The City Bar

I recently ended things with someone I had been dating since August. I'm sorry you weren't privy to that but I think it may have contributed to the success of the relationship. No offense, but this blog has a tendency to validate my neuroses. When it wasn't humored, it didn't have the attention it needed to flourish. However, things went to hell in a hand basket anyway. I was breaking up with him every week so I'm not sure why I was so torn up when we put the final nail in the coffin. He was a good egg, though. (I'm not absolutely certain what that saying means but it felt right.)

The last conversation we had was very painful as those dreaded discussions often are. My roommate used to grumble that my now ex and I were like "two girls in a relationship" because we were equally melodramatic. But I digress. I returned to my desk at work to see that while I was ending this relationship another guy I dated back in March had IMed asking me to dinner tonight. What luck! I mean it was as if the universe was showing me that where one door closes, another one opens. Granted, this guy was a creep and didn't deserve my company but it was flattering nonetheless and might take my mind off what's-his-name.

But the schmuck never followed through even though our last exchange was:
ME: Don't bail, I'm not in a good place right now.
HIM: I'm sorry you're not in a happy place but we'll see if I can't make you smile tomorrow.

Honestly, I wasn't really fazed by it and my friend, a law professor, had invited me out. He, too, had sent me an IM asking me to swing by the city bar where he would be meeting with some lawyers. Lawyers, he said, who would all be good contacts for promoting my new documentary.

After work, a coworker said she was going shopping at the Christmas shops at Bryant Park. "That's where I'm meeting my friend and some of his lawyer buddies, why don't you come with me?" Jessica, who is also attempting to play the field was game. We walked to 44th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues and upon arrival, started surveying the block for the aforementioned venue. We stopped and asked a hotel doorman if he knew where the "city bar" was. No, he said squinting as he searched his memory for any evidence of its existence. Then I googled it. Nothing. Jessica called 411- nada. I left my friend an agitated message: "We're on 44th between 5th and 6th and there is no City Bar. We've asked people, googled and even called 411. I'm not sure where this is but it's not here," I said as I hung up the phone. Then I decided to check my gmail chat to make sure I hadn't missed anything:
"I am going to be speaking to a group of lawyers at the city bar tonight. It's on 44th between 5th and 6th Avenues." Oh my. I looked at Jessica and then looked up at a conspicuous, giant blue flag waving above us.

"He's speaking to the city bar," I said conclusively. Jessica had yet to arrive at the same conclusion. "I know! Where is it?" she said, looking around. "He's speaking TO the city bar," I said looking up at the flag for the NEW YORK CITY BAR. What had finally dawned on me was that the watering hole I was searching for was in fact the bar association of New York City whose headquarters dominate the block we were standing in. I shuddered as I recalled the ignoramous voicemail my friend would surely hear and laugh. And that he did, rather loudly, over a beer later that evening.