Samantha

After 11 years in the same spot, I moved my room to the other end of my loft, where I have stumbled upon the pleasant surprise of sleeping next to the freight elevator = perfect hearing of phone calls taken out in the hallway for "privacy." I've spent the last 35 minutes lisetening to some young-sounding chick breathlessly give an account of her recent breakup, upshoot thus:

- the ol' they were about to move in together, he ("Matt") wigged a bit
- they talked, and decided he'd see other women while she waited for him to realize what he wanted was her (WHERE DO THESE WOMEN GO DURING THE HOURS I AM AWAKE AND MOVING ABOUT ON PLANET EARTH?!??!?!!?!)
- she goes to Charleston, something about some book she just wrote.
- while there she runs into her ex-boyfriend, the "love of her life", who gets her back to his place, they almost coitus but her situation with Matt doth interruptus, even though she's very aware that they never had "the talk" re: rules of separation. Fends off ex, comes back to Brooklyn.
- whaddya know, while she was fending off ex, Matt fucks chick from his office. While "blackout drunk."
- he tells her, she's pissed, tells him that while he was fucking the office skank she was passing up a night with her ex, the love of her life, "YES, the one the book IS about!!!" Ouch!!!
- sounds like Matt convinced her he didn't cheat under there "agreement," they might try again, but now she's concerned cause he 1) might be a blackout drunk (4x a week - "at first I thought it was cute; I'd show up and he'd be at his table, staring at The Simpsons, and then wouldn't remember I was there the next day. Now, it's not so cute anymore!!") 2) cried a bit TOO much during confession et al.

Sounds like that's it for the night. I've spent the whole time daring myself to wander out to get a look at her face, but didn't. But you can be for damn sure I'm gonna have my ears perked up tomorrow night, gov'nah.