The Stump

One of the fun things Rita and I did in the Hamptons this summer was go to a church festival. We had spent a really relaxing week in South Hampton. The weather was perfect and Maxi girl and Justin were finally gone. So, we decided to pass by the festival. It was a beautiful night in the Hamptons.

At the festival, we ate, drank, shopped, and danced. While we were dancing, a tall, bald man, with thick horn-rimmed glasses was smiling at me. I thought, ‘Oh my gosh. Here we go!’. After dancing, he approached Rita and me. He seemed quite friendly, and kinda cute, in a unibrow kind of way. But we went on our way. Later on in the evening, we sat at a table to eat something. He comes over. “Have a drink with me!” Oh, his name is ‘Mordekay’.

He brings over a bottle of wine and some glasses. We figured, ‘what the heck’. We had a quiet week of no men. He wants to have wine. Why not? So, we had some wine.

So, we’re talking, and sipping. Mordekay had a wingman. His wingman, ‘Aaron’, was talking up Rita while Mordekay was telling me about himself. He was divorced, with two kids. Actually, he pointed out his wife, who was over there, dancing. And his son, who was sitting over there. Oy! Here we go. That’s just what I want to do, meet this guy’s ex-wife and kid. God, please help me!

Sure enough, the wife and kid come over. They exchange words. He introduces me. Why me??

Mordekay asks me what I did for a living, so I ask him back. Where do I live, where do you live? Etc. I really don’t remember what his job was. Construction, I think. But as he was talking, he was waving around his wine cup around. Not a glass, a plastic cup. I mean, we were outdoors at a festival. We were using cups.

So, while he’s waving around the plastic cup, I thought I noticed his finger looking weird. I was following his finger back and forth with my eyes, while the cup was moving right and left in front of my face. Back and forth. Back and forth. Up and down. My head was going back and forth, up and down too.

What was up with that finger??

I thought…

Hmmm.

Was it that he rolled his pointer finger in?

Or …

Could it be ,,,, a ,,,,

,,, stump?

I stared and stared, inconspicuously, of course. What was he saying?? I have no idea. But I came to the conclusion that, yes. It was, in fact, a stump.

He was totally missing a finger!

Not that I discriminate against nine-fingered people mind you, but I couldn’t handle it. I was shocked and amazed at the stump. I couldn’t think of anything else. I couldn’t hear a thing he was saying.

I was hoping Rita saw it. I was sure she did. How could you miss it?? I wanted to signal to her or something, but didn’t want to get caught at it.

It was wiggling. Like a dog with a tiny pug tail. It went quickly back and forth. I couldn’t stop looking at it. Following it. It had a mind of its own, that stump.

I’m sorry. Am I a bad person? But I just couldn’t overcome the stump.

Mordekay asked me out for breakfast the next day. Breakfast? Why would I want to go to breakfast? I could lose my pancakes! I politely said no.

We finally excused ourselves and made an exit. I asked Rita, “Did you see the stump?”

“Stump? What stump? He had a stump? A nub?”

“You mean you didn’t see the stump?”

“No! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ugh!”

He’d asked me for my number. Prior to the stump discovery, I punched it into his cell. He punched his number into mine. With his middle finger, because of the stump!

I prayed he wouldn’t call. He didn’t. He probably couldn’t punch in the numbers! I was glad. I just couldn’t go out with him ,,, not if the stump was coming too.

A Great Spot

It is a well-known fact, that if you live in New York City, you shouldn’t keep a car. You know, because it’s really easy to get around with public transportation. And because you can’t park anywhere!!

We have ‘Alternate Side of the Street Parking’ or ‘street cleaning’ rules, here in Manhattan. With these rules, there are certain days and times in which we cannot park our cars on a particular side of the street. These times are set aside for street cleaning, during which, a big cleaning truck comes by and sweeps the street. Either the north side or the south side of the street is cleaned every other day. So, for example, signs on the north side of the street read ‘No Parking Monday and Thursday 9 AM to 10:30 AM’. If your car is parked on that side of the street on a Monday or a Thursday, you have to move your car to the south side of the street between 9 and 10:30, where it reads, ‘No Parking Tuesday and Friday 9 AM to 10:30 AM’. If your car is parked on that side of the street on that day, within that time, you will get a ticket of $115.

