An Extended Romance

Surprisingly, the 21-year old and I are still going strong.

Needless to say, though, there are some issues that inevitably came up with the age difference.

1) The job situation: he just graduated from college (shoot me now) and he's got all the time in the world to worry about his career and stuff all the while he has a security blanket of his well-off parents to cover the expected and exuberant expenses that typically arise from a lifestyle of a young twenty-something. You know, booze, cabs, meals, dates (with me, nonetheless).

2) The outside perspective: when I broke my with my college ex ages ago, we managed to remain friends for a year or two afterwards. Consequently, he became comfortable telling me about his dates and his love conquests and there was this one time that he was out at a bar and he was hitting on this crying girl (why?!) and ended up getting her number. I asked about her age and he told me that she was 27. I remember thinking, why the fuck would a 27-year old even be interested in a 21-year old. Why the fuck would a 21-year old be attracted to a 27-year old. I found it a bit unsettling that the girl was so.... well, old.

Am I viewed as such in this guy's eyes or in the eyes of his friends, because, of course, they're not gonna say it to my face, just as my friends are not going to question me as to why I, all of the sudden, got this young dude tagging along with me everywhere I go. But I'm sure they wonder, and I'm sure they talk amongst themselves, and I'm sure they ask. And I have an issue with being labeled. And I feel like I am being labeled.

3) Our choices of places of leisure and entertainment: he teases me because I go places where "older" people go. You know, places with substance, places that serve fancy drinks in glasses made of real glass. I tease him because he chooses venues where all the "kids" go, where the booze is consumed in order to get fucked up (okay, I kind of like that and I kind of partake) and girls and guys are looking to hook up with the first pretty face that pays attention to them.

And I understand, I don't blame him or his friends or all the younger people for that matter; I've been there. But I'm just in a different, what I prefer to call, a more sophisticated place now. I like fancy tapas and vermouth and absinthe drinks that come from exotic regions of the world. I like discussing the architectural integrity of historical buildings of Singapore and the recent tsunami warnings in Indonesia and the stock market. I like making clever 90's pop culture references and I like when people actually get them. I can't ask the same from the 21-year old's friends. Why should I?

Then again, these are the differences that I foresaw before getting into any kind of emotional attachment and these are the differences that, as they arose, I am still willing to work through and tolerate. I'm having fun, what can I say, and no matter what it looks like to the outside world, I am going to continue doing what makes me happy.

It is the long-term possibilities and consequences that I still can't help but be worried about.

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Other Options

The club is loud, crowds are obnoxious, music is crashing over my shoulders with its thunder and beats, my head is hurting from too much (or not enough) alcohol and I am standing with a slightly aloof look on my face, looking for friends amidst the throngs of other club-goers.

My rebound, (is that what I should call him?), was just spinning on the ones and twos, but now he is done with his set for a bit. I see him, out of the corner of my eye, making his way towards me with, I can only assume, his best girl friend that he mentioned to me once or twice before. Oh, here we go with the introductions.

He gives me a brief hug and introduces the girl, " This is A., my best friend I told you about. You ladies should get acquainted." He gives me another friendly squeeze and goes off schmoozing with DJs and promoters. Great, now I'm fucking stuck making small talk with this girl.

"He told me so much about you. He seems to really like you," the girl says with a wink.

"Really? He told you about me?" I am a bit surprised but kind of happy. We've only known each other for three weeks after all. But then again, best friends tell each other everything.

She seems slightly inebriated but still coherent. And considering that it is now well past 2 o'clock in the morning, I feel like I should be just as inebriated as well.

"Shots?" I offer and within minutes we are served two helpings of that beautiful poison some people call Jagermeister.

"So what do you think about him?" the girl continues. I guess she is fishing for something, so I have to be choosing my words carefully. After all, every word I say to her will, for sure, get back to the rebound guy.

"You know... I like him. I just think, and I told him this... I just think that I need to take things slow. I don't like getting hurt, of course, no one does. But I just don't want to be in that position again," I tell her frankly.

"Oh of course, and that's the way to do it with him," she pulls me in closer, as if she is about to tell me a secret, "I have to be honest with you, and I will say this as a girl to a girl, because I am on your side with this..."

I perk up and just nod.

"He talks about you all the time but you must take things slow with him," she repeats herself once again but then goes on, "All I have to say is that he has other options, so you have to be very careful. He likes you but he has other options, ya know..."

I nod some more and take things in. It's three in the morning now and, somehow, I feel a sudden urge to leave.

"I have to find my friends, I will be back," I tell the girl and, basically, sort of just storm out of the club.

The timber decking of the river deck where the club is located sounds especially loud as I stomp down it to the taxi stand with my heels. Several onlookers take notice and look at me in bewilderment. I bypass the guestlist stand, the hosts, the bouncers and take a detour to have a quick smoke by the river, where no one would take notice of my fury.

Other options. Excuse me? What kind of other options does he have?!

"Well, I"ll make his decision a little easier... He can have those other options because he sure as hell can't have me," I mumble under my breath.

The perfectly manicured palm trees around me are still in the quiet solitude of a tropical night. I hear a very faint sound of house music from the club which is now far away behind me in the distance. I take another drag of a cigarette and let the anger and sober realization sink in.

The drunk girl was only trying to help me. She was honest after all and my rebound guy is not in the wrong in any way to keep his options open. After all, it's only been three weeks. Everyone has options. They have to if they are just dating around. Even I have options, I just like to pretend that my objects of interest don't think about anyone but me. Which is, of course, absurd.

But why the hell should I care anyway? For now, he is just a rebound. Rebounds can have as many options as they want. I have my own row of available selections as well...

Okay, maybe I don't.

But if anything, what the girl told me last night will keep me in check so I don't get carried away with my new adventure. I can't do anything about his other options, I just have to make sure I have options to fall back on as well.

