I was watching Seinfeld last night and it was the episode where George tells Jerry that he’s got a date. Jerry asked George how Susan, a woman who he is seeing, would feel about that. George, oblivious, asked why she would care. Jerry explains that he’s been seeing her for a while and it might not be ok to be seeing other people. George still seems perplexed by this so Jerry says, “Well let me ask you something, how often do you guys talk? On the regular?”

“No,” George answers, “just about 5 times a week.”

“And are Saturday plans implied or do you have to ask?”

“Well, um, uh, they’re implied,” George admits.

“And what about your medicine cabinet? Is there anything of hers in there?”

“Well, just some moisturizer and stuff,” George answers.

“And what about Tampax, George? Is there Tampax in your apartment?” Jerry asks.

“Well, uh,….. yeah,” George grudgingly answers.

“Then it’s official,” Jerry says, “she’s your girlfriend.”

I was skyping with my sister last night and we were pondering the same topic. When does a guy become your boyfriend? Officially, we mean. Is it implied after a certain amount of time? And how long? Or does there have to be a “talk?” I was seeing a guy for 5 months and never once was it assumed that he was my boyfriend, which was a good thing, since a girlfriend was the last thing he wanted. If I’m going by Jerry Seinfeld’s definition of a girlfriend, well, I haven’t talked to someone on the regular, had implied weekend dates, or left any of my personal belongings at someone’s apartment in 4 years.

(Leaving stuff on purpose to have an excuse to call them doesn’t count. That confirms you’re not a girlfriend).

I didn’t mention earlier in my post but my visitor last week was S from London. I had met S almost exactly a year ago in Bangkok and I was completely smitten. I thought, after all the guys I’ve dated, I had finally figured it out. He was the first half Thai guy I’ve ever dated who also spoke the language and has grown up in Bangkok but lives abroad. He was always a true gentleman with me and kept in touch throughout the year, calling to tell me he misses me and to remind me how beautiful I am (in his British accent that didn’t hurt).

A few weeks back he called me to tell me he booked his ticket to New York. I was filled with nerves. I had fantasized about us meeting again after all this time and couldn’t believe he was really coming. But the timing couldn’t have been any worse. I had just started seeing someone. I haven’t been seeing him long enough to rule out everyone else completely but I also knew that I was going to have a hard time not thinking about him. I fretted about S’s visit as the day got closer. What if it’s awkward? What if I don’t like him? What if I do like him? I didn’t have a choice but to just wait and see.

From the moment he arrived it was nothing that I had expected. He came with a friend (I had thought he was coming alone) and already had a dinner party planned for the evening. A year ago I imagined waiting for him at the airport, running into his arms when I spotted him, and rushing back to the hotel to order room service and just catch up in private. So dinner with 9 other people was not how I imagined our first night. I was nervous to see him and uncomfortable around all of these strangers. To make it worse, I couldn’t stand the strangers. They were the spoiled, rich kids that I avoid here in New York. Over dinner I learned that the things he wanted to do in New York was nothing that I would’ve taken him to.

As the night went on, and the more drinks I had, I started to see everything so much more clear. He was not the guy I wanted to be with. We had fit together so well in Thailand, someone who understood what it was like to never feel at home in your own country or anywhere else. But here in New York, we couldn’t be more different. I didn’t want to waste anymore of the evening being somewhere I didn’t want to be. He apologized for the night. I told him there’s nothing to be sorry about, this just isn’t meant to be, and took off in a taxi.

I met up with him again over the weekend, this time for dinner, just the two of us. I thought, perhaps the fact that I couldn’t stand his friends made me judge him in a harsher light. Over a sushi dinner, I saw again the guy that I had fallen for a year ago, kind and attentive. I thought, could this work? He said, babe, order anything you want. I thought, maybe it could. I made a joke and he didn’t smile. I thought, no, he doesn’t fit.

We went out for drinks with his friends after dinner. Everyone was tired from a big night out, the night before. S was clearly irritable, wanting to be at a more upbeat bar. He sulked in his chair. I thought, wouldn’t he be happy just to be anywhere with me?

I didn’t see him the following night, telling him to just go have fun with his friends. I met him at his hotel on Sunday to say goodbye. I was suddenly sad to see him go. I’ve never been good at goodbyes, especially when letting go is best. I felt so down for the rest of the day. I felt guilty for not spending more time with him. I was upset that the trip wasn’t how I pictured it. I imagined showing him everything I love about this city, everything I’ve wanted to do with someone I care about, not meeting him out at clubs. I was sad that he wasn’t the guy I remembered, the one that was always on the back of my mind. I thought, it would’ve been better if he hadn’t come, if he could just be the fond memory I could keep forever.

But maybe this is how it was supposed to pan out. I continued to date jerks in the past few months, and S was always there every time I was heartbroken, reminding me that I deserved better. Each time, I would be able to move on knowing that better does exist. So perhaps I needed to see him in person to see this clearer. Better does exist. It’s just not S.

I finally saw 500 Days of Summer during one of my sick days. I love watching movies without having seen previews or knowing the storyline because I have no expectations. I remember hearing some say, “Don’t watch it. It’s so sad,” and others saying, “It’s refreshing to see a real depiction of relationships and not the romantic stuff that never happens in real life.” The plot is summarized as “an offbeat romantic comedy about a woman who doesn’t believe true love exists, and the young man who falls for her.”

