Make Me Feel LIke..

As I am typing my rare blog entry, he enters the room and distracts me with some cute non-sense. I forget all about typing and get wrapped up in the more important things... the last few hours before he goes off on a 7-week trip with the Singapore Navy.

I fucking can't believe it, to be honest, that I am dating an army guy. There is no glamour or glitz, as it was with the Banker. There is no drama, as it was with Mr J. But somehow it works, despite the age difference and cultural difference and despite that he's frequently broke (to be fair, as frequently as I am and not that I ever cared about money when it came to relationships anyway). It still works.

It is the distance that I am not good with. And the lack of communication that goes with it.

Sure, I go about my day as per usual. Maybe I am even more productive as a result that I can stay focused on my work more. But, as a true Gemini, when I get bored (on weekends mainly), I have a tendency to do bad things. Things that are not really great for a relationship.

I've always enjoyed clubbing and partying and, having lived in Singapore for a substantial amount of time, I have a privilege of getting invited to some exclusive openings and events. (hey, it's a small city/country. Sooner or later, you pretty much get to know everyone, whether you want to or not.)

But people tend to assume you are single, when you attends these happenings. And sure, you know? Go ahead and assume away: if there is no ring on my finger and if I am wearing a short, hip-hugging dress, why not think that I might be unattached?

The part of telling someone that you are NOT single though... that's the tricky part. And though I always do it, there is always a moment of awkwardness afterwards and one of two things happen immediately:

1) We continue a polite conversation for a while. The guy pretends that it's all good, but I can see that he is having a difficult time in reconciling with a fact that he can no longer hit on me; or

2) There is an instant disinterest that glazes over a guy's eyes, as soon as I say, "But by the way, I have a boyfriend..." There is not even an attempt to carry on the conversation and the guy pretty much just walks away.

Both of the scenarios are kind of weird and uncomfortable. I suppose if I was really not cool with it. I'd stop going out all together. The thing is... giving up going out and doing some occasional partying is not in my cards just yet. Maybe I should give it up already but I keep thinking... just one or two more years and I'll be good. And the next thing I know, I'll probably be fourty.

Yeah... Just one or two more years and I'll be good. I promise.

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Who Knew

Mr J never said it, though he sure as hell implied it over those 3+ years of our quasi-relationship. I tried to fish it out of him, tried to see if he felt what I was desperately trying to get out of my system but could not say during all that time.

The Banker never said it. It was sort of clinical, in a way. There was some intense affection on the surface but, beyond it, I saw hardly anything deep and lasting. It became very obvious after a while that I was feeling exactly the same way. I was attracted to him, mentally and sexually. Nevertheless, there was something missing... something important that prevented us from going any further and made him break up with me.

And with the 21 Year Old, it's so simple. Sometimes I think, it's almost TOO simple. Isn't there a catch to all of this? But then again.. shouldn't it ALWAYS be this simple when it's right?

11 weeks in, and he said it.

Via a text message but, you know, I'll take it via any form of communication it might come.

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In This California King Bed...

We are not ten thousand miles apart... In fact, we are becoming closer than I though we would, skin to skin, with your warm breath on my bare shoulder. Yet, I am still guarding my heart and guarding my steps and guarding my sanity because I know that if I lose myself back again, I will lose myself for good and for a while.

You look at me and kiss the palm of my hand, and then each one of my fingers. I feel like giving in because it is better than feeling like I want to give up. Yet, I hold back because men like you are rarely an open book. Most often, men like you have secrets of your own that I almost do not want to uncover what you have got hiding in your pandora box. Though, men like you make my head go spinning, like I am still drunk from a night before.

The bell at the clock tower somewhere outside but nearby strikes noon, yet we do not move. I do not want to call a cab and go home yet. Yet, I know I have to leave and make my day off meaningful, filled with my dance classes, my futile exercises in writing and daydreaming about greatness.

Your skin feels so smooth yet rugged and masculine. Your ass looks damn good when you slowly get up and walk out of your bedroom to go find your phone. I sink my left cheek back into the heavenly pillows and sheets and close my eyes to shield them from the incoming rays of unforgiving tropical sun peeking in splices through the half-open shades.

I want to fall asleep again but I conquer my laziness and slip on some clothes and go find you. You're in the kitchen, cooking eggs in nothing but your boxers. I momentarily consider taking a picture of you just like that, blissfully unaware of my presence, and sending the candid picture to GQ magazine to brag about what it is that I am seeing right now. Take that, Ryan Reynolds.

