Sixty-three hours without friends, phone, e-mail, MySpace or human communication. Sixty-three hours of not talking to a soul in NYC. For many folks—let’s call them losers—that’d be no problem. But for me—an obsessive text-messager, serial dater and guy who talks to everyone at bars—it was a perfect excuse for an (anti)sociological experiment.

Friday night, I locked myself in at home. (The last time that happened, I was probably grounded, sulking in my room while my parents watched Father Dowling Mysteries.) The hours passed and I went from feeling restless to flat-out bored, despite cooking—well, microwaving—my own dinner, so as to avoid the delivery guy. With TV out of the question (seriously, Reba?), I caught up on an awesome Men’s Health from 2003. When that got old, I thought about playing solitaire but, knowing myself, realized I would just cheat.

Saturday, I read in the park, took the long way home—discovering that Greenpoint has just as many sidewalk-hogging strollers as Park Slope—and cleaned like I never had before. (Bye-bye, single socks.) Killing time was no problem; I had tickets to see Sonic Youth at McCarren Park Pool that night, and even though I wouldn’t be allowed to speak to anyone, the prospect of someone singing to me kept me going.

The concert went fine, despite having to duck when I saw people I knew and wishing there were someone to watch my stuff while I stood in the mile-long beer line. It wasn’t all good times, though. As I took the subway home, my pal Justin tried to say hello, while I kept my face firmly planted in a book. Ignoring someone in person is a lot tougher than sending them directly to voicemail. The next evening, I managed to one-up myself by not answering an elderly woman who called out for directions to the bus.

On the rainy Sunday, however, things looked up: I bought a movie ticket online and caught a flick I wanted to see, with no debate from anyone else. I’d give Live Free or Die Hard six stars.

Usually by Monday, I’ve got a week’s worth of stories to tell. I’m also wiped out. That morning it hit me: I felt relaxed, and like I had enjoyed a vacation. Being alone didn’t turn out to be quite so bad, though next time I might want to invite a friend.