Fuck the food

The level of insecurity I feel about Heat is consuming, irrational, inexplicable. I hate it. I hate that I’m constantly second guessing everything that is happening, everything he says. I hate that I’m unable just to chill out.

I invited him over for dinner, an opportunity to spend some actual normal time together. The day before I’m freaking out to my girlfriend, convinced he’s going to cancel. His name pops up on my phone and my heart sinks ….here we go, here is the “something’s come up, I’m sorry” text. I read it. He’s asking what time he should come over and what should he bring.

Oh.

Friday morning I wake up and warily check my phone, wondering if the message then is going to come through, the cancellation text. I don’t buy the food I’m planning to cook until two hours before he is due over because I’m hedging my bets. All I can do is picture how I’m going to feel sitting in a clean apartment , with marinating steaks and dolled up and on my own. How much is it going to hurt?

My heart’s in my throat by the time 7pm comes around. I haven’t heard from Heat all day and a message comes through telling me he’d left his place but realized his phone was at home so he had to go back to Brooklyn to get it. “How late?” , I ask him. He tells me his head is killing him, he feels terrible.

I fucking knew it. It was happening, I was in the apartment wearing lingerie with candles lit and I was on my own.

He tells me he needs to lie down for 20 minutes and then he’ll come over. Of course I don’t believe it, I mean this was my self fulfilling prophecy.

I’m talking to my Aussie girlfriend on WhatsApp at that moment.

“I fucking knew this was going to fucking happen” I tell her.

Please please relax, she says.

“No way , this is fucking it, I’m going to tell him just to stay at home, I’m going to tell him not to come, I’m deleting his number. I’m done”.

She tells me to take things at face value, she tells me just to believe he will come over still, believe that he is ill and not be mad at him.

I’m actually shocked by her advice, I don’t know anyone who’s tougher on men than her. She was the one person I thought would immediately back up my reasoning that I should just kick Heat to the curb.

Stay calm, she says. “Promise me you’ll be normal.”

“But the food!!! He doesn’t want to eat!!!!”

“Oh fuck the food,” she says. “Whatever. Eat it tomorrow”.

Fuck the food. This sentence relaxes me, I suddenly see her point.

And so he finally arrives, it’s just past 9pm. Two hours late and ill from eating some dodgy barbeque. He’s like a baby, curling up with his head on my lap, wanting attention, wanting to be taken care of.

He tells me he knows that I thought he was going to cancel or do a no show. He says that though he was ill he needed to come over because he knew that I was expecting him not to be there and he didn’t want that expectation to be real.

Yikes. My psychotic behavior about this guy has not gone unnoticed by him.

He stays the night, there’s not a minute during the night we aren’t wrapped around each other, not one moment we aren’t touching.

We wake up grinning the morning, kissing, touching, talking. It’s a relaxing, blissful few hours. I’m talking and he turns unresponsive, goes mute. I don’t even know what has changed his mood.

I keep blathering, aware something has changed but not sure what.

“Who’s Mike?” he asks.

Urgh. He’d seen my phone screen flash up with a text from Mike.

“I met him in a bar, I gave him my number,  I haven’t even gone on a date with him”.

Heat gets out of my bed and starts to dress. He leaves the bedroom, moody and goes to have a cigarette.

I lie in my bed alone, my eyes prickling with tears, I get sad then angry, I get up to shower.

“C’mere” He says as I walk out of the room. He takes my face in his hands and looks into my eyes, he kisses my lips and holds me in his arms.

“You’ve told me already you are not ready for a relationship Heat, you’ve told me you aren’t at that point. You know I am, You know I want to fall in love. I can’t stop looking for love”

“I don’t want you to see other men,” he says.

“Think about what you are saying here, if this is about jealousy that’s one thing. If you really don’t want me to date anyone else then that’s a whole different conversation”.

He tells me this morning he felt like he was slipping into it with me and he was ok with that. Seeing this guy’s name pop up on his phone has brought on paranoia, feelings of jealousy and distrust.

He tells me I’m too intense and it scares him, THAT story scared him. He knows I want marriage and kids and he’s not ready for that.

I hate that my stupid story has put us in this point, in a conversation where we are talking about marriage and who wants what after two months. It’s too early for that conversation, it’s limiting the chance of allowing anything to organically grow. Instead, it’s pouring a steroid infused fertilizer on an emerging bud, forcing it to die or grow too rapidly.

He shuts down the conversation with a simple “I don’t actually want to talk about this anymore”.

