This is My Year?

I'm falling into it again.  That cynical, bitter old-maid feeling that inevitably seems to develop when I come back to New York in the fall and walk around seeing all the skinny model-couples holding hands in Nolita talking about jetting off the to Hamptons for the weekend and looking happy and in love and glorious.  And then I come back to my room and stare out the window at all the young-professional couples who seem to live at Bar Martignetti and wonder why, in a city of 8,250,567 people (according to the most recent US census, which does not count illegal residents if they can't be found, so probably even more) is it so damn hard to find a boyfriend?  Somewhere in this huge sprawling city there has to be a man who would consider dating me, and who would be able to deal with the fact that I'm ambitious and hard working and even that I'm a little emotionally inaccessible a lot of the time.  Maybe my exasperation is slightly premature.  It is only the second week here, after all.  But my classes are already a wasteland, and everyone at work is either gay or married.  Yay.  

Whatever.  I will not let myself start out this year feeling defeated and unattractive.  Sketchy men on the street think I have Great Legs!  It's a start.

Anyways, enough.  Last night Sonia and Maddy and I finished off two bottles of wine and had a girly gossip/spill-your-guts fest (does anyone else hate that phrase as much as I do?  It's just so vivid.  And kind of gross.  Like if you opened your mouth to say something and your stomach lining and intestines spilled out instead of words.  Actually, that's kind of what's been happening to me lately, in a figurative sense.  I've almost completely lost my filter and have put my foot in my mouth more than a few times lately) and then woke up late this morning and got brunch at the Waverly diner, where Maddy and I waxed rhapsodical about diner coffee and Sonia drank tea out of this glass mug that I immediately wanted to steal.  It's really one of the most comforting places in the world.  Then we walked around enjoying the beautiful weather and street fair on University Place and spending an obscene amount of money on text books we went home cleaned and re-arranged, and I spent a few hours trying (unsuccessfully) to understand Comte while trying to stave off a post-wine headache and the feeling that someone punched me in the kidneys.  I don't know that that is attributable to the wine.  Or even if it's my kidneys.  But still.  It hurts!

Maddy just told me I'm a tortured genius, listening to Schoenberg and blogging away.  Oh, if only.  I'm just a little college girl who needs to be self-indulgent and pitying every once in a while before I can snap out of it.  Which I have now done.  Sorry for dragging you through the mire with me.