old flirtatious habits and it was business as usual till the end of the year. We chatted online all the time and sent each other funny photos via email. End of the year finals were here and with Summer break quickly approaching, I was afraid I’d be immured in the friend zone for eternity unless I asked her for her number. I couldn’t bare the thought of not seeing her for an entire season.

My plan was to ask her after our English final. Well, guess who finished the test in half the time I did and was picked up by her parents? I was abject. Alas, all hope was lost!

Not quite. Her best friend was waiting for the buses like I was. Believing it was my only shot, I asked her if she’d give me our mutual friend’s number. Noting my candor, she smiled and gave it to me.

“She likes you, you know,” she said, surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder as if her friend would suddenly appear.

I called her that evening, explained how I got her number, how I was sorry I didn’t ask her personally but with the summer here and I didn’t want to lose touch. After speaking for 5 minutes, she said she had to go and I suggested that we hang out sometime.

She sent me an email that night strongly voicing the err of my ways. What I believed to be an innocuous phone call between friends turned out to be the most menacing, disgraceful act normally executed by heartless tyrants. She went on to say that we had absolutely nothing in common, I had no idea who she is or where she’d been, and I was thoughtless (there we go with the irony again). She closed by threatening violence (she had strong, “protective male friends”) if I ever dared to call her again.

ThinkFrom that moment on, I began to over-think every single statement, action, or pass I made at the opposite sex. I feared that no matter how close I got to anyone, I could still be regarded as an evil threat. Every pact could be broken at any time. Every gallant gesture could be misinterpreted as malicious. Every compliment could be tainted by selfish and hidden intentions. As much as I challenged these thoughts, my subconscious seemed to open the door and graciously invite them inside to percolate.

After two years of silence, she instant messaged me randomly one day. (Interestingly enough, I was dating someone at the time.) She asked if I hated her. To be honest, I struggled to find the relevancy of her question since we remained strangers for the past few years. Then again, it was high school and we were all dramatic and peevish twerps expecting our world to end by means of a merciless calamity. Most of us aren’t like that anymore. Anyway, I replied saying that I didn’t hate her and asked if everything was okay. As if she was in a confessional, she wistfully explained what was bothering her and confided in me. She felt lonely all the time and pushed others away for no reason. She regretted the email she sent me and wished she could have taken it all back. Although it was a strange time for an apology, it was nice to hear it from her.

Regardless, the damage was done. She changed the way I pursued women all throughout college and, most likely, is the reason why I continue to contemplate my presence around women to such an unnecessary degree.

Now would you look at that? That’s some Class A psychologist babble right there, and it was all for the price of one large coffee at this quaint cafe on the corner. What a steal!

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

I’m Not Doing So Well (Girl Fail #14-19)

Overcome with lassitude, I sat on my couch drunk, looking down at my hand, not knowing whether or not I had broken it, and reflecting back on my hapless night. Attending local events and parties are perfect for meeting others, so when my roommate told me about a costume dance party in Manhattan, I was stoked. Granted, I’m a little uptight when I dance but with some liquid courage, I was confident I’d reach my stride. The pressure was rising and it was time I went in guns a’blazin’ (i.e. fake-it-till-I-make-it poised confidence). After all, it was going to be a night of masquerading.

Guns a blaze

I went as Popeye the Sailor Man looking for some Olive Oyl.   😉  Here’s a condensed recollection of my failed attempts.

Girl Fail #14:  With one drink down, I felt loose enough to get my groove on. After joining my friends on the sizable dance floor, my roommate pointed out that this girl around us had eyed me when I walked away and had playfully bumped into me while dancing a few times. He described it as “an obvious sign.” Although I don’t know the protocol when it comes to meeting women at a dance party, it’s discernible that verbal communication has nothing to do with it.

I nonchalantly turned in her direction looking for a nonverbal cue that would evince her interest. Turning back, my thoughts kept me occupied. Should I do something to grab her attention or should I just start dancing right in front of her and hope for the best? What will her friends do if I butt in like that? My best bet is to playfully return her gestures, I think. Popeye’s virility was now being undermined by my convoluted thought process. Our shoulders brushed one another but as I went to face her, Michael Jackson earned her attention with a vivacious dance of his own as he swiftly grabbed her hand and moved to the music.

Girl Fail #15:  Disappointed in my performance, strangled by unruly thoughts, I sought after another drink. Luckily, the bar was outside the dance room – making it possible to have an audible conversation. I was just lacking the caprice of a boisterous lover, so I promised myself I’d strike up a conversation with the next person who caught my eye.

RalphCatching my eye, there was a woman, not very dressed up, sitting alone at the bar. After ordering my drink, I asked her about her costume. Hearing my voice, she looked up with a deadpan countenance. I repeated my question in case she had trouble understanding me but she was fixated on her inscrutable expression. Unsure of what I did wrong, she interrupted me as I began to speak  to confess (in broken English), “I no understand.” Point taken: Hit on those who speak the language. Time to follow the hedonistic credo of “party on.”

