LIVING SINGLE IN NYC
by Liz Magee
There are many lady-clichés that I am very much guilty of practicing in my everyday life. To name a few: I love my cat more than any person I know; I crave those little Dove chocolates during the week of my monthly visitor; and I’ve said the phase “I’m a Carrie” an inappropriate amount of times. While reading He’s Just Not That Into You at a Whole Foods on my lunch break, I realized I was guilty of a cliché that is another beast entirely: I was hung up on a guy.
|I know, I say it a lot, but I AM a Carrie-credit|
Here’s what happened.
We were off to a great start. We spent days spent lounging, exposing each other to our various backgrounds and favorite television shows. (As I’ve previously mentioned, an appreciation for and similar taste in television are essential for me, no exceptions.) We shared great conversation over delicious meals all over the city, including Mission Chinese on the Lower East Side, which was recently shut down by the health department due to a mouse infestation. They have since reopened, and I will still go back because it was that good. I’m not above it.
|“Yes, they had a vermin infestation. Yes, I’ll be back regardless.”–credit|
Before I even allowed myself to do the “where is this going?” internal debate, he granted me a semblance of an answer. I woke up to the sound of my front door buzzer, looked at the time and saw that it was 5 a.m. I disregarded the buzz and the light tapping sound coming from my window, figuring that the early morning visitor was for the apartment downstairs, and the tapping was the tree outside lightly grazing my window. Yes, I live in NYC and have a tree outside my window. Outer boroughs baby!
My door buzzed again. I looked out my window this time and he was there, perched on a fire hydrant outside my front door. The tapping sound was acorns he had been tossing at my window in an attempt to wake me. Regardless of the current state of my bedroom and my I’m-still-asleep face, I buzzed him up. Upon his entry, he explained that he felt compelled to come over right then and there to let me know that he liked me, that he cared. This was just like John Cusack with the boom-box stunt in Say Anything. I was living an 80’s romantic comedy! (Those who know me know –– this is all I want in life.)
|I was living an ’80s romantic comedy! –credit|
But sadly, my role eventually changed from the Molly Ringwald-esque ingénue to that of Éponine in the tragic Les Misérables. If you’re a New Yorker and you don’t know this reference, shame on you. Every New Yorker should have a basic knowledge of musical theater. In fact, I argue that it should be required to see The Phantom of the Opera in order to get a NY State ID. Anyway, as a result of too many bickering-in-the-cab incidents and one giant misunderstanding after another, he grew distant.
I was very much in like with this person. Turns out, he had started falling in like with someone else. Upon hearing the details of this, I felt like Éponine watching from afar as Cosette and her beloved Marius sing their pretty songs together.
Unlike Éponine, I’ll be all right. The chances of me getting fatally wounded and dying in his arms in the streets of Paris circa the French Revolution are slim to none. (Spoiler!) After a few “you don’t need him” nights of karaoke with the girls and a bottle of white wine paired with a dozen Sandra Bullock rom-coms, I’ll be just fine.
|C’mon, you know the words. Sing it with me now, “On my own…” –credit|