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It's Just Dinner

To get over a guy, I just might need to spend Valentine's Day with someone else.

As I was barely waking up from my funky, post-break-up blues, a new friend of mine offered to take me on a date.

"A date? I can't. I told you The Banker and I JUST broke up," I protested whole-heartedly. There is no way in hell I am ready to jump on that wagon again. It is way too soon to start feeling again. It is way too soon to be agreeing to go on dates. It is way too soon for, well, anything romantic at all.

"Come on. It'll be a casual dinner. You need to be cheered up, right? Let me take you out," he insisted to my utmost surprise.

I looked at him quizzically. He was, kind of cute, after all. Totally not my type, but why the hell not. It's just a casual dinner after all.

He's a new cup of tea to me, this friend of mine. He's Indonesian/Singaporean, by way of Los Angeles. An accomplished DJ and production company owner. Smart as hell and creative. He seems like a nice guy, and even if he's not...

It's a New Year. Maybe it's time to sample something new to get over something old. What's the worst that can happen?

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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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Dating Dilemmas

I did it. I had my first date in Singapore.

Well, I think it was a date. It was all so freaking uncertain. After all, I didn't meet him at a club where it's instantly known whether the attraction is there or not. He's like the CEO of the universe but before you start thinking of me as one of THOSE girls, let it be known, he's only 29. Not much older than me.

He's not Mr J, but he's a dashingly good looking American banker and he lives in Singapore. From what I've gathered he's allegedly ridiculously rich, but honestly, what I care about right now is that he's ridiculously handsome and charming.

He reminds me of an ex who broke my heart, brutally and dishonestly, about three years ago. The fleeting romance with that piece of crap left scars on my heart for a while and I had to work my butt off to completely heal the wounds of a heartbreak. My heart is healed, thank you very much, but the cautious part of me is forever under alert, in case another one of these dirt bags decides to come around my way.

So where was I... the good-looking American... he seemed into me. It was hard to tell though - there were no obvious signs coming from him, except that I'm pretty sure that he looked at my boobs (not so discretely) a couple of times. Oh well. Not like I minded, I guess, but also it's not like it made things any clearer for me.

At the end of the night, in the middle of one of the busiest streets in Singapore, we said good night to each other. He was standing up right and his smile was plastered all over his face. He was freaking cute and I wondered if it wasn't for this busy street, if he'd attempt to kiss me.

"Would you like to get together sometime again? Maybe have dinner?" he said as we were waiting for his cab.

Have dinner. It's all I have to go on, deciding whether he likes me or not. Sure it seems like a good sign. But maybe he was just saying that to be polite and I will never hear from him again after tonight.

It also seems like I'm rushing into things, like I am letting this lust take over me and cloud my eyes so that I momentarily forget about Mr J.

But at the same time I want this new guy to call me. It's been a very long time since I wanted any guy besides Mr J to call me. This... this just might be BIG.

Now I have to wait and find out if the attraction is mutual. Fuck. This is the worst part of dating.

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Dating in Singapore..

So it's my second day here, in Singapore, trying out this wonderful country (er, city-state?) and I've got some red flags going off in my head.

No, the red flags aren't about the scorching heat - I actually find this hot weather to be quite manageable due to plenty of air-conditioned spaces. The red flags also aren't about my fear of the locals not speaking any English - most people, thus far, are friendly enough and are willing to switch from whatever language they are speaking to accommodate my English. All of the signage and quite a few TV channels are in English as well.

My fear isn't about the lack of shopping. I've been to one mall thus far and the amount of STUFF that I saw that I need to buy immediately (dresses, shoes, sushi shaped like cute animals...) is unprecedented. Seriously, no wonder that one of the favorite national pass times here is shopping. It could easily become my one and only pass time as well!

My fear is about dating in Singapore... or the seeming lack thereof. So, I consider myself to be pretty, educated, smart and so on and so forth but I just don't know if there are any out-of-towners or "expats" that can share common interests with me.. or will be able to talk about football, or arts, or architecture with me.

Another thing is, from what I've read of various forums thus far, is that a lot of "Western" men prefer local girls because they have a reputation of being highly impressionable by wealth or charm and tend to be easy. They also, or so I've read, don't mind dating guys who are already in relationships. One dirtbag wrote on a forum board, "I usually tell girls that I have a girlfriend, even when I am single. That way I can keep things casual."

I don't want to generalize here, because I have next to no knowledge of the local women, or the locals in general, but this is kind of alarming to me. Am I giving up on dating all together here? Can I do this, at the age of 27... can I dedicate the next several years of my life to all-work and no-play?

Mr J and I are still keeping it casual, but will be staying in touch. I could use this as a motivation to "wait for him", until I end up moving back to the States, some day. But no dating at all? Are the men here really vapid and are the women really floozies?

Of course, I don't mean any disrespect to the local population and I pray that all I've heard so far is just simply not true. But man, those message boards are either brutally honest or super mean.

The more tragic part, though, is that alcohol seems to be freaking expensive here! While discussing my potential benefits package, I should propose an alcohol fund! I mean $13 for a bottle of wine ON SALE?! Where are those $4 Parisian bottles of wine when I need them...

YIKES!

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It's Not You... It's Me. REALLY.

That's what I feel like saying when, time after time, I find myself completely unattracted to men whom most women would consider to be quite great catches.

Like, this is the case with the most recent guy I have gone out on two dates with thus far. (I shouldn't say thus far, because it's very unlikely that there ever will be a THIRD date). Our first date we went to a wine bar downtown, ordered a small tray of cheese and a couple of glasses of wine, and just settled in the cozy lounge area to try to get to know each other. There was nothing particularly wrong with the guy, though I critically and, admittedly shallowly, noticed some signs of aging, like some wrinkles around his forehead and mouth. But, at that point, the tiny little wrinkles were just my excuses for trying to find something wrong with the guy where there was nothing wrong to look for.

