Never Heard That One Before

I was going to begin this with "I've been dumped many ways..." but then I realized that isn't true, and even if it was, it didn't really apply to what happened to me last week.

In reality, I've been dumped once. And by dumped I mean divorced, which is the major-league level of dumping. No, what happened yesterday files itself in line behind the many times I've gone on one or two dates, then things just fizzled out for whatever reason. Inconvenient schedules, not-so-good chemistry, uncontrolled second date projectile vomiting, whatever. It's the beer-league softball of dumping.

Anyway, I've been softballed in many ways, but never for not being Jewish. I can't blame her, though, because the dictionary entry for "not even remotely Jewish" is a picture of me, smiling back and giving a thumbs up.

A Pattern Emerges

So...

It's 2005, a month after a breakup. I meet a great girl, who lives in another city.

It's 2008, a month after a breakup. I meet a great girl...who lives in another city.

Well, at least this time I still have my job.

A Riveting Experience

I recently attended a mandatory training/orientation meeting. The subject was security, and free snacks were provided for the hour and half ordeal. Here are my carefully written meeting notes:

That brownie was excellent.

A Theory

Everyone is familiar with the "Fuck It" theory: during a night out there comes a point when - instead of exercising good judgment and going home - you say "Fuck it!" and order another shot of Jack for you and all your friends¹. We've all had those moments, when drunk logic trumps actual logic. Then you agree to go to Atlantic City, streak through Midtown, convert to Scientology or some other such nonsense. Last night I was in the middle of such a moment when a co-worker introduced me to an addendum to the "Fuck It" theory, the "Fuck It Fuck It" theory.

The thinking goes that as you get older, you start to realize you can say fuck it to your previous fuck it: Sure, I could keep drinking, bar-hop until four in the morning while making embarrassing drunk texts, singing at the top of my lungs to songs only I can hear, and come into work smelling of skunky beer mixed with bodily funk, sure I could do that...but maybe I should just finish this drink, go home, jerk off, go to sleep, and that's all I'll do². You know, fuck it, fuck it!

Maybe or more elegant name would be Suck it, Fuck it!, but I'm not sure. I'm also not sure what the average age of getting to the FIFI stage is, but I'm not there yet. I went through with the original fuck it, though the results were a little more mild than past incidents. No asking random bartenders and random passersby where the hell I was, just a little tired today.

¹"Friends" has a loose definition during a Fuck It moment, and often includes random strangers, sworn enemies, and inanimate objects.

²My apologies to Quentin Tarantino.

So Here We Are

I must have been pretty tired today, because I tried to use my apartment keys on the electronic badge reader at work. I was momentarily baffled when it didn't work.

Why am I tired? I just moved to Brooklyn. I spent the first few nights on an air mattress, waiting for my new bed to arrive. Yes, I did nothing but sit on an air mattress for days, patiently awaiting the delivery men from 1-800-WE-DELIVER-MATTRESSES-LATE-TO-FUCK-WITH-YOU. It wasn't all bad...that's really just a saying, because it was all bad. It was hot, sticky, and my shoulder still hurts like hell.

My new apartment is nice. I know this because both the late mattress delivery people and the two movers said so. Why would they lie? It does them no good to suck up to me, because I don't tip movers¹(or late mattress delivery people).

I have a roommate, who is extremely nice. She cooked me some BBQ chicken Sunday night when I got home from DC. Positively saintly.

I'm also newly single...and that's all I'll say about that. Other than it's frightening.

On a side note, I need to learn how to talk in some kind of European accent(maybe British or Irish) so I'll stop disappointing people. Maybe it's a New York thing.

¹I actually did tip the movers.