Patience

I finally told him the truth (well, sort of) last night, after seeing The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and during our light dinner at a restaurant. I saw a momentary shadow of doubt cloud his face as he heard the news of me going to Cincinnati in a few days, but he recollected himself quickly and raised a beer toast,

"I feel lucky to have met you and we should keep in touch. At least once a week."

I smiled sweetly and nodded my head in agreement. Do I think that we'll keep in touch? Who knows. My heart is telling me yes but my brain is laughing sarcastically at my heart and telling it to stop being to naive. Right now I am listening to my brain and ignoring my heart for the most part.

But what a great couple of dates it was with this guy. He pays for everything and tells you exactly what you want to hear. I know, I know. There's no doubt in my mind that this guy has a fair share of women chasing after him. I mean, how could they not? But it's also oh so nice to feel like the center of this guy's attention and to savor every bit of this dating experience. What a nice change this experience was from the horrendous avalanche of cringe-worthy dates I've endured over the last several months.

If anything, if there is God, this was his way of telling me to hold on and be patient, to not settle for just any Joe Schmoe. I will get mine when the time is right, I'm sure of it.

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Boys I Will Do Wrong

After a brief 4-day stint at NYC, I am back in Philly for a few weeks to visit friends and family. The East Coast has always been near and dear to me as this is the place where all my wildest adventures always took place and my friends and I got in all sorts of ludicrous trouble (but, you know, in a good way).

This Saturday was no exception as one of my best friends and I decided to have ourselves a little reunion and go out to our old weekly hangout for some drinks and dancing. It was pretty crazy that, despite being away from the city for so long, I managed to run into pretty much everyone I know, from the guy who is this high school teacher by day and an insanely awesome dancer by night, to two of the girls from my high school (whom I never got along with, but I felt that it was awesome to see them anyway, since I looked damn good that night), to a guy I went on a date with two years ago.

With always having to go out with guy friends in Cincinnati, I felt so in my element finally going out with a GIRL, and dancing my heart out and enjoying male attention. I felt good. I felt like I was back on my home turf.

Around 1:00am, this gorgeous guy started dancing with me. Instantly, I felt this chemistry that's been lacking from all of my recent dates. This guy's smile, his eyes, his moves - everything seemed perfect to me in the strobe lights on the dance floor. But that's when it went downhill, and this time, I was the one to blame.

See, my goal that night was to dance, have fun, flirt, and not start up anything serious with any of the guys that crossed my path. So when this guy asked me where I lived, I told him that I still resided in Philly and went to graduate school here too. No mention of Cincinnati was brought up - my fatal mistake.

You see, because when he got my number at the end of that night, I didn't actually think that he would call. When he planted a brief kiss on my lips right before I left the bar, I thanked him for his company and told him to give me a call, without ever expecting to hear from him again. After all, why would I want to keep in touch? I was soon to go back to Cincinnati.

When he called tonight, I didn't except our conversation to go on for 40 minutes. I didn't expect him to be an ambitious, funny, polite, interesting guy. I didn't expect him to like the same music I do and have the same taste in movies as me. I certainly didn't expect him to ask me out on a date this weekend.

But he did. And now I am sitting sulking in the very same grave I decided to dig for myself the minute I lied to him about my current place of residence. Sure, he might ultimately turn out to be a douche bag and our impending date may turn out to be an incredibly boring, empty affair. But what if it doesn't? What then?

Do I tell him that, oops, I lied to him this entire time we've been talking and that I actually live 10 hours away and the next time I would be visiting Philly would be in no less than 3 months?

I guess honesty is always the best policy, but I lied only because I never thought that there would be this potential for more. And I kept up the lies because I didn't want to deny myself a chance for romance, even if it only has the time to last for one date. I mean, if I told him about Cincinnati, he may have done what any sane man would do in that situation. That is, he would toss my number out and forget about me because long distance relationships never start with chance meetings at bars.

But then again, maybe the best thing for both him and me would be to tell him the truth and just get this over and done with.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

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Imagine That

"You can start seeing a clear division among the people in our class," my Fabulous Friend noted shortly after we ordered our drinks and appetizers at an upscale downtown restaurant, where everyone seemed at least a decade older than us.

"What do you mean?" I asked, not fully understanding his comment. I was still coming off of a high of our afternoon presentation, where my friend, two other members in our group, and I impressed the hell out of everyone by our concise, clear, and "quietly sophisticated", as one of the reviewers noted, presentation.

"Well, there is one group that is all about weddings and babies and bridal showers," my friend explained, clearly referring to a number of girls in our class, "And then there are people who are giving their all to put their career on a fast track," referring to us.

"Yeah, you're right. But it's kind of sad that I'm almost putting dating and social life secondary to work," I chimed in, "it's like I'm always waiting to turn the next page in my career before I can let myself get seriously involved."

"But it's not like you're meeting anyone intriguing enough to make you question your decision," my friend said, taking a sip of his vodka tonic, "Have you even had a single good date since you moved here?"

I thought back to my dating experiences. Firstly, there was a guy who told me he was twenty three, just to later reveal he was a decade older than that. That "relationship" came to an end faster than you could say "liar". There was The Drunk who was too wrapped up in drinking and partying to care about anything else. Then there was Mr. Bipolar who was just creepy. After that, there was a glimmer of hope when I started dating The Musician but that relationship, too, came to an end when I realized that his moral values were different from mine. After that, there was the Nice Guy, The Neighbor and the Creepy Beard Guy. No, no, and hell no.

"No, not really. I mean, now that I think back, The Musician wasn't half bad and if I had to pick any one of the rejects to date, I'd probably pick him before all the other ones," I said.

"Wow, talk about lowering your standards," my friend laughed.

I shrugged and looked down at my salad of goat cheese, spring mix, Raspberry vinaigrette and pistachios the waiter just placed in front of me.

"Maybe the way to my heart is through my stomach," I said, "Cause right now this salad looks more attractive than any of my dates."

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Home in the Valley, Home in the City

This quarter is almost over and my mind is already racing in excitement for an impending trip to the Big Bad City That Never Sleeps. I temporarily lost my head when looking at New York hotels online and allowed myself to make a reservation at this ultra posh, painfully hip, all sorts of gorgeous (and not too mention all sorts of expensive) hotel, located just a few seconds away from Times Square.

When I got off the phone with a knowledgeable and enthusiastic hotel employee, the reality began to sink in. That reality being that I am, after all, an unemployed graduate student and though I am pretty well off financially as compared to other poor souls journeying through the perils of grad school, I might not be making a very wise decision by paying $300 a night for a hotel room.

But then my philosophy of "We only live once" made me realize that I won't necessarily be digging a bottomless pit of debt and that I should allow myself to splurge just a little bit as a reward for an insanely productive, insanely work-filled quarter. I'll think of this as my Christmas present to myself.

When I made the reservation, the woman on the other line asked me how many people would be staying in the room, and my response was, "Just one." It made me just a tiny bit regretful that I didn't really have anyone even closely resembling a "significant other" to share the time in New York with. The city is, after all,filled with beauty and lights and joy during Christmas time, and this trip could really be very romantic if I had a sexy dude to take on this trip with me.

It also made me realize how "not into dating" I've become lately. The last date I had was about three weeks ago with another lackluster prospect and though he didn't do or didn't say anything particularly terrible, I found myself wondering just what I was doing accepting the date with him in the first place. It also didn't help that when I offered to split the check for dinner with him, he readily agreed. Don't take me for a mooch, but I like to be wined and dined on a first date.

School has been so much more interesting to me lately. My mind's been filled with all these great ideas and just by immersing myself wholeheartedly in what I am doing for my projects made me mature intellectually at an unprecedented rate.

I've accepted the fact that Ohio men are simply not my cup of tea. I don't feel in a rush to get married or to even seriously date any time soon, unless someone truly incredible comes along. I cannot settle for someone who is kind-of okay, because, really, if the guy is not pushing all the right buttons I have other things to look forward to. Things that do not involve dating. Or awkward dinner conversations. Or excuses to avoid a goodnight kiss. There are things not related to dating that I feel perfectly content in doing.

For now I look forward to my date with New York, the city that has a soft spot in my heart. And though there will be no men to share my journey and experiences with, I will feel no less thrilled to go on this trip. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to flirt with one of the cute Wall Street types somewhere along the way :)

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In the Vastness of Midwestness

I am a big city girl and I am annoyed by Ohio.

