I didn’t kiss anyone when the clock struck midnight on New Years Eve.
That was a long time ago. It’s April, it’s finally spring, how dare I talk about January! Well, it’s April, it’s finally spring, and I have yet to experience my first kiss of 2016.
So far, my year in review is 2016: Never Been Kissed.
I remember my last kiss all too vividly. Maybe you do too: I compared it to those creatures in Harry Potter who use their kiss to suck out wizards souls. “His kiss felt like a dementor’s,” I wrote, feeling pleased with my witty analogy. It was the worst kiss ever. My last kiss was the worst kiss ever. It haunts my dreams. Expecto Patronum, dammit! Was it so bad it’s made me terrified to kiss anyone ever again? Is this Post Tramatic Kiss Syndrome?
No. It’s the cliché “Dry Spell”. Which is hazardous in this city! Wanna know why NYC has a reputation for promiscuity (even if it might not be deserved)? Because taking the subway can be awkward when you haven’t kissed anyone SINCE LAST YEAR. At rush hour the trains are so packed, the only other time your face is so close to another’s is if you’re about to kiss.
I’m at eye level with some tall dude’s mustache.
“I wonder what that ironic facial hair would feel like against my face.
His mouth is right there, I can feel his breath on my forehead. Which is kinda gross…but…
What would happen if I just kissed him?
I mean, what if the train lurched and my mouth just accidentally bumped his?”
This was my internal monologue on the subway the other day, folks. I quickly followed it with the scene closer: “Probable cold sores and arguable sexual assault. THAT’S what would happen! WHAT am I thinking!?”
I’M THIS CLOSE TO KISSING STRANGERS ON THE SUBWAY, IT’S NOT OKAY.
Hey, I have a date tonight. He seems cool. He’s into recycling so we’re perfect for each other.
Casting myself into the future, here’s what I see: he won’t kiss me because it’s a first date and he doesn’t want to be too forward. He goes home, he Googles me, he reads this post. Then he never calls me again.
Is it because I didn’t kiss someone on New Year’s Eve? Am I cursed for poo-pooing a long-standing American tradition?
Or was it the dementor? What if dementor-like kiss contagious? What if I kiss like a dementor now AND DON’T EVEN KNOW IT! What if I’ve slowly been turning into a dementor ever since that kiss and I don’t even realize it?? This could explain why Pottermore sorted me into Slytherin….
Your responses to my recent post about the struggles of getting validation for blogging meant a lot to me. Thank you. One was especially complementary and also sweetly requested “more you, less events”. Which honestly, I know. Correct me if I’m wrong, but my dating stories seem to unanimously be everyone’s favorites. There are plenty of other places to read about what’s going on in NYC, no one is coming here because I’m the most knowledgable about that. My strengths are my perspective, my vulnerability, my story. Sharing that multiple times a week is much harder than posting some cool pictures of New York. But I think I need to mix things up with this blog, friends, and try harder.
If you have any ideas on this, thoughts, advice, what you like to read, I’d love to hear it. If you’ve been wanting to say for months “YOUR EVENT POSTS ARE BORING” but felt too polite, now is your chance. Or if you ONLY go to events I cover here (ya know, often a year later), tell me that too! Happy almost Friday everyone!