Wednesday I forced myself up early to edit my Midterm. Around 11 AM I hit the “I can’t do anything more about it” mindset, printed it out and turned it in. Then I went off to attempt to read for my Thursday class; I didn’t even bother to try and read any of the Foucault for my Interpretive Methods class. (And, because of Feminist Political Thought with Favorite-Professor, I knew enough about Foucault to still speak up in that class today. Thanks Skidmore-Government Department!)

There was a pizza & beer party for our program, but I didn’t stay long. I had some free wine, talked to some poly-sci people within my program, and then went home and returned the phone calls I’d ignored the past few days.

I talked to Jill-IAN tonight, and while we were on the phone she got a call from Drucifer, who she hasn’t seen since recently leaving our Workplace, and it occured to me that it is not so much that I miss him, but I do miss the three of us together. We were a team. When I think about all we did this summer together, I get sad because I have no equivalent here, and I miss them, and I miss New York, and I am thinking of our last night in Brooklyn and how whole I felt. I grant that I’m closer to Jill-IAN than Drew, and she would say the same for me, but we both love him for his no-BS advice, among other things. … What I wouldn’t give right now for a night at 3JP.

At my 2nd good-bye party (yeah, did I ever mention that? I had TWO going away parties because I became such a social-fucking-butterfly in New York…I don’t get it either) I pulled Drew and Jill aside for a second just because I needed a moment to formally recognize the awesomeness of our dynamic and friendship or something. I am lame.

I’m not neccesarily happy, overall, with the way things are going here in Chicago. But I am extraordinarily grateful for the best support system in the world.

On the positive side: If the Ex and I had continued to talk the way we were, I would have continued to get attached. We might have possibly done something stupid like plan to see each other. We would have just gotten closer.

So it is better that this happened now, instead of say, a year from now, because then I would just be even MORE attached and MORE upset about this.

On another note: I met an EXTREMELY hot, Libertarian Israeli secular Jew. He loves Ayn Rand and studies Russian history. He knows who Paul Johnson is and he listens to Billy Joel. The night we met we were all hanging out at the Pub right next to his apartment, but it was dark and so he walked me home (15 minutes out of his way) and asked for my number so we could hang out again.

And of course, he’s gay. OF COURSE. Normally, my gaydar is really good, but I was distracted by the beer and his hotness. Thank god for facebook, because otherwise I might have done something stupid.

However, this encounter, when combined with my experience with Libertarian boys this summer (Libertarian #1: a few dates. Too nice. No chemistry. Libertarian #2: a hot piece of ass. Proposed to me when he heard my views on feminism. We had drinks, got naked, and he stood me up on the second date) is making me think there is a Libertarian conspiracy to keep me from getting laid.

Actually, considering what a prude I am I should probably accept that I am not gettin’ any for a very long time. As Lisa teased “Abstinence? You really HAVE become a Republican.”

When I was counting down the days left at Skidmore, I had plenty of down time to write. Now I have even more to write about and no time to write.

Off the top of my head, without eloquence

My Astorians party on Friday was relatively low-key. We took over Hell Gate’s Social again, brought in lots of food and ordered pizza (I will miss New York pizza.) A lot of people showed up; I felt very popular. Sooz made me an awesome card, the front of which is laminated google-map directions from Hyde Park to Astoria. I got an Astoria Hell Gates shirt — I love that bridge. We took lots of pictures. There was much girl talk among the usual Astoria ladies. I am going to miss this community more than I can put into words. It’s been an amazing experience. Ok Rousseau I GET IT.

Last night was PLI people and random people and O-town people and people I hadn’t seen in a really long time, and at one point Jill-IAN was like “Jesus Neumsy, who ARE all these people?” because I had been fretting about people not showing up and looking like a loser. Everyone was buying me drinks, and I got to talk to everyone and didn’t take enough pictures, and I think I managed to not be too emotional, although I think I hugged everyone about 19 times. I will write about it later.

I have lots of boxes. My head is swimming.

I never, in my whole life, thought I would be the type of person who warranted throwing two separate going away parties. At one point last night I pulled Jill-IAN and Drew aside, and was just like “You guys have been one of the best things about New York and I love you a lot.” 

I cannot put this into words. This is so freaking cliched, but I seriously don’t know how to say all this. I am basically overcome with emotion.

“I heart you for 2-1-5, 3JP, Malibu Bay Breezes, Dawson’s Creek and Degrassi, careening through Brooklyn in the car making up new words to “How’s It Gonna Be” and laughing our asses off, and for nicknames, and Gin Blossoms, and Angela Chase, and ballet, and deep lunchtime conversations, and for misanthropic heroism, mallets, planes, suggestion boxes, and Coney Island and for analysis, and our band names, wanting to punch people, raccoons, and revalations, and being awesome, and for sharing a brain, and for torrid love affairs, alligator farms, and subway boyfriends, and for making fun of everything, Cinco de Mayo, and idiot-lion-cub-boy, and for not getting over ourselves and being the two coolest people on the planet.”

