the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Tag: men (page 3 of 3)

no, we can’t be friends

IMG_2105Everyone has opinions on whether to still be mates with someone after you shag. My stance? Oh hell no.

There are a few reasons that set me in this position. Being a serial bride, I’m used to an inkling of committment. And a breakup, is exactlty that. A break of committment. When committment breaks, someone has decided the sexual relationship is over.

That’s when I bounce, blog family. Continue reading

click. date.

IMG_6466I decide to start to collecting lovers again. With a smart phone, in New York City, it’s simple. www.click.person.

The first response comes from Kentucky, but he was actually born in Washington State. “I grew up in Indiana though.” He owns a tattoo studio in Harlem. “And I deal drugs.”

I wonder if he knew that I do days as a chief officer, he would still be so blunt. Not that it makes any difference to me. In my experience, selling them when you’re on them usually turns into an economic catastrophe. And he seems like a walking disaster.

We’re in some trendy vegan cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. A fat girl next to us turns to her companion and says, “That’s why everyone hates J.P. Morgan Chase. They like, caused the financial crisis.”

Before I worked on Wall Street, I had no exposure to economic anything – quite deliberately. I hid in Australia, with you. Reading hands and flipping cards. Continue reading

crushed commitment

crushed commitment

My husband pawned his wedding ring for $275 two months after I gave it to him. He drank the money and fell asleep on Avenue B. When he came home the next day, he lied about everything. He lied about where the ring was. He lied about the drinking.

He lied. Again.

I tenderly removed my ring and tucked it in the silk-lined box I saved after purchasing the set I couldn’t afford. The money he took from a grey-eyed woman with sweaty hands was nowhere near what I paid. What I’m still paying back.

A week after it occurs, I realize I can no longer keep a piece of jewelry that bears no meaning. My therapist says my fear of rejection is what caused it all.

“You are too forgiving,” she said brushing wispy bangs from her face. “You’re the most forgiving person I know.”

I came to New York City to fade into the streets after I lost my soul mate in Australia because of a fatal accident. People always tell you that accidents happen. They leave out the statistics of people who actual survive them.

My Soul Mate is an unfortunate statistic. I am starting to understand that I am too. That he and I always have been. It’s part of who we are. Continue reading

we interrupt this story to bring you poetry…

the making of with and for

His hush floats into my insomnia,
And I learn to say please in seven ways. Continue reading

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