Yet I simply stare for a few seconds and disappear back into the shadows of the hallway.

I just want to go back to your California king bed.

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The Importance of Having a Mint

So the story starts off pretty blandly: I was out bar hopping this Saturday night with a girl friend of mine. We started our night off with some sushi and white wine and then headed to a new bar that we have not been to yet for some dancing. Pretty mundane, right?

Oh, I wish.

Now I haven't been dancing in a while and, considering that it is one of my favorite activities, I was itching to just let loose on the dance floor. I mean, it's just one of those things that keeps you young and going.

Another good thing about dancing is that if you're a pretty decent dancer, you will inevitably get hit on by almost any guy around you. It must be something about the dance floor, the energy of it, that grabs even the more shy guys by the balls and pulls them towards the dancing girls.

So, of course, I am dancing and I spot a cute guy from across the way. Tall, dark and handsome, just the way I like them, I see him begin to approach me as he locks eyes with me. Sure, I'm in for some innocent dancing. Mr J shouldn't even worry - I love the kid and wouldn't think about crossing any lines; plus, dancing for me is just that - dancing. It doesn't hurt, however, if it is dancing with someone sexy.

So, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome approaches me and I am pleasantly surprised. He's got some good moves! I am thinking, this is great. It's not even midnight yet and I have already found someone good to dance with without having my toes stepped on.

But then he decides to speak.

At first I didn't think anything of it. In fact, I thought I was imagining things. How could an attractive guy like him have such BAD BREATH?! Silently, I prayed that he wouldn't talk a lot and just let me enjoy the dance.

But then, Mr Chatty Cathy, decides to speak again. Nope, I definitely wasn't imagining anything. The dude needed a Listerine strip. BADLY.

I tried to be coy about it. "Looks like your glass is empty. You should get another drink," I said, hoping that the smell of alcohol would hide whatever stench was coming out of his mouth. (Gross, gross!)

"I will later," he said in response, clueless that I was now deliberately holding my breath, trying not to inhale too much, in his presence.

I mean, seriously?

Luckily for me, my friend kept getting harassed by some drunken fool throughout the night and she finally has had enough. She tugged on my shirt, signaling to me that she was ready to go. I wasn't about to start disagreeing.

"My friend wants to leave.. BYE!"

I bolted out of there as if my life depended on me escaping the bar in under sixty seconds. Fortunately, the rank breath-ed guy did not follow me to the exit. I flung the exit door open and made my escape into the cold air of the night. As I stepped outside, I, finally, took a nice long breath.

Lesson learned: no amount of hot can save a man if he doesn't have a nice breath. And that's the absolute truth.

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Shakespeare Quotes, 2010

Eloquence. A skill that a man often confuses with the ability of being a smooth talker. To brush a girl's capricious hair lock falling on her face in just the right way and flash a row of perfectly straight teeth in a smile that could stop a determined stereotypically-Iraqi suicide bomber who is midway to his point of Ground Zero - yes, that is, without a doubt, an excellent example of a guy who certainly knows how to work his adoring female crowd. But eloquence? No, that is something entirely different that escapes a mindset of an average straight male living in the year of 2010 all together on the best of nights.

Of course, my best of nights, now that I am back and completely settled in Philly, often involves a row of overtanned douchebags, reeking of self-entitlement and steroids and Axe body spray. (Better Axe than BO as I always say.) But then again, even on the worst of my nights, I often remember what I am looking for in a guy. And I am not willing to lower my standards for a night of regrets and awkward mornings.

Some eloquent players do stand out above all the others, in their effortless ways of putting their emotions in prose that can make Shakespeare look like The Situation from Jersey Shore. I jest, of course.

Peep this overly verbose text message from an admirer who, apparently, has been eyeing me all night and finally got the guts, nay, the balls, to ask me, nay, my friend who mistakenly thought that I'd actually want this guy, for my phone number just so he could send me this gem via a text message that deserves its righteous, immortal glory:

"Hi my name is Ryan im am interested in you. you looked very hot for some man that really want to go out with you. and if you give me your name and I well be your friend for every and date you for every. and i really need a girl to go and hang out with me as a friend and as a girlfriend to date me."

