Now Back To Your Regularly Scheduled Life.

I was sitting outside my apartment with my Neighbor the other day cozied up in a white knit cap, black leather jacket and a ballerina pink cashmere sweater, and the narcissist in me thought to myself;

Oh my God, I am dressed exactly like Kirsten Dunst would be if she was playing me in the movie about a girl who is dating her neighbor in the Fall at the beach.

(Basically, in the movie about my life.)

My family used to play that game at dinner table. But these days, my life doesn't feel like a film...
It feels as though my life - and this little project - plays out like a tv series.
Obviously the story of my Dutchman would be aired during sweeps.

Announcer: Next week on Style & Saturn Return!

Followed by a series of glossy teasers:

Just, yaknow, bloggin'.

First shot: Me cross-legged on my bed, in reallyfreakingcute pajamas, my face illuminated by the glow of the computer screen, typing away.

Voiceover: He was the first person I wanted to call.
Cut to: Quick yet panicked shot of me tumbling over myself in a packed restaurant, with Goldi's voice in the background asking, Do you want me to call you neighbor?
Voiceover: And the last person I wanted call.
Followed by my voice, tearful saying, I need your help, over a shot of  Apt F carrying me into my apartment.
Voiceover: And the person I did call.

Cut to: Goldi, Beauty & me, dressed to the nines, squished in the back of a sparkling white sports car singing along with an old school rap song at the top of our lungs, nighttime and neon signs flickering past in the windows.
The Girls go out on the town!


Cut to: Misty nighttime shot of Bijou and I smoking on that familiar restaurant patio.

We are so carefree!

Bijou: Sometimes I think I'm just using him because I had nothing to fall back on.

Best friends commiserating!

Cut to: Sitting at table in a busy candlelit sushi restaurant with Goldi & Beauty.
Beauty is staring at me - wide eyed and frozen faced, & says,
Oh God. Don't move.
Me: What?! Is there a bug in my hair?!
As I brush my head frantically, and start to look behind me, the camera pans to a view of my Ex & his new girlfriend side by side in a table over my shoulder and you hear Beauty say, He is sitting behind you.
Oh the drama! Tune in to see what happens!


We attempted to be incognito.
Fail.

Cut to: Apt F laying next to me in Apt C with the tv on in the background: I've been thinking about it, and I do want to take you out. Do things right, like on a real date.


Cut to: Me, walking - more like limping - down a nondescript yet busy street in a cozy sweater and moto boots, barking into my phone: Ugh! He's not my boyfriend!
I imagine there is a flower shop behind me, and perhaps a man leaning against a wall reading a paper.


Dramatic Ending Voiceover - as the camera pans over Apt F and I laying, intertwined watching tv in my apartment:  I am not Goldilocks. I am content with the porridge that is too cold; I am content with the bed that is too hard. Or maybe I'm just not that hungry; maybe I'm not really looking for somewhere to rest just yet.

Followed by, And now, your local news.
Maybe, just maybe... I've been watching too much tv lately.

Sidenotes: Now I am trying to figure out who would play the population of Saturn in my television series... I'd cast Dax Shepard as my quirky, trying to get his act together neighbor in Apt F, for one.

And yes, I did see my Ex last night out with his girlfriend. And just like the first time I saw him, I wasn't surprised. As I was waiting for my girlfriends to pick me up last night, I thought to myself, 'Well, it is his birthday tomorrow & we are going to his favorite celebratory restaurant... I wonder if he'll be there.' Lo & behold! He is nothing if not predictable.
I can't believe it, but today is his thirtieth birthday. We met when we were 23. And you know, I wasn't upset seeing him, I am hopeful for him & truly hope that he is happy. But still, I can't believe he's thirty. Also, it helps that I am waaaaaaaaaaaay prettier than his new girlfriend.
(Or, at least, that's what my friends tell me.)

And... Kat Moss (with the help of some Pinot Grigio) may have strong-pawed me into texting him Happy Birthday. Oops.