Last night at karaoke a flight attendant named Coral asked Samy and me how we knew each other.

💁🏻‍♀️: Tinder
👨🏻‍🎤: Yeah, we had one really hot week in 2017

I explained that we are friends now. When I told her I was friends with other women in his life, she tried to read the situation for drama. That’s how most people read the situation. Hell, I’d probably read it that way too if it hadn’t been me.

For those of you who were around back in 2017, when I was venturing out into the world, you might remember all the fun 🦄/🦩 (unicorn/flamingo) stories. Me coming to NYC to see one and ending up with the other. Juggling them on trips. Juggling all the rest of the guys. All the fun sex. The concerts. The sweat inducing anxiety. The “Will she make it out there in the big scary world” terror. All of it scored by Matty Healy and The 1975.

That first week out here in May 2017 I left my backpack with all of my psych meds in the back of an Uber. I had no way of getting more. It should have been a shit show. Instead, Samy and my AirBNB host Darah (who is still my friend) covered me until I could get back to AZ.

In the course of five years, I’ve pummeled through my second adolescence, fueled by booze and cigarettes and weed and music. And…lots of sex.

Jack asked me this morning if I’m ready to date again. I’ve taken off time from dating. It isn’t important to who I am right now.

“Not just yet,” I said. “I need a win.”

The win is in the works right now. Just in time for summer five year anniversary of that first NYC excursion.

Stay tuned.