It costs anywhere from $200 – 500 per month in order to garage your car. So, there’s a whole community of drivers who park their cars on the street. If you get into that, it becomes a lifestyle, a cult even. It puts you in a whole other mindset. And you have no idea about it until you live it. Your entire day, your life, may revolve around Alternate Side of the Street Parking. Your social life could depend on where your car is parked. I’ve been known to stay home from certain events all because I had a great spot. Friends are like, “Are you comin’ out tonight BSM? I’m like, “No. I can’t move my car. I got a really great spot!” Erik Feder even wrote about it in his book, “Where to park your car in Manhattan”.

So, with a great spot, you stand to save $500 per month. If you are really lucky, and plan really well, you may not have to move your car for like a week, with a really great spot. I’ve been know to congratulate other parkers on their great spot, if I’m walking down the street and see them just getting one. “Hey! Great spot dude!! High five!” Hey, they’re a real find, and few and far-between!

There are given holidays when ‘Alternate Side’ is suspended. Days like Hanukah and Christmas. On these given days, one can park in these designated spots and not get a penalty. There is a calendar, which specifies these dates. Like right now, it’s Passover. I’ve got a fantastic spot. I don’t have to move my car till Monday!

I’m in the cult. I park on the street. So, I usually have to move my car on Thursday night or Friday morning (if my car is parked in a Monday/Thursday spot), etc. Sometimes, if it’s Thursday night, and I can’t find a legal spot, and it’s like 10 o’clock at night and I’m crying because I’m hungry and I just want to put my pajamas on, I will park in a Thursday spot and drive to work in the morning. This is a pain, because then, I either have to spend money on parking when I get there, or I have to find another legal spot downtown. Which is really no fun what so ever.

A trick is to sit in the car, in the spot, during the time that it is illegal to park there. So, you sit in the car on let’s say Thursday, between 9 AM and 10:30 AM (illegal times). They can’t give you a ticket if you’re sitting in the car. Only thing is, that when the street cleaner truck comes you need to move your car. So, you stay in the spot until the truck comes, then quickly move the car to the opposite side of the street. When the truck passes, you quickly move the car back to your spot. Then sit in the car, in the spot until 10:30. At which time, you can get out of the car and be parked for the weekend. But you need to do this quickly! Otherwise, in that time, someone can come and get your spot! Yes! Someone can just come in and snatch your spot up, that you’d been waiting for for an hour and a half, right from under you. People get really cutthroat at this moment. Dog eat dog. May the best man win!

A few years ago, my back went out. My sister, Doris, came, from Long Island, to nurse me back to health. My car was parked on the street. It was Friday. My car was parked on the Friday side of the street. So, I needed to get out of the spot. From my deathbed, I groaned instructions to my sister, “At nine o’clock, you need to go down and sit in my car until 10:30.”

“What?? Why??”

I gave her strict instructions on what to do and why. “You have to sit in the car. When the street cleaner comes you need to move the car in and out. And don’t let anyone get your spot!”

“Okay.” Doris leaves on her mission.

My phone rings. It’s my sister, calling from the car. “Another car is trying to get my spot! The street cleaner just passed.”

“Don’t let him get it! Pull right in!!!”

“Ok, ok!”

She did it. She came back amazed. “I can’t believe what’s going on out there!” She couldn’t understand that there was a whole cult of people doing this shit.

Once I parked in a spot which I thought was legal. I was in the spot for about a day. It rained that whole day. When it got back to the car, there were eight soaking wet $115 parking violations on my windshield! Whaaaaat!?! I had no idea what I had done. There were no signs saying that was an illegal spot. It was like $800 worth of tickets! Jeez!