Oh what a true treasure this man is. For I am always flattered when I receive drunken, broken-English verses from the creepy men who have been watching me drink my wine all night long. I am forever enamoured and my heart is aflutter because this special man, clearly, has a very unique way with words.

If lesbianism was a choice, I would have, long ago, crossed over to the other side.

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Surviving the Zoo

A warm August Friday night is always a perfect night to go out, which is exactly what I decided to this this precise Friday. Seeing that my friend and I both had no plans, we decided to explore the neighborhood of Old City in Philadelphia. Both of us haven't been to the bars and clubs in Old City in at least a couple of years so we were both looking forward to dressing up really cute and exploring one of the old stomping grounds after what felt like ages of being away.

I was so excited to wear my dress. Low plunge neck line without revealing too much, it was the perfect choice paired up with a pair of leopard print 1" heels. ( I am tall enough already so I never wear stilettos and resort to shorter heels or even cute flats) My friend's dress was adorable as well -light with a large flower print all over, it was maybe too peasanty for my taste but totally her style and definitely flattering in all the right places.

So we park the car in the parking garage and step out onto the street. Boy, have things changed since the last time I ventured out into Old City's party area.

Almost immediately we pass a group of rowdy men and the harassment begins.

"Nice dress!" one remarks to me, as he passes by.

"Thanks," I say. The men laugh in response and I give my friend a confused look as we continue walking.

A few steps later, another group of men come across our path.

"You look Brazilian!" One of the guys addresses my friend and she responds with a "Thank you" as I did just a few moments earlier.

"Who said it was a compliment?" the guys yells back at her from a few feet away and his buddies road with laughter. Again, my friend and I exchange confused looks and keep on walking.

I suddenly began to feel like I stepped out in a neighborhood where manners and politeness were unheard of. Douchebags, we were surrounded by douchebags as far as our eyes could see.

All throughout the night...

"Those bitches are fine!"

"Look at you with your pink lipstick."

"Yo, mama, come here!"

And the array of pathetic attempts at getting our attention through a borderline rude and questionable parade of comments continued throughout the night. I tried to ignore crap from these greasy, boorish, trollish excuses for men but no amount of alcohol seemed to be able to wash away the shady surroundings that I couldn't seem to escape.

Don't like my dress or my lipstick? Too drunk to come up with a real compliment? Vocabulary too limited or memory too faulty to remember simple but lovely phrases like "Hey girl, you look pretty"? Then perhaps it is best to get a crash course in basic etiquette before escaping the Bronx Zoo and hitting the streets on Philadelphia at night.

Perhaps in the near future some genuis will come up with a breathalizer-type of a device that monitors the amount of creepiness a person possesses and locks them inside of the house after 11pm if the creepiness levels are off the charts. But a more likely scenario is that us girls are going to have to put up with creepy douchebags on a regular basis for as long as we choose to go out without male companions nearby.

So guys, as long as you use shitty pick-up lines, get used to an abundance of eye rolling from the female sex and going home with the only companion that can put up with your continuous bullshit without making a peep and still please you at the end of the night - your own damn hand.

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Can We Talk about This?

What I both love and hate about Cincinnati is how small of a city it can be sometimes. Hate the fact because I can't help but run into the same unsavory characters time in time again no matter what restaurant, bar, or store I go to. Love the fact because running into people leaves little to no opportunity for them to lie to me without me finding out.

Which leads me to my story. My lovely friend The Entrepreneur, who tried to invite himself to my graduation and suggested he meets my parents, has been on a back burner for quite some time now. I couldn't put my finger on it but, besides not being particularly attracted to him, I sensed that something was going on. Without knowing what exactly that something was, I, nevertheless gradually distanced myself from him, avoiding the talk about my intentions of us being just friends, but coming up with excuses for us not to go out on any more dates.

"Oh, I'm out of town." (which I was)

"Oh, I'm hanging out with some of my girl friends tonight." (where by "girlfriends" I meant a bottle of Pinot Grigio and the latest episode of The Hills)

"Oh, I'm feeling a bit tired." (get the hint already, you stupid man)

The perfect opportunity to gracefully peace out came to me a couple of days ago. It started off by me deciding to go lay by my apartment community outdoor pool and ended with the following Facebook exchange, after he innocently sent me a message inquiring whether I was back home from Philadelphia or not.