My roommate didn’t think it was realistic, that not many girls would be as disinterested in finding love as Zooey Deschanel’s character. Aside from not believing that anyone would turn down someone who looks like Joseph Gordon-Levitt and dressed in cute vests and ties like his character, Tom Hansen, I thought the movie was a great depiction of love and heartbreak. I loved the scene where Tom was dancing in the streets after having sex with Summer for the first time. Who hasn’t unknowingly smiled the entire day and wished they could high five everyone who passed them after great sex with a crush? And after a bad day where he’s on the streets in his bathrobe after buying whiskey and ding dongs and he yells at the couple holding hands to get a room. Who hasn’t wished happy couples could disappear for your sake and only allowed to return when you’re having a better day?

And I loved the line where Tom’s little sister tells him, “I know you think she was the one but I don’t think she was. I think you’re only remembering the good stuff.” It is much easier to get over someone when you take off the pedestal glasses and admit that it wasn’t perfect. Ok, I won’t spoil any more of the movie for you. I’ll just say that I think it’s a great movie for anyone who has stopped believing in love. Relationships aren’t all kissing in the rain and riding off in the sunset. You’re bound to get your heartbroken at least once and chances are you’re only remembering the good stuff.

It’s been 2 months now since The Boy and I ended things. I had a hard time with it at first. We had spent so much time together, how is it that all of a sudden we cut off all communication? I felt like I had lost a great friend. To make it worse, everything reminded me of him. I would bike down to the park to be active and try to get my mind off him, except that the park was near his apartment and I would have mini panic attacks that I would see him. Even the subway ride made me think of him and I would have to consciously remember to get off at my stop and not his. But as time went on it became less of an effort to forget him and I found that I was actually enjoying myself again, not “trying to enjoy myself.”

My friends had asked me why I took the breakup so hard, technically he wasn’t even my boyfriend. I did genuinely care for him but I think the rejection, in itself, is hard to take. Why does yet another guy not want me? Is there something wrong with me? Like a child who’s had her toy taken away before she was done playing with it, I wanted to snatch him back and say, “I’m not done with you yet.” I read in this month’s Women’s Health that being rejected by someone can make you want them even more, for the sake of attaining the person, not actually wanting to be with the person. New research in Psychological Science read:

People who tried to win a prize and failed were willing to pay extra to get it. But when they tried again to win it and succeeded, 78 percent chose to trade it away. The findings ring true for love: If you’re pining for a person who rejected you, you may not be as happy as you think you’d be if reconciliation were possible.

I found this to be true in my case as well. I wasn’t necessarily the happiest I could be with him, but God dammit, I wanted him to want me. As more time went by I became angry, if not with him, then with myself. Why did I accept the bare minimum from him? Do I not deserve more? I decided that I do. I also decided that I’m wasting too much time on men, undeserving ones. So I made a pact that I wasn’t going to date. No men in my life = no distractions, no mental anguish. Men do this all the time. They set a goal and they put their blinders on. If they say they’re not going to date anyone until their acting career picks up, they mean it. Women on the other hand say this but we never like to stand in the way of fate. Like if we say, “I’m going to focus on school right now,” but if someone sweet, and charming, and extremely handsome comes into our lives… I mean…we’re not gonna say no…

But the trouble is that it wasn’t someone sweet, charming, and extremely handsome that was coming into my life and distracting me from my goals. It’s someone who’s selfish, thoughtless, and unworthy (hiding behind a handsome face). I decided that I wanted more. So I instated a No Dating Rule, effective May 20th, 2010. I am only open for friendship and anyone who wants more can suck it. Not literally, of course.

This rule is effective until I finish writing my book. (It’s so close! I really can’t be taking sick days to mend a heartbreak).

But… there is a sub clause. Us women, we hate the “what if he was The One” question. I will only accept a date if the person asks me on a picnic, bike ride, or other fun activity, and, these plans are made in advance. Seems easy enough but, trust me, there are very few guys out there who put in the effort of thinking of something fun to do and call to ask ahead of time. This will be a very easy rule to follow.

My best friend called me to catch up last week and she asked how the men in my life are doing. I filled her in on my No Dating pact…but, “There is this one guy,” I told her…

“Rules are meant to be broken,” she replied.

New York City has a way of making you feel like a child. Well, a broke ass college student to be more exact. Most of us couldn’t afford to live without roommates and our condiments are typically stolen from various delis and diners. We don’t have mortgages, kids, lasting relationships, or washer dryers.

Sometimes I find it comical that after 28 years on this earth, what I do have are roaches, leaks, and a box of earplugs. The other night my roommates and I ordered pizza. When I went back into the kitchen an hour later to get a second slice, I saw a bunch of roaches run out of the box. Fantastic. Last night, every couple of seconds as I lay in bed reading, a few drops of water would sprinkle my face and book. My upstairs neighbor’s air conditioner is leaking through my window. It’s as if I’m at torture camp, having water trickled down my face until I slowly lose my mind. A few minutes later, on a Monday night, there were 3 guys singing and chanting fraternity cheers on the street below my window. It was so loud I thought there were 20 of them outside. I had to do it. I was one of those ornery ladies who yelled, “Shut the fuck up,” out the window. “Oh go back and lick your cunt,” they yelled back. Nice. Some more time passes, a few minutes after midnight, and I hear what sounds like a marching band. I looked out my window and did not see a parade or any signs of instruments, but I could hear horns, accordions, and trumpets as if it were St. Paddy’s Day.

I put in my earplugs and thought to myself, “Oh, New York, it’s funny how I still love you, no matter how much you piss me off.” Perhaps, I realize, I’ve treated all of my relationships as if they were New York. I just put in my earplugs, roll over, and continue to love you, regardless of your flaws.