I decided to fight it. So I went down to the claims department and waited until an officer would hear me out. I went down there, prepared with pictures of the street, the signs, my car. I asked, “Can they do that?” The officer said, “Yup. They can do anything. You’re lucky they didn’t tow your car.”

In the end, he only charged me a $50 fine. I was never so happy. But I learned my lesson. Don’t mess with the New York City Department of Transportation.

A good spot, like a good man, is hard to find.

Whose Thong Is That Anyway?

Did a Hamptons share last summer, with a girlfriend of mine, Rita. South Hampton. We stayed four weekends and two full separate weeks. For the full week, we planned to just veg. Do a lot of nothing. Beach, movies, beach, shopping, beach, eating, beach, sleeping. You get the idea. So after a wild weekend of going out we were really looking forward to the quiet of the week to come. R and R. Or so we thought.

On Sunday night, our housemate, Justin, told us he’d be staying until Monday. That was fine. Justin was quirky, but lovable. Well, like a brother. He would brag about all these hot women he was sleeping with, and how he wanted to get back at all the other women who did him wrong in his life by being evil to any new ones he met. Justin mentioned a female friend of his, Jessica, was going to be coming out tomorrow to spend the next day.

Next day, Rita and I went to the beach. Came home and were looking forward to having a nice quiet afternoon and making a bar-b-q for dinner. When we arrived home from the beach, on the kitchen counter was an empty shopping bag and some cucumber peels next to the trashcan. We went into the living room. There we saw some jewelry on the coffee table and a crumpled up sundress on the floor, next to a … thong underwear. What the heck??

Justin’s door was closed shut. Maybe he was in there with whoever belonged to the thong in the living room? We didn’t hear anything.

We didn’t pick up a thing.

It was all so nasty.

We couldn’t even relax in the living room because of it. So we decided to start dinner. Fired up the grill, took out some chicken cutlets, cut some salad. All the while thinking Justin and friend were in his room.

Suddenly the wind blew in. Justin walks in with a skinny girl in a maxi dress. Boobs half out, big wooden bangle bracelets, clunking platform sandals, raccoon eyes, long stringy brown hair. Yapping in a most obnoxious, heavy Long Island accent. Acting liked she owned the place.

Jessica. A.K.A. Maxi girl.

We hated her. Immediately.

Blackberry fluttering. Yapping loudly. Bossing Justin around. Barely acknowledges us when Justin made the introduction.

Rita and I were busy preparing our dinner at the kitchen counter. We welcomed them to eat with us. They declined. Maxi girl was looking for a place to plug in her laptop. Out of the thousand outlets in the entire house, she decides to plug in right at the kitchen counter where we were working. Of course she never checked the living room, where her thong was waiting. She literally pushed me out of the way to set up.

I’m like, “Did you just push me out of the way?”

“Oh my gawd, did I just push you out of the way? I didn’t even realize it!! Oh, my GAWD!!”

She’s an ass. I thought, as I tried to work around Maxi girl and her friggin’ laptop. I hated her. And I hated maxi dresses.

We set up dinner outside on the deck and begin to eat. She proceeded to smoke while we ate. We told Justin to make her stop. He did and Maxi girl faaahlllipped out! She started screaming, “What kind of house is this, where they don’t want people to smoke in the house!”

So much for a quiet dinner. But we were still trying to eat in peace outside. When she calmed down, out of the entire huge house, Maxi decides she has to sit outside on the deck with us and yap on her Blackberry. Rita and I looked at each other in disgust.

All the while, the thong continued to fester on the living room floor.

Rita and I were looking forward to a nice quiet night at home, while Justin and Maxi girl got ready to go out. It was taking them forever. When were they going to finally leave? We were watching TV and the power goes out. Maxi girl blew a fuse with her blow drier. Once we got the power back on, they were ready. But Maxi decides she’s hungry. She takes our left over salad, from our dinner and proceeds to eat it all!

