Mission [IM]Possible

Today is a very important day. Today is the day I go for my interview at The Firm of My Dreams that specializes in hospitality architecture (casinos, hotels and restaurants) - just the industry I want to work in. Today, I will wear my sharpest-looking outfit and grab my portfolio, along with my resume and a few construction documents and head over to the Firm's office downtown, hoping that I will absolutely dazzle everyone with my impressive knowledge of everything architecture.

This job is the job that could open up doors, windows and gateways for me in terms of working in designing casinos. I am surprisingly calm and ready for battle. Yesterday I practiced what I would say at my interview for an hour. I will punch myself in the face if I mess the interview now.

To slightly complicate things, there are five other people going for the same job, including the Asshole - a douchey know-it-all senior in the undergrad program. My Nemesis, if you will. He's condescending and he often acts like he knows more than, gasp, us - the grad students. This man must be stopped and I am on a mission to put him back into his place.

Let's just hope that I don't fall flat on my face.

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Three Weeks

I woke up this morning with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I know, no matter how hard I will try to ignore, will persistently bother me for the rest of the day. No, I don't have diarrhea or a virus, or an upset stomach. I have an upset heart. Yet again. It's just that every time I am emotionally overwhelmed (whether it be in a positive or a negative way), those emotions seem to go straight to the bottom of my bowels where they create this sort of an ugly alternative to the butterflies-in-my-stomach feeling. But let's back up a little bit.

The guy I've been seeing for about three weeks now was extremely nice and considerate and everything a guy is supposed to be... at first. Up until a few days ago, everything was pretty much as close to perfect as it could get. I was enjoying that feeling to complete and total peacefulness that I haven't felt in a long time. Everything in my life was just right. But, of course, all good things must come to an end.

It all began a few days ago (Tuesday) when the guy called me after one of my classes. Nothing weird happened then. the conversation went fine but the weird thing was... as I was talking to him, I began to feel this strange sinking feeling. I felt like I was trying to desperately hold on to something that was slipping away right from under my fingers. That feeling grew more persistent when that night, for the first time in three weeks, the guy didn't call when he said he would. There were no phone calls from him the next day either.

The feeling was now pretty overwhelming. I couldn't shake it off as I went from class to class that day. I couldn't help but check my phone from time to time for missed phone calls and that night I almost jumped out of my seat when I heard my phone vibrate in my bag. My heart was beating like crazy as my fingers anxiously wrapped around the smooth sleek surface of my Samsung M510 and I looking at the incoming call on my cell phone's light-up screen.

Incoming call from... Mom

I felt silly and foolish and all sorts of stupid at that moment. I wanted to yell and scream at myself for becoming overly attached to someone I had barely known for three damn weeks. But, most of all, I wanted that feeling back. That feeling I am addicted to because I never get enough of it. That feeling of dating someone new and being completely certain that they like you too and that they are, indeed, going to call you when they say they would.

So that was Wednesday. On Thursday, he called to inform me that he lost his cell phone when he was drunk on Tuesday night and that is why he hasn't called. He said he would call back later on, after he got off work. Surprise, surprise, he never called.

So, I kind of wonder: if he ever calls again, should I even bother answering? I mean, yes I like him. I mean, I REALLY like him. But I don't want to be sitting around and constantly checking my phone in hopes that maybe he will call. I've got other stuff that I should spend my energy worrying about. Like, that paper that's due Monday. Or that project that's due Monday. Or that other paper that's due Monday. Oh my God, Monday is going to suck!

I just don't understand why men do this. Why they pull back like that, with no explanations and reasons to do so. Am I dating the wrong type? Or am I the problem?

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Late Night Confessions/Make Out Sessions

I can honestly say that sleeping alone in my bed has, for the most part, been a preference rather than a consequence. Even when I (briefly) lived with the Ex and we shared the same bed, from time to time I'd get the urge to sleep by myself. To be able to roll around in my sleep like a pig in a puddle of mud (okay, bad analogy, but those pigs always look so damn happy), to not hear any snoring, coughing and general weird noises people make when they sleep is, indeed, nirvana to me.

But last night I was lying in a new guy's arms, wondering what's gonna come of it, fearing that this would be the last time I see him, thinking how, just for him, I could get used to falling asleep like this every night.

We had a wonderful second date last night that concluded with me sleeping over at his house. Fully clothed (shorts and t-shirts), we laid next to each other. The whole house was asleep but we talked and talked and I giggled and he kept calling me cute. Ah, the little things that set my heart aflutter.

"Tell me a secret," he whispers. I can barely make out his facial features in the dark, so I move in a little closer.

"A secret? Like, what do you want to know in particular?" I avoid the question. In general, a bed is not really that great of a meeting room for revelations.

"Well, what are you thinking right now?"

Still slightly tipsy from those drinks he got me at a bar a few hours earlier, I give him a bold response, "I am kind of thinking about how I want to make out with you."

God, I'm good. I just wish I could come up with shit like that when I'm sober too.

He moves in for a kiss and we make out for, oh, about two hours. Probably, my personal record to date but I always like to improve upon my past achievements.

All in all, I was reminded last night how pleasant it can be falling asleep and waking up in someone's arms and being showered with kisses. What was more pleasant, however, was his text message I got later on today that said "I had fun. I like kissing you." Maybe, just maybe, this is going somewhere :)

Oh boy, looks like I am developing quite a crush on this guy... Stay tuned.

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Wakey, Wakey!

Hello ,World,

It finally feels like the first day of fall and so I pulled one of my cashmere sweaters from the back of the closet and put it on as I started getting ready for my VERY EARLY (9:30 am, for God's sake - so early, even for a grad student!) class. I've been dreaming of the day when it would be cool and crisp enough outside so I could finally wear this particular sweater. I bought it a few weeks ago but today, finally today, seemed like the perfect occasion for an outfit that included the said sweater.

Except that it is turning out to be itchy as hell. Here I am sitting at my desk and updating my blog in haste, while rolling up my sleeves and scratching my arms and elbows in glorious fury. I am being poked, nay, stabbed by the "delicate" threads of the beloved sweater and I am beginning to feel like I have a rash all over my body (upper body, to be exact).

So to address my sweater directly, in futile hopes of dissuading it of torturing me for the rest of the day (cause, damn it, it's still beautiful and I simply refuse to wear something else today):

Dear Sweater,

I will first of all tell you that, surely, we will have many wonderful days this fall which you and I will look back on a few years from now with a smile. I am sure that after few washes in my apartment bulding's "state-of-the-art" washer/dryer system, you will soften up a bit and will no longer threaten to torture me with you machine-woven unpleasantries. Lastly, I am SURE that I will thank you many a times when it's cold outside and I have nothing but you on, that I indeed, have something other than a bra on to protect me from bitter cold. But for now, dear Sweater, I am rather frustrated and irritated by the way you deliberately decided to test just what color of red my skin can turn if I incessantly scratch it all throughout the day. Frankly, I find it rude and inconsiderate. And I know that I should have expected you to be a bit of a diva. After all, I did pick you up at The Limited "Not-On-Sale-But-Still-Terribly-Hip-Fall-2007-Collection"... After all you do make me look like a sophisticated, yet youthful grad student who drinks Cabarnet by day but is not above drink Natty Light either (sometimes one right after another)...

On second thought, yes, it's all my fault. I apologize, dear Sweater, and from now on I will shut my mouth and try to endure the pain and discomfort it takes to be ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL. Thanks, Sweater!!

Your BFF (at least until next fall's sweaters come out),

-L.

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