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Another ending — By Mack

She doesn’t even use the recycling bin.

It was a few months ago.

We’re walking back to the apartment. There’s all this tension. The conversation is awkward and flat. Somethin’s up. Somethin’ she needs to say but either doesn’t want to or doesn’t want to deal with the fallout. I’m 98% sure she’s about to break things off.

I’ve felt this coming for about 3 weeks. Last week I crossed from suspicion to being pretty damn sure. The change in the texts, that’s a big red flag. When you first start, they’re like Christmas presents. You’re damn hungry for them. Over time you relax, but they still got that hint of excitement. That immediacy to respond, when that goes, then you know you’re in trouble. Granted, people get busy. Involved. They’re “going through something.” But if they’re still into you they’ll find a way to get back to you. They’ll give you an “authentic response.” Not a cookie cut one. And the divide grows from there.

We’re a block from the apartment. 98% sure. It’s funny because there’s still 2% of me that’s still in denial. Maybe it is all in my head. Maybe she really is going through something. For some stupid reason I think that if I get her back to my room, get her in my bed, I can somehow fix it. I don’t know, remind her of the physical connection? Maybe I just want her one more time.

Then she stops. She looks down. Brushes her hair out of her face. Then looks up at me. It’s this moment, this second, where I’m sure it’s coming. But it hasn’t happened yet! She’s still mine! This look is coming from one place, the place of her being my girlfriend. When she opens her mouth and says what she gonna say, it’ll be from somewhere else. Foreign. Independent. And I won’t be welcome anymore.

My mind has jumps to a month ago. The last “good” time we had together. I say good, I mean fun. I had already started to figure the break up was coming. But it was something I could still fix back then. We’re outside the hospital, playing like 6 year-olds along the fence of this closed cafe. Her eyes were so different then. Filled with…I don’t know…some kind of wonder. It was like she was drinking me in.

She hops off the fence, grabs my hand, runs across the street demanding we lie in the grass. The thought of an ant or spider crawling on makes me roll my eyes. As I light my cigarette, I wonder if she’s too young for me. But it’s too late, she pulls me down. She gives me that look again. It makes me feel like some sort of diamond. Girls don’t usually make me feel precious. It is a damn sweet memory.

In the now. She begins to speak. The thing that I hate, is that what she’s gonna say, it changes that memory. Like, corrupts it. Making me question it. For a while, I just assume it was a lie. How could she be so damn in love with me then and now…nothing?…”thanks for playing, here’s a copy of the home game.” I’ll eventually figure it was a misunderstanding.

She says the words I know she has to say. All of a sudden I’m so damn hot. I glaze over a bit. She talks. When I was younger man I might have pleaded and begged. When I was younger. but not quite that young, I might have attacked her. Been vile. If I did truly feel like she was the “one” I might lay it all on the line pouring my heart out. But deep down I know she wasn’t. At least not from our relationship so far. What’s funny is that I really wanted her to be the “one.” But I’m starting to believe I may not be capable of feeling that for anyone. So instead of all those other actions, I just…comply.

We reach an understanding. As much of one as I think we can reach. And we have that goodbye kiss. That take in all and everything you can. It is a mix of sweet familiarity and the pain of euthanized hope. I feel her tears on my cheek as we pull away half an inch. Just breathing, thinking, feeling. Lingering in hesitation to let go. That uncomfortable heat returns. It’s an anxious feeling, but I stomach it for as long as I can. We eventually
we do let go and slowly back away from each other.

Thank you’s and pleasant words are exchanged. I ask her what she’s going to do. She says she’s gonna stay at a friend’s tonight. Then I clarify, I mean with the roommate situation.

“I’m moving out.”

“Gonna go to Brooklyn or somethin’?”

“Actually, I’m going to move back to Seattle. I’ve been thinking about leaving New York for a while.”

So long…

It’s the 2nd gut bomb of the night, but I didn’t see this one coming. I figure it’s for the best. I watch her leave for her friend’s for the night. There a good breath of relief. The anticipation of doom is finally gone. But of course I’m sad and somewhat angry. But mostly sad. I’ll miss Jill.

-Mack-ified for your enjoyment.

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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Separate Ways and New Beginnings — By Mack, Jack, and Jill

Well Jack and Jill moved out. Jack went off to LA and Jill went back to Seattle. Finding new roommates is gonna blow.

TV writing just isn’t happening in New York

New York was just too much for me. I just got sick of it all.  

