So one of my favorite things about Gigi is just how smart the two of us get after we get a couple of drinks in us. I know everyone probably says this about themselves, but for Gigi and I it is true. The only problem was that after having a couple of alcoholic beverages, followed by esoteric conversation, we would go to bed and not always remember all the brilliant things we said the night before.
Then we both got smart phones. And so we could add notes to our phones as we were resolving the crisis in the Middle East and never again did we forget the totally insightful things we said while slightly inebriated.
Of course these conversations don’t make for the best opportunity to meet guys. For instance, our most recent exchange took place at the McFadden’s at the ballpark where after yelling, then laughing and then furiously typing on our phones, we went back to laughing and typing. It doesn’t make for the most welcoming situation for a would be suitor.
But it didn’t really matter to either of us. We had much more important things to cover. Like the Twilight books. Gigi started us off by asking if I was reading them. I hesitated but answered honestly. Yes, I am. She hesitated in turn and admitted that she too was reading them. Note, neither of us said we were addicted to them.
I then warned her that I was only about half-way through number three. She said she was in the same place.
Then there was silence.
She asked, what do you think, and I took in a deep breath.
This is where it gets animated and the yelling starts. See, we both agree that the books are okay and fun and easy to read, but neither of us are loving them. For the most part we want to strangle Bella and have to keep reminding ourselves that these books are written for 14 year-old girls and so we must be patient.
Gigi struggled through the first, breezed through the second and had to put the third down because it is all about Edward. She hasn’t picked it up again, yet, and has decided that this is because she hates Edward and loves Jacob. In her words, she was on Team Jacob.
I laughed at this, imagining her wearing a Kitson t-shirt that read that when she announced, “Jacob is the guy you marry. Edward is the guy you fuck.”
See what I mean?
All my years of English and literature classes and courses and never once has anyone been able to put this constant theme so succinctly.
But beyond great literature and even not so great literature, we often see this love triangles play out in our own lives. There are the guys in our lives that we want to sleep with and then their are the guys we want to spend the rest of our lives with. The struggle comes when the two guys are not one in the same. Worse is when we try to force Edward into Jacob’s role. Because while Jacob may become Edward, it is rare for an Edward to suddenly want to be a Jacob.
I have noticed in my life, like Bella’s and other heroines of fiction, I meet my Edwards and Jacobs at about the same time. Of course in the beginning I don’t always know which is which (or maybe I do, but I pretend I don’t). Inevitably, I continue to date the Edward, until I don’t anymore, and by that time the Jacob is long gone.
Which brings us to Broad Street.
For those of you who have never run this race, if you love Philadelphia, then you need to do it. It is the absolute best (and worst) of the city and all things that make it wonderful, starting with the subway ride to the starting line. The subway is filled with other runners all dressed and jittery and eating protein bars and drinking Gatorade. It feels like a Nike commercial and gets one pumped to run 10 miles, even if you are running those ten miles in the cold rain.
So there I am, in a poncho and capri pants when I notice a guy sitting down that looks very familiar. It took me a minute, but then I realized it was Good Cop.
I met Good Cop just as I started dating Wharton, and despite the fact that he was only just as tall as me, and often wore Grateful Dead t-shirts, he and I shared a love of running and he was nice and sometimes funny and I desperately wanted to like him. Plus he was a cop, and I have things for cops.
But, alas, I chose Wharton, even though I knew it wouldn’t last.
As I stood there, stealing glances at Good Cop, I wondered if this wasn’t the universe’s way of giving me a second chance to make the right decision.
Then he caught me looking at him and I quickly turned my attention to the other end of the subway car where I saw Patchouli (who was neither the guy you sleep with, nor the guy you marry, but merely the guy you turn to when you are drunk and have no other options) and laughed. It seems god or the universe or whatever just likes messing with me.
That or this city is getting too damn small.