I know, I know... if I am so annoyed why don't I just get the hell out of here and go home?

Really, grad school is the only thing that's keeping me here. I mean, the friends I've met here (several of them) will probably remain my friends for the rest of my life, but I met all of them in my grad program. Anything outside of graduate school, I kind of despise.

It's not all that bad, really. I am enjoying my life, for the most part, and trying not to let the mediocrity of sleepy gray skies of the Midwestern suburbia drag me down into this cloudy abyss of blah-ness. The stale nervousness of the Ohio river, the crowd-less muddy river banks with concrete vastness of baseball stadiums, the empty streets of downtown steel and glass towers... they're all so uninspiring, so trying to be something they're not, so mocking in their mere presence.

It's like that movie I saw a few months ago where three people go to hell. But it's no ordinary hell, it's hell for people who committed suicides. So this hell has no burning fire or little horned devils running around poking sinners with their sharp pitchforks. No, this hell is just like our world... except just a little worse. This hell is just like a Midwestern town, where everyone is content living in their mediocre existence, driving their 4x4 pick-up trucks, wearing faded flannel shirts and watching public television.

All of this, strangely, makes me think of him. My former love(r) who I think of from time to time, for no apparent reason at all. The guy with an amazingly big heart, and many tiny little very over-lookable flaws that made him more endearing than irritating to me; the guy who was amazing in bed without ever being arrogant and conceited about it; the guy who, I knew, felt that I was something special.

I kind of have a feeling he's married now... and I kind of wish him all the best, with a hint of sadness remaining in my heart for all the things that could have been, but never were.

We were younger back than, but I remember the girl I used to be a few years ago and I still find many traces of her in my present self. I remember the guy he used to be and I wonder if he is still the same lovable cutie who made feel damn special and smart and wanted, without ever being in a relationship with me.

Our sunsets and sunrises were just a little brighter back then, my pillows were just a little softer when I woke up next to him, and my favorite moment of all time is still that time he, out of nowhere, pulled his car over to the side of the road just to kiss my hand and tell me how great I was.

I was never angry, never jealous, never annoyed. And maybe just a little bit infatuated with the simplicity and passion we shared with each other for a number of years.

Somehow, I am convinced that this kind of guy is simply nonexistent in the Midwest. I can't wait to move away, move somewhere. Anywhere but here.

p.s. I also just found out that the guy who broke my heart last year proposed to his current girlfriend three weeks ago. I would say, "When it rains, it pours" but, frankly, I don't care enough any more to be bothered by the news for more than a few minutes. Cheers to the happy couple.

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"Hey, Cameron. You realize if we played by the rules right now we'd be in gym"

My eye lids felt heavy in the late hours of Friday night. I struggled to stay awake, but my open real estate book (for one of the non-architecture classes I am taking) that I've allowed to be my only "distraction" was not interesting me enough to keep me alert. My mind could no longer keep up with my eyes that raced over the pages filled with pie charts and business-school terms. The couch felt so comfortable and soft and I felt my body melting into it. I was now enveloped in warmth and real estate was the last thing on my mind.

All of the sudden I was laying on a bench park, my head in Matthew Broderick's lap. I looked up at him just to make sure that it was really him. And it was, a younger version - circa Ferris Beuller-era - but it was him, nonetheless. The leaves were red and gold on the trees all around us and they continuously twirled and twirled, detaching themselves from the fragile tree branches and landing in the nearby pond, on paved paths, on the bench and on us. He was telling me something profound. He was so smart and witty, I thought with satisfaction. I raised my body up a bit so that his arms were wrapped around my waist now. His hand was holding mine, and it was my turn to speak now. I remember myself getting all philosophical on him, and I remember having the most engaging of conversations. I was surprised because, I think, a part of me realized that I was never really attracted to Matthew Broderick when I saw him in any of his movies. Sure, he was boyishly-cute and incredibly charming in Ferris Bueller, but I never had my panties up in a bunch about him.

But here I was, enjoying my time with him, on that park bench, on that warm fall day, where time seemed to stand still and the leaves just kept falling in an endless cascade. And I wished for nothing else but for him to tell me that he wanted to kiss me. He was my soul mate, right then and there, the smartest guy in the world, the guy who was not only eye candy but who I could spill my guts to, who could understand me because we were on the exact same level of intelligence, who, I could tell, wanted to make out with me just as badly as I wanted to make out with him. But we kept delaying that moment, perfectly content and slightly excited by that feeling of anticipation, when you are having that incredible mental connection but are feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter around just like those fall leaves in the wind. What a wonderful feeling it was to experience once again, even if the object of my affection was Ferris Bueller.

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Time to Make a Change

Vote, vote, vote. Vote with passion, vote because you care. Vote because there are things that are worth giving a damn. Vote because we are only given one life to live and having a choice is truly a privilege.

I am voting because when I feel hopeless and disillusioned, I can still feel like I can assert myself. I can still say that I have a voice. My decision is mine and mine alone. My decision is as simple as deciding to get up early in the morning and show up at my voting location.

I am voting because I need change. I am voting because I am homesick. I am voting because I am overworked. I am voting because I feel discouraged. I am voting because I want to establish my presence. I am pouring my passions and frustrations into something that I think will make a difference. I am voting because I still believe in the right to choose.

Vote to choose. Choose to vote.

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Sure Thing, Babe

It's been a bit unsettling to me as to how pessimistic I've been feeling about dating lately. Just to give a most recent example of what I'm talking about, I'll relay my most recent encounter with a guy who seemed to have some dating potential in my eyes.

After we exchanged numbers at a bar, I received a text message from him asking me if I was free to go see a movie that saturday. First of all, a fucking movie? I've always considered that to be sort of a cop out date because you can't really talk in the movie theater so what is the damn point of going to the movies with a stranger? You will still walk away from this date a stranger.

Second of all, a fucking text message? And it's not just him who prefers to text, not to call. I understand that text messages are so wonderfully convenient when you want to relay an important bit of information to someone but do not really have the time for a long phone conversation. Yes, text messaging comes in handy there, but not when you are asking someone out on a date! How tacky, how cowardly, how distasteful. And he is probably the fourth person in a row that prefers to text me more than call me. What's up with that, I say.

I bluntly texted him that I would prefer it if we had a phone conversation before we make plans to hang out, and luckily he seemed okay with that. He called me that evening and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he actually did not have a personality of a cardboard cutout. He seemed lively, humorous, intelligent, and I was again reminded as to how sexy his voice sounds.

That said and done, we made plans to see a freaking movie. Hell, I thought, it's been some time since I've been on a date, maybe a movie isn't such a bad idea. I did forewarn the guy that I might have to do some work over the weekend so our date plans were, by no means, definite.

Friday, the day before the date came, and to my dismay I began to realize that with the amount of work I had to do over the weekend, I wouldn't be able tto get out of the house at all. That meant that I had to cancel my date on Saturday. I texted him (hey, I was legitimately too busy to make a phone call!) with an apology and asked if we could reschedule for Tuesday night.
"Sure thing, babe." he texted me back.

Seriously? Babe? I sighed with disgust and showed the text message to my friend who was with me at the time. He rolled his eyes in affirmation of the inappropriateness of the guy's reply, "He's calling you babe already? You found yourself a winner."

Now Tuesday is only two days away and I am kind of looking at the impending date, if it will ever happen, with a feeling of doom, rather than excitement. I don't know when exactly I stopped enjoying dating, but that moment crept up on me and I no longer find myself excited when faced with a prospect of going on a date. Maybe it's the quality of guys I am meeting in this city. Or maybe it's not them, it's me. Regardless of the reasons, if I do go on this particular date and he calls me "babe" as soon as he greets me, I am so outta there.

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Tag!

I got tagged by She Is Anyway

Here are the Rules:
1. Link to the person that tagged you
2. Post the rules on your blog
3. Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself
4. Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs
5. Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.
6. Let your tagger know when your entry is up

I am basically only doing step 3 because I am not sure how many people actually read my blog and it might be less than 6, for all that I know. Ha!

So, 6 random things...