All I have to say is... a womanizer? Bitch please.

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Cupid's Chokehold

I kind of noticed that he has been acting a tad bit differently towards me lately. Not that I could really pinpoint the cause right away and deduce that he might like me as more than friends - I am a bit dense when it comes to picking up that vibe from men - but I could sense that he has been a bit extra nice, extra polite and extra accommodating to me during the last couple of weeks.

It could have probably always stayed that way... him silently hoping for more and me never getting a clue and continuing going about my daily business, saying "Hi" to him in our architecture classes and studios and innocently inquiring him about the progress of his latest project. But the darn invention called Facebook Chat let it all out in the open one studious night.

I remember it as if it just happened. I was working on my laptop last Thursday night, preparing for yet another thesis presentation when a Facebook chat message popped up. Despite that Facebook chat has been the staple of this social networking web site for quite a while, I still get starltled every time someone chats me up on there. I don't ever linger on Facebook for very long - just casually sign on, browse my friends' status updates and sign off right after that. On those days that I do forget to sign off, I am usually forced into spontaneous conversations with people I haven't talked to in a number of years and uncomfortable flirtations from friends of friends whom I have never really met more than once or twice. Sometimes it's nice to catch up with a fried or two but I am constantly afraid that someone creepy or irrelevant is going to chat me up any second.

So the friend begins a school-related chat with me, yadda yadda yadda... then suddenly says:

"So enough about school. Tell me what does a woman like you usually do to relax on an evening like this?"

Bless his heart, I should have realized right then and there where this conversation was going. I played dumb though and said, "Oh you know, nothing special. Drinking some wine and watching Cartoon Network."

With every man having a passionate affair with Cartoon Network, it was not surprising that my friend complimented me on my choice of television:

"That's great! Totally makes up for all the shitty shows that most girls like to watch."

Excuse me. I have completely come to terms with the fact that I love watching "The Hills" in spite of how aware I am how vapid and close-minded those girls are and how out of touch with reality their little world is.

Nevertheless, I bit my tongue and probably said something witty and charming which, I suppose, urged him on to take the next step and ask me:

"So this might be a complete shot in the dark but do you wanna grab a drink with me sometime?"

"A drink.. as in a friend-type situation?" I did not know how to say it without making it sound awkward.

"Yeah... I suppose... we can do that too if that's what you would prefer."

How do you say no to a friend without jeopardizing your friendship? Is there a magic formula for politely declining an invitation to a date without looking like a terrible person (read: a bitch)?

"Well, I just got out of this year-long on and off thing with this guy from St. Louis..." I responded. Was it ever an on and off thing with Mr J? I don't know, but for the intents and purposes of this conversation, it sure was at that moment, "I'd totally be up for getting drinks with you as friends though."

Boy, was I glad I had a big ol' glass of Shiraz right by my side at that moment because it came in handy as I took a gulp to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of turning someone down. Bravery, in the age of technology, is not quite the same as it was back in the day when people were forced to ask each other out in person. Yet still, I silently admired my friend for being able to say that he was interested in me. I just wished I could have returned the sentiment.

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When One Woman is Simply Not Enough

"Look, I know you have a girlfriend," I was on a verge of losing my cool, as I typed that in a Facebook chat window. I mean, who did he take me for? I could not trust a single word he was saying, even as he was attempting to pay me compliments and telling me that I reminded him of Natalie Portman. And really, in my book, that's a lovely comparison to make.

But not to be taken for a fool as he was trying to butter me up, I knew what he was trying to do. His Facebook page spoke for itself - the numerous photos with a bombshell blonde, the recent flirty wall posts from the said blondie with little hearts at the ends of each sentence, the relationship status, for Christ's sake, all indicated that the boy was in a relationship.

"We broke it off," he said, "Let me call you. I can explain this bs."

"No need to," I replied, "I know you have a girlfriend and I'm not going to mess with that."

Been there, done that. Who would want to be a back-up girl again? Certainly not me.

"It really ended. If you would just talk to me I can explain everything. Let's just say it ended with a shattered Blackberry."

Oh really? I pictured the blonde going through the guy's Blackberry, while he was taking a shower or drinking with his buddies in another room, trying to affirm her suspicions that her boyfriend was cheating on her. I pictured her coming across a flirty text message and storming out of the room, livid that she trusted him this entire time, while he was playing her behind her back. The guy probably tried to stop her from slamming the door in her face, grabbed her... "Stop! Let me explain. It's not what you think!"