After all, he was successful, tall, polite, attentive. He made me laugh at all the right times and even when the conversation got awkward or stale, he, God bless him, tried his best to change the topic of conversation to something that would start the chatter again.

Yet when I returned home that night and wiped my make-up off my face, I had no intention of seeing him again for another date. The butterflies in my stomach that I craved so much? They were simply not there and I couldn't think of a single reason why. Why.... WHY wasn't I attracted to this dude? On paper, he was, literally, everything I was looking for. Face to face, I couldn't give a damn whether I saw him again or not.

It was unfair of me to dismiss him like that, so this Friday, when he asked me out again, I decided to give it another go and meet up with him for another date.

This time we went to dinner at a lovely little restaurant - tucked away between residential town homes of a wealthy section of a city neighborhood - this was exactly the kind of restaurant I would hope a guy would pick for a date. He ordered me a cosmo and a gin martini for himself, and I've made a note to myself that he, indeed, was much more handsome than Mr J. I was determined to keep that fact in mind and remain open minded to see if I could get some sparks going on my end.

No such luck. After a delicious entree of scallops and exotic pumpkin puree and three strong drinks, even the alcohol couldn't disguise the fact that I was just. Not. Attracted. To this guy.

What a pity.

As he moved his chair closer to mine so we could have a more "intimate" distance between one another as we talked to each other, I could tell that he was totally digging me. He was loving that I told him that I grew up playing Transformers and that I took a lot of art classes. I, on the other hand, while being impressed that his business was taking off at the speed of light, wished to have another martini in my hand so I could numb that awkward, empty feeling in my stomach when you know that the date isn't going anywhere.

He moved his hand toward my back and gently rubbed my shoulder blade up and down as we talked. Normally (if it was Mr J, hypothetically) that kind of touch would have sent an electric chill up and down my spine, awakening my senses and asking for more, but the brushes of his fingers made the skin my back feel itchy and irritated. I wanted to move away and pull the chair away from him so he could keep his hands to himself. But, instead, I just sat there, trying to ignore the inexplicable aversion I had to this perfectly acceptable man.

At the end of the date I, somehow, avoided a good night kiss. God knows, the man lingered long enough saying goodbye at my car to warrant a smooch. But, nevertheless, thanks to my clever maneuvering skills, I managed to get away with just a hug.

I guess he will make some girl very happy (and very financially secured) one day. But I don't think I can do a third date with the man, when I seemed to have developed an allergic reaction to his touch in just one night.

I just KNOW that it's not his fault. It's mine. I just can't figure out how to fix this and get myself excited about someone... anyone again.

But don't cry for me just yet. At least I got a free dinner out of it.

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Slight Turn for the Wrong

Well, I should probably dust myself off and jump off the tired "Taken" shelf back onto the meat market's floor. In other words, I am giving this whole dating thing a try.... Oh Lord have mercy...

It's not like being in a long-distance quasi-relationship with Mr J ever cramped my style. But with him, I just sort of forgot about the male species. I let the hot men pass me by, content in the fact that I had what I wanted. I had Mr J to lust after. But I may not have realized (or did not want to believe) that it might have been troublesome from the start that I was pretty content in pining for the man hundreds of miles away and building a glass castle in the sky that finally came crumbling down.

And now that's I've dusted off the glass shards off my floor and the bruises have more-or-less healed, I feel like I am opening my eyes again and looking around. Could it be early spring in the air rubbing some of its post-Valentine's Day magic on me? Not yet... it is still much too cold out. It is something within me that is awakening. I have no freaking clue what it is but it feels very exciting and vaguely familiar.

Like that time when I actually considered myself single and acted upon my urges to go hit on hot guys. Don't get me wrong, I am looking for romance and unicorns, but if a hot dude comes around, I will be just as glad to do a little one-on-one tongue wrestling.

The last time I kissed a guy besides J... was a year and a half-ago... I think it's time.

Yeah?

Yeah.

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Keeping On

I carefully peeled the delicate wrapper off the side of the cheese cube and sank my knife into the soft gooey French import as I listened to my companion's stories. It was an unusually hot night, during early October - something you would expect from the likes of June or July - with the only possible hints of this impending fall season showing on the few yellowing tips of tree leaves all around us.

"And, you know, I don't mean to brag... but I think we , both, can be considered to be quite a catch among our peers. What do you think about this?" Am I right or am I right?" he finished speaking and fixed the collar of his shirt before sinking his knife into the large chunk of cheese on the table in front of us.

I thought about his statement carefully. Here he was, without a doubt, a great-looking man sitting at the same table as me, glad to be taking me out on our third date. Here I was - a single woman in her mid-twenties, still unsure about her date's sexuality, despite his stories of his conquests of all these females in his past. I mean, sure, we were two very compatible people - when it came to putting down our likes, looks and values on a resume-like format. But without paper and bullet points to distill our stats to their bare essentials, were we all that great together??

I reluctantly agreed, without putting up much of a fight. After all, the dude was complimenting me (as well as himself, I suppose). Sure, his point might have been a little off, but the cheese I kept chomping down was much too savory and the wine was much too strong to put up a valid argument. He was looking good and he was smelling good and, God knows, he was definitely helping his case by paying for the whole dinner shindig.

The evening breeze, despite it being hot and humid out, was cooling off the streets and people, ever so discretely, were beginning to feel the cooler temperatures of the night beginning to send goosebumps down their arms. I saw a couple of women with bare shoulders shiver in the evening wind and look at their cell phones for time and I, too, was ready to call it a night and head home.

"Would you like to come over to my place for a drink or two before you leave?" he suddenly proposed, as we were getting up to leave the bistro.

My head told me to wrap it up for the night and not cloud my brain with any more alcohol intake that evening. Of course, despite my better judgement, I decided to neglect the rational thoughts and indulge in my spontaneous side.