Take this one guy. He asks me what times of the day am I going to be present? Present? What the hell does that mean?

I ended up finding a nice place in Burbank. For about $100 bucks more than what I was paying in New York, I get a one bedroom with dishwasher, air conditioning, parking space, closet space up the ying yang, and a garbage disposal.

I’ll be living with my parents for a while. That is going to suuuuuck.  My mom will not stop offering advice. “Maybe you and your sister should team up. You like to draw and she likes to do that web stuff. Maybe you could make the next Facebook?” 

Honestly I wish I could swing the bill for the entire place and live alone. Half the time I figure, “why live in Manhattan? It’s cheaper in Brooklyn.” Then the L train goes down for the weekend and I remember why. 

I’ll miss walking everywhere and reading. My Kindle + the subway = heaven. Audio books in traffic just doesn’t cut it.

It’ll be good to see my friends again. Candice and Sherine still work at the Starbucks. And Martin is getting married soon. New York sucked for friendships. Everyone was always so super busy. 

Nothing beats living next to Central Park. Maybe I’ll get a dog. Jack was allergic. A Welsh Corgi? Maybe a Shiba Inu? Great way to start conversations with the ladies. 😉 

Now that I’m here, it’s time to get serious. I gotta break into this this industry or die trying. I just have no idea how I’m going to do it.

Leaving New York…I feel well…defeated. Like, I couldn’t make it against the big and the bad. 

I knew Jill wasn’t going to make it. She’s such a complainer. Doesn’t know how to enjoy life and let the stupid shit go. 

New city, new car, new diet, new outlook. I think I’m going to be okay. Once I find a job, I’ll be great. Hell, I’ve already lost 10 pounds. Maybe there’s something to this Saturn Return.

I’m so depressed.

Who needs them?

I feel like I can take on the world!

 

– Big Mack Attack

– Jack Out

-What the hell am I going to do?

 

 
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Posted by on September 3, 2012 in By Jack, By Jill, By Mack

 

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All I wanna do is to thank you even though I don’t know who you are…–By Jill

So wet. And not the good kind.

The other day it poured rain like a mother fucker. And not just any old mother fucker, but a mother fucker awakened by a rape horn at 4 in the morning.   If the metaphor is lost on you, I’m saying it rained really hard. Hail in some parts of the city, but thunder and lightening throughout. And of course it’s the one day I don’t have my umbrella because I left it at the bar last night.

As I creep out of the subway tunnel, hoping over puddles already pooling on the stairs, a crowd of stranded subway commuters awaits me at the entrance.  They stare at the sky hoping for reprieve while I’m wondering if the rain will seep though my bag and ruin my iPad if I run three blocks. A woman sitting on the floor among the captives intermittently shakes her cup of change like heavy maraca. Da-du-DAH, Da-du-DAH. I give her what change I have to which she responds with a polite “Thank ya kindly, and God bless.”

The instant she finishes her blessing, a man shuffles down the stairs with a garbage bag for protection. He disrobes his disposable poncho, gives me one look and says, “You want this?” “Damn, skippy. ” I reply (I’ve become very fond of that phrase) then take out my wallet and give the maraca lady another buck. I thank the gentleman and head on home looking like white trash (literally).

As I navigate the drenched streets through a severely limited peripheral vision, three things strike me. 1) This is what Harry Potter must feel like when he wears the Cloak of Invisibility. 2) I’ve never had the sensation of getting wet, i.e. pelted with rain, without actually getting wet. It’s sorta trippy. And finally 3) I would have Geggy Tah’s Whoever You Are stuck in my head the rest of the day. Granted I wasn’t driving, but I think the spirit hold true.

–Damn Skippy!

 
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Posted by on July 20, 2012 in By Jill

 

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Quantum Entropy Stage Two: The First Date — By Mack

There’s nothing like that feeling when things are clicking at the beginning of a relationship. The excitement of your text messages immediately being returned.  That person getting your jokes. Testing the waters of sexual innuendo. It’s like crack.  But that inertia can only last for so long.  A first meet up must be necessary. Plus well, that’s the point.

But as vibrant and fun as the text message portion can be, when you actually meet the person all can go to hell. Maybe they don’t look like their picture. Maybe they’re an ass hole. You must remember, when you first meet someone, we take what we know then fill in the gaps with our imaginations. We do it with presidential candidates, jobs, everything. So when you’re sitting at that table for the first time, the reality gets defined as your hopeful imaginings die.  And for that reason (among others) that first date I tend to make lite. Coffee, maybe a bar. NEVER dinner.