What? Who does she think she is??

We hated her!

Then they were just about ready to finally go. I said, nonchalantly, “I think you may have forgotten something in the living room.”

Jessica goes into the living room. “Oh - - – MY - - – GAWD!”

She found it.

I was just so in love with the fact that she knew that we knew that she dropped her draws in our living room and left ‘em there.

After they finally left, I visited the washroom. There, I found globs of hair in the shower drain and band aid wrappers surrounding the trash. Maxi girl!

A few months later, I was on the bus. Some obnoxious girl was screeching to someone on her phone, “Oh - my - gawd! Blah blah blah blah.”

I hated her and didn’t even know who she was.

I looked for the familiar voice.

It’s HER! Maxi girl! Wearing a maxi dress!!

Ugh! Nooooo!

I quickly looked down, hoping she wouldn’t recognize me. There was no chance of that. She was too into herself.

Manhattan is a very small place. The Hamptons, even smaller.

Shitless in Seattle

I had to fly to Seattle for work. I knew someone in Seattle, and thought I’d contact him to tell him I’d be in town. I’d known ‘Shitless’ since 2001, from a singles group I used to travel with. I didn’t know him very well, but he always seemed very nice, but lived so far away, I never really gave him a second thought. Malice knew him. When she heard of my trip, she suggested I contact him. So, I did.

I emailed him about six weeks before the trip. He was thrilled to hear from me. We caught up a little. Sent each other recent pictures, etc. I heard from him daily and began to look forward to his lengthy emails and cute texts. I loved my cell phone.

Then, somewhere along the way, it went from friendly to flirty. He had sent me a photo of him on his boat. I commented, “Really gorgeous! Oh, yea, and the boat’s cute too.” I just thought I was being funny. But then he writes back something about how hot I looked in a picture I sent, and how he couldn’t concentrate on his work.

Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s not an ugly man by any stretch of the imagination. He is actually extremely handsome. I’d always thought so. Check! Designed commercial airplanes, check! Nice personality, check! Same religion, check! Thinks I’m cute, check! Originally from New York, check! Lives in Seattle,,,, ummmm.

Not so check.

But who knows? Maybe it could work? Love conquers all, right? We could make it work. He can move back to New York. After all, New York is fabulous! I was going for it dammit!

Then we scheduled a telephone call. A Saturday afternoon a few weeks prior to the trip. We talked for four hours. It was amazing. So easy, so fun, so exciting. My heart was pounding, my knees were shaking, I lost my breath.

We made plans for the trip. Initially, I just thought we’d have a drink or dinner one night. He asked if he could see me every day I was there. I was so flattered, I agreed.

He picked me and my roommate, Shirley, up from the airport. He looked cute in his mom jeans, and was absolutely charming during the ride. He dropped us off and waited for me to change for dinner. While Shirley and I walked from his car to the hotel, she turned to me and said, “I love him. If you don’t sleep with him, I will!” Shirley was happily married.

At dinner, it was exciting to actually be with him in person. I liked him. He was handsome. But right in the middle of a chew of my filet mignon, he kissed me. A real, full on smooch. I was taken aback. It was kind of inappropriate. But, ok. He tried. I knew where I stood. This wasn’t just friends. I didn’t really feel lots of chemistry. But really, for God’s sake, I’d just gotten there.

He picked me up the next evening. We went for dinner, drinks, and more drinks. Got back late. He tried to kiss me again. It felt awkward again. Like it really didn’t feel like anything. But that’s probably because it’s all so new and scary.

The rest of the week went like that. Late nights out, early days at work. One night he came out to a work party and met all my work friends. My friends were like, “I love Shitless.” It was like I had a boyfriend!

But things were feeling a little weird. Shirley thought Shitless was probably messed up because I didn’t sleep with him. She thought I should. I didn’t want to sleep with him. That would make me really attached to him and I didn’t want to be so attached at such a distance. I’d really be hurt badly if he dumped me from a distance. Not to mention, the truth was, I really didn’t feel like it.