I am ready to see if the drink, or two, will ever develop into something more with this guy. So what if I am not feeling all sorts of head-over-heel emotions for him. Maybe a chance and a little more time is all I need for a shot at romance.

Damn, I sound like a Rock of Love, the Philadelphia edition, spokesperson.

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The Bachelorette

I was once in love, and I believe that the residue of that feeling still lingers with me and sometimes I dilute myself into thinking that I am still in love with Mr. J.

But Mr. J has been a jerk to me, you see. He's been overly jealous of anyone and everyone who is a male friend of mine, for little to no reason at all. And, in turn and in defiance, I made it a point to make more and more frequent plans with my male friends to go out and drink and party and be merry.

"I do what I want," I tell him when I am too tired to hide my fits of rage.

"Well, do what you want then!" he yells back at me.

And I do what I want, but never to hurt him deliberately. Only to keep myself from hurting.

But I am coming to a point of no return. Where I can no longer care about Mr. J because, hey, what am I REALLY getting out of my quasi-relationship with him? What do I get out of chatting with him online or via Blackberry messenger for months without seeing him and then going out with beautiful or not so beautiful men on random dates, not necessarily because I like them, but because I want to explore the city and check out the new restaurants in the new up-and-coming areas.

And sometimes the ultimate no-no dawns on me. I mean, like, my parents would have simultaneous heart attacks if they heard me talk like this but.... what if... I'm MEANT to be single? You know, not like those sad pathetic video games geeks (no offense!) who can't get girls/guys because they spend all of their free time confined to their Wii remotes in their rooms. I am talking more like George Clooney-types, for me it would be something of a female vesion of that I suppose. I mean, I'll give it to Clooney - he's charming, attractive, seems to be interesting in conversations, got a good head on his shoulders, etc, etc. And, oh yeah, he's been known to date LOTS OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. Not even movie star types either. He prefers them humble, sometimes slightly naive, and always stunning.

I am not saying that I am equating myself to be a female version of George Clooney. After all, I don't particularly like the guy all that much and, no matter what I say, any woman of Clooney's age attempting to do things Clooney does would not look suave, but desperate and slightly creepy.

But I think that... until I find that special guy, even if it's Mr. J in a few years when and if he grows up a bit, I will be happy to remain single. I can make it on my own. I am damn happy in never having to rely on a guy and I believe that I can make it on my own regardless of how much I need someone to be by my side.

And perhaps all I need, similarly to Clooney being so fond of his women without ever committing, is a pretty, intelligent guy by my side. Nothing serious. No long-term commitment. Just someone who is right for me at this moment, in this situation. Just a sexy companion who can make my life just a little more colorful for the time being.

Which reminds me. Tomorrow is my next date with Mr. Gaydar from the previous post. Maybe it's time to find out if he's gay or not and maybe it's time to have a little PG-13 fun ;)

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The Age of the Metrosexual

As busy as I am with, like, 2000 jobs and the pesky 9am-Saturday-morning GMAT class that I am taking, I have been also trying to win back, one restaurant/bar at a time, my self-proclaimed but once righteously owned social-butterfly-of-the-city-of-Philadelphia title.

A little known fact about me: social situations stress me out. Public engagements, meeting new people, making small talk with newspaper stand owners leave me drained and exhausted at the end of the day. I am never one of those Chatty Cathys at Walmart giving unsolicited advice to a bored sales clerk. But I have been called "shy" and "quiet" so many times in the past, it's become almost a constant daily goal for me to 1)make small talk with one stranger a day2) engage a coworker in a non-work related banter 3)go to and be social and smiling and pleasant at at least one cultural event that does not involve any alcohol (cause it's real easy for me to be social when I'm buzzed) a week.

I don't know why, but "being social" is a very conscious decision for me. I basically have to remember to put that on my to do list or else I risk becoming completely closed off from everyone who is not my BFF. I really would enjoy being a hermit, I suppose, but instead I strive for the opposite. What a contradiction I am.

Though it's kind of the opposite when it comes to dating. I believe that due to going on so many dates in my lifetime I've grown immune to the pre-date nervous jitters. I've become the expert dater, giving date preparation tips to my friends and warning them about first date red flags. I've also learned how to act around a guy to have him consider me to be The Perfect Date. Not to be braggy-braggy, but 4 out of 5 times when I want guys to call me back for a second date, they do.

This one guy though, a new piece in my love life, frequently leaves me puzzled with his unpredictability. Not only is he surprising with the way he acts but he also surprises me with the way I change my mind about him, constantly, from date to date. And thus far we had three get togethers, however unofficial they might have been thus far, that can be considered romantic dates.

You see, when I first met the dude, I thought, nay I was convinced, that he was gay. I remember our first date just a few weeks ago at this claustrophobic but very cozy Old City bar where I walked in just to find him in the crowd and think to myself, "Oh hell no!"

He just had this suave, proper look about him that I find many gay men to have. Not only was he extremely well put together, I found myself being put off by the number of unbuttoned buttons on his collared shirt. I could see a glimpse of his chest and THAT was not something I was prepared for right off the bat.

But that'd be all fine and dandy if it wasn't for other little signs here and there. As we ordered our first round of drinks and got deep into our conversation, he kept furrowing his eyebrows in a very peculiar manner which I found effeminate. And then he would contort his wrist a certain way as he was telling me a story. I just couldn't hold back for much longer, I had to ask, as my curiosity was killing me.

"So... you worked at a straight bar before," I lead into the question, "Have you ever considered working at a gay bar?"

Yeah, I don't beat around the bush when I've had a few drinks in my system.

"I actually applied for a job as a bartender at a gay night club, but they wanted me to wear these skimpy tightie whities. And I wasn't comfortable wearing those as my job uniform," he said, slightly confused about my question.