She would hear none of it, slapping him across his face with her perfectly manicured hand. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid? I found your text messages to her!" She probably ran back to the room where his Blackberry was, grabbed it off a nightstand, scrolled the little black ball down until she found the message and shoved the Blackberry in his face, pointing, screaming.

"Then what is THIS? You're just friends with her, huh? I don't call my friends "baby"!! Don't fucking tell me that it's not what I think it is.. It's exactly what I think it is!"

He probably stood dumbfounded, not expecting this turn of events. And as she saw the blatant admittal of his wrongdoings written on his face, she hurled the Blackberry across the room, slamming it into a wall and shattering it into pieces. She, then, ran out of the house, holding back her tears and slamming the door shut behind her.

And here he was, putting moves on me, probably mere hours after the fight with his girlfriend, telling me how hot and intelligent ("A rare combination" as he put it) I was.

Maybe if I was eighteen and dumb as a rock.. maybe I would feel flattered. Maybe I would even agree to go on a date with him. But at twenty five, I do not have the time to deal with little boys. So I let him go back to his sandbox.

I simply signed off.

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On Ineligible Bachelors

I believe that internet dating can make one lose most, if not all, of the faith in humanity. Either most of the people utilizing these sites are so unskilled at writing normal messages to the guys/ladies they are interested in that they come off as completely creepy/dumb/horny-as-hell, or they are just simply expressing their true selves. In which case, I am scared for America.

Understandably, internet dating sites seek to match two singles with one another; and, understandably, for some people dating and sex come together hand in hand, but if you haven't been laid in several years and your standards have been lowered to the point of wanting to find a pair of legs in a skirt, don't declare that within the first three lines of your introductory message. A tid bit of advice: perhaps you can scramble a bit of money together, fly to Vegas and hire a girl for a night to fulfill your needs. A dating site is not really the place to clean your pipes.

You complain when women don't respond to your messages. Perhaps, they are just following a simple and sensible rule - "When you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." Sorry, bud, but if your profile picture is showing you showing off your flabby stomach in a dirty bathroom mirror and your "Looking For" section lists that you are basically willing to take any sort of human affection you can get (from new friends to random hook-ups), you're not really selling it to the ladies out there. Sure, honesty is great - do not mislead women into thinking that you are Brad Pitt's long lost brother and have six figures in your bank account. But, Jesus, how many replies do you expect to get when you live in a trailer by the river with your crazy mother and children from two failed marriages? Just think about it... if you were a decent-looking guy with a Master's degree and high hopes for the future, would YOU want to settle for a chick with more baggage than the airport storage facility?

If a woman does decide to respond to your message but says that you are not her type, please do not try to convince her otherwise. No matter how many times you say, "Yeah, that's cool. Doesn't mean that we can't still be friends.", a sensible woman will not buy into that crap and stop responding completely. Especially if that woman is clearly on the dating site in search of a romance. If you really ARE looking for long-distance buddies or a gal pal to grab a vanilla mocha latte with, you are barking up a wrong web site.

Maybe you are cute, smart, have your crap together and initiate communication with a woman with a witty, thought-out message. Maybe, upon reviewing your profile, that woman finds you to be even more intriguing and worth getting to know. Make your intentions clear - if you say that you are serious about dating someone and getting to know them better, do not sporadically disappear off the radar for weeks on end, just to reappear again later. If you really joined the site as a means of boasting your ego and you really have no intentions of dating anyone you meet online, delete your account and go meet someone at a local bar. Who has the time to get their hopes up in thinking, "Oh this guy actually seems promising." just to have you play the peek-a-boo game for your own amusement. Now I see you, now I don't.

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The Penis Does the Talking

When it comes to online dating and putting information in your profile for other people to view, sometimes even the most innocent statements can elicit the most outrageous remarks.

My profile, which I hastily crafted in a total of five minutes a long time ago, still provides me with a great source of information from desperados all over the world that creep right on over to my page to read my responses to the standard profile questions.

Imagine, if you will, Exhibit 239 - Mr. Unfortunate Head Shot - a guy with a variety of pictures in all of which the background behind his mug seemed to have been his small bathroom. One of his many forgettable head shots was taken a wee bit too up close, showing me just enough of a close up of his face for me to notice a bright red zit on his broad forehead.

