in the land of ex’s…

So ex-boyfriend #1, we shall call him M, (and not in the slightest because he is any ounce akin to james bond or 007, solely out of convenience and faux anonymity) and his current girlfriend are moving to the neighborhood. According to Google Maps, in fact, they are 1.1 miles away (remind me to check mapquest for confirmation, in the similar way that people seek second opinions when they get a diagnosis they don’t particularly want to believe). I’ve heard people say Manhattan is small, but REALLY GOD? They’re moving 2 blocks away from my best girl friends and 2 apartments away from some of my guy friends. Who did I shit upon to deserve this? Actually, don’t answer that. The list is quite long.

I’m being unnecessarily dramatic, however, as this wasn’t one of those messy break-ups where you can’t stand to share the same overly crowded zip code as the other person. Well…it isn’t now. M and I had a fairly uneventful settling of terms, one much unlike the current one I’m going through. (Sidenote: A, if you choose to move cities, I fully support it. Shotty NYC – but I do hear China is nice this time of year. Maybe I’ll start sleeping at night and stop smoking cigarettes – highly doubtful, however, so get comfy in your nicely furnished SpaHa home, this heartbreaking tango is not ending anytime soon).

Anyway, don’t get me wrong, I’m not excited to be within a stone’s throw of boyfriend #1, but whatevs, I graduated from pre-school, I can share the island of Manhattan. Should we relocate to LOST and have to share the polar bears and Flocke and weird eye-liner wearing Richard (which, sidenote: dear writers, I am far more interested in why Richard is constantly wearing eyeliner than in all of this time traveling bullshiz, fyi) no dice. One important term slash condition: M better stay the hell away from Dorrian’s, however, cause if not, shit will go down. HARD.

Not only am I an only child (well..kind of) but no diploma from Child’s World Pre-School will get me to share Dorrian’s. I don’t know about you, but this haven of drug addicted prep school revelers post-2 am on any given Friday night is hands down my recipe for a good time. Of course my bachelor’s degree from [insert mid-Atlantic division 1 religiously-affiliated college] would prescribe a place like Dorrian’s, but upon entering, it really is so. much. more. Regardless, if I know M like I know I know M, he will make that his regular hang out. Au contraire, mon ami. I was there first. And besides, you and Mrs. M are basically married so you can keep your pastel colored polo shirts and Topsiders right where they are, thank you very much.