Color Me Confused

You know, I just don't get it. If a guy is not that into you and is looking for something better, then why is he making plans with you? Why is he asking you to meet your roommates? Why does he offer up an idea of you and him going on a weekend vacation together?

I am conflicted as to what kind of game The Banker is playing. I have not brought up what I know yet, because I simply don't know how to. It's not like I can just go:

"Hey, so you've been checking your online dating profile quite frequently, you little bastard. What's up with that?"

A part of me keeps telling myself that I am overreacting and that I should keep calm, keep my guard up and sleep with one eye open. But what kind of a relationship is that?

But things are so fucking good on the surface. I cannot comprehend why a man would put on such a front and continue dating me if he is just looking for a way out. Or for another woman for that matter.

A part of me wants to punch him in the face. Or kick him right in the balls in a middle of a busy street and walk away while he's grabbing his crotch in excruciating pain.

Another part of me keeps hoping that it' all just nothing. And while I can't come up with even one reasonable explanation to his prowling around a dating site, I am still struggling to understand his motives.

Like, why would he give me a code to his apartment, knowing that I can come in at any time and take anything I want from his place. Why bother going through all this trouble of putting on a sweet and innocent facade for four months now.

There was one time four years ago when I posted a guy's number on a gay dating site and told everyone and their mother to call him for a "good time". Yes, that was four years ago but, when push comes to shove and when I feel like I am being disrespected to no end... well, then I won't be above doing the same with The Banker's number. Hell hath no fury...

But really,

I just want things to be normal. For once in my love life. Not too much to ask for, eh?

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Unofficial Official

You know that perfect moment that you keep telling yourself you deserve?

That you deserved all along? And that you fought all doubts and let down all those walls you built up because, finally, you thought, finally you found that person who could be everything they say they are.

The perfect moment where you let your guard down for a guy. And you say to yourself, in sheer surprise:

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? My heart is still in tact. I am still here. He didn't reveal his true ugly colors or confessed that he had a girlfriend or that he was impotent or that he had children or that he was emotionally unavailable. He is actually what he says he is. He is as close to perfection as they come. Hang on to him, you silly self, hang on to him, damn it!"

The perfect moment where he asks if he could list you as an emergency contact number when he gets somewhat seriously injured and has to go to a hospital over night. The moment that he gives you a door code to his apartment so you could let yourself in any time you wanted to.

The seemingly perfect moment where you silence your doubts and just let things take their natural course and let yourself... almost let yourself get swept away?

Yeah. THAT moment.

It feels damn good, doesn't it?

Until you find out, through happenstance, that your Mr Perfect has an active profile on a dating site. And, yes, Mr Perfect told you before that he was on the said site and that he was looking for a serious relationship, whether he met that right girl online or not online. And you were perfectly okay with it, and just assumed that he took the profile down when he asked you to be exclusive.

Until you found out that he logged in again just four days ago. And then again yesterday, just before he took you out on that date.

Until you try to convince yourself that, MAYBE, you are overreacting and it's just nothing and he is just curious. And then you realize that, MAYBE, just maybe, he is just fishing for someone else that is not you.

That you are not a girlfriend after all. You are just a girl he is dating for the moment.

Just a girl that is unofficial as the last one.

And you realize that maybe his last girlfriend did not leave him because he was working too hard all the time. Maybe she left him because she realized that she was not his girlfriend at all. She was just a girl he was dating at that moment.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

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A Special Something-Something

It's a lazy Sunday morning and The Banker and I are lounging on his comfy living room couch, watching TV. Not bothered to get fully dressed, we are eating cereal in nothing but our underwear and flipping channels between Sunday morning cartoons on Nickelodeon and "I Shouldn't Be Alive" on Discovery. Our feet are stretched out on his coffee table (my mom never let me put my feet up on the coffee table at my parents' house, so I always take special pleasure when I get the opportunity to defy this childhood rule). He's checking the market on the Blackberry that's attached to his hip at all times and planning his next trade moves. I am not checking my phone at all, because in my line of work there is nothing important enough to deserve a Sunday morning reply.

This is as close to domestic bliss as it gets for me. For the first time after my post Mr J-dating, I am beginning to fully realize how damn lucky I am to have this guy. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more of him because he is as perfect as they come.

I've always been a firm believer that there is something there when I meet a guy who makes me want to be a better person. Well, The Banker makes me want to be the best person I can possibly be.

For real.

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One Drink to Calm Your Jitters

I am at a KTV - a Japanese-style karaoke adventure where you are basically given a rented booth for a couple of hours so that you and your friends can sing/scream your hearts out to dozens of your all-time favorite songs. That is exactly what I am doing right now.

The projector above my head is spewing rays of blue, green and red light. The small room with lounge-type chairs has been transformed into a mini-disco and The Banker and I are singing (badly), drinking our jugs of beer and rocking out to our favorite Guns'n'Roses tune.

I am wearing a form-fitting black dress with tussles and navy blue peep-toe shoes but I am one step away from classy as I take a full swig of my beer before turning my attention back to the microphone. The Banker doesn't seem to mind that my beer almost comes out of my nose right before I chime in to sing along to the chorus in "Sweet Child of Mine".

