Last night was Time Out New York’s “Singles Party”… in honor of Valentine’s Day and their yearly singles issue. I had never been before, but I gathered my closest [guy] friends and off we went (or off they were dragged). We arrived at Poisson Rouge on Bleecker and Thompson, got past the velvet ropes and got ready to get our “chat” on. We snagged a cozy velvet bench in one corner and surveyed the crowd. Jason, being the gentleman that he is, bought my first drink [Hoegaarden] and so the intoxication began. While surveying the crowd I ran into Rob, a web developer from Time Out, who I’d had a semi-awkward date with the night before. I introduced him to my friends and went to survey the crowd up close. I also saw Alex, a guy I’d gone out with two nights prior to the party. I avoided talking to him – though I’m not quite sure why, he WAS a nice guy.
During my second Hoegarden, I looked towards to the door and saw my Ex entering. I’m not even sure I can call him my Ex but for the sake of simplicity here, I will. I made a decision: I would not acknowledge him, unless, of course, he acknowledged me. Jason convinced me to go talk to who we deemed “Tall Guy” who was currently being spoken to (a very broad term since she wasn’t really saying much) by a girl who couldn’t have been taller than 4’10”. Thanks to my 2 inch heels, I was measuring up to 5’10” that night. He was walking in one direction, and I tapped his arm and prepared myself to make conversation. I think this was the first time I’ve ever done this, and it went surprisingly well. Jason bumped past me, winking and giving me a nod of approval. All was well until my phone buzzed and I looked down at a text from the Ex. It read: “I see you! You’re talking to a tall guy! How are you?!”
I rolled my eyes and replied, “Why don’t you come over and find out?” and turned back to my Peruvian God and smiled. For economical reasons, I moved from the $7 Hoegaarden onto a more recession-friendly $3 vodka & soda during the night. I have a very low tolerance for alcohol to begin with – but vodka goes right through me. I looked down at my phone again and saw a text from the Ex saying, “I can’t! Tall guy! I feel bad interrupting.” I went to the bathroom and was met by the Peruvian God just outside, where we ended up kissing. I don’t even remember how it happened – he was a good kisser though.
In the next hour though, I ran into the Ex, also right outside the bathroom, and told him, “I really hoped you wouldn’t be here.” He looked disappointed. Good. He told me that he had thought of me recently when he saw my email address pop up in his address book. I’m sure. What else was said was hazy, but I remember that he told me he had moved into his new apartment finally; I told him that I’d gotten laid off, he frowned again to show sympathy. I saw the Peruvian God once more after that – but all my attention was, unfortunately, focused on the Ex. Jason came up to me around then, he had found his favorite flavor at the party: short & skinny Asian-American. I said, “Jason, this is Alex**.”
He looked at Alex and replied, “OH! So you’re fucking Alex!”
The Ex looked a little stunned. I covered my mouth to hide my laughter. Hey, I was 4 drinks in already. The Ex introduced me to Ashlae Halpern – an editor at TONY who put together the singles issue – and Allison Williams – another editor at TONY that I had corresponded with several times before. A little while later, Jason came back over and said he was leaving with his flavor of the week, and hugged me, telling me to go back to the tall guy. But me being intoxicated and liking a little cyanide to my cocktail, I stayed and talked to the Ex. Eventually I got my jacket and made my way out. I asked the Ex to come with me, but he said he had to stay to drive people home (he doesn’t drink, so he was sober). I don’t remember leaving, but obviously I did though I forgot to get a gift bag. I used this as an excuse to text the Ex and ask him to get me a gift bag. During my cab ride home, I texted him, “I wish you weren’t such a player.”
I know, I know. I should not have texted him that. I should really be banned from texting when I am inebriated.
When I got home, I cried. Not too much, just a little. It was a drunken cry, but it was needed. He didn’t reply right away to my text, which only made me feel worse. I had opened up too much again and he had free reign again to screw with me any way he pleased. I didn’t kiss him though at any point during the night; that’s good, right? I called Jason and he said to forget about the Ex, that I was too good for him, and that I shouldn’t be wasting my time crying over him. Before I went to sleep, Jason caught me on Google chat and told me again not to cry, that he wasn’t worth it. To take a direct quote from Jason, “He’s old and busted. Find new hotness! You have hot eyes. For fucksake woman. Stop!” What a good wingman. (Unfortunately he ended up getting turned down by his Flavor of the Week and went home.)
Nevertheless, I went to sleep, still crying a bit. I woke up around 5:30 and looked at my phone. There were two texts from him: “Player? Silly talk. I’ll grab you a goodie bag!” and “Still up, slacker?” at 1:45am. Calling each other slackers was an inside joke with us - don't ask. Even though it was obvious that, no, I was not in fact awake at 1:45am, I texted him back saying so.
I’m wondering now. If he does contact me again, I don’t know if I’ll be ready to let him back in. SHOULD I let him back in? Does he deserve a second chance? I doubt he’d realize that he was even getting a second chance. If I did let him back into my life, I feel like I wouldn’t be able to move forward (into a friendship, or whatever else) with him unless I tell him how much he hurt me. Why would I do that though? Would that be letting him not too much?
This is going to sound incredibly lame, but is he the Mr. Big to my inner-Carrie? I don’t mean in the sense that I’m going to marry him, only in the way that he could be that guy that I go back to and possibly get hurt by. Ugh, I can’t believe I just made that Sex and the City reference – honestly, it sickens me. I know I am NOT Carrie Bradshaw, let me assure you.
What’d you guys think?
**The Ex's name has been changed.
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