His subject line was demanding my attention, just as his zit was demanding my gaze. "I'll tell you why we're bad at communicating..." it read, referring to my short lament withing my profile stating that I was frustrated with men who were bad at communicating their feelings. How could I not read on? Maybe his message was going to reveal the answer to my quandary after all.

What I saw next hurt my eyes and made me lose a little bit of faith in all humanity...

"...it's terrible to admit, but my penis is usually the thing talking when it comes time to portray some feelings/emotions. "you don't touch me enough, I feel lonely, other penis get to do this or that, what do I have to do to get more attention?
if my ex just started going down on me everytime I had an issue with her, I would be a total slave to her. it's an ugly truth, but it is the truth."

I messaged him back immediately after I saw the message and begged him to consider me as a potential first date candidate.

No, not really. I deleted the message and never looked back with regret.

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On Eligible Bachelors

Just this morning I decided to check my old online profile that I created on a dating site for about a month or two when I was trying to move on from Mr J. I remember being so unimpressed with the quality of the dating pool candidate that I quit the web site after a slew of creepy messages found their way into my inbox.

Like for example this gem from just two days ago. The subject of the message is "Feelings", so even before opening it, I certainly felt that the message would be a great source of entertainment.

"I have done a lot of thinking and learning about feelings and emotions. I've noticed that many people who don't show feelings through emotion (there are many other ways to show feelings) tend to feel much more deeper than those who express feelings emotionally. I could talk a bunch about this but figure I won't bore you with pages on it. Lol"

I can almost picture this winner sitting down on his couch one day, with a notepad and a pen at hand, saying to himself, "Okay, I am ready to learn everything there is to know about feelings..." And, boy am I glad that there are other ways to show feelings other than through emotion. Now I am truly educated on the ways of the world.

Is this what passes for flirting these days?

There may be "plenty of fish" in the sea, but with the caliber of these fish... well, I am just going to let them swim out there while I am enjoying my own private pool.

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The Hottie and The Nottie

I was sitting at an outdoor bar, flipping through the latest issue of Architectural Digest and sipping on Red Bull and vodka on a fine Wednesday afternoon. The crowds around me were rowdy and copious, as everyone and their mother were out doing various pre-Derby activities, which mainly, as I found out, consist of drinking and attending free outdoor country concerts. Hoping to see Michael Jordan or James Gandolfini, who are rumored to attend the Derby annually, I lift my head up from time to time and survey the crowds. I spot a fat woman wearing an oversized vest, dragging her screaming kids through the sea of people. I spot a man with many wrinkles under his eyes talking in an exasperated tone on his iPhone. I spot a crowd of college kids with beer bottles in their hands and band names on their T-shirts.

I spot a gorgeous man in a business suit sitting across the bar from me... Holy crap, how did I not notice him before? I carefully take a sip of my drink and look at him again. Very sexy, indeed. He's on his Blackberry. His portfolio and drink are placed in front him in a careless manner - he's having what I am having. Red Bull and vodka - good choice. I put aside Architectural Digest and pretend to concentrate on a game on TV at the center of the bar.

"Want another one?" the bartender asks me in passing and points to my drink.

"Sure, why not," I reply.

The hot guy is now done with his Blackberry for the moment. He looks at me for a brief second with a half smile on his face then turns his attention to the TV. He reaches for his drink and as his fingers wrap around the hefty glass, I notice no ring on his finger. Interesting.

The crowds at the bar begin to get denser. It is now just after 6pm and all the business suits are rushing in to grab a cold drink and forget about their meetings, expense reports and and power lunches. The hot guy gets up to walk to the restroom, I presume - as he walks to the covered portion of the bar, he turns his head slightly and looks at me again. I feel a hint of blush on the verge of manifesting itself on my face and i quickly take another sip of my drink. That guy is gorgeous.

Late twenties, maybe early thirties, I think. Sexy and single, or at least not married, I think. Beautifully tailored suit too, must have some money, must be successful in what he does, I think and swoon silently on my bar stool.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice that magazine you were reading not too long ago."

I snap out of my day dream and look over to my side for the source of the voice. A man in his fifties with a receding hairline and a laptop in his lap addresses me with a smile.

