Part 3: On lonely girls and broken hearts


Read Part 1 & Part 2 here

How do I squeeze into conventional terms a completely unconventional love. It feels a bit like trying to explain to an orange what it’s like to be a shrimp. Regardless, one important note I’d like to make is that I’ll be using the word “love” in this story differently from its usual application. The love I’ll be talking about is not amorous in nature; it is not fraught with romance, physical attraction, sex, vows, obligations, promises, valentines, commitments or hopes of some future together. It is a different kind of love, irreverent, somewhat indescribable and quite punishing in its end.

I ran into J again years later, completely at random. I was around 23 by then. To my Mother’s extreme jubilation I ventured north for a second date with a plastic surgeon, a Jewish one at that. Following our first lackluster outing conducted in my neck of the woods over a salmon kale salad and a hefty serving of decidedly bad jokes, the doctor invited me to join him on a yacht in his lovely homestead of Santa Barbara. It was a kind of a sailing fete hosted by some of his fancy doctor friends and, if nothing more, it meant for me an exceedingly picturesque drive up the coast. Scantily clad in my nautical best; stripes, shorts and of course top-siders, with Mother cheering at my back, I set out on my adventure into proper maritime society with an optimistic hope of, at the very least, a very merry time.

Two hours later I was almost there, driving into town. A car cruising in the apposite direction caught my attention and I spun my head around trying to get a better look at its driver. Although I barely caught a glance of his profile, instant pangs of nostalgia filled my stomach. I thought I saw J. But what were the odds really? It couldn’t have been him, so I shooed the idea away and moseyed on. A few minutes later, I finally arrived at the designated address, parked, hung my feet out of the car door and, as per my custom, surveyed my surroundings. Once again, my heart jumped, this time, unbelievably and indisputably, J was getting out of a car right across the street from me. I yelled out, he turned his head, our excitement to discover one another in this way was palpable. Laughter, hugs and all around gaiety were quick to follow. Our reunion was rousing but brief as we were both en route to other appointments. I scorned him a bit for falling out of touch, he protested, I gave him my email address and we dispersed, filling the air between us with promises of fast reunion.

From day one I knew in my gut exactly who J was. I knew to dispense with all expectations in regards to him, unless I wanted my heart broken and scattered in his wake, along with all the others.  I knew this because he was to me what I had on plenty of occasions been to others. He was aloof and inconstant and there was a part of him that few, if anyone, could reach; a kind of karmic taste of my own medicine. Years ago I had taken the necessary, conscious steps of steeling myself against him. Although I wasn’t completely successful at wrangling my attachment, I did manage to will my heart into a formidable check, so his departure didn’t much affect me then. Now i had to once again remind myself, that although he could mean everything to me on one day, he would as easily be gone the next. This had already been lightly confirmed by our history. Furthermore, I had to consider that despite the numerous, excited promises made on that sidewalk, I wouldn’t hear from him again.

But I did, I heard from him right away. Here is an excerpt from that email, it is the only correspondence of ours that I was able to find, luckily it’s just right. It set the tone for J & M version 2.0, our ill fated reboot.

“I’m living in LA and YOU are officially my only friend there— this entails for you a number of abject responsibilities, like hanging out with me regularly and pretending to adore me.  My old email address got overrun with vaguely pornographic adverts re: enlarging the penis, shrinking the dating pool, so I abandoned it years ago– guess I threw the M out with the bathwater. I traveled, then I went to Berkeley, then I lived in San Francisco and worked as the definitively MALE host at a transgender restaurant/bar, spent my time preening and flirting and being pretty obnoxious I suppose, indulging in different forms of wickedness… this stint eventuated in something crisis-like and I left the bar and city and scampered back to Father in the Pacific Palisades to be an innocuous, aerobically inclined non-smoker who doesn’t pay rent and eats well… I work for dad flexibly as a verbally adept pseudo-para-paralegal with almost no responsibilities and vast groves of free time. I have been reading more than writing but always with a view to writing– I’m going to take some writing classes at our paltry Santa Monican Alma-Mater this summer, one in fiction, one poetry workshop.  In the Fall I’ll apply to PhD programs in literature and, depending on my productivity this summer, maybe MFA programs. Most importantly, I’m in L.A. indefinitely and you simply must be my friend– I’ve missed you (you who stands out from and over a boggled vastness of less resonant memories and persons from my earliest twenties).  Anyways, i have to insist that less time separate our last meeting from our next, less time than our custom would have it– if you’re exceedingly busy, too busy for idle socializing, I’ll commission some tennis lessons.  Warmly, moi ”   