Girl Fail #16:  Fast-forward a few drinks later, I returned back to the revelry to test my luck again. With my drink resting on the stage, I began dancing with an attractive woman wearing a straight-haired grey wig that just reached her shoulders. The strange thing was that every time I looked up at her, she would turn and move away but as soon as I looked down, she would dance with me again. My moves may be insipid but at least I have rhythm and a sense of time, so I couldn’t understand her fickle routine. At one point I mirrored a wacky, spur of the moment dance movement she did to try to be flirtatious. She smiled and laughed but as soon as I looked up, she turned away and started dancing with her friends. What’s dancing if you can’t look at the person you’re dancing with?

RejectThinking I got rejected, my roommate assured me that she’s just being playful and I should say “Hi.” It was worth a shot but her playing-hard-to-get game was bloody obnoxious. The next time we danced, I peered up and said “Hi.” She turned her head away and kept dancing. I don’t go out like this often, so maybe this has become the norm – the closer you get to someone, the farther they become. Or maybe she abhors Popeye.

Girl Fail #17:  While getting another 12oz dose of liquified therapy, my friend and I passed by a group of women. One of them placed a toy spider on my friend’s shoulder and shrieked, “Ah! What’s that on you?” Sharing a fleeting laugh, I tried to start a conversation with them but it went nowhere. It was obvious they were only interested in my friend, who’s girlfriend was waiting for him on the dance floor. It was another dead end.

Girl Fail #18:  My impeccable streak of failures at the dance party along with enough drinks to sedate a baby rhino was starting to get to me. I departed from my group and ventured to an unknown bar several blocks away. Like I said before, the pressure was rising and my night couldn’t be over yet; not while I still had energy, albeit it was scanty.

Did you catch my mistake? I’ll give you a hint: spinach.

Greeted with friendly hilarity by a group of bar-hopping night crawlers immediately put me in a better mood. To my amusement, cheeky jokes about Olive Oyl went over well with this 2am crowd, especially the cute woman drinking whiskey sour. I flirted with her until she started making out with another guy. Moving on.

Girl Fail #19:  Seeing 10 people on the floor on all fours at the bar won my curiosity, so I decided to join them. The leader of the party was a slim brunette wearing a red top who had lost a $300 pear earring her father had given her.

A damsel in distress in need of help.

PopeyeShe was Olive Oyl and I was Popeye the Sailor Man on another adventure. Accepting the challenge, I rolled up my sleeves, ingested an unpalatable lump of canned spinach (or was it beer?), and began a tedious search for the lost artifact.

Less than 10 minutes later, I found it. Her face lit up when she saw the lustrous gem. She thanked me repeatedly and left immediately afterwards.

Closing time. An hour on the train alone inside one’s head after a calamitous night casts an unforgiving shadow that tactfully follows one’s movements. Justified or not, I was angry. It wasn’t just my costume that made me feel isolated. I was beginning to believe that although my circumstances could be much worse, I lacked the ability to improve them. I clenched my fist till my knuckles turned white and slammed them into my living room table. The impact ricocheted through my forearm as I collapsed listlessly on my couch. Cursing my capricious behavior didn’t abate the swelling pain in my hand.

Isn’t it incredible how one never needs motivation to make matters worse but instead seemingly requires exigent motivation to better oneself? I may be losing my vigilance.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

“Excuse me, are you drunk?” (Girl Fail #12-13)

DrunkHitting on people at a bar has proven to be unpleasantly difficult but I recently found out it’s even worse when the woman’s drunk. While playing shuffleboard with an attractive blonde at an idyllic establishment, our flirtatious banter was interrupted when her boyfriend arrived and planted a kiss on her lips. Sure, that’s a fail but one can’t let a happy couple diminish one’s ambition. There was a time when I thought being the bar-flirt was sleazy but even if that’s true, it’s a moot assertion – it’s survival dammit!

When a man approaches a woman, it’s obvious he’s hitting on her, roughly, 90% of the time. The mission – should he choose to accept it – is not to come off as a creep within the first 30 seconds and successfully convince her that he’s innocuously desirable by the end of the evening. I thought I found my next shuffleboard partner after seeing a woman sitting alone at a table studying her cell phone.

“Hey, you look bored. Want to play a game of shuffleboard?”

She peered up from her device and quizzically gazed at me as if my question was not only perplexing but unwarranted. After a brief moment, she asked, “Pff, what?”

