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About a year and a half ago, I went to my first ever bachelor party. It was a wild time, but it also taught me a shit ton about growing up. And I met someone absolutely incredible. If you’re new here, jambo! Read the write-up and rejoin us.
All caught up? Beautiful.
So there was this smoking hot Jewish ER resident. Absolute Mount Krakatoa fire flames. 11/10 forest fire that keeps Smokey the Bear up at night. We danced. We laughed a lot. Like, a ton. I’m a funny dude, but I was in the zone that night. 1999 Pedro. 2007 Brady. 2016 Boston Max. Just three great years for three greats in their primes. I was so on that night. Every joke landed. And you know what? She fired right back. She was witty and magnetic. We talked and danced. Danced and talked. There was obviously some kind of connection. And hey! She was a doctor in NYC and we actually had the same favorite bar in NYC, it was fate.
But the boyfriend. She didn’t mention him, but I did see her texting a dude a few times. And when the bachelor boys decided we were going to leave Little Havana-oh-na-na and head back to South Beach, we invited the doctor and her friend, but they decided to stay. One of my cousins walked by her on the way out and he told me the exchange went like this:
Cousin: You’re going to make a tall Jew happy some day.
(Sidebar, I’m 5’8” and this girl was probably like 5’7” – – and my cousin is 6’4” which has nothing to do with anything, but kind of gives you a nice little image of him bending down to deliver his message). And apparently her response was this:
Rachel: Well I’ve got a short one now and they’re only getting shorter.
And then, I never saw her again.
Flash forward to this summer. I’m a New York City resident now. I’m sitting up at the rooftop pool. I’ve got a broken leg. I’m literally bored to tears. I’ve read every book known to man. I’ve seen every 1080p porn on PornHub. So I start Facebook stalking. And then all of a sudden, I think about her. Rachel. Because her favorite bar – Session 73 – is my favorite bar. It’s even where I broke my leg. And I think to myself “Kyle,” (that’s what I call myself) – I said “Kyle, maybe that smoking hot ER doc from NYC that I met in Miami broke up with her boyfriend. Let’s find out.”
I really had no plan. Like, what if I found out she was single. Was I just going to keep showing up to the emergency room she works in complaining of chest pains until I finally run into her? Maybe I stake out the hospital, say I’m having lunch with a guy who works there, Art Vandelay. I had no ammo. But again, broken leg Max was losing his mind.
Her Facebook page, for non-friends, was barren. You couldn’t see anything. Except for life events. She had that feature turned on. I saw that merely a few weeks before she became an attending at an ER in Florida. Mazel tov. And a month before that: she got engaged.
And for some fucked up reason, I was upset.
Why? Why did I have a visceral reaction of sadness when in reality I should just be happy for someone I literally had only a few hours of interaction with? It’d almost be like if I found out Anna Kendrick was engaged. Or the rocket ship herself Kristina Schulman. Like, there’s no way in this universe or the next that I’ve got a shot with those people, but I know it would still crush me.
I don’t have a good answer. And the thing is, I’m generally not a jealous person. I’m not jealous of her boyfriend, now fiancé. I’m not jealous of her. I’m genuinely happy that she’s happy. The only thing I can think about is that we just really hit it off. And these days, that very first impression, that very first meeting, in an organic setting: it so rarely stays with you. I meet hundreds, maybe even tens, of girls every month. It’s one of the reasons I moved to New York City in the first place. Most of these meetings are completely forgettable.
The fact is, the stars have to really align for all systems to be go and everything to be perfect when two people meet. You’ve got to be in the same place at the same time. One of you has to decide to say hi. You have to connect instantly. This is rare. It’s why we all go on so many first dates that lead to absolutely nothing. And when the perfect situation seems to be there – laughing, connecting, dancing – you can’t help but forget that it’s probably too good to be true. You lose yourself in the moment.
You own it you better never let it go. It’s so rarely captivating to the point where you question if it’s even reality – that it’s too close to a movie to even be real – that when it doesn’t work out, it crushes you.
I’ve been dumped. I’ve been cheated on. I’ve been ghosted. These things happen. Pain heals. Chicks dig scars. Glory lasts forever. (Falco, S. 2000). It just sucks that when you meet someone who you immediately put in the pantheon, and you’ll never get to be in the position for her to dump you to cheat on you to ghost you, it blows. It’s a bit like my boy Moonlight Graham. If you never get that at bat, it stays with you longer than some of the ones you actually had a shot with. Because it’s an unknown, and the possibilities were endless. And now, seeing she was engaged: the possibilities ended. .