1. I got my tongue pierced the day I turned 18 because I was just itching to declare my "independence" from my parents, and I was sheltered enough to not know the sexual connotations that came with a pierced tongue. What can I say... I was a pretty naive 18-year old! I still have that piercing and, to this day, my tongue is still the only part of my body that has a jewelry piece puncturing it.

2. I've decided that I'm going to really try and make an effort and... go to Las Vegas once a year from now on. They say that you have to experience Vegas at least once in your lifetime. For me, once is not enough. Twice wasn't enough either. I am willing to keep returning until I go broke or get old. Old people partying in Vegas never look cool or hip. Never.

3. When I was a freshman in college, I had developed a crush on a guy in my evening calculus class. I found his email online and sent him an message declaring my undying love for him. (Well, I just said that I am a girl from his calc class and I thought he was really hot) The dude replied with an email, saying that he was really flattered that I liked him but he was not the person that I thought he was because he was not taking any night classes. However, the next day I saw him in calculus... and he gave me one of those subtle, knowing looks. Ouch. I got rejected. How mortifying.

4. I have a cat (well, now he lives with my parents but I still consider him mine) and I named him Mr. Poop. When he was a tinsy little kitten, he had no interest in going to poop in a litter box, so he would just do his business wherever he please. What was even funnier is that he would, somehow, manage to get the poop all over his paws in the process, so I would always find brown pawprints in various corners of my parents' house. Thusly, I came up with his very appropriate name.

5.When I was 16, my then twenty year old boyfriend decided that it would be a great idea to get me drunk on our second date so he bought us two 40oz bottles of malt liquor and we sat around watching TV and drinking at his parents house. The sadness of it all is that I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. I hope to believe I am not that cheap of a date any more.

6. I buy Dwell magazine instead of Cosmopolitans and Vogues at the airports so I can look like a refined intellectual. Though I am absolutely obsessed with all things architecture, sometimes I do feel the need to leisurely read one of the lighter magazines. Being an architecture grad student, you can't help but feel a little overloaded by the architectual world once in a while. However, at an airport, I am not a grad student, I am a young, busy, incredibly successful architect, dressed to the teeth in latest fashion, sipping on a steaming vanilla latte from Starbucks, and reading Dwell, because I simply have to stay on top of the latest trends in building design.

Yay, this was fun!

Edit: and I'm tagging Narcissiste to do this, per her request :)

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The Two Month Curse

There is a scene in some movie that I now don't remember the name of, where this prying, social-skills-lacking, intrusive, neurotic (yet lovable) post office worker is having an intense conversation with his work partner, played by Claire Danes, I believe. He says something to her along the lines of, "What gives you the right to be so self-righteous! Look at yourself - none of your relationships ever lasted for more than two months. You just pick up and leave every time!"

I mean, basically he was implying that she might have been somewhat shut-in and, perhaps, promiscuous in her personal life and that denied her the right to pass judgment on him. The part that struck a chord and made that movie conversation particularly relevant to me is that the man never explicitly accused Claire Danes of sleeping with those men; all he said was that her relationships never lasted long - but the promiscuity implication was undeniably there, in his gestures, in his eyes.

That kind of bothered me because lately, well.. for the past two years, I haven't really dated anyone for more than two months. Right around that two month mark, one of the two things inevitably happens - either I lose interest in a guy, or he loses interest in me.

The thing is, though, out of those six two-month relationships over the two year period, I'd only slept with two guys. That's one guy per year. That is not promiscuous, at least, not according to my standards. But I can see how, to an outsider or simply someone who doesn't know me so well, those six brief relationships, intermixed with a bunch of others that consisted of a a few dates here and there, could have been implicitly equivalent to the amount of people I had slept with in the past two years. That would roughly make it 10-12 men in two years.

I mean, who knows what people may think of a 24-year old woman who's been essentially single for the past two years but who's dated around a lot during this same period of time. But, really, I don't feel any guilt towards having a long list of short relationships. They didn't work out - end of story. What I am slightly concerned about is the kind of image I am imposing on myself.

Which brings me to my next point - The Neighbor and I have called it quits. Yup, at the two month mark exactly, we came to a mutual conclusion that it is no longer viable for us to continue this, increasingly passionless, relationship.

I'm sort of glad that it's over, and I'm definitely glad that I didn't sleep with him. At least we both had the decency to conclude our relationship with a conversation.

"We can still be friends. If you need someone to go to that football game in November, just let me know - I can get cheap tickets. And you should come to my birthday party this weekend, if you don't have any other plans. I'll call you and let you know the details about it later on in the week," he said as he was leaving my apartment.

He, indeed, sent me a text message a few days later with a formal birthday invitation, but he never called. And I never went to that party. I watched that movie with the post office worker and Claire Danes, instead, which in my opinion, was a far better way to spend my free time.

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Impromptu Sex Talk

I will write this only because I just might be drunk. Tonight, on the first night of the first weekend of being back at school - I am feeling tipsy, sitting at my laptop and sipping on Sam Adams Boston Ale, I am feeling tipsy.

Now onto my drunken topic: Best sex I've ever had. Funny story about this dude because he was a good friend of mine for a number of years. I just turned 18 when he declared that he got himself a new girlfriend and I was more than happy for him. Genuinely happy for him, because he was such a friend. Such a friend, but nothing more.

I was just starting my very first semester at the University of Pennsylvania and I was still living with my parents as my lovely school was not that far from the 'rents' house. I got myself my very first work-study job at a museum affiliated with the university, and though I was only 18 years old, I was feeling all grown up for the very first time in my life.

Since my friend had a car and I had yet to acquire one, he, sometimes, would volunteer to pick me up and drive me home. A nice gesture of friendship that I gladly accepted whenever it was offered. Taking a subway home was not at the top of my favorite-activities-to-do list. I accepted his offers and I waited for him, rain or shine, in front of the museum, until I saw his 1995 Honda slow down and pull out of the general traffic flow to the curb to pick me up.

After he would give me a ride, I'd invite him to my (my parents') place to watch a movie. We'd chit-chat merrily and part our ways at the end of the night. No strings attached. Just two friends having a good ol' merry time.

One night was different, though. That night my parents were not home and we were watching some old DVD I dug out of my collection. Amidst our silence, he unexpectedly asked me,

"Do you like me?"

Many would interpret it in a platonic way. As in, do I like him as a friend. But I instantly knew what he meant. I turned my head towards him, got lost momentarily in his eyes, and said, simply and unpretentiously, "Of course I like you."

As he leaned in for the kiss, I simply couldn't pull away. I was selfish and passionate and filled with fire at 18, and I kissed him back, briefly but intentionally.

He, on the other hand, hesitated after his impulse, "I should get going," he said, and got up off the couch as if he was sitting on needles. He headed for the exit.

I followed him to the front door, where he struggled to pull on the door knob. The door was locked, and only I had the key to unlock it. As I opened the door with one simple move, he was free to run away, if he wanted to.

"I have a girlfriend, you know," he said, somewhat nervously.

And then, he pulled me towards him.

"I know.. I don't care..." I paused for a moment, evaluating the situation. Girlfriend or no girlfriend, I was fine with thsi arrangement, I decided. I, then, wrapped my arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. He didn't get nervous this time, just kissed me back and we remained like that for a number of minutes.

We didn't get much farther that night and he left right after our particularly long make out session, but the next time I saw him, we, literally within minutes, began ripping clothes off each other. Goddamn he was good. And I was right there being damn good with him.

Though we haven't been intimate in quite some time, our friendship has ended relatively recently as we simply lost touch with each other about a year ago. At this point of time, I don't know if he's single, dating, or married. I don't know, and sometimes, I kind of wish I could still talk to him so he could fill me in, so I could become a part of his life again.

But life, as we all know it, never remains at a stand still. And some friendships are meant to not last forever. And so he, my friend circa 2002-2007, did not last forever. He was a chapter in my life... but damn, was that a good chapter.

Maybe, and I guess this is what I'm ultimately getting at, what I need right now is not impromptu sex talk.. but impromptu sex. Maybe even with The Neighbor, if he turns up at my place at just the right moment, that is.

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No Rush

"You've got a beautiful body. You've got a beautiful face. You've got a beautiful personality. I like your sense of humor and level-headedness..." he whispered to me last night, as I laid next to him in his bed, debating whether or not I should just do it and sleep with him, or hold off on that for a bit longer until I am absolutely sure.