Well, little by little and with more probing on my part, it kind of came out that he wasn't gay (allegedly) and he, indeed, had girlfriends. I was still put off by the vibe I was getting from him and at the end of that night, though we had plenty of fun drinking and dancing, I was convinced that I didn't want to go out with him again.

But then yesterday, we went to a lounge that had a beautiful outdoor patio overlooking the Delaware river and as we were having drinks, I remember thinking to myself, "What is WRONG with me? This man might, quite possibly be, one of the most good-looking, intelligent people you've ever dated. Look at his face. What a goddamn hottie. Stop thinking he's gay, for crying out loud."

So maybe my gaydar is completely broken now, or maybe I've been right all along and this guy is just dating women because he's in an intense denial about his sexuality. Or maybe he's dating women for a show so that when his parents ask him if he's dating anyone he can say, "Oh yeah, just went out with a girl yesterday." Who knows what his deal might be. I do, however, know what MY deal is.

I've decided that I am gonna go on another date with him. If anything, he's got a hell of a pretty face to look at.

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Alter Ego

I had one too many Mango Tangos and the outdoor patio was beginning to look like a blur. And when life is a blur, I am an excellent dancer.

He came up to join me in a dance and I barely even noticed that he was a bit shorter than me.
"Hey. what's your name?" was his opener.

I laughed. The music was far too loud to tell him my real name without him having to resort to asking me, "How do you spell that?"

So I told him my alter ego's name. Oh yes, I have an alter ego and her name is Jess.

You see, when a gal has a unique name and when a boy approaches that gal with the intentions to hit on her, she can't possibly reveal her real name to him. No, no. That's just an invitation for further conversation, possibly involving that gal having to explain how she was born and grew up in a foreign country. Or simply how her parents wanted to be different and named their daughter after a city they had their first date in.

When I have no interest in a guy but do not want to appear rude, instead of telling him to piss off, I turn to my self-centered, femme fatale alter ego Jess. Jess's name is common and pretty and it does not instigate any farther follow up questions. Just the way I want to keep it.

My alter ego will laugh briskly at the guy she's not interested in, only giving him a few seconds to size him up and down. If she doesn't like what she sees, she will turn away, far too engrossed in a conversation or a dance with someone else.

Some of my friends will spend their time talking and nodding and smiling at a guy, just because he had the balls to come up to them and ask them how they are doing. Which, I admit, is an admirable and brave gesture. But trying to be polite at a bar might as well be an equivalent of slipping a guy your hotel room key. Politeness can be so often mistaken for interest, and honesty is often misinterpreted as rudeness.

My alter ego may never be polite but she is also never stuck dancing with 35-year olds smelling of whiskey and desperation.

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Playing the Field

I haven't been to this stupid bar in over two years, and for a good reason. I always call this place an "Applebee's with a dance floor" because that is exactly what the interior of it looks like. Massive dark wood booths, an assortment of memorabilia plastered all over the walls, an occasional moose head here and there, neon Budweiser logo lights. Oh course, Applebee's does not have a mechanical bull in the middle of the dance floor, nor does it have girls selling beer out of ginormous ice buckets, wearing extremely form-fitting uniforms. But that, of course, just adds to the atmosphere of tackiness.

And when I returned there yesterday with a date, it looked like nothing at all had changed in two years. The bull was still there, along with the tacky memorabilia and, I'm fairly certain, that the dance floor and the outdoor patio was still populated by the same people who were coming there two years ago.

It was drizzling slightly, but the breeze outside felt wonderful so after my date did a round of hand shakes with the familiar bartenders, we decided to go to the patio to have a couple of drinks.

I felt like I had this dating game down to a science and, as we all know, science is a precision-oriented, calculated, cold-blooded profession. I couldn't feel the spark of any kind but I couldn't pinpoint out as to why I was apathetic. Nor was I terribly disappointed about the lack of desire to tear the guy's clothes off then and there.

He... let's call him the Entrepreneur, he was certainly easy on the eyes, intelligent and ambitious, and with a lot of jingle in his pocket. Great style, good personality, well-versed and well-traveled. I was enjoying his company even before the alcohol started to hit me, which is always a good sign.

"...And, you know, I just felt like I couldn't really live in New York for a very long time. I mean, I love the energy and I love how busy it always is but I also like my peace and quiet.." He was telling me about his recent trip to the Big Apple.

I looked around the bar, while at the same time being careful as to nod and smile to show my engagement in our conversation. Meanwhile, these two guys at the bar caught my eye, not because they were particularly attractive or obnoxiously drunk, but because they kept looking over to my table. They, inevitably, noticed me noticing them and, to my slight dismay, one of the guys got off his bar stool and approached our table.

"Hey, can I buy you a shot?" He was direct but friendly.

"What kind of shot?"

"Any kind you want. Tequila?"

"Well I really don't like tequila."

"Yeah, sure. I"ll get you a SoCo and lime. So.. can I buy it for you?"

I was about to say no but before I could say anything the Entrepreneur suggested that we both walk over to the bar and take the guy up on his offer to buy me a shot. He looked undisturbed by the fact that a man just imposed himself onto our table and disrupted the conversation. I felt uneasy but before I could even hesitate I was already on my way to the bar.

"So who is he?" Bar Guy asked, nodding at my date. I looked in the direction of the nod - my date was already busy conversing with a couple of Bar Guy's friends.

"Oh, he's a friend. A good friend," I said with hint of uncertainty. I was pretty sure that the Entrepreneur couldn't hear me, but I also wasn't completely sure. I glanced at the bartender - she was in the process of pouring my shot in a shot glass.

"Oh, a friend?" he didn't seem to believe me, "Well, you looked really bored at the table and I thought you might need to be rescued."

Gosh, I didn't think I looked that disinterested in the Entrepreneur - I was certainly not having a bad time, but maybe my facial expressions were speaking louder than words.