The quickest way to a lonely girl’s heart is through a perfectly crafted sentence that tells her how significant and singularly special she is, how she is not to be forgotten. This knowledge is not to be misused, as lonely girls are an endangered species, and playing with their surprisingly squishy hearts is not only ill advised but also strictly against regulation. To be fair though, no heart should be played with, as most are quite breakable and none, in fact, are toys.

J and I met that very night for coffee, the fire flickered from its artificial coffee house pit, words swam in streams, more fervent than before; we had both grown some and not at all. It was as if no time had passed between us, and once again, against my better judgment, I found myself teetering dangerously close to his edge.

To be continued in  Part 4..…….



43 thoughts on “Part 3: On lonely girls and broken hearts

  1. Okay, IGBG, I finally made it here. Better late than never, right?

    But not only did I read your post, I also read through the comments, all of them from males, including the now infamous J, except for the very insightful one from Erin. So I don’t think you really need me for yet more positive feedback. I think you’ve gotten plenty of positive response to your continuing story. That said….

    Oh how disappointed your mother must have been when your date with the Jewish plastic surgeon got sidetracked by the distracting, enchanting, and mysterious J. And I really do have a tough time imagining you as a lonely, vulnerable, 23-year-old girl with a squishy heart. Maybe you were, but you write like someone who has always been on top of things, in control, very self-aware, and a head turner who would likely be the one to break a heart or three along the way. Not with malice aforethought, of course, but just because of who you are — or were.

    So it’s interesting to read about this more vulnerable, unexpected side of IGBG. Now quit teasing us and get to the climax already. Hey, it took me only three installments to lose my virginity. But the end did come quickly for me, so to speak.


    1. I do need it, not necesserily positive, i just want to Know if YOU specifically still like the story. Bahaha i dont even know what to say to the rest of that. I hardly think being written up on my tiny blog read by like 10 people qualifies a man for infamousness. As for who i was/am, you flatter me, and you’re somewhat right, but think seaurchin, that might help? Ever seen one? Ate one?


      1. Well, even if it is only to the 10 people who read your blog (I think there is likely more than 10, but whatever) he has achieved some degree of infamy. And as to your question about whether I, specifically, like the story, my asking for the next installment should answer that adequately, no?

        Yes, I do know what a sea urchin is, although, outside of an aquarium or in a Jacques Cousteau special on TV, I’ve never seen one of those spiny creatures up close and personal. And I have eaten sea urchin in the form of Nigiri sushi, although I will admit, after experiencing a bit of a gag reflex upon first putting one in my mouth, that sea urchin sushi is not to my taste. So you fancy yourself to be sea urchin? Spiny and awful tasting? I would have considered you to be something a bit more exotic, perhaps rainbow maki.


        1. Rainbow maki is not exotic, dont get into sushi with me i will dessimate you . Sea urchin has a hard shell, difficult to crack and clean, the nigiri is the animal’s gonads actually, sex organs lol thats pretty exotic by my estimation, and to those of us true connoiseurs of sushi and not pretenders such as yourself, it is absolutely unparalleled in deliciousness


          1. Okay, you’re right. Rainbow maki is not particularly exotic, but it can be colorful. And FWIW, I can very much hold my own when it comes to sushi. One of the best sushi places in all of San Francisco is right around the corner from where I live. I’m a freakin’ regular there. As to what sea urchin nigiri is, I did not know that it is the sea urchin’s sex organs. I thought the sushi chef just yanked all those spiny things out of the critter’s core and put what was left on a bed of rice wrapped in some seaweed. And I agree, it is unparalleled, but not in deliciousness as much as awfulness.

