A very funny comedian friend once told this great joke about how 20 & 30-somethings in NYC love to say they’re seeing someone, but by seeing they actually mean fucking. The joke has stuck with me for a while now and recently I came to the horrifying realization that I’m seeing someone.
I met Long Island at a bar, it was 2am and I was drunk off tall boys of Miller High Life and shots of cheap whiskey… totally romantic. We’re both still fuzzy on how exactly we started talking, but I’m pretty sure his drunk best friend/ride home had something to do with it. I know I told him he smelled like clean laundry and forced him to prove his non-U.S. citizenship. Anyways the point is that by 4am we had fallen into bed together. I woke up sweating with his body wrapped tight around mine and fantastic morning sex followed. A few hours later, certain we’d never see each other again, we parted ways at my subway stop with an awkward hug.
Exactly one week passed, cut to me waking up in the same position, except this time in a strange bed in Nassau County… fuck… I went to the island. A week and two more sleepovers in, I suddenly found myself calling things off with Summer Fling, explaining that I was seeing someone and felt a teensy bit guilty about continuing our 2am trysts. Okay… wait… hold up… LI and I are not even close to being any sort of official anything, nor do I think it’s headed that direction, but suddenly I just found myself saying I was seeing someone. I mean we’re not dating, we’re definitely not in a relationship, but we’re fucking and he isn’t sleeping with anyone else, and I don’t think I want to… so what are we doing exactly? Suddenly seeing someone was a part of my vocabulary.
Dammit… well at least now I’m in on the joke.
- diaryofa20something posted this