Last day there, Shitless took me out on his boat and had concert tickets that night. After the concert we went for drinks. No talk of how he felt about me, what would happen when we got home. Would we start a long distance relationship? So, at drinks, I tried to get it out of him. But he wasn’t dishing. Then all of a sudden his demeanor changed, from a sweet, caring, and handsome man to a cold, ugly, mean guy. Telling me that I can drive myself to the airport tomorrow and that he didn’t feel making the effort to stay in touch.

I looked at him. Mouth open. Jaw dropped. Eyes wide.

“What? What did you just say? Did you just say what I thought you said?”

He did. I heard it right. I was being dumped ….. AGAIN! ……. In SEATTLE of all places!!!

I got up and walked out. Shitless following me to the hotel. I had his camera in my room. Went up to get it. Turned it over and slammed the door in his face and he was gone.

I was livid. I didn’t yell, or say much. I was disgusted and done.

I packed my bags that night, cursing the whole time. So angry. Mostly at myself, for falling for it again.

On my way to the airport, I get a call. Shitless. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to know if I could drive you to the airport.”

“It’s too late. I’m already on my way to the airport.” He knew damn well what time I needed to leave for the airport. What an asshole. Click.

I was sharing a cab with other co-workers. The cab was completely silent.

Well, what can I say? I’ve officially been dumped across the globe. But I’d rather be alone in New York than Shitless in Seattle.

Sandra Bullock. Didn’t I call it? Part 2.

Sandy was young, attractive, successful, doing her thing. She was waiting for a guy who was handsome, smart, attractive, and could handle all of her. Looks like she was into the bad boy type, which was probably a mistake. It didn’t work out with jerks like Matthew McConaughey and that young guy from The Notebook. Because they were either her age, and stupid or too young. Guys our age are never looking for girls their age, they’re looking for girls ten to fifteen years younger than them. Especially the guys in their mid-thirties and forties. They want kids, and they don’t want them with us because we may not be able to have them, so they go younger.

Who wants us? The younger guys or the decrepit guys. But the really younger guys, don’t want us for marriage (except for maybe Ashton Kutcher, but we’ve yet to see how THAT works out). And we mostly don’t want to marry them either. The old guys, well, they are just too gross.

So basically, we’re fucked.

The generations following us are figuring it out. After all, our generation raised them. The women are getting educated but not afraid to marry early and have their kids too. The men are not freaked out by them and are not ashamed to share household chores.

When I first heard that Sandra Bullock was marrying Jesse James, I was concerned. I was like, “THAT was what she was waiting for all these years??” I mean he was almost her age, ok, but they didn’t really fit. He was a tattoo biker dude bad boy. But then they looked happy for a bit, so who was I to judge, right? Maybe it was possible.

I only found out recently that Jesse was previously married to Janine, the famous porn star. I mean she must be one of the most famous porn stars. Now, what do I know from porn stars? But even I knew of her… because she was famous. She dated some 90’s hair band guys and was even in some rock videos and on an album cover model for Blink 182. Now she’s in jail.

So, when I heard about that, I became worried for Sandra. Why would a guy who was attracted to tattooed porn stars, then go for squeaky-clean Sandy Bullock? It did not make sense. Maybe it was at a time when he realized he needed to go straight and thought he could do that with Sandy. Maybe Sandy thought she was getting the excitement of the bad boy with a heart of gold. I did that. I married a bad boy and I thought he was just misunderstood. He was not. I just didn’t see it. In the end, all he was was a bad boy. Period. And they don’t call ‘em bad for nothin’.

Anyway, who wanted to be in a fight with a scary tattooed porn star? Not me! ‘Stay far away, I’m a famous legitimate Hollywood actress and producer.’ I was nervous for her.

But there he was, holding her purse at every red carpet at every major awards show this season. Looking all innocent.