He told me how I am just so damn special in between kisses, and I looked at him wondering how everything about him seemed so normal at the surface, but how lately... lately, I have been feeling that ignited spark, those butterflies just starting to fizzle away. Slowly but surely, I am feeling less passionate and more indifferent, without finding reasons for my fickle changes of heart.

Okay, so maybe shit isn't perfect between us. He's far too juvenile for my taste. I am surprised to be admitting this, since I tend to go for more... youthful-minded guys, perhaps, to find some diversion and, therefore, balance to my, often, demanding and time-consuming professional life. But lately, I guess, I am finding myself on a road to discovering that, to me, being young at heart no longer means going to keg parties and talking about Peyton Manning and Tony Romo until my brains explode. I have graduated from Bud Light to Chiante and Merlot, from band posters to vintage art prints, from boys to men.

He is also not as ambitious as I am, in terms of his career goals. It is fine if he is still figuring out what he wants to do, but I kind of feel like he is not even at that point yet. Like, he's procrastinating and waiting til God knows when to set up some basic goals for himself. I don't want a crazy workaholic - I've got enough of that in me, but I want someone who doesn't just daydream about what he wants, but takes it a step farther and actually goes after it.

I suppose I am also feeling a bit of outside pressure, seeing as I have been single for two years now. A part of me feels like I should at least try and make this relationship work, cause what do I have to lose? I feel like my friends are wondering sometimes why I have been single for such a long time. But I, myself, think that I will be more content if I stay single, instead of seriously getting involved with someone.

Whatever. I guess I am still in search for something (someone) else. And I guess I feel like I've got all the time in the world to find that person, so I am in no rush to settle down. This week's trip to Philadelphia to see my family before school starts up again should clear my mind up a bit.

And as for The Neighbor? I suppose, despite my complains, I am still satisfied enough to stick around in this relationship a bit longer. After all, I am in no rush.

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No Words To Describe...

Upon checking my year old account on a dating web site, I found this message, coincidentally sent to me just hours ago:

"so tell me why someone as beutiulf as u being ingle for?"

Gee, I have no idea, kind sir. Perhaps, I have just been waiting all this time to meet a man of incredible eloquence and good spelling. Or perhaps, I have been working really hard on avoiding morons such as yourself.

And then I wonder why I gave up on dating web sites after just a few weeks.

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Flaming Wordly Posessions

I picked up swimming again recently.

It was sort of a spur of the moment type of thing.

"Here are your keys. Hope you enjoy your new apartment," a girl with bangs covering half of her face and a slightly crooked but lovable smile said to me last week after I handed her my rent check, and just like that I moved into my new pad.

It took me two days to realize that the indoor pool was on the first floor, right next to the gym. Usually, I'd make tired excused to not work out, like, "Oh, I don't wanna walk/drive to the gym. It's too far. I'd rather sit around here and pointlessly stare at my computer screen all afternoon instead." But now I was out of excuses because, well, all I'd have to do is change into workout clothes and descend three flights of stairs and , boom, I'd be right there. Ready to work out. Yay.

I've always enjoyed swimming, though. I liked being around water and ever since I was a little kid, my parents always lived next to a river, took trips to a sea or an ocean. During my teenage years, I remember being jealous of my peers whose parents' had a pool in their backyards. I knew that the thing I'd miss the most when moving to Ohio for grad school would be the ocean. I was right.

But now I've got my own place, and a pool that comes with it. And last night around 10pm, just for the hell of it, I changed into a swim suit, grabbed a towel, and went down to the pool for a late night swim. Swimming is like riding a bike. No matter how much time passes, you never forget how to do it - but you do need a few laps back and forth across the pool to feel every muscle of your body come alive again.

I was blissfully unaware when my phone began to buzz by the edge of the pool, informing me of the phone call from The Neighbor. At that moment, it felt good just to swim. At that moment, it felt like home. Michael Phelps, watch out.

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Time

The Neighbor asked me to be his girlfriend.
I'm not ready but then again, it's only been a week. I need more time.

It's funny because my last serious boyfriend also asked me out after only one week of knowing me. We ended up dating for two years with, at one point, him wanting to propose to me.
Marriage? Me? Ever? Never.

I don't feel like I am ever going to be able to open up to someone so completely so I could get hurt if they decided to leave me. I was always the one to got to do the leaving, save for one relationship. That one hurt me the most because I was left helpless in shambles for longer than I'd like to admit.

I work hard and, at times, tirelessly so I can always rely on myself, my finances. I feel that relying on anyone other than myself is like gambling with your safety and security. I hate how I watched Michael Phelps win his eighth gold medal yesterday and I saw his mother cry because she was so proud of her son. I hate that I feel that I haven't made my parents that proud yet.

And love is a feeling that still haunts me sometimes when I make dinners for one or when I watch my favorite movies online by myself. I want to share parts of me with someone... and maybe not the whole me. Not right away. But I want to know that someone can take me for who I am and not get sick of me.

Maybe someday it will be The Neighbor. Just not today. He's got potential but I just need more time.

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Digits

I got 'em.

"Would you like to go see The Dark Knight on Sunday?"

"Sure, I'd love to."

It was the most effortless of ways I got asked out. There I was, standing with a beer in my hand at a local outdoor bar. The night was winding down, surely it must have been well after midnight and I had to excuse myself for a minute to go to the bathroom. My friends were left behind, nursing their drinks as I pushed myself through a small crowd of people towards the restrooms.

Once inside, I took a deep breath and paused for a moment, glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror. Earlier on in the night, through a little birdie, I found out that The Artist got himself a girlfriend. And here I was, like a fool, standing in the bathroom, still thinking about him, still as captivated by him as I was five months ago, when I met him for the first time.

What was it about this boy that got me so stuck on him? Was it his looks, his personality, or his rejection of my advances? Maybe it was all three. But last night, none of those reasons mattered because the reality of the situation was that I still held a spot in my heart for someone who will never be anything more than a casual friend.

As I shoved the thoughts about The Artist towards the back of my mind, I walked out of the bathroom with a more clear head and a better perspective on things.

While I was contemplating unavailable men in the depths of the restroom, my friends' new neighbor arrived to the bar. A cute guy, I noticed him right away. As we were formally introduced, The Neighbor and friends continued the conversation they started without me, but after a few minutes, it was just me and him - talking about God knows what, but talking, laughing, and maybe even flirting a little.

And then as the bar was closing, and the bouncers were ushering people out, he mentioned something about "the new Batman movie". He said he saw it and, apparently, it was really good.

"Damn it, it looks like I'm the last person on Earth who has yet to see it," I lamented out loud.

"Well, I wouldn't mind seeing it again. Wanna go see it on Sunday?" The Neighbor asked.

"Sunday sounds good. I'd love to."

As I walked back home after we all left the bar, I couldn't help but laugh at myself. Laugh at this funny thing called life that seems to hand me lemonade right after it throws lemons at me. As Voltaire wisely put it centuries ago, "God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh." And I don't know if there is God or not, but if there is - last night I wasn't afraid to laugh with him.

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Case of an Ass

I get it. I, after all, wasn't born yesterday and I am certainly not a naive little girl any more. Well, not most of the time.

Mr Unavailable - my lovely friend who has a girlfriend - and I went out last night with a bunch of my friends, mot of whom are guys. Now, I know that men act and talk slightly differently when they are around other men, as opposed to women. But it seemed like, for whatever reason or maybe no reason at all, Mr Unavailable decided that it was the perfect night to let his inner asshole come out in all of its shiny glory. Not only did he let it come out, he seemed to shove it in my face on numerous occasions.

Now I understand that technically, my feelings of hurt came from underlying jealousy. Even though I say he's my friend, there is that unspoken attraction there. Although I say I am not a jealous person, there is a line where a guy's actions don't even make me jealous any more, they become borderline disrespectful.

I must reiterate again that my feelings may be completely unjustified. This morning I talked to one of my friends who was out with us last night and I mentioned to him that Mr Unavailable was being an ass. His response was, "Really? I didn't think he was being that. Did he say anything to you that made you think that?"

Well, no... but actions speak so much louder than words:

1) He was going out of his way to look at every single girl at the club. And by look, I mean stare. And stare and stare and stare, and as the girl would pass him by he'd turn around and follow her with his eyes. What an ass.

