That's the name of the nail polish color I'm currently sporting. It's a dark chocolate hue that's quite trendy. As my roommate pointed out, it also describes me and my current state of mind.
Everyone's on Boston's side. But let me tell you this- he's a big flake! Case in point- correction: exhibit A-C. Behold:
On Thursday at 1pm EST Boston texted to say, "Mornin. I will be free after 2pm my time. Will call you then." As you know, 5pm rolled around and there was no call.
10pm EST (same day)- on IM Boston said he would call me the next morning. "What time?" I prompted. "9ish, after I've had my coffee." Fine.
Friday- NO CALL ALL DAY.
At 4:15 pm EST, he sends me an EMAIL knowing I don't own a blackberry and says, "Sorry about not calling this morning. Been on the phones all day with potential interviewees for my project. I should be free in an hour or so to call. Hopefully that’s ok with you." It wasn't OK with me and my roommate agreed, "Unacceptable," she said. At this point, perhaps you're hoping that when he did call in an hour or so that I had the presence of mind to once in my pathetic life play it cool. No dice. Do you know why? BECAUSE HE DIDN'T FUCKING CALL!!
I was livid. How does this happen? How do we go from a man in a leather blazer who I'm on the fence about allowing into my life begin to shun me? Fed up, frustrated and reminded by Larry that I had nothing left to lose, I gave in and called him. No answer, mailbox full. MERDE!
Then my roommate and I went to meet a friend in town from Seattle. He insisted on us coming to the place where he was staying on Bleecker and Broadway. We figured these must be some digs if he's being persistent. We arrived at a nondescript building with an unimpressive entrance. Our friend Thermos buzzed us up. We got into an equally sketchy elevator. The door opened into a grimy hallway and through a fire escape door, he waved us in. "Go to your left," he instructed. The place was spacious but dark with a long narrow hallway. As we walked through the kitchen into the living room, we were awestruck. Two huge round windows on two walls overlooked Broadway. They were the kind of windows you'd find at the top of clock tower. Talk about southern exposure. That plus high ceilings and kitschy antiques here and there. Thermos told us that his filmmaker friend had inherited the uber-cool pad while in his teens and that the space used to be the headquarters of the Black Panthers.
I had just sat down with a delicious cocktail Thermos had prepared when my roommate blurted out, "Let's see what Thermos thinks." About what? "You know the whole thing with Boston," she said all eager beaver like Thermos would be able to shed new light on the tiny male mind that women frequently over-complicate and therefore, over analyze. Thermos was game. So I did. I told him about the prelude to the Vegas meeting, my doubts following that weekend and the recent shenanigans with the over-texting and absenteeism of my suitor. Just prior to coming out, my roommate had suggested I text Boston and put end the miserable angst that had consumed me. So I sent him a text that said, "Hey can you give me a call?" He wrote back an hour later and said, "About to go on a shoot. Later?" Fuck. I responded with , "Forget it." When I relayed all of this to Thermos, he was momentarily pensive and then explained the four different stages of intimacy and how we had rushed half of them, blah, blah, blah.. and now both of us were feeling vulnerable and wanting to cut and run. After a couple of drinks the three of us decided that we would compose a carefully worded text that would show Boston I could be light-hearted and fun. Here's what the meeting of the minds produced: I'm wearing the top you bought me and I look HOT.
He had insisted on buying me a silk top at French Connection after I had resisted buying it for myself. This was more damage control than restraint because I had just splurged on yet another Gucci bag I didn't need at Caesar's Forum. An hour and a half later he responds with this: " :) "
What the fuck? Thermos thought it was fine. My roommate was appalled. It took him over an hour to send that?! I was just sad. Then I wrote back, "...You're fired." and in record time came this reply: "But...but I am shooting :( "
That was then, this is now. I haven't talked to him in days and granted he's really busy but when there's a will there's a way. I may have killed the will.