My mission tonight is simple: I need to get buzzed enough to ask The Banker where we stand with our relationship. Ever since I discovered that I was starting to develop deeper feelings for him, I'd been aching to find out how he feels about me. Am I girlfriend material or just a date to spend weekends with? I just had to get enough beer in me first to work up the courage to ask the question.

Back at his place, I chicken out a little bit. I am feeling the butterflies in my stomach despite my remarkable ability to consume two big jugs of beer in under two hours. Despite the alcohol assumption, I am, somehow, stone-cold sober.

I tell The Banker that I need to use his bathroom but I go and shut the door behind myself just to look in the mirror and give myself a mental pep talk. Tonight HAS to be the night. I don't need to get drunk to ask, I just need to ask and be done with it. Besides, if I WAS drunk right now, I'd probably puke from nervousness.

Back in his living room, I take a full breath, and before I have a chance to chicken out again, I slowly drag words out of myself:

"Soooo.... I've got a question for ya..."

No going back now. Just breathe and keep talking, damn it!

He says, "Yeah? What's up?" and looks up at me from the couch.

"I gotta ask you this... Because I was just wondering... Where do we stand in terms of this whole dating thing? Are we serious? Are we just chilling?"

I try to sound casual but, on the inside, I am finally thankful for those two jugs of beer I drank earlier. They are mellowing me out enough to stop me from being a complete emotional wreck or from studdering too much. Dare I say it, I actually DO sound like, oh, it's no big deal.

"I was waiting for you to bring this up," he says without hesitating, "You know when you just moved here and we started seeing each other, I told you I was looking for a serious relationship. I wanted to give you time to get acclimated with Singapore - a new city, let alone, a new continent. I figured you need some time to make your own friends and establish life here before we developed anything serious."

I hang onto his every word, "Uh huh..." I simply say when he pauses.

"So do you want to make this official?" he smiles.

"Uh huh." I say. I'm speechless but throw my arms around him and hold onto him tightly, as if afraid that he will change his mind and run away. He hugs me back and I look up into his eyes. I feel myself beaming with happiness and, for a moment, I make myself slightly sick with all this lovey dovey-ness and want to tell myself to "get a room."

And just like that, I am no longer single. And while my single life rocked my socks off while it lasted, I am happy to report that being called someone's, no, not someone's.... being called The Banker's girlfriend feels, excuse my language, fucking peachy!

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Friends with Some Benefits

I am sitting in a dark movie theater, with a Hawaiian pizza on my lap and The Banker in his seat to my right. This is my first experience at the movies in Singapore and, I must say, it is an underwhelming one.

No, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the cushioned red velvet seats, or the air conditioning, or the size of the projection screen. The food tastes pretty phenomenal for movie theater food and the space between the row of seats in front of us in aplenty for me to stretch my sore legs and feet.

But I'm puzzled and confused and a little mad. The Banker is not even trying to hold my hand. Why the fuck is he not trying to hold my hand? Never mind the Hawaiian pizza on my lap, I'm done devouring that. Here is my empty right hand, resting casually on the arm rest separating me and him. Why isn't he reaching for it?

I try to hide my annoyance and concentrate on what's going on on the screen. This is the part of the movie where Justin Timberlake is talking to his father at the airport and is asking the father about a woman's name that the dad keeps saying.

The dad says this about the mystery woman, in his moment of clarity, "She was my one true love and probably the reason your mother eventually left me."

JT looks stunned. He always thought it was his mother's fault for leaving but now he is realizing that the fact that his father never acted upon his feelings for his true love hindered his relationship with his own mother. JT is also realizing that he, without a shadow of a doubt, is in love with HIS true love, miss Mila Kunis, and that he must do whatever it takes to win her back and prove to her that she is not just a friend with benefits.

I am too bitter to enjoy this part and I can't help but think about my situation with The Banker in terms of the situation between JT and Mila, except that at the end we don't end up falling in love and making out in front of a dancing crowd of flash mobbers in the Grand Central Station.

What if in real life my JT already knows that I will be nothing more than a friend with benefits. Maybe he does not see our affection as something that should be acted upon outside of his bedroom. Maybe he views hand-holding as something reserved for the girl that he will eventually fall in love with. A girl who is not me.

Maybe my JT knows that I am just his Mila Kunis - a fun chick to spend time with but not girlfriend material. And despite the fact that I might be cute, charming, witty, intelligent, sharp as nails, I am simply not the girl for him.

I look at my JT as the credits of the movie start to roll by and people begin hustling to the exit. He's occupied in his moment, trying to figure out if Emma Stone made a cameo in the movie (she did, by the way, but only for a couple of seconds, due to Singaporean movie editing skills). I am occupied in my moment, trying to figure out just what the fuck it is that we're doing.

In the friends with benefits scenario, I would be that friend that is starting to feel like she is in too deep. And as the 'friends with benefits' rules go, I should be the one trying to supress my feelings and get the eff out before my heart gets damaged.

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Hung. (Over?)