            Liked by 1 person

    1. He is. regrettably in my stirred curiosity i located him on facebook to ask the question i didn’t ever get answered before… and although my profile settings are completely private and i went through the motions of deleting all the links to my blog beforehand, facebook let me down, his nonfriended view of my profile displayed said links for some reason. Having talked about it though, he, in true J fashion, expressed fullhearted support of my telling of this story, whatever my version, so dont worry, i intend to remain unapologetically honest to its very conclusion, perhaps even more so now that i have no pangs of secret guilt and the cathartic prospect of having him know exactly what it was like for me. Silver lining.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. My writing is probably less purple these days, criticism duly heartened, though I’ll still sometimes misuse a passive verb with a view to re-invention. The meta-self-disfigurement of this kind of awareness is startling, sheer, abrupt and totally unignorable. Never again moi, J


  3. “I’d be willing to run away if someone would go with me.” How I’ve felt for years. Only problem is that I had the opportunity to make this happen a few years ago and I didn’t take it. I’ve been kicking myself … hard … ever since.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Teehehhehe, he preens with and through words, no doubt about it, it’s the equivalent of 50 shades of grey for a young introverted lonely girl, it’s shameless and overly finessed, effortlessly polished, but undeniable alluring to its audience. Bottom line is he writes like a romantic, for romance’s own sake, not even for the recipient

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Look! I can comment! Some great moments in here, but you are killing me with these To Be Continueds… I am impatient.

    My Faves:
    “We had both grown some and not at all.” I’ve always found it curious how it’s possible for us humans to hold two completely opposing and mutually exclusive truths in our heads at once. Sort of like the whole George Orwell doublethink business. And, yet, I know exactly what you mean here. Even as we change, we stay painfully the same. Our ability to recognize and worry over this is what separates us from the beasts.

    J calling the girl an enchantress, but it being less a compliment and more a thinly veiled means of nudging their interactions in the direction of meaningless. Yes, exactly! V did this to me a lot. You are astute to see/have seen it for the semantic doggery it truly is. Most of us ladies fall for it hook, line and sinker. 🙂

    If J’s note to you was any indication, he is the Enchantress. Or Enchanter, or whichever you please. He’s clearly a talented writer, and his prose is so very purple and beguiling. It reminds me of the kind of letter that Tom from “The Talented Mr. Ripley” would write. Seen that? Fawning and flashy and engineered to suck you right in. Both his letter and the movie, I mean.

    I’ve a suspicion of what’s coming in the next installment and I’m already gritting my teeth in solidarity with your previous self.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hahaha that wAs so satisfying i kinda feel like i should buy you dinner. I’m gonna revel in it for a minute and scan it a few times before i reply to your reply. I knew though, that you would understand. That email sums up perfectly his craft, i always spoke male-ese, but he had me completely at his mercy, that’s the trouble with that kind of attachment it’s always extended to our intellectual betters, who cannot reciprocate because we are”t theirs’s an impossible brain love.
      I wish i could share his poems, i
      Dont have them anymore, you’d love him all your own.
      P.s. I guess i did get to responding to you lol but that dont mean i won’t resoond some more


    2. I couldnt hAve put it better, fawning and flashy and engineered. Yes! I dont know that i’d Ripley him, he is besides his weapons of articulation so very harmless!
      I really want to know what you think will happen, plz tell me! Plz plz plz. Because i wager you’re wrong.


    3. It’s always easiest to be astute when you’re not the subject of the marginalization, so dont be giving me too much credit. The funniest thing is that your input has offered me a weird kind of satisfaction because i never had confimration that it wasn’t all me and all my fault. In life i always take responsibility for my feelings, so blaming those involved in my hurting is not part of my rationalizing, furthermore in true lonely girl fashion i never tAlked about this stuff with anyone so in a way you have suddenly popped into the role or consoling girlfriend with the “i can’t believe thT jerk!” Kind of narrativel.



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