Entries from March 2010 ↓

Did I mention that ex-boy is moving back? probably in June. I seriously need to be having regular sex with someone else by then. Preferably someone I can drag out to the occasional party where there are mutual friends.

He was in town this week to see family and start sorting out move plans. Almost didn’t see him — we had made plans for dinner Weds that he cancelled on Tues, and I was supposed to be away for the weekend. My plans changed and I relented, we had dinner Fri. Didn’t fight, didn’t cry after, honestly, didn’t really care. I think that now that I don’t want to have sex with him any more, the rest of it doesn’t really matter. I am relieved.

It’s no secret Bad Annie prefers the company of men. I’d happy have sex with either gender but generally, girls are tiresome. I don’t want to talk about my feelings, I don’t want to gossip, and although I like your dog, I don’t want to talk about your kids.

I love my neighborhood coffeeshop. I go there every morning, it’s a ritual thing. All the regulars know each other, the baristas keep us up to date on neighborhood gossip. Weekends are a crush and I don’t enjoy it much, but weekday mornings are a haven.

I realized last week that I hadn’t been enjoying it as much for a while, until recently when it got nice again. And then it struck me: school had been out over the holidays, and so the mommys took over the coffeeshop with the kids. And now it had gone back to the boys club, me and handful of guys, occasionally another woman but someone like me. We make conversation in quieter tones. We crack sarcastic jokes. We drink our coffee and read the communal newspapers and go about our day.

I was still focused on that revelation when I went in this morning. Saturday and filled with non-regulars, crowded and noisy. The manager recognized the look on my face and said something about wanting the early morning boys club back. Funny we both hit on that description at the same time.

Did I mention Bad Annie went on a date? a real date, like a real girl. Met him at the usual bar on the night of the big snowstorm. He followed up the next week, made plans ahead of time, put some thought into where we went, paid for the drinks, walked me to the subway, somewhat chaste kiss good-night, called the next day, texted a ‘good weekend’ after. Oh, I’m not at all into him, but it’s very, very nice to be able to say my last date was last week instead of 22 years ago.

I’m sensing a trend here. In this one, I’m crashing at someone’s house on Houston St. It’s a real house, not an apt. In the morning we’re all getting up and tiptoeing around, turns out we’re not supposed to be there. And it’s a massage parlor, a skeezy one at that. We sort of get caught so I end up outside at the bus shelter with the masseuse. Neither the massage nor the sex it leads to are that good and I think, ‘aren’t you supposed to be a professional?’