The Real Wolves of Wall Street

I leaned back in my desk chair, stretching the kinks out of my limbs. Pulling my phone off my desk, I saw that it was almost 9 p.m.

"Good god," I said aloud to no one in particular. Mainly since.. no one was even there to hear me. I had completely lost track of the time going over website edits. We were doing a whole relaunch in the coming weeks, which meant every single line of copy on the website had to be reworked. It was a monstrous task on top of my already daily duties. Luckily on Monday, Colleen had relayed the good news that I would be assigned my very own intern soon from the crop of incoming college kids who were trying to bulk up their resume.

I saved what I was working on and shut down my computer, gathering my things to head home. As the elevator carried me swiftly down towards the lobby, I pulled out my phone and was alerted to the encouraging fact that I had 0 new messages since 5 p.m. Ever since I had fully flipped out on Ashley Sunday night when she told me about Steve, she had been tiptoeing around me at home and not sending me so much as a text during the day. Granted, she admitted that he had slept in her bed but they hadn't done more than kiss but still. Part of me didn't believe her, and the other part knew that even just kissing is definitely cheating.

Out on the street, I walked over to 7th and squashed the inner voice telling me not to waste 10 bucks on a cab, hailing the first available one I saw. 

"West 12th and Greenwich," I told the cabbie, settling into the seat as my phone buzzed with a text. It was a photo of Dylan's bed, strewn about with clothes and a half-full suitcase.

Think you can squeeze in there?

I smiled, in spite of the fact that he was packing to go drink and gamble on the other side of the country.  

Doubtful, I'm not nearly as bendy as the strippers you have waiting for you :) 

Although I was pissed that he was going to Vegas (I'm justified in this, right?), I didn't wanna be the psycho girlfriend who got mad at him for it. So instead, I just kept making passive-aggressive comments about strippers and prostitutes #mature. 

I dare to disagree with that statement Ms. Fitzgerald :) 

I wanted to go further but I knew it would eventually take a turn towards sexting, and I didn't want to get all hot and bothered in the back of a cab.. alone. So instead, I tucked my phone away and watched as the lights of Manhattan blurred past, bars and clubs just waking up for the evening. I couldn't believe that it was already dark out at 9 o'clock. This summer had flown by, but when I compared my life now to how my life was just four months ago, everything was different.

When I got home, Ash was no where to be found. There was a note on the kitchen counter alerting me to the fact that she was "out for drinks with friends" and wouldn't be home until later. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was most likely out with Steve.

Bored, I meandered into my room and changed into yoga pants and a t-shirt, absentmindedly scrolling through Facebook on my Mac. That lasted all of four seconds before I noticed two new engagements from people I went to high school with. Now, I love a good proposal story as much as the next gal but I'm not immune to feeling the pressure. Even though I didn't want to get married for another few years, it was like a little devil whispering in my ear "you're drying up!" every time I saw someone I had grown up with put a ring on it. 

Shutting the laptop, I decided to move into the living room and chip away at the ever-growing DVR situation. With all the work I had been doing and then spending any spare weekend with Dylan, I was seriously behind on the Fall shows. I clicked play on a new sitcom and settled in to watch. 

I was mentally debating whether or not pouring a glass of wine would constitute alcoholism (how many nights of wine per week is too many nights of wine per week?) when a familiar voice on the TV snapped me out of my head. 

It was a commercial for some new reality TV show that was premiering in late October. "The real Wolves of Wall Street," an announcer's voice was saying over a montage of shots of 20-something guys in suits, rushing around an office. Then it panned to a shot of the guys at a bar, doing shots with tons of girls surrounding them. I hit pause, scanning the screen again. 

Holy. Shit. It was Nick. I hit play again, standing with my face about 5 inches from the screen. It moved back to a shot of the guys walking into work .. Barclays Capital? But Nick worked for KPMG. I scanned my brain, trying to figure out that last time I had seen him. Briefly that morning he had been on my couch, but we didn't discuss anything at all. Then, there was the work event I had attended with him back in July. But I guess that was plenty of time to have moved onto a new company.

I replayed the commercial twice, in a state of complete and utter shock. Nick was doing REALITY TV? I paced the room, desperately wishing Ashley was home to talk this out with. Do I call Nick? Text him? Quietly freak out and pretend it never happened? 

In the end, I pulled up his name on my phone. 

Hey - did I just see you on a commercial for a new show on Bravo.. or do you have a doppelganger?