Once a week, Daily Intel takes a peek at what your friends and neighbors are doing behind doors left slightly ajar. Today, the Heartbroken Summer U.N. Intern: 20, female, heterosexual , Williamsburg.
7:34 a.m.: My roommate leaves the apartment ridiculously early and wakes me up. I think of my now ex-boyfriend. Even though I’m basically having the ideal “living in the city” summer, any moment I sit, I get overcome by heart-wrenching … well, heartbreak. We broke up a month ago, just as the school year finished. I’m still hopelessly in love with him. I cry a little as I think about how he said my nickname and fight the urge to call him.
7:50 a.m.: Try to masturbate to make myself feel better. I can’t get into it. This has been a common occurrence lately.
7:55 a.m.: Go back to sleep instead.
11 a.m.: Wake up to new text messages. One from my new bisexual friend whom I got drunk with last night, telling me that she just had the most amazing sex. Fuck. I hate living vicariously through people.
10:45 p.m.: At a party in the Upper West Side, calling a fling from last summer/boy I made out with last week, since he lives nearby. His friends want to come to where I am, except I don’t think they’d fit in. He says I’m “totally welcome” to join them, except I realize I don’t really care enough to make nice with strangers in their element. He says he’ll call tomorrow.
11:15 p.m.: Mutual friend of Fling tells me he made out with this Angelina Jolie look-alike, whom I am acquainted with , in Chicago last week. Immediately feel angry but then reassure myself that I two-timed him last summer, so no big deal.
11:50 p.m.: Drunk off of a lot of Champagne and give in and call the ex-boyfriend for the first time in weeks. We have a long, great conversation where I tear up multiple times. Says he feels sad sometimes, and that his summer is lonely. He asks if this means he can call me now. I say yes.
3 a.m.: Get stoned after the party and eat cheese and bread. Return to my bed and am horny after successful phone conversation and masturbate successfully.
10:15 p.m.: It occurs to me that Fling never called. Contemplate calling him, but I don’t want to go that far uptown. He’s too short for me, anyway.
11:45 p.m.: Smoke and watch Where the Heart Is. Roommates are either out or asleep, so I finish the movie alone. Get horny and have another stoned masturbating session, which is incredible • two successful attempts in the row. I am pretty much notorious for masturbating with other roommates in the room, on the d.l. of course, but that’s not necessary tonight. Pass out on the couch.
3:35 p.m.: At Brooklyn Flea and pass by blond guy who is walking alone (like me!) twice. He’s cute, and I wish I had more guts to talk to strangers. Instead I hide behind my red heart-shaped Lolita sunglasses. Eat lots of mini-cupcakes to make myself feel better.
7:15 p.m.: Ex-boyfriend IMs me. He’s dog-sitting alone. We talk and I fight the urge to tell him that when we speak, the breakup no longer makes sense. We’re so natural around each other. I know it’s too soon to say it, so I don’t say anything about it.
7:49 p.m.: Sending him the funniest ads I find off of Craigslist casual encounters. I ask what NSA means; he Googles it and finds it out. No strings attached. I miss him.
10 a.m.: On my way to one of my internships in midtown. As I get off the L at Eighth Avenue, a man taps me on the shoulder. I almost die with excitement — am I cute? Is he going to ask for my number? No. Apparently there is a sticker on my tights that I forgot to take off.
6: p.m.: One of my gay friends from college is visiting the house. He pets me and asks how I’m doing, alluding to the ex. I mumble that I’m fine and immediately switch the subject.
10 p.m.: Find solace in marijuana, yet again. Pass out watching local news.
10:35 a.m.: Internship at the U.N., and yet again I am painfully late.
11:40 a.m.: Attend a conference on HIV/AIDS. I’m totally petrified to sleep with other people after hearing all these panel speakers. Do not look forward to resorting to condom usage again.
8:30 p.m.: Best guy friend comes over and he makes me dinner and we eat it on the roof. Mussels, clams, baked fish, and fresh arugula salad. We discuss our respective opposite-sex issues. He asks me if I’m ready to date/hook up with other people. I say probably not, but I wouldn’t be opposed to randomly making out. I admit that I have no idea about how to go about it.
11 p.m.: Drunk with the rest of my housemates. A graduate from my college is there and I realize I am crushing on him. I get louder and more excitable and eventually embarrass myself by talking too loud and fast.
11:50 p.m.: Get high and settle into the couch and my surroundings. New Crush leaves and I think about what to write on his Facebook wall.
1 p.m.: Meet the U.S. ambassador to the U.N. I am grossly underdressed and completely embarrassed.
6 p.m.: Eat dinner with my ex-ex-boyfriend, my great high-school love. It’s fun and pleasant, and I admit to him that I’m completely still in love with my ex.
7 p.m.: We say good-bye. I tell him that it’s so fun hanging out with him because it reminds me how I can still be friends with my exes, and eventually my ex-boyfriend and I will be like this too. He looks at me and laughs and says, “Well, we had a very different, special relationship. Most people aren’t friends after breaking up.”
7:05 p.m.: Remember how much I hated Ex-Ex’s advice and outlook on life.
10 p.m.: Getting drinks with my roommate and getting increasingly more and more drunk.
11:50 p.m.: A guy taps on my headband to spark a conversation. I’m so standoffish. Is this how people start conversations in the real world? By tapping my headband? Just buy me a fucking drink.
1 a.m.: Drunk. Drunk. Drunk. Happy that my fake I.D. and faux British accent is working me well.
2:50 a.m.: Pass out on the L and miss my stop. Have to wait twenty minutes for the next train back.
3:20 a.m.: Fall asleep in my underwear, with no one to keep me warm. Oh well, I’ve got all summer to rebound.
Totals: Zero acts of intercourse or oral sex; two acts of masturbation; four acts of marijuana usage; two acts of intoxication; two communications with ex-boyfriend.