SittingI took this to mean she couldn’t hear me, so I grabbed a seat at the table with her and repeated myself. She smiled and politely declined. Gauging that she wasn’t put off from my sudden presence, I started a conversation with her that lasted for the next couple hours. Turns out she decided to drop by this bar on her way home from a party she had been to, and she was fairly drunk. Just to show you how ridiculous I can be, I thought that if I chatted with her long enough while she sobers up, she’d find that endearing and, possibly, go on a date with me. But like with any slipshod drunk person, the conversation lacked direction and purpose.

My friends left thinking that I was bound to get lucky that night, solely for the reason that I was still chatting with her at 2am. Maybe if I was someone else, it would have led to that but in my experience, it never does. Come to think of it, does it need to? Regardless, she gave me her number right before waving for a cab and disappearing into the disquieted early morning. I texted her so she’d have my number and name but got no reply. A couple days later, I sent this:

Amber

Unsurprisingly, we never went to brunch. After telling this story to my roommate, he said, “You know what your problem is? You should just be yourself and let the women come to you!” We sat in silence for 15 seconds then laughed and laughed.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC

Is It Okay To Call Your Date Evil? (Girl Fail #11)

At what point during a date is it acceptable to hurl your glass at the wall and, before you can even hear its explosive impact, begin frantically yelling at the person you entertained the idea would be your next girlfriend? Before you turn away, let me present you with the following which will, hopefully, provide enough context needed in justifying that question.

I met Sarah at one of NYC’s best beer gardens. Eying her from afar, my friend made me promise I would approach her by the end of the evening – side note, every guy needs a friend like that. Out of deference for my peer and noticing that she separated from her group of friends to order another drink, I glided to the bar and gregariously tested my luck.

call meShe was even more enchanting up close but I kept it together best I could. Laughing and sharing rounds, we kept each other entertained at the bar watching live music for the next half hour. I have to admit, there was something mysterious about her that I loved. It sure made it easy to flirt and dally, which is why I was caught off guard when her friends told her it was time to go. Quickly, I took out my phone but before I could speak, Sarah affably said, “Hey, let me give you my number.”


The Date

Seeing how my last date never materialized, I convinced myself that no woman would ever want to go out for Italian for the first date. Instead, it’s best to play it safe and go with what I know. Therefore, I invited her to a stylish pub with great live music. She accepted and seemed rather excited about the idea.

I have said it before but because it was nothing but an impetuous false alarm, I’m finally going on a date after being dateless for more than a year, again. My friend even teased that I outdid myself this time and wished me luck.

To much of my surprise, Sarah not only showed up but was there before I was. At that very moment, I got a benign sense that she cared. Don’t you dare fuck this up, I jokingly threatened myself. We started conversing, which mainly consisted of light yelling due to the band playing, at a stand-up table by the wall. About 5 minutes into our conversation, a complete stranger walked over and stood within close proximity to our table, which was quite odd. It appeared as though he was half listening to the band and half listening to us. Then I realized that she knew him based on how she was glancing at him. After the band’s first song was over, he turned to us and she said (wait for it), “Oh, Single Guy in NYC, this is my boyfriend, Kevin.”

shockedA tsunami of thoughts paralyzed me as I stood there frozen, staring down incredulously at Kevin’s extended hand. I hated him. I hated her. And he expected me to shake his ignorant hand? This was an execrable indignation. Christ! How did I miss this? Maybe this is why her friends gave me a few caustically dirty looks. They weren’t trying to be rude, they were trying to warn me! Shaking his hand would mean that I agreed that I was nothing but a fool and that, in fact, Kevin had been the rightful winner. He was not rueful and any effort to change that would be pointless.

I shook his hand.

The conversation only got worse. She truly didn’t realize how she led me on, nor could she pick up how much her boyfriend despised the fact that I was present. She wasn’t mysterious at all, she was clueless. I didn’t care what I said to her anymore. Besides, half of my words would be swallowed up by the band anyway. She continued.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Hope you don’t mind that I -“

“No, no, course not! Totally fine and welcome. Granted, I was sort of under (finishing the sentence in my head) the impression you’d come here alone since it was you who gave me your number but whatever!”

“It’s just that we didn’t have anything to do tonight as well and we were looking for some good spots in the area. I’ve never been here.”

“Absolutely! Yeah, this is actually an amazing place. Hell, I’d be lying to you if I said it never came across my mind to bring a date here.”

Sensing at what I was getting at, Sarah asked “Did you bring anyone?”

“No! It’s just me. Yup, I’m alone. Living the dream.”

In the end, I didn’t hurl my glass at the wall. I didn’t yell, angrily that is, at anyone. I finished my drink and left them to enjoy their night together. There was no need to hate Kevin. The irony was that although he probably despised me, he had my back without knowing it. I wasn’t going to berate Sarah, he was.

Do you miss me Miss Misery like you say you do?  -Elliott Smith

I think she does.

-Single Guy in NYC
@SingleGuyInNYC