"I don't think I can drink it all at once." my shot finally arrived but as the liquid touched my lips, it tasted toxic and felt overpowering on my tongue. I also was losing whatever little interest I had in the Bar Guy. The whole situation... sandwiched between Bar Guy and Entrepreneur, just enduring the awkwardness for a shot of Southern Comfort. Yeah.... I felt shady.

"Let's go to a different bar," I felt a tap on my shoulder and realized that the Entrepreneur had enough of the conversation with strangers. I looked down at my shot glass - it was still two-thirds full.

"Yeah, okay..." I looked at Bar Guy. God knows what he must have been thinking at that point. He certainly didn't buy my "He's just a friend" excuse. "It was good to meet you. I gotta go."

My date and I squeezed our way through the crowd, making our way to the exit. It felt wrong to be getting a free drink from a random guy and then bolting out of there like the place was on fire. But it was also odd that the Entrepreneur seemed okay with it all. I liked me some free drinks but I also would have liked it if, upon Bar Guy approaching our table, my date would have said something along the lines of "Hey man, it's all good but I don't think the lady is interested." Maybe it can be defined as just some old-fashioned machismo, but I probably would have appreciated it nonetheless.

At any rate, I just did not feel good about the free shot. At least I left two-thirds of it at the bar for Bar Guy to enjoy it. As for the bar itself... I won't be terribly upset if I don't come back there for another two years or so. Maybe getting free shots from random men just ain't for me after all.

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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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Practice Makes (Not That) Perfect

People are such complicated creatures. Not just men and not just women... people in general confuse the hell out of each other on a daily basis. And when it comes to dating, well, nowadays everyone comes with their very own manual of the do's and don't's of dating, lists of things required in a potential mate and a slew of horror stories of first dates gone wrong.

Unfortunately for some, I also come with a dating manual and various sets of lists of requirements and as I grow older and wiser, the manual is becoming more extensive and the lists grow longer. Of course, I tell myself that I am allowed to be picky with the dudes I choose to date because I qualify myself to be "quite a catch." I mean, seriously, I think I am intelligent, ambitious, funny, pretty and have a pretty good outlook on life. What MORE do these men want?!

However, on several occasions, especially the ones where I was not particularly interested in my date, I found myself to be a lot less charming and witty (and sober) than I would have wanted to be. On those occasions, I imagine, if my dates had dating blogs of their own, they would have probably classified me to fall into one of the following categories.

The Alcoholic:

A good rule of thumb to follow of a date is to limit your drinking to a couple of glasses of wine or beer, depending on a setting. However, when I am not having that good of a time, I help myself to a generous amount of alcohol to make the date more fun (at least, in my head). I would imagine some of my dates in the past were less than thrilled as they watched me down one drink after another, in an effort to make the minutes pass a little bit quicker.

The Debbie Downer:

Usually, if I am smitten by a guy, I would care less if I am sitting right next to a restroom at a restaurant or if it is too hot outside to play miniature golf or if the stock market went down again that day. However, if a guy is less than lovely, I WILL find something to complain about - the cafe lighting, the world economy, the job market - no topic is safe as I will surely rain on my date's parade. After all, if I am not having a good time, then why should he?

The Workaholic:

I will talk about work and work only. If I am not interested in getting to know a guy and he's all out of questions to ask me, I will start talking about work-related topics - how much I have left to do on my Master's thesis before I graduate, how writing a perfect resume can be an absolute bitch, how many hours I worked last week in order to meet a deadline. Check, please!

The Bore:

Sometimes I just don't feel like being bothered with conversation at all. It's not that I don't try but sometimes I run of topics to discuss and it's better to accept awkward silence for the phenomenon that it is and enjoy a Dynamite Roll while listening in to the conversation at the neighbors' table.

The Tease

Once in a while, I THINK I like a guy and I do make an effort to get to know him, to laugh at all the right moments, and to flip my hair just the right way. I may even kiss a guy at the end of a date and say that I hope to see him again very soon. He may leave the date thinking that he's got me wrapped around his finger.

And then the next morning comes and I wake up and change my mind. "Ugh, he seemed WAY too eager," I might think then. Or even, "Ugh, I can't put my finger on it but there was something very shady about that guy." And sometimes I may be right about the shadiness, but the fact is, sometimes I can change my mind in a matter of 24 hours for no justifiable reason at all.

Before I scare anyone off, if I haven't already, I will add that 90% of the time I am a charming, sweet, down-to-earth, cool chick and, most of the times, I know right away if I like a guy or not so I don't lead him on forever and ever. However, we all have our off days, whether it is our date's fault or not, and it is okay. I, for one, remain unapologetic to all those who might have had a bad time with me. For all that I know, they might have deserved it.

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Nice Try, Though.

School started up again as feverishly and mercilessly as if I had never even taken an academia-prescribed 6 month internship hiatus. Spring and Summer months flew by as they always do, and as the leaves begin to change colors and the mornings are getting a little cooler and crisper, I find myself back in the whirlwind of administrative tasks, research, reading and all the hoopla that is involved with a last year of graduate school.

I did have some time to go on a date though last week. It was a good decision and certainly not a bad experience overall. In fact, the verdict is still out on this one, because the guy... there is absolutely nothing wrong with him, he seems to be pretty into me, he is quite intelligent. Oh and he drove two hours for our date - that's gotta count for something!

It's all fine and dandy except for one and only irreversible fact - he is not, nor ever will be, Mr J. And for that matter, no one else will be, and for that matter only, I still think that I need to wait and see where things progress with Mr J this year. After all, I am not the one to believe in fate and predestination, but something about the idea of being with Mr J... something about it feels so incredibly right.

While away at school, he managed to get his laptop stolen last week. A tragic situation at its face value, it seemed to have brought us closer together. I was the first person he called when he found out that his laptop was no longer in the spot where he left it at the library. I was the one he consulted about buying a new laptop (poor thing is relying on me for technological advice - might not be the best idea in the world!). And I was the one to comfort him through the entire agony of losing an incredibly valuable thing.

