Wednesday, April 27, 2005

8, 8, I forgot what eight was for...

The other day, after I told Stan that I was done with all three bachelors (yes, I know I never wrapped up that story, did I mention the car accident? Give me a little more time!), he pointed out to me that I've had stories for him about eight different guys in this calendar year. Eight seemed a lot, but we counted it out and it was true. Scandal!

Well, not really, because of those eight, I only kissed four of them, and I only cared about two. The rest were flirtations, distractions, or speculations. To review:

1. the Musician. For those of you who thought my little weekly update on him was mean, let me assure you -- he is an attention whore, and he's probably more upset now that I don't write about him anymore. Exhibit A: When I stopped writing about him, he took me off his mailing list.

2,3. the London brothers. The Atlantic is really wide. Also, brothers? Such a minefield.

4. the 24-Year-Old. Yes, I dropped the ball on that one. He was sweet, cute, and attentive, and I sent him packing without giving him my number or getting his. Michelle has a friend who knows him from school, so I could try to pursue this further. Maybe after a little hiatus; for now I could use a break.

5. Bachelor #3. In the wake of the other two bachelors imploding last week, I have been tempted to resurrect this distraction. But I know I can't -- it's not right, not nice, not fair. Such a bad idea; I will be strong.

6. Bachelor #2.

7. Bachelor #1

Wait, that's only seven. I forgot one. If anyone remembers, please let me know. I'm worse than I thought!

Update: Stan finally remembered; the eighth was my cokehead alcoholic ex, who I got in touch with while I was delerious with bronchitis, had one dinner with, then never wanted to see again. Worth having forgotten, I'd say, and doesn't change the stats of 8/4/2.


Anonymous said...

I'd say a lot more men than women play music to get attention from the opposite sex. Let me tell you -- musicians can be from hell. They're moody, depressed, starved for attention. They have god complexes, drugs and drinking problems, broken childhoods, depression, etc. They'll drive you crazy and make you want to bang your head against a wall. And the babes will still flock to them. Lord knows why sometimes.

As my mother once said, "when you get down to it, they're pretty damned ordinary. why do you waste your goddamned time on them."

You deserve a medal for spending an evening listening to some fledgling songwriter's new songs. A lot of people in NYC think they're songwriters because they can "sh*t" out something in 5 minutes contemplating their navel and venting their frustrations. True songwriters are craftspeople who work and re-work a song like a piece of art.

Anonymous said...

My Personal Favorite Musican Joke:

A young child says to his mother, "Mom, when I grow up I think I'd like to be a musician."

She replies, "Well honey, you know you can't do both."

[insert rim shot here]

Ba dum bump.

Anonymous said...

What happened ??????

Email me !

Maggie said...

What is it about the musician? I haven't written about him in forever, there have been at least five other guys in the time since he stopped talking to me, and yet he's the one that always gets the comments!