2) He asked me if my friend's semi-girlfriend was single. When I said, "No, she's not." He goes, "Oh... well, she's very nice." Yeah she is but... you're fucking kidding me, right?

3)He's going away on a business trip to Atlanta and LA for three weeks, and as he decided to loudly relay to one of my guy friends, he's going to act like "a total asshole in every city I go to, because no one knows me there. And we're gonna go to so many strip clubs - it's gonna be awesome." Why wait til you go to another city, Mr Unavailable, you're ALREADY acting like a total asshole NOW. Congratulations!

I am more than aware that if I had no feelings for him whatsoever, I would have cared less if he did all those things in front of me. However, as much as I want to draw that line in the sand that says, "We're just friends and, therefore, we're allowed to hit on and like whomever we please.", I no longer can. Like, who am I kidding? I think it would be hard for almost anyone to keep their feelings in check when just the night before I was receiving text messages from him telling me how "hot" and "tempting" I was.

At one point of the night, I had had enough. I started looking around the club and my eyes met the gaze of a fairly cute guy dancing a few feet away from me. I smiled at him. Taking it as an invitation, he made his way over to my group of friends and introduced himself to me.

"Are you dancing with your boyfriend?" he asked me, his eyes scanning the guys in my group.

"Haha," I laughed effortlessly, "I don't have a boyfriend."

It was time for Mr. Unavailable to get hit with a reality check. He stood helplessly, as I gave the cute guy my number and he promised he'd call soon. Will he? I don't know and frankly I won't be crying myself to sleep if he never calls me. I had to turn the tables on Mr Unavailable for just a few moments. All I needed was to let him know that sometimes it's not fun to feel like you're being treated like crap.

After we left the club, I drove everyone home, as I was the designated driver and I let Mr U stay at my place for a few minutes as he sobered up and got ready to drive his car home.

"Your friend's girlfriend is really nice," he echoed his earlier statement.

Again, an urge to punch him in the face came over me for the N-th time that night. "Yeah, she is," I said flatly, instead. We shoot some shit for a bit, talking about this and that, all the irrelevant crap that I could care less about. He bitches and moans about his girlfriend and how he's got a tough decision to make. How tough, buddy, you can't have your cake and eat it too.

As he was about to leave, he hugged me goodnight and said he had an amazing time.

I texted him this morning to wish him a safe flight and a fun time in Atlanta. (Go look at all the strippers in the ATL, for all that I care, you bastard) He replied with a cute smiley face, saying thanks and how wonderful of a night he had last night and how he will call me later on this week.

Don't. Fucking. Bother.

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VIP

I basked in the glory of Sin City but a week ago, sipped on Grey Goose in the VIP section of one of the hottest night clubs in Vegas - LAX. I was a very very bad, no scratch that, drunk girl that night and it felt damn good.

It all started earlier on Thursday night when two of my guy friends and I kicked off the debaucherous night with rather unpleasant margaritas in my hotel room. After finishing half a pitcher that we brought up to the room from a bar downstairs we all decided that enough was enough. We were in Vegas, after all, and drinking cheap booze and being locked up in a hotel room when there were all these places just waiting to be explored by us was simply unacceptable.

So we dressed up. Okay. I dressed up and the boys threw on some collared shirts and jeans, but honestly, that was the most dressed up I've ever seen them in the 5 years of our friendship.

We started off the night at a little bar called eyeCandy at my favorite Mandalay Bay.

"To Vegas!" we toasted with our shot glasses. The shot burned my throat but it was way better than the lousy excuse for margaritas we had back in my room. It was time to party.

After we paid our bill at eyeCandy, we headed across the casino floor to Rumjungle where we continued our night by throwing back a couple more shots.


"Let's get wasted!" my ever-so-classy self declared as we left Rumjungle. The burlesque-like Cathouse at Luxor was our next destination.

Our voluptuous waitress was more than happy to assist us with our urgent beverage needs. I was still feeling relatively sober (or so I thought at the time), so I ordered another round of shots for me and the guys.

We left The Cathouse to arrive at our final destination of the night - club LAX, home of DJ AM and DJ Vice. It was still very early, right around 10pm, as we were one of the first to enter the club. The girls who entered the club just before us were instantly escorted to their reserved VIP section. My friends and I looked at each other - it seemed like at that instant we all came up with the same crazy idea. Without saying a word, my friend waved one of the bouncers over.

"What does it take to get ourselves into the VIP section?" he inquired with such mundane tone of voice that you would think we partied in the VIP all the time.

The bouncer's eye instantly lit up, "Right this way, my man. We will sit you right away."

And so it began. With one $400 dollar bottle of vodka, we became celebrities, catered to by about a dozen of club's employees. The minute I lifted my finger to TRY and pour myself a drink, a girl would appear out of thin air to pour the drink for me and serve it to me with the most lustrous of smiles. That red leather couch in the left of the picture? Yeah, that's where we sat that night.

My boys were certainly feeling all the perks of being VIP's that night. The bouncer would come up to them throughout the night to inquire whether or not they wanted to invite any girls off the dance floor to party in the VIP with them. Of course, my friends just had to be silly and slightly assholish by declaring that they would only let girls who are "an 8 or above" to come into the VIP.

Apparently, the bouncer also asked me if I wanted to invite any guys to dance with me but, in my drunken stupor, I stated, with some bitchiness in my voice, that I didn't want to dance with "random dudes" that night. What the hell was I thinking? I guess I wasn't, at that point.

By the end of the night, my liver was feeling pretty unhappy with all the abuse I've put it through and the next morning wasn't the most pleasant of timse, but, all in all, the incredible hangover of the next day was a small price to pay for the fun that we've had that previous night.

Here's hoping that I get to do this again some day and my advance apologies to my liver.

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Best. Vacation. Ever.

Just got back from a 4 day vacation in Vegas.
It was truly a mindblowing experience and far better than I had imagined in my wildest dreams. Probably the best vacation ever.
More to come.

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Crossing That Line

This platonic thing. With the guy I like.

It's not working out too well.

I got tipsy last night on precisely two beers - an event that has not occurred since my freshman year of college, which led to a string of more than platonic text messages between me and Mr Unavailable, as I shall call him due to his situation.

My friends and I were at this quirky little neighborhood bar earlier that night, where I was introduced to a rather engaging game of bocce ball that was being played in the specifically designated area in the outdoor patio. Basically, the point of the game was to throw some balls on the ground and get them closer to the main white ball. At least, that's how understood it.

So as I was about to play the very first round of the game with my partner, the back pocket of my shorts began vibrating with a new cell phone text message. I dropped the ball rather carelessly and watched it roll towards and then way past the white ball. Lousy throw, but I didn't care - I needed to check the message.

"How are you doing?" the message inquired.

It was none other than Mr Unavailable himself.

After a few rounds of bocce ball and a dozen of text messages later, our conversation turned to the never-spoken-about subject. His girlfriend.

Well, first he said, "I can't wait to hang out with you." Followed by, "Kinda stinks cause I have a girlfriend and I wanna be single and have fun, so I don't know what to do."

Is he really asking me for advice on this one, I thought, but decided to do the right thing and give him the most level-headed response I could conjure up in my head.

"Being single is fun, but don't feel pressured to break up with her. Those kinds of decisions take time."

"I just wish I stayed single this year, I guess. You're so fun to hang out with."

And a lot more of pointless back-and-forth semi-flirting, which really could come across as being almost innocent. That is until this little gem he sent me,

"I didn't know if you liked me or not when we were hanging out all these times. I mean you're really pretty, fun and smart and there's that line I didn't want to cross. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to ruin the friendship."

Well, dear, you've sure said it now.

I wanted to tell him all these things about how I don't wanna flirt with him because he's unavailable. I don't want him to tell me how his girlfriend is so boring and never wants to do anything because it makes him come across as sort-of-a-douchebag for bitching about her behind her back. I wanted to let him know that he should give their long distance relationship a try that spans more than a three week period.

Instead, I flirted back.

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REALLY good friends

An acquaintance of mine from college recently relocated from Providence to Cincinnati for work, and for the duration of last week, I took it upon myself to be in charge of showing him around the city. So, over the course of the last seven days, we've already hung out three times.

