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I thought I had called it off. I had deleted his number from my Blackberry and address book, but as I walked down my stoop I saw him leaning against his silver Porsche. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
The past six months have been a whirlwind with Bond. They have taken me from the shores of the Atlantic to the vineyards of California. Each date has been an adventure. Here was a man who had more stamps in his passport in the last month than I had in a lifetime, yet every time we went out I knew that we were headed nowhere.
Two years ago I was on top of the world. I thought I had met the man of my dreams: short, dark and handsome. After years of friendship we decided that we might actually work as a couple- mistake number one. Coming from a wellrespected Armenian family with values, Preppy was the perfect man. He was educated and headed somewhere. In the end none of it mattered; you can’t force love or a connection between two people no matter how right the circumstances may be. Also, he hated dogs. The only reason we even worked out as a couple for a year was because I lost touch of the real me. I had become my own worst enemy.
During my time with him life seemed perfect. I knew I wanted to get married, have kids, and attend law school. Hell, I even thought for a second that I’m not really that big of a sports fan. I neglected everything that once mattered to me. I passed along an opportunity in Paris, forgot about my girl friends, and ended abandoned on an island of make believe. I was drowning and no body seemed to notice. It took a lot for me to get out of the relationship. The repercussions were intense because it felt like I was getting out of a relationship with more than one person.
The past couple of days I’ve been screening Bond’s calls. I am trying my best to get him out of my life, but the thrill and rush is difficult to live without. There is a sense of guilt and shame every time I see him. It should be easy, I am not emotionally invested, he isn’t looking for anything serious, but the double life that I am leading with him is getting tiring. I feel like the trophy girlfriend, always dressed to impress, hair done, politically correct, and able to mingle with any crowd. There are times with Bond that I wish I can be the beer drinking, cereal for dinner, broke college student instead of this made up career woman.
I had figured out the only way to keep Bond in my life was to date other men. Welcome distraction number one: Sexy. I met Sexy one lowly night at the infamous Maloney’s. It was instant attraction. He was 6’4, built, and an athlete. As he approached our table I felt myself getting all worked up like a 12-year boy hitting puberty. My insecurities about myself rushed all over me as this gorgeous man worked his magic. Within the first five minutes I knew this was going to be a lot of fun.
He was like pair of Manolos with a layer of Nutella; oh so tempting. By the second week of our little tryst the lack of sleep was catching up with me, and for a strange reason I was starting to dodge him on campus. Red flag warning: If you find yourself avoiding certain locations, time of day, texts, calls etc it’s a sign there is something wrong with him. We tend to avoid these little warning signs thinking it’s just us being paranoid; but if there is anything that I have learned in the past few years of dating is that they NEVER lie. Also when a guy is too sexy he always lacks something. In Sexy’s case, it was emotional stability. Ciao ragazzo!
At the age of 22 I have seen them all, dated them all, and met them all: the sexy athlete, the narcissistic prick, the traditional breadwinner, the mama’s boy, the druggie, the bipolar, the control freak, and many, many more. But this quest, this yearning to meet “the one” or someone is what drives me. It’s the hope for something real, something passionate, something that cannot be put into words.
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