"Oh yes, i was just trying to read up on some stuff I am researching for my thesis," I say as I pull out the magazine to show him, "It's called Architectural Digest, comes out about four times a year."

The guy flips through my magazine, as I anxiously await for him to give it back to me so I can move on with my life and turn my attention back to the hottie who is now back in his seat. No such luck as the old guy strikes up a conversation.

"I am in real estate," (aren't we all?) he says, " This stuff fascinates me."

I smile, still not convinced if I should talk to him but I throw out a few pleasantries as to not appear to be a rigid bitch. Of course, he takes my comments to be an invitation to a conversation and slides his stool closer to mine. I look over at the hot guy with a mild look of fear and annoyance in my eyes. He picks up on that and smiles at me.

The old guy turns out to be a decent conversationalist and, as he offers to buy me a drink, I reluctantly accept. He starts telling me about his ex-wife and the painful divorce process he had to go through. Fascinating. I keep looking over at the hottie as he slowly finishes up his drink and waves the bartender over for his credit card.

Powerless to stop the old man from talking, I watch as the hot guy signs the receipt, grabs his portfolio and Blackberry and walks out of the bar onto the crowded Louisville street. One last glance from him as he is about to disappear in the crowd, and I feel my heart sink a little. I blew it.

The old man keeps buying me drinks to get me liquored up and introduces me to the bartender and a few regulars around us. I don't mind his company, but I would rather be sitting next to my hottie right now. A few people say hi to the old guy and he introduces me to them - they eye me up and down sceptically, unaware of the fact that he just met me and, no doubt, thinking that I am THAT girl.

Unfortunately, when I get a good buzz going, I become a chatty companion and around 9pm or so the old guy and I are good friends - talking about New York, and architecture, and the Derby. I tell him that I want to go but don't have the tickets and he says that he will gladly take me and even buy me a dress and a hat. I laugh in response and tell him to take me shopping the next day. God, I am a freaking fool.

The old guy walks me home and gets my number, promising to call me the next morning. I secretly hope that he doesn't, but I also cannot be mean to him if he does. I simply don't want to go to the Derby with him but I can't flat out reject him because he seems to be kind of a big deal and this town is too small to be making enemies. My strategy is to tell him that my friends from Cincinnati are coming to visit me this weekend and to thank him for the generous offer. I really don't want any part of this fuckery and though he appears to be a nice, genuine guy, I am more than aware of his intentions towards me.

To that I say, no, thank you. Where did my hot guy go?

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All the Single Ladies

I did something ballsy last night. Something that I haven't done in almost two years because the last time the outcome wasn't so great. I asked a guy for his number.

Here's the setting. My friends and I are drinking at a loud bar. The music is pumping from the speakers located directly above our heads, the drinks are flowing as we are toasting to my friend's upcoming move to Paris for six months, and my (slightly less glamorous) move to Louisville. The bartender chick serves us with a line-up of shots. I smell the rim of my shot glass and get a whif of sour, very alcoholic substance. I take a deep breath, clunk my shot glass with about six other ones raised in the air and take it all down in one gulp. As I place the now empty shot glass on a mahogany-colored bar counter and turn around to face the crowd, I catch a glimpse of a very sexy bouncer-type. As he makes his way through the crowd, indeed, I see the word "Staff" plastered on the back of his shirt with big bold yellow letters.

Eye candy, indeed, but I am being cautious. Almost two years ago I attempted to flirt with a bouncer who very firmly declined my advances with a puzzling "I don't talk to strangers" response. Douche. Regardless, I push the negative thoughts aside and watch the bouncer out of the corner of my eye as he's watching the crowd. Maybe it's the alcohol talking but I swear I see him glancing over in my direction once or twice. As my friends and I do a second round of shots and I fess up to them about my new crush, he changes his position and moves over closer to me. We are now standing back to back, as he is continuing to watch over the crowd. Why is he so close? My heart beats a bit faster and I let my inner school girl out for a moment by letting a barely audible giggle escape my lips.

A few hours later, my friends are ready to call it a night.

"Wait, I didn't get a chance to get his number yet..."

"Well do it now!" my Fabulous Friend impatiently urges. He's had enough of the bar scene and wants to get out.

"Okay, okay, I will. Just let me pay my bill first," I reply and make my way over to the bar and ask for my credit card check, "Before you close it out though, can you please charge me for another shot of SoCo and lime?"