We were never close in college, just kind of talked to each other a few times at a few parties of our mutual friend. But we really hit it off in Cincinnati cause, as it turns out, we've got a lot more in common than I had initially realized, including our hatred for everything New Jersey and our lingering nostalgia for our hometowns.

On Wednesday we went out to eat at a quaint little restaurant that serves mostly mediocre food, unless you know those one or two exceptional menu items that have people coming back there for more. He talked a lot about his work and his friends back home and all together, we spent about three hours at the restaurant.

Later that night I received the following text message from him:

"Hey, just wanted to say I had a great time. You're very nice and easy to talk to. Hope you had fun."

Well, that was really cute, I thought to myself and texted him back with, "I think you're fun too, we'll hang out this weekend, I'm sure."

A few minutes later, a follow up text lit up my cell phone screen, "I hope I didn't bore you. I tend to talk a lot when I'm comfortable with someone. Have a good night."

That weekend him and I met up with a bunch of my friends from school and we conjured up a plan to go out to a local bar. I was on a roll that night, cracking jokes, laughing and just having a blast. I think a part of my increased effort to be "the cool girl" that night was due to the fact that The Artist came out with us, and I just was feeling good, looking good and wanted to rub it into his face. As to say, "Ha! You missed out and I hope you realize that you missed out."

And, of course, I was there with a "new man". (The Artist didn't need to know that the new man was just a friend)

Later on that night, just as I was about to get comfy in my bed in preparation for sleep, I, again, received a text message from my friend.

"I had such a blast tonight. You are the coolest girl I had ever met. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Well, well... What can I say? I felt extremely flattered that he thought I was just that fabulous. It's not every day that I hear comments like those.

We made plans to hang out again last night and decided to go dancing. I was all up for it because I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of men I know who actually enjoy dancing. Four out of five of them are gay.

As we danced, I looked around the club to survey the scene and saw this girl eyeing my dance partner up and down. I knew that look oh-too-well. It was the "Hey boy, you are looking so sexy, wish you were dancing with me" look. I looked back at my friend, who was being oblivious to the girl's stare, and it just sort of dawned on me - he is, indeed, a very very good-looking man. His body, all muscular, cute smile, those blue eyes...

But wait, did I mention that he has a girlfriend back home?

I looked away nervously, hoping that he didn't notice the way I was looking at him for the past ten seconds. Damn it, I can't be thinking about him this way, gotta burry those feelings deep inside, gotta forget that he's cute.

Later on, after I got home, I received yet another text message from him:
"I haven't had this much fun in a long time. By the way, you are a really good dancer."

I replied with, "Thanks, I liked dancing with you. Hope to do it again soon."

D'oh.

He texted back shortly after with, "We'll have to get together before I leave [he's going to Cleveland for two weeks, spending four days out of that time hanging with his girlfriend] and then we definitely have to go out a lot when I get back. Good night, give me a call tomorrow."

Is it just me or is he being slightly too friendly with me? I know nothing can happen with him while he's still with his girl, because I don't want to be a homewrecker. Moreover, nothing can happen even if he breaks up with her, because I so don't wanna be a rebound girl.

However, I feel like he's borderline flirting with me, and unfortunately, I can't say that I don't like that.

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So, while in Philly this week, I met up with my good friend for a girls' night out before I left for Cincinnati again. The guy friends we were originally supposed to hang out with sort of stood us up in that they showed up at a bar for about two seconds, just to announce that they have to get up early the next day and they had to leave. Wonderful. Just wonderful.

Slightly pissed off at the overall situation, my friend and I decide to switch our drinking locales and we head over to a bar a few blocks away. As we enter, one particular guy catches my eye right away and I try to do my best not to visibly show my amazement. The guy looks JUST LIKE THE ARTIST. I mean, everything - his body, his face, his smile, his style - everything was looking pretty close to identical to The Artist.

I had to share my immediate sentiments with my friend. "I must get his number," I confided in her, "I gotta forget for a second that I am leaving the city in about 48 hours. I NEED his number."

After a few sips of my my Red Bull and vodka drink, I get hit on by some semi-pleasant and semi-hot guy but I just can't keep my eyes off The Artist Look-Alike. I juggle my priorities between making pleasant conversation with the Semi-Hottie and the man I truly want.

At some point The Artist Look-Alike is told by one of his friends that I practically can't stop starring at him and the guy begins looking over his shoulder every five seconds and smiling at me. Oh Jesus Christ, my initial reaction was right - his smile is as radiant and sexy as that of The Artist.

Without giving it a second thought, I give the Semi-Hottie my number and he leaves the bar with his crew. At that point the bar is about to close down so everyone begins to proceed to the exit. As The Artist Look-Alike and his friends walk by me, he paused for a second and flashes his smile at me. I am freaking smitten and I just walk over and say hi.

Jesus, what am I doing? I am leaving the city on Sunday and here I am talking to this drop-dead sexy guy, here I am getting invited over to his place.

Wait.

Getting invited over to his place?!

My head is spinning in a semi-drunken whirlwind and I stare at the boy for a second longer.

"Are you gonna give me a ride home in the morning?" I say before realizing what I am saying.
"Of course," he replies, and out of the corner of my eye I see the worried look on my friend's face.
"Don't worry," I tell her candidly, "I will be okay. I will text you and let you know how everything goes."

I leave with The Artist Look-Alike, against my better judgement and his friend drives us around through a maze of tiny street of the Philly suburbia, until we finally get dropped off at his place, which turns out to be a typical little house with a white picket fence. He clearly lives with his parents, which raises a question...

"Hey, how old are you?"

"Twenty one."

Jesus, why do I like them so young all of the sudden.

We make out on his couch for about three hours until the sunrise. I make an excuse of "I don't usually do this kind of stuff with guys I just meet" and I hate myself for saying that cliche phrase. The guilt quickly dissipates though and I pass out on his chest with my shirt off.

Around 6 am, I open my eyes in a dream-like state from the noise I hear. I look around the dimly lit room just to find, to my complete shock and embarassment, the guy's father coming down the stairs to take care of his miscellaneous business. I do nothing but lay still, with my bare back turned towards the father and silently wish that I could teleport myself to my own bed.

The father seems to be taken aback by a semi-naked girl laying on top of his son on a couch, but says nothing and quickly grabs something out of the mini-fridge. I close my eyes and drift away into dreamland again.

At 9am I get woken up again by light kisses on my forehead and neck. The Artist Look-Alike smiles at me as I open my eyes and I have to catch my breath for a second because the boy looks just like The Artist himself. Throughout our morning conversation, I find out that his birthday is the same month as The Artist's. They are truly clones of one another.

At 11am I politely ask him to drive me home, and on the drive back to my parents' place I find out that the boy is going to be in Vegas the same week I am vacationing there. We exchange numbers and make plans to meet up in a month, in Nevada.

"Call me if you're ever in Cincinnati," I say, as casually as possible, where all I really want to say is, "You are the most amazing man ever, what do I need to do to be with you?"

"I don't think I will ever come around that way," he says, oblivious as to how those words crush my heart, "But call me when you're in Vegas."

I nod and kiss him in a hurry before getting out of the car.

And yet again, I begin to regret no longer living in Philly. And yet again I have to remind myself that work comes before men for now. My 4.0 this quarter and my new appointment as a graduate assistant to a professor need to keep me on track. Otherwise, I am lost, for I, like everyone else, need love too.

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Goodbye for Good

So after the New Guy's several attempts to flirt with me via instant messages and texts (how romantic, right?), sending me a b-day card and a CD he made for me I had to tell him that I wasn't interested.

Especially after he sent this to me:

"I am sooo attracted to you. Probably more than I should be, at this point."

It's funny. When I don't reciprocate someone's feelings of affection I almost take it too close to heart myself. I feel like I should be obliged to return affection because, you know, they put themselves out there and they open up to you. And they're human beings and their feelings get hurt. But, at the same time, I have to take care of myself first. I can't court to other's people's feelings and well-being all the time. Sometimes I can be selfish and self-centered. But that only makes me human. I've faced rejection before, sometimes I'm the one who has to do the rejecting. It just... doesn't feel good.