We move to the couch, get wrapped up in each other’s arms and watch movie after movie after movie. We eat the food that afternoon, my shyness and self consciousness in overdrive as I lay out a full meal in front of him. He laughs at my ridiculous embarrassment. I feel the effort I’ve gone to shows him all over again how much I care.

Snow is falling outside, we have candles lit, the backdrop of New York City’s lights behind us as we spend an entire day kissing passionately, holding each other, talking, smiling. I savor every kiss, every time he tells me he loves my smile, he thinks I’m beautiful and says my lips are perfect. We cuddle, we fuck, we kiss, we stare into each other’s eyes. It’s amazing

Heat’s a guy who holds himself back, he also self protects, I can see him do it. Every so often he allows me just a little glimpse into how me might be feeling about me, or about life and he’ll pull away just as quickly.

On Sunday afternoon he eventually leaves. I’m happy, I’m content. The weekend was perfect.

I’m supposed to be seeing the Jewish Lawyer for a movie that Sunday evening but I cancel…how could I go date another guy after a weekend like that? If he tried to kiss me I think I’d be visibly repulsed. He’s not happy with my cancellation and replies saying how much he was looking forward to seeing me. I read the text with no emotion. I don’t care.

Mike texts me worried he said something wrong, asking why I never replied to his Saturday morning text…that text that Heat caught on my phone. Again, I don’t care.

The irony of this situation is not lost on me. I want love, I want to be crazy in love with someone. I have not one but two men potentially offering me exactly what I want. And I can’t even be bothered to reply to their messages.

And I have my Hispanic Hipster Lothario who has told me he doesn’t want love. And he’s the only one I want.

Sexy Arrogance

New York has a way of kicking your ass like no other city I’ve been in. Anywhere else you can have a long tough day and your journey home will suck for no other reason than you are just in a bad mood. In New York you will leave, try and get a cab and there’s suddenly none, a passing car can splash dirty puddle water right up on you, your heel will snap and when you finally grab that elusive taxi, you’ll realize half way home that you’ve left your wallet in the office. It’s never just one kick, New York will grab that sucky ass day and kick your butt the entire length of Manhattan.

In the months I’ve been here, I’ve come up against more challenges and more tough situations than I could imagine. What’s gotten me through this is the friends I’ve made. We laugh over the shitty tests this city manages too throw at you seemingly on a weekly basis. When you know people are facing the same trials, it’s reassuring and gives you that strength to see it through.

Sunday afternoon I’m sitting with my gay male buddy having chats over beers. We’re discussing exactly this, the challenges of living in the Big Apple. He tells me that October and November were two of his toughest months in the city. Work politics, money issues and lack of knowing people in this big city got on top of him. He tells me how happy he is since we met in January. Having a partner in crime changes your perspective on how life is. He tells me, in a love-in moment, that I’ve brightened up his life. I feel the same, he’s an awesome guy and someone I instantly connected with.

We discuss our similar personality traits, he’s as brutally honest as I am. We can tell each how how it is, straight and without bullshit. Then he tells me he loves my arrogance.

I nearly fall off my barstool laughing. I’m arrogant? He says yes, but it’s sexy arrogance. What the fuck is sexy arrogance, I ask him. He tells me to think Heather Locklear in Melrose Place.

Not bad, I can handle that. I can be Heather.

The night before I’d gone to a birthday party hosted by Australians I know from my years spent in Sydney. There’s an Aussie guy there that I guess I’ve caught the attention of judging from the glances he keeps throwing my way.

We leave the house and hit Niagra in the East Village. He still does not approach me properly, but instead employs the Aussie lad technique of showing me he’s interested by buying me beers.

It gets to the point where I’ve got three full bottles of Bud in my hands and I’m unable to literally hold anymore beers. I have to tell him to stop buying me drinks. He’s not even chatting me up, just throwing drinks at me. He’s no idea how else to show his intentions.

At the end of the night, he orchestrates it so that we share a taxi home, despite the fact that it’s a stretch to pretend we are going in the same direction.

The next day I receive a Facebook friend request from him. He messages me telling me that when we were in the cab and he’d gone for the kill, afterwards he’d leaned back and looked at me and said “Wow, you are a really good kisser”.

He tells me I played it cool, apparently rolling my eyes and answering “yeah, I know”.

Right so that’s this arrogance coming in.

A couple of days later I’m walking with my girlfriend laughing about this interaction. I’d forgotten how Aussie guys are.