This morning, I opened my sleepy eyes to find myself sprawled on my bed, still wearing my cocktail dress from the night before, with a menacing headache, busted knee from (I GUESS) falling down at some point last night, lipstick smeared on my pillow, and my jewelry thrown about the room in the most careless manner than only told me one thing... I got so shitfaced last night.

It started off innocently enough. I met my friend, Chicago Dude, at 4pm to watch the England vs France rugby match at a local Aussie bar. For some reason, I thought it would be a grand idea to start drinking at noon, so I showed up at the bar with having already drank about half a bottle of Californian Cabernet Sauvignon. Watch out, boys, here comes a one classy girl!

I looked good but I imbibed a lot throughout the night. In fact, I am kind of afraid to log into my banking account and check the statement after last night, since I keep finding random receipts in my purse and on my table (and even one in my bed!), showing me, continuously, withdrawing money and charging my card for all the "beverages" I've consumed.

I ended up at Le Noir, a premier night club for professional partiers somewhere between ten and midnight, where I ran into The Banker's friend.

"Hey, L, what are you doing here? Where's your boy?" he asked me, while eyeing the Chicago Dude up and down.

Great. Every time I ran into The Banker's friend, I'm with another guy.

"I think, he's at a wedding! I'm gonna see him tomorrow!" I screamed, surely while holding a glass full of Chardonnay, so that The Banker's friend could hear me over the deafening pounds of the latest David Guetta remix.

I'm not sure if he believed me. But, hey, at that point I was beyond the point of caring.

I proceeded to drunkenly text various people with nonsentical syllables. I texted my coworker a letter L. I texted another friend with a simple "why??", which, I'm sure, she will ask me about on Monday. I texted The Banker as well. I guess, for him I gathered my last bits of sanity, because that text actually made sense to me this morning when I reread it, while trying to retrace the last night's steps.

"I miss you!" it said, plainly and vulnerably, but I was relieved that I could show him a bit of my feelings without worrying whether or not he's going to hurt me in the end.

But the best part of the night, of course, was me losing the Chicago Dude somewhere in the crowd at another night club, dancing with Some Guy on the dance floor and then following him to his VIP table, and then, somehow, making out with the said guy. A lot.

I mean, continuously making out throughout the night.

I mean, I don't even have the slightest clue about who he is, how old he is, or even what his name is.

Like I said, I got so shitfaced. And, to sum it all up, I don't think being shitfaced is a good look for me. Alls I hope for is that my late night makeout session was not recorded by the innocent bystanders who just might retell the story to The Banker.

I'm single. But still. I really like my smokingly-gorgeous, strikingly intellegent Banker and I don't wanna lose him all because of the dude whose face I wouldn't be able to recognize if I saw him today.

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High for This

I really love the phrase "He's not that into you".

Not that I would ever want to hear it in reference to me, but I get it, you know? I get its meaning down to its core. I've felt that way towards dozens of guys I went out on dates with in the past. They were perfectly fine, cute, pleasant, I just wasn't that into them.

Sure, I gave some of them a second or even a third chance. I waited for feelings to emerge, because some of my friends would say, when I told them about my dating escapades: "Awww, he sounds like a great guy. Give it another date or two." And I did, I obeyed and I went on more dates, always with the same outcome. I still wasn't that into them.

Things tend to fade when a person is not that into someone they are dating. There is just not enough energy or incentive to keep things going. Even when the sex is great, it's like, yeah, but what's next?

What is next? Pain? Regret? Indifference? Issues that come up later on when you start dating someone else who is actually into you? None of the above?

I can say this much: I am feeling scared. Even though I go about my day like nothing affects me the way that he (The Banker) does, I revert to being such a girl at night, analyzing every one of his moves, every red flag, every signal that can ease my mind as to where our little affair is heading.

There are plenty of red flags. Plenty. But I also see many glimpses of his tender side, especially when we are alone, resting skin to skin. It is those red flags and those glimpses of tenderness that pick me up and hurl me down with their madness. As much of an expert I can say I am on dating issues, with my own relationships, I make all the mistakes and, frankly, I just do not know shit.

So:

Red flag: he didn't invite me to a good friend's wedding coming up this weekend. I saw an invitation lying openly for weeks now on his living room coffee table. He mentioned he was going to this wedding a couple of times, very casually each time. It's not that he's trying to conceal this wedding or that he's taking some other chick to it. The question that lingers in my head, though, is why he didn't invite me. If I'm his main squeeze, I should have the right to tag along to this wedding, yeah?

Glimpse of hope: I mentioned that I wanted to go on a vacation because I was starting to feel homesick and wanted to just get off this island for a bit. He said: "Well, you should go take a weekend trip somewhere!" To which I replied: "God, I'd love to. But my friends' and my vacation schedules do not really correspond and I have no one to go with." He raised his eyebrows and he looked slightly surprised and insulted at the same time.... "Well, you should go with me, duh!" he said.

I mean, at least he wants to continue spending time with me, right? But just how serious is all of this. The question that's hurting my brain with its importance is.... is this for real or is this all until the next best thing comes along?

Is he just not that into me?

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