I have been talking to a boy from the past who somewhat resurfaced in my life recently. I hung out with him a few times when I was dating my very first boyfriend way way WAY back in the day and he was just an acquaintance of mine, a popular boy who had a girlfriend with a model body, perfect hair and laughter. A popular boy who never looked at me, a painfully-skinny, artsy social reject. Why would he? He was too preoccupied with her.

He found me on an online social networking site a few weeks ago. You know, one of those type of deals. He said he remembered me from back in the day and I couldn't help but feel flattered that I was memorable enough to him.

So, damn! Not that he was ever lacking in the looks department, but the past seven years have been VERY good to him. He's smashingly handsome. He turned his life around, from a seventeen year old stoner to a twenty four year old sexy-as-all-hell law school student with a SMOKING body. He's perfect-o in every damn way and he is completely smitten by me as well. I mean, when you hear the words like "gorgeous", "beautiful", "amazing" coming out of that boy's mouth in reference to you, you can't help but melt like butter and keep the river of compliments flowing by telling him that there are simply no men that even compare to him in all of Cincinnati.

The catch is (of course, there's always a catch), Law School Guy now lives in Portland. Portland, Oregon. That's about a day's drive from Cincinnati. Of course. Just my luck.

So let's see, I'm not naive. I know he flirts with other women, I know I'm not the only one he pays compliments to, so I am, by no means, planning our wedding in my head. I know that unless I relocate to Portland, or he decides to leave that city in favor of establishing a home base in the 'Nati (why the eff would he ever want to though?), we will not have a future together.

It's flattering, though, when men from the past are pleasantly surprised when they see the "new" me. Yeah, on many levels, it's all so incredibly superficial. But I got made fun of so much in grade school and high school, because I was ugly, skinny, awkward and quiet. And this boy never said anything bad about me, though I'm sure, he didn't necessarily have crazy sex dreams about me either back in the day. But the boy was nice, and that's all I ever wanted from everyone, including boys, and some stuck-up classmates.

Now that we're all grown up and this guy is this smart, sexy individual, and I'm here doing things with my life and taking off in many aspects of my professional career yet keep getting involved with these bland, dead-end guys. It's good to know that, no, I'm not too picky. And a guy like Law School Guy is worth waiting for, because I'll be damned if I settle for someone like the New Guy, even if he he is incredibly nice and sweet, even if he does make me CD compilations of my favorite songs. He will make some girl happy one day. That girl won't be me.

And who knows, maybe someday Law School Guy and I will cross our paths and we will be in a closer proximity to each other. But for now, I am content with unabashedly flirting with him, and keeping the butterflies in my stomach in check.

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Tomorrow

For the past five weeks I had barely had a chance to step outside of my house. To relay how swamped I was with work, I will just say that at more than one instance I contemplated skipping a meal so that I could have more time to spend on my projects. And several times, I was so engrossed in my work, that I did skip a meal or two, without intending to do so.

But all that's fun must come to an end, right?

...

All I gotta say is that I feel lucky to still be somewhat alive and breathing. I have never worked this hard in my entire life and, hopefully, my final projects really showcase the amount of dedication I poured into architecture.

There was no social life for a while. The only human interaction was with my fellow-sufferers in architecture studio who I've spent many sleepless nights with, my worried mother who would call me every other day to make sure I was getting enough sleep, and the New Guy who, no matter how bland he may be, apparently cares enough to inquire about my well being.

Would I do this all over again, knowing now how hard this was for me? Probably not. But I'm glad I didn't know it was going to be like this, because going through this experience made me tougher, for better or for worse. I pushed my limits, and I've reached the finish line.

And now... Now I think I am fairly ready for my last exam tomorrow morning and after that I will be ready to reemerge into the world. Perhaps, a trip to the mall will be my end-of-quarter celebration, or maybe a midday nap.

I am coming back to life, maybe even considering dating again. I am looking forward to going on a week-long vacation to the wonderful city of Philadelphia to visit the fam and my crazy and wonderful friends. I feel life being pumped into my still lifeless arms, and heart and brain.

Tomorrow I am picking back up on my work-out regimen. Tomorrow, I am coming back with a vengeance. Tomorrow is a new, beautiful day. All in all, I am honored that I will get to live to see tomorrow.

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On Drinking and Dating

Two weeks ago, I've had my last sip of alcohol. Many sips to be exact. Who am I kidding, I got pretty wasted. That was the night of the party I was bringing the New Guy I'm seeing to and I was so afraid yet so anxious to see the Artist there.
The Artist didn't show up for one reason or another and I decided not to ask any one of my friends why he didn't show.

After a few hours of drinking games, we all piled up in a backseat of my Fabulous Friend's car and took our party to a bar downtown. I sat on the New Guy's lap and you would think the proximity of us being literally on top of each other and my face only a few inches away from him would create the sort of chemistry in the air that you could cut with a knife. No such thing happened. Even worse, it was like sitting on my brother's lap, at least that's what I'm imagining it would be like if I had a brother.

Somewhere sometime at the bar, I was forcing myself to attempt some sort of flirting with the New Guy. "I know he's into me", I kept telling myself. "I know you're very very tipsy", I kept telling myself. Why can't I just have fun for this once and at least pretend in my drunkenness that I like this guy more than I really do.

But then I got sick of it. Or maybe it's the alcohol that made me feel sick, but suddenly, I wanted to be somewhere else. I felt like a stranger at a strange bar with a strange, almost-awkward guy whose levels of communication with a girl do not surpass those of an adolescent tenth-grader. At two o'clock, I was happy to hear the bartender to yell at the crowd to promptly get out. The pleasure is all mine.

I let the New Guy crash on my bed, and in the middle of the night (he was far too drunk to drive), I woke up and tried to move away from him as far as possible because I did not want him to accidentally touch me in his sleep.

They say that a woman knows within the first five minutes of meeting a guy if she would like him more than a friend or not. I generally agree with that notion, except that the New Guy is an exception. When I met him for the first time, I was extremely drawn to his looks but as the time went on, more and more, I began to realize that his personality was as bland as a piece of cardboard. I mean, really, the best nickname I can come up for his is "The New Guy" simply because there are NO stand-out characteristics or personality traits that I could identify him with. He is the most generic of all people.

Sure, he was nice, and seemed genuine, and he tried really hard to keep the conversation going. But it was oh so generic. I felt like an actress on a set of a badly-written soap, where the main actors who are supposed to be into each other, have zero chemistry.

By the third date, I could care less if I appeared interesting to him, or interested IN him, for that matter. I found myself in a persistent state of surprise as to how the attractiveness of his looks dissipated the more he opened his mouth. Every word... it seemed, he had to pick out very carefully in his head before he actually said it. I found myself wanting to finish his own sentences. I found myself more frustrated, than excited, when thinking about a possibility of a fourth date.

There won't be a fourth date, I've decided. And now that I think back to that party two weeks ago, and I think of him, and I think of all the alcohol I've consumed. It's like, the frustration that built up when I was around the New Guy pops into my head every time I even think about drinking.

Yesterday I went out to celebrate the end of classes and a successful final architectural review with a bunch of classmates, and I TRIED to drink a beer. I ended up leaving it unfinished and when the waitress asked me if I wanted anything else to drink, I replied with,

"I'll just have a lemonade, please."

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[Not So] Former Crushes

I am off to a huge party tonight that my friend is throwing and I'm bringing a new guy with me. This new guy... is tall, cute, intelligent. There is just one problem - I don't know if I'm that into him. There is no reason for me not to be, it's just that sometimes I wonder if he's my type.

There is also another problem. The Artist will be making an appearance at the party and I can't help but wonder... am I bringing the new guy with me so that I can enjoy his company, or is this, instead, some pathetic attempt to make The Artist feel a pinch of jealousy when he sees me with someone else?

I am afraid I am not entirely over my teensy weensy crush, and I am afraid that once I see the man at the party, my buried feelings will come back to haunt me. I mean, if it was entirely up to me, The Artist and I would be having a hot, passionate relationship right now. But, sometimes, sadly, some things are not up to me, nor will they ever be.

But... Perhaps it doesn't matter if my crush will be present at the party tonight. I will have a new guy to distract me, after all, and I KNOW, oh I know, that he likes me. However, something tells me that I will need to go out of my way to pretend that I don't care about The Artist any more. I will need to play it cool, without looking too cold to an observing eye.

Regardless of my superficial dilemma, tonight promises to be interesting, to say the least.