“I mean, I’m just used to how fucking arrogant New York men are”. I’m feeling passionate about my observations so my voice is loud along this street and I manage to lock eyes with a passing New York dog walking bloke as I say this. He smirks at my statement and winks at me as he passes. “I’m sorry”, I tell him, embarrassed. He shrugs, unoffended and acknowledging.

That’s sexy arrogance right there.

New York men are sexy arrogant. They are unapologetic about what they want.

New York City is sexy arrogant. It’s the city that will kick your sore ass from the top to the tip and it knows you’ll come back. New York knows it’s appeal and it’s arrogant about it. Oh yeah, you find me tough? You still love me though and you’ll come back for more.

Sexy arrogance.

Never date anyone from your building

 

The elevator 

One evening, I was having beers on my apartment’s rooftop with a girlfriend along with what felt like half of the building’s inhabitants. The atmosphere was party like, with the majority of the tenants being young 20/ 30 something professionals enjoying the last of a Friday’s sunshine.

 

I got chatting to a guy who seemed cool, funny and laid back. Not exactly my type but interesting enough for it not to matter. We exchanged numbers and went on two dates over the following week. 

 

Nothing much happened, there was zero chemistry. But what I didn’t think through before handing over those digits was what would happen after these dates if they didn’t work out. 

Now I’ve to endure running into him last least once a week, although luckily these meetings have moved on from the awkward “I’ll call you later, we should hang out” blatant lies we had to keep throwing at each other. “I’ve just been so busy….oh me too, so busy”. Not really, just neither of us have any interest in hanging out again. But hey, let’s pretend we do. 

 

And then it gets to the point where you are alone with them in the elevator and so wrapped up in your own world and thoughts that you are surprised by the stranger who starts chatting to you, offering half answers until you actually recognize it’s THAT guy. That guy you dated. I don’t know who was more embarrassed, me or him when he saw the visible moment of recognition and realization dawn on me. 

 

The gym
After Christmas, feeling literally weighed down by the festive period I join the million of other New Year’s resolutioners and throw myself into an energetic work out schedule. Buoyed on by the fact that I’ve two weddings this summer which I want to look awesome at and a delicious younger man I’d prefer to look hot naked in front of, I’m in the gym every single day. 

 

A personal trainer who works out of the building’s gym starts to recognize me and I’m sure sees dollar signs such is the regularity he sees me pummeling the treadmill. 

 

He gives me his business card no less than on three separate occasions, promising me free sessions to get me started. I’ve got no interest in a personal trainer and fail to follow up each time. When that tactic fails, he aggressively schedules an appointment in with me as I’m in a vulnerable moment breathless, stretching and with no energy to protest. I cancel the appointment later that day. 

 

But of course I continue to run into him on a daily basis. This morning he cornered me. 

“I’ve been watching your cardio workouts, I really like what you do….I never really get the chance to do much cardio but I’d love to team up with you, we could do cardio sessions together” 

 

Wait, was he cracking onto me? I glanced in the mirror, this is not my best look. I was wearing a massive blue football tshirt which I’d stolen / demanded from a random guy in a pub the last time I was home in Dublin, no make up and hadn’t even bothered to brush my hair that morning. 

And I can absolutely think of nothing worse than teaming up with someone for work outs. I love my time in the gym just blasting out tunes and it’s my chance to think. I sometimes play the same song on repeat for 30 minutes if I have a particular obsession. And I sweat a lot. Nobody wants to be a part of that. 

 

Now what? Do I change my work out time? Wear a wig and sunglasses during my work outs so he stops approaching me? 

 

The foyer
Ok, I can be a bit of a flirt sometimes. There are about twenty doorman who work in rotating shifts at my building and inevitably there are ones you get to know and have a bit of banter with as you come and go each day. 

 

One doorman is particularly friendly and we trade playful insults and hellos whenever I pass by. I should have taken the hint that the flirtatious jokes had gone too far when he stopped me one day to play me some R&B tune on his phone, asking me to listen to the lyrics. “I can’t stop thinking about you” crooned some Drake wannabe. 

“Did you hear that?” He asked meaningfully. 

Errrrr.  

 

I came back from a networking event late last night as he working the evening shift. He came out from behind the desk and walked me over to the elevators. 

“So when am I taking you out?”

“You want to take me out?”. Great fucking response. 

 

“Yes, I’m taking you out. A bar. Around here. This weekend”

Great. Now I’ve a fucking gym buddy, awkward elevator rides and a date with a doorman. 

 

I need to move out, my apartment building is closing in on me. I wonder if I can start sneaking in and out of the service elevator and entrance.