Now we find out that he’s been canoodling with another tattoo girl for the past year.

DIDN’T I CALL IT?

I’ve developed a really good sixth sense. I can tell when celebrity couples are going to break up or die. I always announce it to my Mom and/or sister. Then once it comes true, they’re like, “You called it!”

I spoke to my sister about it today. “You called it! You should write about it.”

So, Sandy joins the ranks of Julia Roberts, Reese Witherspoon, Halle Berry, and Kim Bassenger (to name only a few), who all lost their men after winning an Oscar for best actress. Why? Because the men, no matter how far we’ve come as women, cannot handle it. They feel emasculated in the company of a superior woman.

We paved the way, but we continue to bare the burden. And we continue to see it in our role models. If it is any consolation, at least we are not alone.

Sandra Bullock. Didn’t I call it? Part I.

Sandra Bullock was a successful single sister (before marrying Jesse James). She didn’t get married ‘til she was around 40. She, like the rest of us, is of this (un) lucky generation, where women could become successful, perhaps more successful than their male counterparts, prior to marriage and children. Of course, this became okay, and acceptable during our generation. But it left a great many of us women, yes, successful but single and over 40. You see, when we were born, let’s say in the early to mid 1960’s, we were raised by Moms who were brought up conventionally. Our Moms were raised in the 1940’s. They did not go to college or have aspirations of professions, for the most part. Their goals were very clear; marriage and children. That would be their success. The husbands’ roles were also very clear; marriage, good job, and provide for the family.

Nobody counted on the 60’s and the feminist movement. That all happened while we were growing up. So, our mothers started raising us one way, to be like them, but then as the times were changing, we learned we could be something else. So we started to become educated and qualify for fabulous “men’s” jobs. Or so they were called.

Then the pill was invented. And we were in control of our destinies. We could have sex freely and not wait for marriage. Like men.

Okay, so where did the men’s roles come into play in all this? What were their roles now? If women were allowed to be smart and successful and have sex, and didn’t really need them to provide for them anymore, what was their part? Things were not so clear-cut anymore. Roles were not so easily defined.

So, between the time we were born, and the time we were in high school, there were a whole new set of rules, which we were not prepared for because we were not taught it by our moms. It wasn’t their fault. They had no idea what was going on. They didn’t experience it growing up.

We all went on to get educations and great jobs and professions. So, we got married late and wanted to have children late, or we did not get married at all. But since we were having children so late, we were having difficulty conceiving.

A very good many of us got divorces. We got divorces, because now we could! If our husbands were not treating us properly, it was okay to dump him, and visa versa. We didn’t have to stay and suffer anymore. How great! And if we didn’t really like him so much after a while, we dumped him too.

If we didn’t want a baby we conceived, because it interfered with our educations or jobs, we could get rid of it too! Legally!

Some of us didn’t get married at all because of the stock of men out there in our generation were still on old school time. Now, remember, the same moms who raised us also raised them! However, while we were changing, THEY weren’t! They were still raised to be the man that got the good job and provided for the family. Macho.

But we wanted that too! Where did that leave them? CONFUSED.

We thought, ‘Too bad for them. They’d just have to get over it.’

But the reality was, we were fucked.

Why? Because women aren’t attractive if they have an opinion and tell anybody about it. Therefore, our male counterparts didn’t like us. They wanted to feel macho and have kids and a wife with dinner on the table when they got home from work, and weren’t finding it with our generation. So, they looked elsewhere.

A woman I know said it best when she said, “This is not what I expected my life to be. I was brought up to be an excellent housewife and mother. Instead I’m a single woman in the work force. What the heck happened?”

Can you believe that even Sandra Bullock got dumped?

If he gives you a key chain for Christmas is he ‘just not that into you’?

