Catastrophe, and Introducing the Harvard Writer

Catastrophe.

The ending of my brief encounter with the Public Defender is too c0nvoluted, and too sad for me to re-tell in any sort of detail. In short, there was a massive misundertanding. I become scared and made the offensive move to end the relationship. He became defensive, and it was revealed that I was operating under misinformation. By the time I apologized, over and over again, begged him for another chance and was rejected, I was pretty much the saddest single woman in Hollywood. That was from about 6:14pm until 10:30pm tonight.

My love life is pretty much a revolving door at this point, I think. As quickly, brutally, and abruptly as Fate decided to cut off any warm feelings between me and the Public Defender, she kindly decided to soften my evening by introducing me to an attractive, Harvard-educated reality television writer who is a friend of my friend Mark. I had gone to a dive bar in West LA to hear Mark sing with his band, and to escape my mental hell--and lo and behold, the Harvard Writer was also in attendance. He gave me his seat in the packed bar, and a very cute smile, and we took it from there. It was a pleasant evening, fueled by vodka sodas and flirtatious arm-touching. He got my number, and we said we'd have lunch in my neighborhood. As last call was announced, he walked me to my car and asked, "Can I kiss you good night?" Feeling shy but curious, I said ok. We kissed a little, him tasting of cigarettes (not ideal) but showing a reasonable amount of skill and enthusiasm. Ok, more than a reasonable amount of both. We parted ways, and midway through my drive home, a text popped up on my phone: "You are beautiful. That was amazing."

Though attractive, I have the distinct feeling that he's not my Mr. Right--though extremely bright, I am guessing (from our chat) that he's probably a) an alcoholic and b) kind of crazy. However, I am so grateful to have met him tonight, so appreciative of the kind words and admiration, so thankful not to have been alone. The last conversation with the Public Defender was, perhaps, the worst conversation I have ever had in my entire life. I felt sad, scared, desperate, guilty, small. Anything, absolutely anything, other than that was a welcome change of pace tonight.

Heartbreak, heartbreak, heartbreak. In the words of Chumbawumba, "I get knocked down...but I get up again." I am so tired of the heartbreak, I really am.