I met Quantum Entropy for dinner at a place called the Crooked Knife. (yup I just contradicted myself.) Upon seeing her, I think my impression was “I think this could work.” Granted I was hoping for “My God! Her pictures don’t do her justice!,” but at least it wasn’t “oh Lord, so that’s why she didn’t have any pictures from the neck down.” Her style wasn’t quite a match and if anything you do to your nails impedes any hand movement, it’s a turn off, but I knew she was from Jersey when I messaged her.  However, in addition to the shared interested/sense of humor she also had a little bit of fire. And has been a while since I’ve played with fire.

The date itself did what I hoped. It continued that momentum where the text messages left off. But then it did even more. Dinner finished, we each had two drinks, the restaurant was closing. Most first dates that would be it. But then her fire came out and she wasn’t done with me. We hit the bar next door. When you get caught up with someone there is a magic that can happen. Like a shared solitude that the rest of the world can’t penetrate.  The Crooked Knife had been a place where a server brings your drinks on a tray. This bar was a place you had to shout at the fat old bartender over a row of barflies to get your shots.

I don’t remember when the first kiss happened. I just remember sitting on couches towards the back while the MTV music awards were on. Or maybe it was the Grammy’s. Either way an old man was looking at us and Adele just won album of the year. I didn’t care because Quantum Entrophy was playing with my beard as she made out with me. The she pulled away and looked at me with what I call hungry eyes as she said, “You’re going to be fun.”

I offered to walk her home ( she lives like 2 blocks away ) to which she politely refused.
“You sure?”
“Yea, I just…have this thing…”
“Okay?”
“I know you’re not crazy, I have this thing about guys knowing where I live…I’ve had some bad experiences…”

And we left it at that. But now I was wondering what I was dealing with. Was this an overly cautious girl or was she hiding something?  Come back next week to find out!

–Big Mack Attack

 
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Posted by on June 23, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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A New York attitude — By Jill

It’s on!

Moving from Seattle Washington to Manhattan has definitely added a bit of an edge. Maybe it’s the cramped spaces, high prices, crappy service, or just every single person’s damn certainty that they are right and they’ll tell you so with the snarkiest comment they can think of.  Or maybe I’m just getting older. Whatever the cause, things that I would have shrugged off in Seattle, in New York I get into a grudge match over.

So I’m walkin’ yesterday listening to This American Life. (Yes some parts of Seattle me still exist.) I cross the street when all of a sudden I hear…

Sure, take your time!

I turn around to see some douche bag in an SUV, button down shirt with rolled up sleeves, and sunglasses stopped in the middle of the street yelling at me. I look around seeing no other traffic but this asshole’s car and reply…

You must be in such a hurry if you stopping to have a tissy fit.
You’re walking around with your head phones for chistsake!
Don’t have a fuckin’ heart attack or nothin’.
Why don’t you use the fuckin’ cross walk next time?
What the fuck you wearin’ sunglasses for? It’s overcast.
You can suck my dick.

By then, this fucktard who was in such a hurry, now has four cars behind him honking for him to get moving.

Looks like I’m not only one who wants you to get the fuck out of here.

The impulse to snap back at someone comes so much easier now. I used to get stifled. Granted I don’t go looking for people to verbally abuse, but if you’re going to bitch me out, you’d better be ready for a bit of a fight. Besides, who the still drives an SUV anyway?

 
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Posted by on June 14, 2012 in By Jill

 

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Mack’s dating Series: Quantum Entropy. Stage 1: Initiation


Ending my cycle of romance was none other than Quantum Entropy. Of the women I had been seeing she was the only who gain any traction.

There is an art to the message on internet dating sites. I won’t get into the details here, but the sad thing is that I rarely get replies from the really cool girls (by really I mean really dorky, video game interested, Battlestar Galactica loving, Neil Gaimen reading, cool.) I usually get responses from “Interior designer who loves wine and cheese” or “fundraiser who loves NPR. Message me if you have a dog!”  So when I saw the profile of Quantum Entropy, I didn’t expect a response. But I sent one anyway.

So I am always suspicious when OkCupid says I’m 90% or higher with someone. I honestly think they have monkeys randomly match people up. But you and I actually might share an affinity for the same dark/mystical subject matter.

You seem smart and driven and I can say with no hyperbole that you are the most intriguing person I’ve ever come across on this site and I want to get to know you.

Come along for the ride.