I’m of the belief that what a man gives you for a special occasion is representative of how he feels about you; of where you stand in the relationship. Like when I was married, I knew it was over when he got me a cappuccino maker for our first married Christmas together. Like when I was broken up with on Valentine’s Day. He had gotten me chocolates and a monkey card. Other years together the gifts were altogether different. One year it was a necklace and flowers, the other a pair of earrings and a mushy card (not a monkey joke card) with ‘I love you’ spewed all over it. Now that’s what you get a woman for a special holiday.

My last boyfriend was about two years ago. I suppose we’ll call him ‘Hymie’. Hymie was a guy I had met through mutual friends. He was the singer in a popular wedding band, which played around the tri-state area. He was actually going to be playing at a family wedding later that year. As soon as we met, we were smitten. Immediately saw each other a couple of times a week and he called me every day. This went on for a few weeks, when he told me that he was not interested in a relationship.

Huh? I was taken aback. What were we doing?

What was I doing?

I explained to him that I WAS looking for a relationship. It was at that point in time, when I should have bailed. I didn’t have anything invested in it yet. They say, when I guy tells you something like that about himself, you should listen. I didn’t. I guess because it was something I didn’t want to hear.

Instead, I ignored it and kept going the way we were going. Thought that I would just go along and see what happens. If he falls in love with me, he would change his mind. Because I was different.

Oh, yea, sure I was. When was I going to learn? Pretty soon, actually.

So we continued on. I grew more and more into him and him for me. I thought. Months passed. Spring passed and summer was here. Heck, he’d introduced me to his family. He must really be into me.

He had plans to spend his summer in Europe. Three months. He’d be back in October. Gave me his European cell phone number and promised to call when he got there. I however, told him I would not call him. I didn’t want to bother. It was quite romantic before he left. He told me how much he would miss me and how he couldn’t wait for October. I thought, well, he didn’t want a relationship, but he’s sure got one.

Sure enough he did call when he got there….

But that was it. Nothing. For weeks. And weeks.

Friends asked, “Have you heard from Hymie?”

“No.” I’d make up some excuse as to why it wasn’t going to be like that. We were not going to be calling each other a lot.

They still asked again. Every time, like a knife.

When finally, I called him. He sounded surprised and happy to hear from me. But a little distant. I couldn’t tell if it was the distance that made it feel that way, but it did. After that, I was obsessed. I called him a few times. He called as well. But that strange feeling I had was always there. The months passed so slowly. My summer sucked, even though I’d gone on some fantastic trips. My heart and mind were always thinking about Hymie.

While he was away, his birthday came. I thought I’d surprise him with a gift for when he returned. I became obsessed with the right gift and card to get him. I finally settled on something; cologne, a shirt, a card which wasn’t too mushy but also not a monkey card.

Late September, my phone rang. “I’m back!” It was Hymie.

Huuu? My heart stopped.

“Do you want to see me?” It was 9PM.

“Yes!” I drove to New Jersey to see him, gifts in tow.

We had a wonderful time seeing each other and catching up. I gave him the birthday gifts. He didn’t really make a big deal about it. Ok. Fine…

I was about to leave to go back to the city and he says, “Wait, I brought back something for you.” He leaves the room to retrieve it.

I’m excited. Ooh, he brought me something. He thought of me while he was there. He picked something out!

He comes back into the room holding a fucking key chain. A cheap, run of the mill, fucking masculine key chain, which he probably bought for some guy friend of his and figured he’d throw me a bone and give to me.

I made a major deal about how wonderful and beautiful the key chain was.

We said good-bye. He’d call me tomorrow.

…..

………

…………..

Silence.

No call.

Three days.

Nothing.

I called him. Left a voicemail.

…..

………

…………..

PANIC.

I really started to lose my shit after days and days of silence.

Then he called. But he got off the phone so fast, I don’t even know what we said. Then,

…………

………………..

…………………………….

I was dumped.

Devastated.

And it was no one’s fault but my own. I should have known. I should have listened to him and my gut.

Instead, I was given the key chain of death. And it meant it was all over.