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Turning Pages

On the cusp of being 24, I look back to where I was a year ago, and at everything that had changed since then. The last year was far more adventurous, dangerous, risky, and exhilarating. Last year was a year of making changes, taking steps forward, and improvement. It was also a year of set-backs, repeating the same mistakes, and falling for douche bags. Luckily, the positives outweigh the negatives by far.

A year ago, I was in love. I fell for his advances and let his sweep me off my feet with elegant dinners and glitzy late night martinis. I let him pay for everything and I convinced myself that he was the most wonderful man in the world.

A year ago minus 3 weeks, I had my heart broken and I felt the pain I had never felt before that moment. I must admit I was messed up and confused for a brief moment, trying to figure out what happened. However, I walked away with dignity. He never found out just how deeply he hurt me. He never will.

Eleven months ago, I moved out of my apartment to briefly set my residence at my parents' house. The comfort of a childhood home was soothing. For just a few weeks, it felt nice to be cooked for and cleaned after. It was my brief regression to an earlier stage.

Ten months ago, I was at the Jersey shore, laying out on a beach and listening to the ocean waves crash against the sandy shore.

Nine months ago was my last day at my old job as an architectural staff member at a historical preservation firm in Philadelphia. The goodbyes were bittersweet - it was the best job I have had to date, but I knew that I had to leave in order to pursue bigger and better things.

Eight months ago I moved to Cincinnati with nothing but a car full of clothes. I knew no one and the city felt so small the minute I moved here. I knew it wasn't the city I was going to love, but I didn't know that just in a few days I would meet the most fabulous people who would slowly evolve to be my new family.

Seven months ago, I was busy settling down and exploring the new city. I began getting a hang of a demanding curriculum of my school that was "trying to be like Harvard", in the words of one of my classmates, who eventually decided to drop out of the program.

Six months ago, I had an interview with a firm that two weeks later would offer me a co-op job in their hospitality department.

Five months ago, I drove back to Philadelphia for a Christmas break and spent an amazing three weeks, visiting my old friends whom I haven't seen since that summer and spending quality time with my family.

Four months ago, I began my job at the fabulous firm and started dating a new guy. I visited Nashville, and, surprisingly enough, loved its country-music charm.

Three months ago, I got my first architectural review approved for being featured in a magazine. I was now officially a published writer. I also went to Vegas for the very first time, fell in love with the city and vowed to come back for a visit again.

Two months ago, the guy I had dated for 2.5 months abruptly decided that he didn't want to pursue things with me any more. And to think, I was the one who initially doubted if I should pursue a relationship with him. I also faced rejection from an acquaintance of mine, who I could have sworn liked me at least half as much as I liked him. It was a bad month in my personal life.

One month ago, the fabulous firm notified me that they would like me to come back and work for them this summer. I gladly accepted. I also went to Boston for the very first time to a Harvard leadership conference.

Today, I am on a cusp of being 24. I don't feel a day older and maybe just a tad wiser than I had a year ago. I am still clueless when it comes to men and dating, but I am gaining more and more knowledge and confidence in my profession. I still see my future as an open book, but I have clear direction to where I want to go from here. I am no longer wishing on stars, I am taking steps to making my dreams come true. I am still afraid, but I am hopeful. Above all, I am still me and no one can take that away.

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Oh my goodness, I've been absolutely swamped with work! Who knew that grad school was actually going to be so challenging and time-consuming? But I'm surviving despite it all, and even finding an occassional minute or two to go out around midnight on Friday nights with some good friends who are beginning to become my family in Cincinnati, since we spend so much time with each other in and out of studio.

A few people actually dropped out of the architecture program this quarter during the midreview time. Why? Because the work load can be too much to bear sometimes. As evident by my recent lack of posting, I don't even have time to write a decent blog entry, or for that matter, time to breathe.

The boy situation? Well, it's been pretty much nonexistent, ever since the indirect blow of rejection I received from the Artist a little over a month ago. Though I still think he's the hottest thing since sliced bread, I am willing to let him go and now that school work might be slowing down for a quick second, I am willing to explore my other options as far as dating is concerned.

I actually have a date this Friday and I am keeping my fingers crossed, hoping it all goes well. But really, I am not going to put all my eggs in a basket. Right now, all I am hoping to get out of it is a nice dinner, some pleasant conversation, and if sparks fly - so be it. If they don't, I have other things to worry about in other aspects of my life.

Honestly, I've been able to put my life on hold without a problem or a single regret. Sure, dating is fun, but I am looking to advance in my career. While school has been tough, grueling, challenging and exhausting, it has also been incredibly rewarding. Knowing that this is what I want to do for the rest of my life helps me stay on my path.

Boys will always come along the way. I am not worried one bit.

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He's Just Not That Into Me?

Last night I got to hang out with the Artist and the rest of the gang for the first time in four weeks. I was jittery all day in preparation for the outing because I knew that I just had to tell the Artist that I like him. Picking out the perfect outfit took a considerable amount of time - I had to make sure I looked cute but without trying too hard. Effortless chic, they call it.

Of course, I showed up at the bar and everyone was already there. Including the man himself. One look at him and I had to gather all my strength as to not blush. I think it worked and I think I presented myself to everyone in a cool and collected manner. Inside, my heart was about to jump out of my chest.

After a few drinks my friend, the matchmaker, took me aside and inquired:

"So what do you think? Are you digging the Artist?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "But the real question is, is he digging me?"

My friend didn't have a clear answer for me, "Well, I haven't really talked to him about that directly, but I personally think he thinks you're cute, so if I were you I would go talk to him."

I suddenly felt like a timid little school girl, "You're doing shots with me. Right now. It's the only way I can get the courage up to hit on the Artist."

And with those words, I waved the bartender over.

As the night progressed in time and blurriness, I somehow found myself sitting in a bar stool next to the Artist, with everyone else mingling in a far corner of the bar. He was all mine for the time being and I had to make the most of it. We talked about our families, art, music, near-arrest stories, and miscellaneous madness.

Before long, it was after one am and the only people out of our whole large group left at the bar were me, the Artist, and my friend the matchmaker. My friend saw this as his cue to bow out so that I get some alone time with the guy.

"Are you guys leaving too or are you gonna stick around for a while longer?" my friend asked before heading to the exit door.

The Artist replied, "It's cool, I think I"ll stick around. I live just a few houses over."

Hells yeah. He wants some alone time with me? He likes me?

After my friend left, the Artist and I finished our drinks and he offered to walk me home, since I live pretty close to the bar. I was practically in seventh heaven at that point as I gladly accepted his offer. Surely, a boy who offers to walk a girl home must like her.

As we approached my house, I began to wonder how to tell him that I am really into him. I knew that if I was sober, there would be no way in hell I'd ever be able to profess my attraction to him. It was now or never. After all, as he said earlier that night, he wasn't even going to be in the city this weekend or the next. I had to make my move.

"Well, I guess I will see you sometime soon," the Artist began saying goodbye.

"Hey, wait," I quickly interrupted him, my thoughts spinning like crazy in my drunken head, "I... I just wanted to let you know that I think you're really cute..."

I think he smiled... or maybe cringed... or maybe both... He said, "Wow.. you really caught me off guard with this one..."

As I am trying to remember exactly what he said last night, some bits and pieces are missing out of the equation. I was clearly drunk, not sloppily so, but I was inebriated to a point where now I can't remember for the life of me all that he said last night.

I do remember, however, that there was no definitive answer on his part. He reiterated that he was leaving town for two weeks. And, I believe he said that he will see me soon. He also did not reciprocate my "You're cute" comment. None of these bits of information seem particularly hope-inspiring. We parted very amicably, with lots of smiles, but again, I can't assess due to my drunkenness, how much of that amicability was genuine.

As the Ex put it to me in this afternoon's phone conversation, the Artist is either "a pussy, not that into you, or gay." I am positive it is not the latter of the bunch, so that leaves me with the first two. And with the way the Artist's been acting around me all last night, save for the whole episode at the end of my walk home, I could have put my money on the fact that he might be attracted to me.

Our conversation at the end of the night threw everything into a loop. I don't think he likes me... or is there still hope? Should I keep hoping until the next time I see him, which, I imagine will be in about two weeks or so. Should I keep hoping or move on now?

I wish I knew the answers...

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