-Mack

She stuck out to me as a cool dork +. Not only was she hot and had 12 Monkeys in her profile, she wanted to study the psychology of prison inmates. How cool is that? A day later a message was waiting for me.

I don’t know, I get a few emails from guys in the 40-60% range and most of them have _4u somewhere in their names and/or a bottle of Jack Daniels in all their pictures. Nothing against a good Jack & Coke but I feel these people must walk around in a perpetual state of inebriation… 
Out of curiosity, what are the 40-60% females like? 

Kudos for typing that all out on your phone btw, and such flattery! You’re like an award-winning email writer 😛 

And thus started the back and forth. Over the next few days the messages back and forth were plentiful and easy. With a lot dating messaging, the connection isn’t there.  Sure you’re attracted to the person, but there’s a lot of misinterpretation and your senses of humors may not be in line.  Not here. Never had I felt so comfortable sending that text.

I got my nails done a few days ago. Typing has been a bit of a Sisyphean effort ever since…

Why the hell have you been typing with a boulder?

You don’t?

I prefer to fly with wax wings on sunny days. 😉

Oh look at us all being mythology geeks 😛

And…

I think I have a stomach virus or something, I feel terrible. Being at the computer is kinda making me more nauseous for some reason… :/ Blahh. I’m going to bed, but I just wanted to shoot you back to let you know, you’re adorable omg. 😛  Thanks for the well wishes, I’ll email you tomorrow if I’m still alive :/

Well it’s half way through the day and no email, so I’m just going to go ahead and assume the dreaded illness has gotten the best of you and you are no longer with us.

Your memorial service will be held on tomorrow (yea during the Superbowl, not really expecting a great turn out.) There will be bounce house, a slip and slide, if we’re lucky Red Bull will be catering the event. So you will be the only one “resting” any time soon. Also we’re hoping to get Eddie Izzard to do the eulogy, but he can’t make it, there’s a homeless guy we’ll throw a dress on.

You’d be proud. But if by chance you’re not really dead, please contact me as soon as possible so I can cancel the reservations. And remember time is of the essence (I had to lie and cancel some kid’s bar mitzva reservation to get the bounce house and sumo wrestling suits) so message me back quickly.

I mean…how are you feeling today?

The connection was there. The stage was set for the first date

–Big Mack Attack

 
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Posted by on June 8, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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Subway Energy — By Jill

I’ll start off this post by saying that generally I’m a “keep hands to yourself,” bubble-of-personal-space type of girl.  Sure I like a good cuddle now and then but that takes a while and when it comes to sleeping with someone, it’s you stay on your side – I stay on my side. Don’t know what it is, but this is how it’s always been.

But as sensitive as I am to things that make me creep out, I am also sensitive to good touch. I’m not talking about masturbating here.  Dirty minds! No I mean that physical comfort you can share with someone. Hell, I’ve been on dates with guys, them sitting next to me at a movie or a play, our shoulders barely touch, and I can feel an electricity. It’s like anticipation wrapped in attraction with a side of tingling.  Don’t know why it happens. It’s not logical. But when it does, it’s undeniable.

Needless to say, most of the things on New York’s MTA subway system generally makes my skin crawl, waddle, then run. When the trains get super super crowded I almost freak out from claustrophobia. Standing smushed between people is worse than crowded seating. I usually lean forward in my seat immersing myself in my Kindle (the perfect escape from reality.) But this one day last week I felt the spark on the B train.

It wasn’t the exciting spark, it was more of a soothing wellness feeling. The train got rush hour crowded. And for some reason I didn’t lean forward. Instead I kept shoulder contact with the guy next to me (maybe ’cause he was kinda cute.) We never looked at each other, I was in to my book, he was into his iPad. But I felt it. It was that feeling comfort I had when I was with my 10th grade boyfriend, spooned on his couch after school watching Simpsons reruns. That type of comfort you can melt into.

The burdens, anxiety, and anger that accumulate on these hot and muggy days  the city of New York bestows upon me evaporated. I may have even put a little extra weight into him and I swear he did the same damn thing.  I stole a glance or two, but he never looked back.  My stop was fast approaching. I didn’t want to get up. I swore to G-d he was going to ask for my number. But sure enough 103 arrived and nothing. I got up and exited. Looking back at him through the window he never stopped reading that damn iPad.  The B train continued to 110th and stood there perplexed as to what the hell happened.

 
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Posted by on May 31, 2012 in By Jill

 

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