I am not good at goodbyes. I don’t mean saying goodbye at the end of a conversation, or at the end of a lunch date. I’m talking about goodbye, I’m not going to see you for a long time types of goodbyes.
I think this stems from my mother and paternal grandmother. Ever since we were young, every time we’d visit my grandma she would get all teary eyed at saying goodbye to us at the end of the trip, as if it were the last time she would be seeing us.
My mother on the other hand, showed us she was sad we were leaving by provoking fights so that we’d be yelling at each other as I drove down the driveway, headed off to college. (she’s gotten better about this, we’ve had words) The tension making the goodbye that much easier to bear–we couldn’t wait to get away from each other!
Unfortunately I’ve inherited both these traits of saying goodbye. With The Ex I would often get upset at the end of long weekends together, despite knowing I’d probably seeing him the next weekend or the weekend after that. The tears would flow or we’d start fighting. It was a vicious cycle.
More often than not, its the waterworks that occur. You would think after so many moves, so many goodbyes, I’d be hardened to it by now. But every time I have to say goodbye to someone, my eyes start welling up and I have to end it quickly before I break down and cause a scene.
I said my first goodbye last night, and it wasn’t even to anyone major. It was my coworkers boyfriend, whom I’ve hung out with on several occasions while we are all out socially. I didn’t get upset, per se, but ever since the selection of a new roommate has begun and the whole process has gotten more real, I’ve begun to realize that I’m leaving. I’m going to have to say goodbyes to all of my nearest and dearest friends.
Everyone keeps mentioning my going away party, asking me when its going to be, where I’m going to have it. I don’t even want to think about it! I just know I’m going to have to sneak out when no ones looking, to keep myself from crying all over everyone because I’m leaving and have to say goodbyes (or see you laters) and I’m horrible at them.
Last night after saying goodbye to my friends, I went out with D for farewell drinks. We went to a bar he knew, had wine, cheese and assorted meats and talked about my life plans and where I was going. It was going fine until the threesome next to us asked if we were on a date, to which both of us responded no we’re just friends (he threw in good friends for added effect, maybe) and found out one of the guys wanted to hit on me, despite having a girlfriend.
Then D got quiet and started looking at me. Immediately I sensed something was coming, I thought don’t you dare, you bastard.
He started talking how upset he had been when he found out I was leaving, how he didn’t realize how much he cared about me until he got that email. I didn’t know what to say, I just kind of stared at him and eventually the conversation veered elsewhere. When we got into the car though and he parked in front of my apartment, it really came out then.
He pulled me into a hug and told me that he really didn’t want me to go, that he will miss me so much and that he cares so much for me. (Oh yeah? Where was that a year ago?!) That he didn’t want to say goodbye.
And then he kissed me. I’m not going to lie, I enjoyed the make-out session we had but my head is spinning and I’m like wtf why does he fuck with my head so much? There’s obviously something that keeps us rotating in orbit around each other in this constant like and dislike pattern. I don’t understand why we are so drawn to each other, even when we hurt each other so badly. But it is what it is and nothing will come of it because I’m smarter now (and am also leaving). So what does kissing hurt?
I just know that saying goodbye is going to be that much harder.
I even had pictures of said weekend but like the idiot that I am, I left my camera at home and therefore cannot share them with you.
So. Friday Jess, Wifey and I spent a day at the museum, going to the American Museum of Natural History. We pondered where they got the animals from (then learned that they use molds and put their skins over them. I don’t know which is more disturbing…stuffed real animals, or this…), realized tigers–even while snarling–are so adorable and make you want to pinch their fluffy little cheeks, decided we were going to redesign the ocean life exhibit, played among the dinosaurs and just overall had a good time. We ended our afternoon walking down fifth avenue after going to lunch at a pub where we basically served ourselves. Jess totally deserved a cut of the tips since our waiter stayed behind the counter THE ENTIRE TIME and we had to go to him to get our water refilled, to get our check and to get him to take away our plates.
What happened to good service???
Saturday and Sunday were a blur. I got to meet the hilariously fun Maxie and Cavy for massive amounts of drinks (after drinking Margaritas with P$ and Wifey at the Bone Lick. Personally, I think it should be called Bone Licker) before finding myself roaming the streets with a to-go container full of raspberry beer and stumbling drunkenly into my apartment.
We can all say that was a goooood night.
I then followed up that evening with a pile of grease to cure my hangover from Ellen’s Stardust Cafe, my favorite diner in NYC that I have been going to since back in high school with my parents. The waiters sing broadway hits so its like dinner and a show. Went out for drinks last night with Max, got angry with him for inviting his entourage to my going away party (the two guy friends of his that I’ve hooked up with. Awkward!) and drank my weight in vodka sodas.
You would think I’d learn my lesson.
Despite being tipsy, I stayed up late to finish Memoirs of a Geisha. Project Finish All My Books is going along nicely, however I still have 12 more to go. Fuck me.
Next up? The Jane Austen Book Club.
Now I must return to the extraordinairily dull task of looking at my computer screen blankly and hope my building doesn’t fall down. (at least, not while i’m in it) The construction next door is blowing up the foundation and the closer it gets to my building, the more my building shakes, sways and feels on the verge of collapsing. Its especially fun when your chair gets air during one particularly bad blast.
In between holding on to the desk for dear life when the alarm sounds pre-blast, I’m looking at pet adoption websites because Ashley wants a puppy. Three million things need to happen before I get a puppy though, such as move, get a job, get a house, furnish said house, save some money….oh its too much to think about. Can everything just fall into my lap when I get back from Europe? That’d be greatly appreciated.
Another bit of random news? I’m wearing a mostly white dress, with dark blue underwear. I’m pretty sure you can see through my dress. I’m all sorts of FAIL today aren’t I?
And with that, I wish you a happy monday.
I don’t remember the first time I heard a Michael Jackson song, but I do remember my brothers first time seeing him. It was the super bowl that he performed Heal the World and everyone held up their seats with the artwork on the background. My fathers company had sponsored this apparently. Anyway, my brother saw MJ, with his long hair, and said in front of the whole Super Bowl party currently going on in my parents living room, “Michael is a funny name for a girl.”
I don’t remember the first time I heard his music, but I know his music was part of my growing up, part of my teenage years and his music always makes its way into my iPod playlists. The man was so so talented and while his personal life was a little more than fucked up, Michael Jackson, the entertainer, was a genius with music and with dance and his sudden death is pretty sad.
But I don’t know him, nor do I know Farrah Fawcett, who also passed away yesterday. While it is sad that I will never see MJ in concert, its not like I’d be seeing the MJ from the 80s, when he was on top of the world. The thing that gets me weepy though, was watching the 20/20 special on Farrah Fawcett.
Listening to Ryan O’Neill talk about her and how much in love he was with her, how he would visit her every single day and it didn’t matter if she woke up or not, just being with her was all that mattered. That kind of love and devotion is heartbreaking. I’m never good with seeing other people suffer, with seeing people so in love with someone they lost that they just can’t bear the pain. That? Breaks my own heart. (You should see me during movies. Crying. Like. A. Baby.)
We lost two icons yesterday, and one icon at the beginning of the week. I guess what they say is true–these kind of things come in threes. RIP Ed, Farrah and Michael.
For your enjoyment, my personal favorite MJ song from when I was younger:
