08
Jan
08

Year in review

2007 wasn’t a great year for relationships, sex, and dating for yours truly, but it was pretty good for personal revelations. However, that and a bus transfer will get me downtown.

 

Best breakup scene for use in the screenplay I’ll never write: We both knew it had to end–indeed, it had ended already, really. But I called her up for a last lunch anyway and, after being put on hold so she could talk with her stockbroker (yes, that should’ve been my first warning sign), we agreed on a time and place. Over lunch she howled with laughter recalling the figure-skating satire (Blades of Glory) she had watched the night before while I stared at my congealing clam chowder. After we left the restaurant we paused on a corner to say goodbye. She played with the buttons on my coat and told me she missed me, then turned and walked into a clothing store to do some shopping.

Best ex sighting: The break-up was in March. Just before Christmas, I spotted her standing outside a bar, smoking a cigarette with one hand and holding onto her hip with the other in that way she has, and talking to some dude. She had her back to me. I breezed by, went inside and saw the band I’d come to see, and left without a word or glance between us. I’m not sure if she even saw me.

Best advice: From my former Wingman, on my ex: “Shawn, there’s no reason for you to ever talk to that woman again.”

Worst advice: From my former Wingman. “Shawn, tell me you’re all over [as in, making a move on] Tatiana.” Three days after I make a play for Tatiana, she gets intimate with one of my friends.

Best wingman: The force of nature whom I refer to in this blog as Wingy came along at a time when I was at loose ends. My former wingman was getting serious with a new girlfriend and I had no one I could call up at the last minute to attend wine tastings, restaurant openings, and Spice Girls concerts. Wingy came through, and since we started hanging out I’ve never met more women. Unfortunately, they all think we are a gay couple.

Best friend: M, who was always there when I needed to complain and gripe about my love life, and who always has my best interests in mind, except when they conflict with her dog’s.

Best text message from an ex who lives in Toronto and owes me money: “Happy New Year’s Eve from San Francisco.”

Best near-fling: A brief flirtation in the summer with my yoga instructor after we bonded (she’d gone to Croatia to study dance) over the “Zagreb” T-shirt I wore one day to class. It lasted about a month, the highlight of which was a Sunday night spent on her futon watching a depressing documentary about the life and death of a glam-rock musician. It didn’t go any further than a few more yoga classes, a trip to a nude beach and a stop at a New Age bookstore, though she did follow up with phone calls asking me for concert tickets.  

Best kiss: C. and I have years of sexual tension built up between us, and one night it simmered over. We were at a show by Juliette and the Licks, the rock band fronted by actress Juliette Lewis, when we spotted each other. We were both a little drunk, and instead of our usual hug we ended up in a lip-lock. For some reason, C. leaned backwards and went limp, I lost my balance, and we crashed to the floor. Embarrassing, but memorable.

Best date: Emma, just before Christmas. The evening began at a hoity-toity hotel lounge and ended up at a cheap-o doughnut shop. I know how to show a girl a good time.

Worst date: At a restaurant opening, Lucinda the paralegal insulted me, turned her back on my friends, and then showed us all pictures of her parents’ million-dollar house as it was made up to look like a castle for a straight-to-DVD fairytale movie. I hate to use the words “rude” and “spoiled” but if the glass slipper fits…

Best prospect for 2008: She says she’s “on the rebound.” She says she’s being “cautious.” After three “dates” (if they can even be called that) she barely lets me kiss her, and I have a feeling her ideal is a cross between Jackson Pollock and Andy Warhol. What could go wrong? 


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