I called today and wished my ex a happy birthday. And it was only after I'd done so that I wondered if perhaps that wasn't the best idea I'd ever had. I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be marking these milestones in his life. He is my ex, after all. It's been 3½ years, after all. I've reached that stage where even in my heart of hearts I wish him well (as opposed to the past when I might have wished him well in public and maybe might have indulged in a little schaudenfreude in private), and I think I've truly moved on.
Like my friend Daniel said to me about his own breakup, just today, "Even though it was mutual, I didn't realize how hard it would be." That's kind of how I felt, at least for the first year or so.
I once read that one takes at least as long to get over a relationship as one spent in the relationship, which means it should take me 4½ years to move past Gavan. I don't know. I had some anger in the beginning -- the conviction that I was just so much trash in the can for him as soon as it was over. He had someone to move on to as soon as our relationship ended, and I ended up alone. And not just alone, but alone in a really big, very intimidating city. And not just any city, but perhaps the loneliest city in the world. None of which, of course, is Gavan's fault, but there's just no way for me to disassociate it from him.
I spent this evening in the company of Kenny Bolden, and we went to see his friend Vince Gatton in a show at the Strawberry One-Act Festival. My fears were allayed: Vince (thankfully!) is a really good actor, and the piece he's doing deserves to go further in the festival which, as it turns out, is a contest of some sort, too. I have to say that I was a bit horrified that any festival is set up in which actors, playwrights, and productions are forced to compete with each other. Isn't making a life in theater, or for that matter producing theater in general, hard enough without making it all about an "our show is better than your show" competition?
That having been said, from an objective standpoint, Vince's show deserves to move on in the festival. There was a time when I wasn't discerning enough to know the difference between good writing and good actors salvaging a bad script, but when I was asked to vote for two of the four scripts I saw tonight, Vince's was easily one of the two strongest. It was a bit of a surprise, frankly, because I didn't realize I had grown to the point where I was able to discern the difference.
So the night was a delight, except for the two CLEARLY bad plays. But it got even more interesting after I left Ken and headed back to Brooklyn.
After Kenny and I got a bite (GOD, but the hamburgers are good at The Westway Diner...not as good as McHale's, but pretty darn good for diner food), I came back to Brooklyn. It was only about 10 p.m. or so, and I figured since I didn't have to work tomorrow, I'd stop at this new wine bar in my neighborhood -- going by the interesting name of The Total Wine Bar -- and have a glass.
Well, it turns out that it only opened last Saturday, and so most of the staff was sitting around kibitzing. I got to meet the entire complement of bartenders (Greg, who was working, and Beth, whose duties seem to go beyond the usual bartender stuff and include buying stock and stuff, and who was sitting & trying the wine too), the owner (an adorable little man named Adam who is really cute), the interior designer (whose name I can't remember but who's nicknamed "Joe"), the owner's roommate Carrie who's leaving for Minneapolis at the end of the month (delightful girl -- we're very sad she's moving), and assorted friends of Greg the bartender who came in 'cuz they couldn't make the opening night party. The long and the short of it is that I was having such a good time hanging out there that I closed the joint and had, like, four glasses of wine.
Although I had the presence of mind to drink a glass of water and take some ibuprofen before bed, I'm still a little woozy today. Lordie. Amy Hartman would call me an alcoholic for sure.
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