Not Quite Toxic

I'm actually stressing a little bit about the fact that I have a birthday in eight days. Not so much about the age thing, really, no. More about whether I want to try to do anything, furthermore if I should try to get up to NY. This should be a happy quandary, not a stressful one.

Don't we just stop celebrating birthdays, eventually?

I just looked at my evite history to see how formally I approached festivities last year. It doesn't look like I sent out an evite.

Did you know Evite has a record of all of the invitations you've ever received? It's kind of cool. A very visual walk down memory lane.

I received my first evite in July 2001. This was right before I moved to DC. The party was being thrown by the sister of the guy I was dating at the time. She lived on the Lower East Side so the idea was that everyone was supposed to bring a dish that reflected their ethnic heritage (as if we all lived in tenements, natch).

That was my one attempt to make cannolis. I don't think they were very good.

Anyhow, it was a fun party even though I didn't really know anybody. Cory Booker was invited but I don't remember him attending. He was friends with the female business partner of the guy I was dating, or else was dating her, or something. It's all kind of blurry now.

The guy I was seeing was a good date, though never cut out to be a boyfriend. Which was fine--I knew I was leaving at that point and had recently watched the demise of my first serious relationship--something I thought I was totally fine with but later it hit me harder than my twenty-six-year-old-bravado-filled self wanted to admit. New guy and I went to a lot of nice restaurants and movies, and kept things pretty light.

One night we were eating at the restaurant in the Hudson Hotel (incidentally, I just googled "restaurant hotel escalator new york 58th street" because I couldn't remember the name of the place but had a very specific image of the escalator. Hundreds of listings correctly identifying the place came up. Google really is an amazing thing.)

We had both ordered iceberg wedge salads with Maytag blue cheese. Maytag was really big then. Maytag mac and cheese. Maytag with poached pears. Maytag martinis.

I was talking about DC, getting advice about where to live, where not to live, and about cool restaurants, etc. as he had lived there for a couple of years in the mid-90s. I think he was telling me about Grill from Ipanema (I've still never been) as he was a big fan of Latin American fare.

I remember I said, "You'll have to show me when you come through town!"

He paused, mid-bite, Maytag perched on his lower lip.

"Ummm, I thought you understood. I really don't do the long-distance thing well. So, well, I don't do it at all."

I did understand. While we'd not quite had this conversation, I was very much on board for a summer romance. But I'd also assumed we would remain some version of friends come fall.

"But, you go to DC on business all the time. You wouldn't want to, like, get dinner sometime when you come through town? You wouldn't call me?"

He chewed his iceberg slab. Swallowed. Smiled. Creamy blue on his bottom incisor.

"Right, of course. I will totally call you. Right! That would be fun! I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I didn't want to mislead you."

Swallow.

"But if we're all clear, then fantastic. Let's absolutely stay in touch. Right. On."

I'm making him sound worse than he was. But the point is this, fellow was a good guy, no--a great guy--super smart, well-traveled, attractive, generous, and a kind human being. He was also one of those eternal bachelor guys. Really, he was, it wasn't just that I wasn't cool enough (maybe it was a little bit that) but I could tell by the descriptions of his last few relationships that he bounced a lot, and that none of the women he'd dated were ever quite right.

Because he wasn't at a stage in his life where he wanted to do any work to make something right.

And why should he? He had a life he liked. Financial security, a sexy job, a great West Village apartment, a busy social life, family and friends, and a full head of hair. He was also from southern california, which I have to say I think had something to do with him being the most angst-free jewish man in New York. It was unusual.
So why make room for someone else?

I was having this conversation with CP the other night (see! I write about you on my blog!) Guys like this will endure for years, decades even, perfectly content with the eternal bachelor lifestyle. And then one day they'll decide they don't want that anymore and without fail--give them three months and bam they'll be engaged. It's like a switch turns on in their heads which makes them decide to commit to something, to try and make something work, that the gains of that might actually outweigh the sacrifices.

Women do it too, I am sure. It just seems like a more classically male thing.

In cases like this, it really, truly is not *us* it is most definitely *them*.

Epilogue:
Maytag man and I exchanged a handful of emails in the first month or so after I moved. We talked on the phone on 9/11. I think that was the last time we spoke.

I just googled him. He lives in Texas where he works for a big company that bought out the smaller company he started. It sounds like a really cool job. He also gives speeches about internet marketing around the country. From the sounds of it, he's not yet married.

He'd make a great catch for some woman in Texas.

If he's flipped the switch.