The last night I saw you was the only night my dog ever pissed on my floor. She did it while you were here doing drugs in my bathroom that were delivered by my dealer in a silver BMW about twenty minutes ago.
These are things that happen in Manhattan.
I’ve known you for almost two years now and you have begged and pleaded and played on the weakness my divorce cut me with and broke both of my knees.
I’ve given you a lot. Too much. Things I will never get back. Things you will never deserve. But if you ever thought I would give you the number of my delivery service – you played yourself. Continue reading
You show up unannounced again, three days after I say I can’t see you anymore and six weeks after we meet. I would have told you not to come. But you caught me off guard, like the day I first saw you.
There are things that I do and things that I have done that you will never know. It’s why you can’t keep coming here. It’s why I never should have agreed to see you twice.
You think things about me that are not true. I order my fourth drink during our third dinner together and you say, “Man, I can’t drink like that, especially not on a weeknight.” Continue reading
The way she follows you is laughable.
She is a painter who is seven years younger, five pounds lighter and many lifetimes of practicality unborn – than me.
I have this odd way of stating things. Like how on the day we met I told you to move in with me. She doesn’t know me. But she follows me. She reads my blog. She masturbated to one of my photos. Continue reading
It’s just after noon in a small Thai joint somewhere in the east 30’s on the corner of Madison.
I enter the establishment wearing a t-shirt with a typewriter on it appropriately labeled “writer” in courier print; a tipped Kangol hat; and a pair of men’s carpenter pants, cut to fall halfway down my muscular calves. It’s hot outside.
The “shorts” once belonged to my second husband, and someone before that because they were second-hand like everything else about him. The t-shirt was a birthday present from the first. Divorce is impossible, I’ve learned. It never goes away.
The restaurant is empty and both of the gorgeous Thai serves, one male, one female – both 20 something – are over the moon to see me.
“You’re open right?” I ask knowing that they obviously are but grabbing the chance to flirt with the pair of them.
“Yes, yes!” they say smiling and speaking at the same time.
“Which table? Any table you like.”
I take off my hat and grab a bench seat toward the front where natural light is still flooding in, prior to when the sun tips too far west and afternoon shadows cast. But before I actually land in the seat I say, “Thai beer?”
“Yes, please.” Continue reading
It was the magic tricks that might have won me over.
You have to work and so I meet him at Bethesda fountain. You’ve only known me a month and aren’t sure why I keep going out with strangers that I meet online.
You don’t understand, I should never be left alone for too long. It’s why I live in midtown.
He’s paranoid from the start, so I know he’s cheating on someone already.
“No, sorry, no phone numbers. Yeah, my picture. Sorry. It’s edited. You understand. I can’t show my face, my hair’s shorter now.”
I send two snapshots. One face. One body. He says I’m “pretty” and have a “nice butt”.
I roll my eyes, then breathlessly laugh. I immediately tell you what’s happening. “Wish me luck!”
“You’ll be fine.” Continue reading