The bartender nods and just a few seconds later I am face to face with a dangerous little shot glass filled with my favorite poison of choice. Just one more shot to make me braver. I take it down and make my way over to the Bouncer.

"Hey," I tap him on his shoulder. He turns around immediately. I gotta say what I need to say. Now.

"Hey, I think you are really cute. I wanted to ask you if you were single or not," I smiled at him with the most charming smile I could squeeze out of me. Here goes nothing.

"Yeah, yeah I am. What's your name? You're really cute too," he smiled and I almost melted. He was even sexier up close.

Long story short, he gots my number and I feel like I am back at the top of my game. Whether he'll call me or not is another story - I don't have much faith in random men these days. However, it was (as cliche as it might sound) quite liberating to take control and go for someone I really want. No more wishing and dreaming about what could have been. Taking charge is where it's at, and I am finally taking charge - one Bouncer at a time.

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I Get Knocked Down, but I Get Up Again

Sometimes my heart lingers on and on and I can't forget one person, that one guy I had a brief romance with for months, even years. Sometimes it's the complete opposite though, where one week I'm crazy about one person but the next I have my eye on the next guy.

This is not to say that this behavior translates itself into "promiscuity". I am very picky as to who I get intimate with and I have to really get to know a guy first to even get to that stage in a relationship. However, I'm at a different point of my life now than I was, say, a year ago. I say that I can wait as long as it takes for that right guy, and that still holds true. But where a year ago it was really hard for me to even acknowledge that I might have feelings for a guy, right now my heart is very much open to romance.

I've always waited for a fairy tale romance. I've always pictured a guy falling madly in love with me and from day one recognizing that I am the one for him. I've always pictured an old-fashioned way of dating this Prince Charming, where he would pick me up on his white horse, er I mean white Cadillac, take me to a tasty sushi restaurant, followed by some jazz lounge for cocktails, followed by some demure flirting and compliments whispered softly in my ear.

I realize that it probably won't happen that way because deep down there are more things that I want from this guy. Some of those things, surprisingly, go against my better judgment and that makes me wonder if I'm grown up enough and mature enough to handle a relationship.

Just last week I was so swept away by this guy I met in Philly because he was the first guy to treat me just the way I feel I deserve to be treated. Sure, a lot of things and compliments he said to me sounded rehearsed but I knew that I would be leaving town in a short while so I didn't mind that.

This week, and it's too premature to say at this point so I won't go into too much detail, I met someone else who lives in the Cincinnati area. He actually called me last night, while I was at a bar with friends, and I did an emotional cartwheel in my head the minute I saw his number pop up on my phone. I stepped outside to talk to him and we chatted for about 15 minutes. I should have just left it there and waited for him to make the next move, but of course, I didn't.

Thoroughly inebriated, I texted him later on in the night with "It was really nice talking to you :)" He responded promptly with "You too, girl. Are you having a good time?"

I was. And I had enough to drink to continue texting him for the next hour or so. Like, how dumb of me to just lay it all out there and let him know how interested I am in him. While it's true that when I met this guy, I felt an immediate connection with him - the kind of connection that I've only experienced a few times in my life. I was so excited about feeling that way again that I wasn't even worried about letting my guard down so soon. I figured, it's about time. Even if I end up getting hurt, it's about time for me to get hurt again.

Of course, it's a bit disappointing for me that I let the guy know that I think he's pretty incredible. He's one of those types of people who lets such things immediately go to his head. He's already got a pretty large ego, and the last thing he needs is knowing that some girl thinks he's the bee's knees only five days after our initial meeting.

I guess now my strategy would be to wait for him to initiate contact with me. That is, if he still wants to talk to me. Only time will tell how all of this turns out. Until then, I sit tight, remain sober, and play the waiting game.

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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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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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Oddness

A substantial update is coming soon, as I have finally moved to Cincinnati and am now pretty much driving myself bonkers with registations, miscellaneous errands, money transferrals, and other crap. For now, however, I would like to relay one of my first encounters with the male species of this fine city. A gem of a pick up line, if you will... he says to me:

" In Old Testament times, the bowels were considered the seat of the emotions. Imagine what kind of pickup lines they used.

Baby, you really move my bowels."

How swell, no?

Oh Cincinnati... I think, after all the commotion settles down and I meet a few new friends, I'm gonna like it here. Only time will tell.

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