I blame Puccini.

You'd think that I would have learned my lesson about asking the cosmos for a sign by now as the last time I asked for such a favor the answer came screaming out of the clouds in the form of a meteor email of death, completely obliterating all my naive hopes and dreams about rekindling a romance with SunnyBoy. In an attempt to condense the last 9 years of my dating life into a few sentences, I now offer you the shortest summary possible. Sunny and I spent the majority of high school and college dancing about one another in one way or the other. We ended up on different coasts for school and always stayed in never quite platonic contact. Coming to visit me in NYC promptly after breaking up with his serious girlfriend, he was in no way shy about wanting to suss out where I was in my life and if I was ready to make our always odd relationship work in the future. Making some terrible decisions along the way, I sabotaged my relationship with my then boyfriend, My Favorite Mistake. Two months of silence from Sunny ensue. I ask for a sign as to whether I should tell him that I have been hung up on him for 9 years. Unknowingly, he emails me within 8 hours to tell me that he has proposed to his new girlfriend of two months. I then decide, either in a fit of foolery or bravery, to tell him that I have always loved him. He responds saying that though he had always hoped I'd feel that way about him and had waited for 9 years to hear me say that, that he has found the otherwise nameless "woman of his life." Reading his final line claiming that he sincerely hopes we can be best friends till the end of our days, I promptly burn his old love letters and decide that I have indeed just been a fool, nothing more.

As signs go, I think that was a fairly obvious one, with "EPIC FAIL!" echoing through the universe and the sudden emptiness of my love life.

Meanwhile, the My Favorite Mistake (MFM) and I make the torturous journey to the end of our relationship. We have never lacked for love or passion, but thoughtfulness and consistency. MFM was my first true love and adult relationship, despite the entire convincing myself I loved SunnyBoy instead unfortunate circumstance. Deciding though that MFM should have no more opportunities to ruin any of my holidays after the great Halloween, Thanksgiving, Valentine's Day and birthday debacles, I instate a three month no contact rule which he then freely ignores by contacting me in some way every five days.

I try for some time to fill my life with shoe purchases and no-string-attached horizontal foolery with a boy named Violafro. Violafro reels me in though careful Woody Allen humor and well planned dates to only then casually mention several weeks later that, by-the-by, he's been seeing someone seriously for three weeks and has settled in to a serious relationship. He requests continued friendship. I tell him to go fuck himself.

I swear off men...for two weeks.

I then enroll myself in online dating with the hopes of at least having amusing dates about which to blog. My Favorite Mistake, like clockwork, continues to call, text, message, write and send up smoke signals all in hopes of rekindling our relationship. I ignore him. I go on the worst date ever with Plays with Darts, the serial killer dart-enthusiast.

I swear off men for another week.

I launch an all out war against dating. First came Douchebaggery, a tragically hip film student turned internet start-up guy, who I had ditched a year and a half ago for Arabian Knight. Douchebaggery calls in a panic pre-date because his car won't start. We reschedule and I continue on in my dating assault. Then came Too Sexy, the pretty boy who spent his time telling me all about his other dates. Along came TeaBreak, who under any other circumstances I would have been overjoyed to see again. We chat, we see a band, we walk around the entire city in comfortable companionship. As dates go, it was a pretty great date.

Mostly though, he makes me miss My Favorite Mistake (MFM) so much it feels like my heart is breaking again.

I get on the subway post-date and turn my ipod on to listen to some music as a distraction. Puccini blasts. I realize that I think about MFM whenever I sing, no one else. I get off the train randomly so I can get some air and not become the “crazy, crying girl on the subway.” I go upstairs. I ask for a sign to know what to do.

I run into My Favorite Mistake on the street corner. He almost has a heart attack. He was on his way to leave a letter and flowers at my door. He starts talking and I kiss him to shut him up. It’s like a surreal scene out of a movie.

So, I blame Puccini. I blame Puccini for making me realize that I’d rather crash and burn with him again than continue going on dates with countless, nice-enough men. I blame Puccini for making me get off the subway at midnight to stand on a street corner and ask for a sign. I blame Puccini for writing such music that it makes me want it all, love and passion consequences be damned. I never thought I’d get another such obvious sign, but who thinks things like this happen in real life?

I have no idea what is going to happen and frankly I’m a little terrified, terrified of the future, of the universe, and of making the same mistakes. This could be an ill-fated endeavor, a new adventure, or just more sadness between two people for whom love has never been an issue.

I'm not sure of anything besides that if given the chance, I would get off that train again in a heartbeat.

Queen of Spades