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After the events of Monday, I decided to be progressive and emailed The OC first thing Tuesday morning, telling him basically, that I'd thought he had been kidding, and sorry for the lack of a proper send-off and a goodbye hug.

I never heard back from him.

By yesterday around noon, I found myself, honestly, not all that broken-up about it. In fact, after the Hot Intern came up to me and told me that he was sorry he'd been out of town for the jaunt to Father's Office -- and that he'd definitely be up for a beer on the next outing -- I didn't give much though to the OC at all. And, I of course, immediately began planning the next night out, along with what flowers we'd have at the wedding, and the name of our first three kids.

When I went on my lunch break, I sat by myself at a bench and really thought about things.

I flashed back to a conversation I had with a good friend about two weeks ago. We'd been sitting by the pool at The Standard, drinking coffee and being mellow. I'd mentioned my dual-crush sitch about five minutes before, and since then, we'd sat in silence, enjoying the quiet and each other's company.

Out of no where, he casually asked me if I thought the hot Brazilian was too good for Laura Linney in "Love Actually." (We'd watched it together a month of two before.)

"Not at all," I replied honestly, wondering where exactly he was going.

"Then how come you don't think you're good enough for the Hot Intern?" He said bluntly. Earnestly.

It struck me speechless. It was a thought that had never occurred to me, and also the perfect articulation of exactly what was going on in my subconscious. An epiphany in the truest sense.

"You need to get over that, sweetheart," he said simply. We sat there again in silence.

Now that I think back to that, in light of my general reactions to the events of the past few days, I came to another realization: In all honesty, I think most of the reason I ever had a thing for the OC was because he paid me both attention and compliments, with an equal mix of affection and sincerity. Maybe I'm starved enough for the combination that I mistook gratification for attraction.

And perhaps the only thing standing between me and what I want (the Hot Intern) is... me.

Of course, this lasted until three o'clock that afternoon, when, completely out of nowhere, the OC bursts through the lobby doors, marches around the desk, collects on that goodbye hug I'd promised him in the email, plants a kiss on my cheek, and then marches back to the elevators and gets on. Without saying ONE word.

Now what am I supposed to do with that?