Saturday, September 24, 2011


And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know,

My weakness, I feel, I must finally show...

-"Awake My Soul", Mumford and Sons

Somewhere deep down inside, I am a fragile human being, I'm sure. But sometime along the road of life, my constant longing for being fiercely independent has pushed my fragility deep inside. It is only something I know about myself when I feel vulnerable and only after a couple of glasses of wine. (Cheers, amigos!)

My friend asked me yesterday, as we were sharing a cab to our respective homes, whether or not I was in love with The Banker.

I did not hesitate: "I'm not. I don't know what he's thinking... don't know yet what he wants from me. And, really, until then, I have to prevent myself from developing any sort of deep feelings for him. For my own sake."

The reply was only partially true. I am conflicted on the subject and feel I could go either way with a variety of different answers. They would all be true.

One answer is true to my reply to my friend. I have been burned before. Badly. All because I opened up to a guy who did not have all of his eggs in his basket. I, to this day, do not know why the dude decided to drop me. I do not really care any more, on an emotional level; I am just still slightly curious.

And, truth be told, I do not feel that The Banker is completely giving into me. It's just this sixth sense that I have developed about these things; call it woman's intuition, I call it being "relationship smart". So, naturally, based on my prior experiences and on my own self-analysis, my choice to remain guarded makes sense.

Another answer is that I am not sure if my first answer really holds true. The way I see things is... love is something that cannot be controlled. I mean, if I was truly meant to fall in love with The Banker, wouldn't I have just decided to go with it by now. I mean, it's been three months and either I can control my emotions better and better with time, or it's that I, deep down inside, don't believe I could fall in love with The Banker.

And a third answer is the silliest one of all. The third answer is that my true love could still be Mr J.

He and I are broken up, it's true. But we talk occasionally and I see the man that I've always wanted to be with, I see him as someone I can't bare to lose. Doesn't that mean that I'm still in love with...

Well, let's not even go there right now.

I just want The Banker to tell me what he wants. I want him to decide for me. It's not really fair to anyone, but I think I have too many options right now. And none of the options are a sure thing.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Of Dating Types

There are two types of women in the world. Those that say that they have a "type" of a guy they usually go for, and those that say they don't. Up until maybe a year ago, I would say I belonged to the latter category.

Honestly, I've dated them all: geeks, stoners, tattoo artists, wanna-be rappers, good guys, bad guys, racist guys (once, and never again), guys who had girlfriends (once, and never again), poor guys, rich guys, skinny guys, fat guys (okay, like, American football quarterback-type kind of "fat", but still), models, hot dog vendors, "entrepreneurs", mafia bosses (allegedly), frat boys, musicians, bankers, lawyers, and so forth. Therefore, it might be fair for me to say that I do not necessarily have that one type of a guy I go for.

But it all comes down to looks. And that is where I DO have a type. As shallow and egotistical as it may sound, I've realized about a year ago that I date the same types of guys. And though the look that I went for when I was eighteen is not the same as the look that I go for now, it is something that has remained pretty consistent throughout my dating years, despite having gone out with men from all backgrounds and occupations.

From 14 to 16, I went through my discovery-of-boys phase. I didn't necessarily date anyone back then. I was way too skinny and awkward looking to land myself a date, but I was super attracted to boys with a little bit of Latino flava. Puertorican boys really rang my bell. So much so that I really wanted to name my first-born Marcus. My mother was not pleased but I thought Marcus was the most beautiful name for a boy I could ever pick. I really wanted to marry a cute Puertorican back then, what can I say.

From 16 to 20, it was a blend of Irish and German for me. It was the oddest thing because I truly firmly believed that all of America's single guys had German mothers and Irish fathers because that is precisely the blend of nationalities that I would encounter in every single guy I had dated back then.

At 20, I met several good-looking Italians, and that's when I realized that the Irish were out, and from that point on, tall, dark and handsome Italians were SO in. My one serious boyfriend at that point was like 110% Italian and I loved the fact that he had a big family, had dark spiky hair and was close to his mother.

At 22, I broke up with the said boyfriend and started my dating spree. It's been good, bad and ugly but I realized at that point that I was beginning to raise my standards significantly higher and was solidifying the range of guys I was going for.

I realized that I was very into Jewish men.

Okay, so not really hardcore religious Jews. It was more about these gorgeous Jewish Americans that I first started meeting back when I was in undergrad at UPenn. They were liberal, they were outgoing, they were like the next step of my dating evolution from the tall, dark and handsome Italians. The Jewish men were all that, plus more sophisticated (which may have had something to do with my dating demographic getting older), more intriguing, more worldly.

Basically, I am just going to make the long story short and say this. God bless America, God bless the Italians and, especially and specifically and more over and hereafter, God bless the sexy single Jewish men.

Mazel tov!

Saturday, September 17, 2011


What prompts us to decide that 'TODAY' will be the first day of the rest of our lives?

Could it be something monumental, like a realization that the way we're doing things is not really working? Is it a promise to ourselves to live lives differently, to change those things that we dislike about ourselves, to try harder to get to the goals we've once set?

To me, it's a refresher and renewal of a vow that I have to do persist with my goal to something big, while I am still on this planet. So, today, I woke up and decided that 'TODAY' is going to be the first day of the rest of my life.

It has to start with small steps... trying to work even harder at work (I've got a big museum meeting tomorrow where I plan on dazzling the senior curator with my knowledge), trying to get some writing gigs (I so desperately want to be a legit writer some day), trying to sort things out on a personal side (which might be the trickiest thing of all).

And I am already getting myself ready for my first big reward (something that will keep me motivated). My first Christmas ever that will be spent away from freezing temperatures and parkas and next to or right on some of the most pristine beaches in the world.

I will be dropping it all in December and going to Thailand for a beach lounging, elephant riding, cocktail drinking, deep-water diving adventure. I mean, how can you go wrong with a view like this:

Forget money troubles, men, drama. Forget everything because this, ladies and gentlemen, is my ultimate version of paradise. And if I can get this piece of heaven for ten days staight... well, I'll take it with a cherry on top.

Sunday, September 11, 2011


In this city of millionaires, lately I've been feeling like I'm not making a damn dime. This city's heart is so damn cold at night. Plus, my love life is a total hot mess. Plus, my attempts at a poetic prose just don't have the same ring to them when I write them out on a cocktail napkin.

Welcome to my world at twenty seven, where I can't sort anything out and the only thing I can't stop doing is making mistakes and continuing writing.

Writing like I'm some damn novelist-wannabe. Writing, writing, writing until my brain swells up and bleeds with words. Words that only make me more confused, yearn for the time lost, long for something that is only a creation of my mind.

You know what the most frustrating thing is?

No, it's not not knowing what you want. It's knowing exactly what you want and having no clue how to get it.