Am I happy his laptop got stolen? Of course not. But I am happy that he thought about consulting me; I am happy that immediately, in a state of despair and panic, he knew that I would have his back, that I would help him out in whatever way I could. And I did, of course.

Because despite all of the attempts of mine to not put all of the eggs in one basket and "play the field", I still freaking love this guy more than any words can ever describe.

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Getting Back in the Game... Kind of.

I dragged myself out on a date the other day in an effort to get my heart out of the perpetual pity party it's been having with itself ever since I've decided that it would be wise to move on from Mr. January. I figured the best way to move on is to start liking someone else - and how can I start liking someone else if I am not meeting any new potential prospects.

When I met this particular guy, let's call him Princeton for his alma mater, he didn't exactly push all the right buttons for me. I decided to give it a go, however, when he proposed we go to a dinner at one of the hottest restaurants in town. I've been dying to go there all summer but didn't have anyone to go with so, of course, I jumped at the opportunity with both feet.

I agreed to meet him at the restaurant and, indeed, he was already there, talking to a bartender, when I arrived. I mentally petted myself on the back for dressing it up a bit that night - a flawlessly-fitted charcoal gray pencil skirt, a sexy top and tiny little heels - the crowd at the restaurant was older and definitely classier than your average neighborhood bar and I blended right in.

We grabbed a table and started off with martinis and appetizers. He was intelligent, talkative, funny, incredibly successful. I couldn't really figure him out but I thought I'd wait to finalize my opinion about him. At that moment the octopus appetizer was much more intriguing to me than the man who ordered this appetizer.

"My sister is also going for a degree in architecture. She is starting this fall... You know, I never thought architecture was so artisitc, I thought it would be much more math oriented," he said, upon finding out what I am getting my Master's in.

I glared. There is nothing more that I hate than people making rush assumptions about something they know next to nothing about - his sister didn't even start grad school, how would he know that the grad program is "artistically oriented".

I politely explained that, in graduate school, there is much more emphasis on the technical and practical side of things, much more so than in the undergrad - there is certainly a fair amount of calculations involved in sizing the mechanical equipment, columns and beams, thicknesses of walls, etc etc. Somewhere along the line, our conversation turned into me feeling invalidated for the work I do and I felt that I had to explain and educate.

"I had to interview an architect for the next issue of the magazine I work for - I thought it was an incredible opportunity to get to meet him and ask him all these questions... I would love to interview other people as well, now that I've had a taste for this interviewing process..." I told him.

"Really? Why do you say that?" he asked. I think he meant well - he was genuinely interested in what made me passionate about my work - but the way he stated it blurred the line between him being interested and him coming across as a snotty douche.

Well, so be it, I thought. Maybe I could overlook his mannerisms and concentrate on other, more positive qualities - after all, he has a wide range of interests, he is well traveled, he just got a huge promotion, he lives in one of the most beautiful buildings downtown....

Wait, wait, wait a minute.

I realized, as Princeton had paid for the bill and we were walking towards the front door that the list of good qualities that I compiled for myself sounded more like those a boss would look for in his ideal employee. Not once did I think about his eyes, or the way he smiled, or the way he made me laugh. Not once.

I dreaded a goodnight kiss, but luckily I got away with a hug. As I walked away, a pinch of regret I was feeling due to the lack of chemistry on my part finally seemed justified. I want real love and I am ready to take that step and to really open up... but to the right person. And Princeton is not that person.

When I got home, I finally checked my phone for messages. There was one text from Mr. January, asking me how my night was going. Instantly, butterflies and an increased heart rate was all I felt. I guess, I am still not over him after all. Far from it.

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Jealousy Woes

Mr. January is supposed to drive down to L-ville this or next weekend, and I am pretty thrilled to see him. We have been pretty casual with each other - each understanding that our immediate priorities lie elsewhere besides dating each other but also recognizing that, damn, we share an awesome physical connection (and it doesn't hurt that our personalities mesh well too).

Yesterday, however, in our conversation through a series of text messages, I caught a glimpse of a side of him that I was not aware of. I might be mistaking and basking too much in my own naivete, but I think he was... jealous. Jealous of me dating other people.

He texted me with an advise about his impending move to law school but the conversation quickly turned to a subject of dating.

MJ: You been dating someone? I haven't heard from you...
Me: No, I haven't been on any dates lately. I was gonna ask you if you were planning on coming down here one night this weekend?
MJ: Wow, one night huh? I'd like to for sure. Which night would work best?
Me: Saturday would work for me. I am taking Sunday off from work.
MJ: Sat better than Fri?
Me: Yeah, but I need to know what you're planning on doing by this Thursday. My friend wants to come down from Cinci to see this DJ at a club. I don't care for the DJ so I could tell him that I'm not gonna go with him. I'd rather see you.
MJ: Well if you have other guys to schedule me around, that's not fun.
Me: He's just a friend. Strictly platonic.
MJ: Uh huh lol. Just a friend driving 5 hours to stay the night and sleep on the couch.
Me: It's a 2 hr drive, and yes.
MJ: It's hard for me to believe youre not hookin up with these guys friends of yours. Cause no guy drives that far just to see a DJ...

I hesitate to text back... I am not used to Mr. January question my actions. He can't be jealous of my friends - my friends mean everything to me. So what if they're guys?

MJ: I am just careful with who I see and if they're seeing multiple guys, I just don't do it. You seem to always be having guys come stay the night lol
Me: Well I'm not hooking up with anyone if that's what you're implying. I told you 90% of people in my architecture program are guys. That's why I have so many guy friends.
MJ: Yeah but, I know guys too. And they never drive 2 hours to see a girl and stay the night just for a DJ. It's just you go on dates and have guys spend the night and drive from Cinci to see you all the time... what am I supposed to think?
Me: I only had 2 guys make the drive. It's really not that far. I'd make that drive to Cinci for a friend. But I think you should come this Saturday - I think you're cute and I wanna make out with you :P
MJ: But how many dates/ other friends you say that to? I mean we all know several different guys don't just come that far for nothing.
Me: Trust me you're the only "friend" I tell I wanna make out with.
MJ: I don't know if I'll come this weekend. Wouldn't wanna ruin your "friends" date.
Me: Well I have never been the type to hook up with my friends and I don't want to defend myself for something I don't do. I don't know anyone in this city - of course, I want my friends to visit me, who wouldn't? I don't know who you take me for, but I am not a slut who sleeps around with everyone.
MJ: I do believe you. Hard to believe but I'll believe you.

and seconds later...

MJ: Obviously I don't wanna just be a part of your normal rotation of guys. But what am I supposed to think? Put yourself in my shoes.
Me: We've been talking and hanging out for 6 months. Obviously, you're not just a part of a rotation as you call it.
MJ: But if you have plans with a dude, I wouldn't wanna interrupt.
Me: I'd rather make plans with you.
MK: Ok, I'll see what's up. You still want me?

After that we kind of mended things. Even though I was a little taken aback by his jealousy (?), I was kind of turned on by the fact that he appeared to care a little.

Okay, so I'm not stupid. I should know that I have every right to make out with any guy I please because Mr. January and I are not together. Whether he likes it or not, I will continue going on dates, continue seeing other people, regardless of what he thinks. Of course, I won't dive into details with him as to whom I've been kissing and who bought me a drink - I can see now that it's been bruising his ego. But then again, he really has no right to expect me to sit loyally by my phone and wait for him to call me, meanwhile remaining as chaste as a nun.

If things were different, I'd want him as my boyfriend. In this situation, however, I am not letting things go anywhere beyond lust - and that means keeping other people (guys) around me to occupy my mind.

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Boys, Boys, Boys

So, Jesus Christ Mary and Joseph, have I been dating up a storm lately. It's no secret that I have been single for a while, and it's becoming painfully apparent, even to the most stubborn of my friends, that I, no matter what I may or may not say, really like being single. A relationship would be great, sure, but no one I am seeing right now is peaking my interest enough for me to even start thinking about that stage of dating. Right now, it's all fun and games... and maybe it's just me, but I swear, I have never enjoyed this much attention until I moved to Louisville.

No kidding. I don't know if it's the Southern sun, the water, or the air - but I get hooted and hollered at almost daily, sometimes several times a day. I get sort of insecure about that... I mean, I like when someone hits on me at a club and buys me a drink or whatever. However, when I am walking to my car on my way to work, or taking a leisurely stroll, I don't want any eyes on me. In Louisville, it may not be all eyes on me, but it sure feels like it.

The first guy that I am sort of seeing right now is the Bar Owner. As a matter of fact, we have a dinner date tomorrow night at a restaurant downtown. He constantly tells me he misses me. He's tall, reasonably handsome, reasonably educated and smart. The negative aspects that I am seeing with him is his family, whom I didn't get the chance to meet yet but who strike me as a little... low brow. More specifically, his father seems to have a pretty severe alcohol problem and his mother is a pill popper. The Bar Owner, quite understandably, doesn't live with either of them but still maintains a close relationship as, I suppose, he should. Quite frankly though, his dysfunctional fam is a turn-off for me and this factor might be what, ultimately, brings this relationship to an end.

The second guy is the guy I met last weekend at a club downtown, when I was out with a couple of my new Louisville friends. He was well-dressed and equally as well-spoken. We chatted for a while and as his friends were about to migrate to another drinking establishment, we exchanged numbers to meet up later on in the night. Around midnight, as my friends were all ready to leave as they had to get up bright and early for the Kentucky Derby, I received a text message from the Club Guy, telling me to come meet him at a club next door. His text said "We got bottle service in the VIP. You should come." Um, how could I say no to that?!

So I go over there and hang out and dance while being catered to by about five different bartenders. I find out he is kind of a big deal - case and point two of his friends who just happen to be football players for the NY Giants and hanging out in the same VIP area - just chilling and talking and mingling with us. One of them even kissed my hand! Of course I digress...

As the story goes, Club Guy and I hang out again the next night, again in the VIP, again with the New York Giants, and he finally leaves to go home to Indiana the next day. I fully expected to never hear from him again but so far he's been calling and texting every day, asking me to go on a date with him, promising me the world with a cherry on top. He seems a bit shady and I don't know if he's genuine in his pursuit or if he's intrigued by the fact that I don't really give it up and spread my legs for the guys I date, unless I get pretty serious with them. Maybe he's in it for the challenge alone.

And, would you believe it, there is a guy # 3 in my life. You can find my entries about him way back in January - he is the one who decided not to hang out with me on Valentine's Day (real winner, sure..). I rarely see him any more because we now live about 3 hours apart. Hell, who am I kidding, I don't see him any more at all, but we talk almost daily and I still have this crazy sexual attraction for him. The kind that is like... whoa. The kind that I experienced only one other time in my life, with the guy who I've been friends with for a long time and who was pretty much amazing in bed every time we did it.

So, Mr. January, as I'd like to call him, is the only guy who I can really see myself being with and he's also the only guy I can really see myself being just friends with as well - he's got the looks, the charm, the wit, the smarts. He's got an AMAZING personality... and the phone sex is great. We are pretty much friends with (phone) benefits right now, and maybe it's just me but hey, after over a year of not getting any in real life, the phone sex with him is ALWAYS earth-shattering.

So here are my men - The Bar Owner, The Club Guy, and Mr. January - who all have their pros and cons. And here I am - the girl who doesn't know what she wants and is just having a little innocent, PG-13 fun. What adventures/mishaps/hilarious consequences will this lead to? Only God and time can tell, but I, personally, can't wait to find out.

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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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