bragging rights

Friday night was very depressing for me. It might have started on Thursday, when I decided there was no better time to get going on cleaning out my inbox, file folders, and desk drawers. I came across a lot of sentimental stuff and threw away (recycled!) even more every-day things. The throwing away (RECYCLING!) got to me more than the sentimentaling (I know it doesn't exist, k?) because it solidified my current situation. That magazine clipping I've been holding on to for two years, intending to someday imitate for our alumni magazine? Well, I won't be writing for another issue of the magazine, so I can toss that. The note about how to fix the installation for my scanner? It's not my scanner anymore, and I won't ever use it again, so that can go. I even sighed a little as I was shredding my employee benefits information, because I won't ever have to visit another Rensselaer PPO doctor.

Regardless of when it began, Friday evening culminated with the realization that my problem of letting other people get to me is still at large. Then, as the icing on my cake, I was forced to make small talk with a boy I once had very strong feelings for... and his skanky, horse-faced girlfriend who might as well have been cemented to the sleeve of his jacket because she never once let go of his arm.

This boy and I have been friends for years - very, very close friends - and we've gone out on many dates. And these dates were not just regular, plain old dates. They were record-breaking, earth-shattering dates. Dates that promised conversation so engrossing that we'd often not notice the waitstaff glaring at us and loudly clearing their throats, having already closed the restaurant and cleaned up around us. Dates that felt as comfortable as a lazy Saturday morning curled up on the couch with a good book, a spring breeze, and your most comfortable sweatpants. And most importantly, dates that were special enough to make the memory of every horrible date I'd ever gone in my entire life nothing more than an insignificant speck of dust on the shelf of life.

In short, I considered him a very special boy and our relationship a very special thing, and I was constantly reassured that he felt the same way.

A few months ago, out of the complete blue, he stopped returning my calls and emails. If I saw him around, he'd wave from across the room but never come over to say hi. He stopped asking our mutual friends about me - stopped telling them how much he cared for me. I didn't know what to make of it, and quite honestly, I was pretty hurt for a while. Not having balls large enough to simply ask him what was up, I assumed the worst, of course, and decided that he'd met someone better. He's a pretty shy guy - which, admittedly, is one of the first things that attracted me to him - and I figured he just didn't know how to tell me that he'd moved on.

I wasn't expecting him to flaunt the piece of ass he'd moved on to right in my face. Since I was at work, I had to sit at the greeting table after our reception until every guest had exited the room. He and his ho stood directly in front of me for nearly 45 minutes, and I was stuck there, sitting dumbly behind the table the entire time without a coworker in sight to save me or at least pretend to talk to me. I watched as she winked at me and flipped her hair every time she laughed at one of his effortless jokes. She "we"-d him - exclaimed "We'd love to see you there!" He didn't even tell me her name.

Most heartbreakingly, he leaned into her. One of my favorite intimate actions a man can take is to lean into a woman. Not hug her, not put his arm around her, but simply lean his body into her. Let her support his weight for a moment before breaking contact. Nothing more than a sway of his body into her general direction, but an action that says so very much.

She's tall and leggy and blonde. Her laugh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. She has sleek hair in a stylish cut. Her dress left not a single thing up to the imagination. She agreed with or reaffirmed every word that came out of his mouth the entire night.

Everything I like about myself went completely out the window in favor a short black skirt and a yes-(wo)man. And I've never felt worse.