CK and I have always had fun together, and despite our insistence for many months that we are not friends, we’ve really become close since we bonded at my birthday party. And to be honest, looking back on over a year in the city, and it has always been CK, listening to be talk when I was cry over a boy last August, toasting to the Transit Strike in December, letting me cry over ANOTHER boy in March, bonding with me on my birthday,  and finally this summer, taking me out and toasting. And that is not to mention all the monologues, political babble, and just plain hilarity.

I was exhausted last night from lack of sleep and my ear hurting, but I wanted to rally. I told CK about how I totally got the guy who put the “black hole of despair” thing in the suggestion box, about how I was honest in my interview, and my boss’s reaction to my World’s Worst Receptionist” t-shirt (that I wore all afternoon). “I underestimated you,” CK admitted. “I thought you’d go out with a whimper, but you went out with a bang. I’m really proud of you.” (Bonus for use of TS Eliot)

It’s funny because at work he always tells me to go away, and I always insult him and so for some reason, nice things from him mean more. Also, I like that he now knows me well enough that he can laugh at me and point out that I’m doing “that Rachel thing where you try to impress me.” I mean, he was totally right, but I can call him out on similar things.

At the end of dinner, he raised his vodka and said “To the best drinking buddy I know, the best friend I have in the city, the most brilliant receptionist ever, and if you start crying I will punch you in the face.” So instead I laughed and we clinked glasses and I said “Screw it, I don’t want to go home. Let’s find an Irish pub and get a beer.”

So we went to The Irish Pub across from my office, and it was my turn to tell him how I think he’s way too fucking smart for his job, and he is awesome and he needs to go do something other than giving into this existential bullshit, because it’s true. “I’ll have my MA in a year, and I might be back in the city. If you’re still at the same job I will kick your fucking ass.”

Sometimes, when CK talks, it drives me crazy because I know I’ve heard the same sentence come out of my own mouth. Sure, I’m more emotional and he’s more cynical (because he’s older, hehe) and yeah, he pisses me off when he calls me out of my self-affirmation bullshit, but we are very, very similar. I have never met someone with views (not just political) are so aligned to mine. We have nearly identical outlooks on life. I mentioned this and he smiled “It’s a Jersey thing.”

We talked about rock bottom, and plans, and relationships, and burning bridges. “That’s kind of what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re saying ‘fuck you, I’m going to Chicago.’ He stumbled on to exactly why I’m so sad to leave. Because I have everything here; I have great friends, and acquintences, and social circles, and an apartment, and a life I love, and I have to take the chance that I’m not going to have all those things in Chicago.

I’m going to really miss CK, and he admitted he would miss me too. We had the same conversation we’ve had several times, and the conclusion was the same, and that also sucks. (“You need to find yourself a decent boyfriend,” he told me. I rolled my eyes) We hugged good-bye and promised to keep in touch. And hugged good-bye again (we were both pretty drunk.)

And yeah, we’ll keep in touch. But it’s never going to be the way it is right now.  I know this whole long good-byes thing is bringing out my penchant for drama, but damn….I’m going to miss him.

You are against the odds, you are unexpected, you are a memory of both butterflies in my throat and a punch in the stomach, you are a magnifying glass and a mirror, you are unconditional, you are uncertain.

You are restless, you are ambitious, you are smug. You are exactly and nothing like what I remember. You are the creation of almost three years shrouded in the smoke from the bridges I burned. You distrust, you are suspicious. I am an invasion of sorts; I know all that.

You tell me it is still surreal to hear my voice on the phone, and I have to strain to hear yours and remember how it took a few months to adapt to your low talking. You type ‘talk to you soon’, and say I’m such a dork. When you back away, I raise my defenses. Later,  we rehash, we confess. When your walls are down I want nothing more than to take back every horrible thing I ever did to you. It makes me wish I could give you a clean slate and forgive the laundry list, once and for all.

You were thought of only in passing, and almost always with the disbelief that I had spent 4.5 years of my life with someone I no longer knew anything about. You express about the same about me, but I’m sure you still know how I take my coffee. I think I might know nothing about you, but maybe I do. I can still hear your exact tone of voice when you chide “Shut up.” in a mid day light hearted conversation. I’d forgotten all about the angry ducks and Dracula 2000, I smile at the reminder. But then, you don’t know me, not really. I took my coffee black for awhile, and you don’t know why. I burst out laughing one 1 AM night, and after I hang up the phone, I realize it’s been years since you heard me laugh like that.

I wonder lots of things and with so little information I dissect. I’m sure there are questions I want to ask you, but I don’t even know what they are. You don’t really ask me questions. I want you to know everything. I don’t want to reveal too much too soon – it’s hard not to be at least a little defensive. It’s as if I’m on a perpetual first date, except with it’s with one of my oldest friends.

You are a measure of the passing of time, you are heavy; sometimes even a pleasant burden, and I start to understand there are other kinds of baggage. You are my unconscious stand in, and I am yours.  You are an ex-boyfriend. You are an old friend. You are a first love. You are a standard, good and bad. Through you I learned what it meant to have a broken heart, and later, what it was to have broken a heart. You know how it is.

I wonder what I look like to you I try to see myself as through sneaking up on myself in a mirror. Instead, I see my own startled eyes, nearly three years older, and wondering what the hell we’re doing. But anyway, it’s all okay

You are open. You are guarded. You are as passive aggressive as always. You may be trying to rattle me, I can never tell, especially not now. A few times I catch the acidic tone to your sentence and wonder if this can ever really be natural. You still think I should be punished. I get that.

You tease me a little, you drunk dial me, you make me remember things I thought I’d forgotten. Through you, I can see how much more comfortable I’ve become in my own skin. I should be wringing my hands, but all I really want is a good chai and umpteen hours to get to know the people we’ve become. You are four years of my life, and a lifetime ago.

You make me think, you make me regress, you make me write nonsense, you make me want to live a better life.  You make me remember that I once wanted lots and lots of things, and that I mostly got them.

“So what happens now?” you ask, late Sunday night that’s become a bizarre routine.

I still don’t know, but I never did.

This year, I am thankful once again for the immense amount of love I
have in my life, my wonderful friends and family, The Will, and for the
freedom to just let go.

I am thankful for the success of the Great-NYC-Job-&-Apartment
search, the view from my balcony, the cacaphony of Midtown in the
morning, and the walks home.

And I am thankful for the 365 chances to start over again on the right foot.

The Daily Show is in repeats and I couldn’t sleep, so I watched the11:00 PM episode of Seinfeld. It was “The Deal

I’ve always liked the episode of Seinfeld where, bored one evening and watching television, Jerry and Elaine decided to have sex (“that”),and come up with rules so that it doesn’t complicate their friendship(“this”).

Of course their rules fail them miserably. Elaine gets annoyed when Jerry doesn’t spend the night (“staying the night is optional!”), Jerry doesn’t know how to handle Elaine getting annoyed. And then he makes the mistake of giving her cash for her birthday, and referring to her as “kid.” So, she informs him their little arrangement isn’t going to work. This episode was on last night, and this little bit of profundity stood out to me:

“So no ‘this’?” Jerry asks

“No”

“And no “that?”

“No!”
“What do you want?!?” Jerry asks her in frustration.

“I want this…that…and the other thing,” Elaine admits sheepishly.

“Who doesn’t want this…that…and the other thing?” Jerry asks flippantly.

“You,” she exclaims in equal parts frustration and sadness.

(and I just put way more thought into that scene than any sane person ever should.)

Who ever said that Seinfeld was emotion-free? Of course, the character of Jerry Seinfeld is a bit of an extreme example, because as the series progressed, he played the perpetual bachelor, but this little exchange is example of what I mentioned in Andrea Dworkin Dies about feminism making more men fear commitment.

Elaine also remained singlethroughout the series – her character was intelligent, with good – if slightly eclectic – jobs. She was seemingly put together, but when it came to men, she was hopeless.

I realize, that almost everything I write comes back to therelationships between men and women. That, or boys, and I’m not quitesure what that says about me. If it weren’t for boys to distract me Iwould be on my way to taking over the world right now. I know a very smart woman who admits that in college she “minored in guys.” I think about a “Chicks Before Dicks” gathering I attended in college, andremember how, despite our efforts to bash men, the more wine we had,the more the conversation turned to “telling stories about cute things boys have done for us.” Boys drive us crazy, and we love it.

If you put a group of women together who don’t know each other that well,that’s how we tend to find common ground: we talk about boys. I am an intelligent, rational woman, but boys have always been the one thingthat can reduce to an emotion-ridden head case.

As Xina accused me of the weekend after I finally got together with HWSNBN, I become Sydney Ellen Wade to an Andrew Shepard – a smart woman reduced to nothing.

Perhaps this is what feminists mean when they talk about the power menhave over women, and why it’s better to stay single and keep thosedamn men from ruining your life. Maybe it’s because many of us know that no matter how tough we are alot of still want this…that…and the other thing. We know we can get “that.” We can probably get “this.” But as for “the other thing?”

Most days “the other thing” seems pretty hopeless.

“You can’t buy back time. So stop and love. And sing and live. And laugh until you cry”

Off to New York.

I Could Not Ask For More