Will You, Tomorrow?

Last night I woke up in a feverish state. The air conditioning was on full blast so it wasn't the hot air of the tropics nor the stuffiness of my room that was making me sweat in my sleep.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, looked in the mirror. I looked like shit and I winced at the sight of my own skin, with the imprints of the folds of my pillow still on my right cheek. Why was I awake anyway at this ungodly hour?

I coughed and spit into the sink, casually, to clear my throat. I washed my mouth with a minty-fresh mouth rinse and looked down to spit the liquid out.

But before I could do that, I stopped. There were blood clots in my sink.

I coughed again to see if the blood was really coming from inside of me, and there it was again at the bottom of my sink. Small little chunks of blood.

Suddenly, I was wide awake. How did this happen? Have I done anything to hurt my stomach lately? I've been on a short self-imposed health kick, so I haven't had a drop of alcohol or soda in just about a week. I've been eating a lot more greens and even forcing myself to chow down a small breakfast every morning, despite my absolute abhorrence of breakfasts.

A quick Google search only heightened my alarmed state. Strangers were suggesting that the blood clots could be anything from an ulcer to cancer. Fucking cancer? No way. Not me.

I dressed in the middle of the night and texted a cab to rush me to the hospital. On my way there, I had to deal with racing thoughts. Have I lived my life to its fullest? Have I loved enough? Do the ones I love know that I love them? Do the ones I care about going to care if I am suddenly gravely ill?

I thought of how much misfortune an unexpected sickness can bring. What if my employer does not value me any more because I will always have to call out sick? What if my dude decides that I am too much of a burden to deal with? What if my parents get grief-stricken and will want me to come home?

I didn't want to find out the answers to these questions just yet. I wasn't prepared to deal with the heavy shit, right then and there, at 4 o'clock on a Saturday morning.

The doctor's observation was vague and not completely reassuring.

"This might be caused by stress... but we will not know for sure now. We can do a conservative treatment, give you some medication and see if your condition improves in a week. Or we can do something more aggressive and do an endoscopy to check for ulcers."

I chose the more conservative option. No need to go batshit crazy with worries just yet. Maybe I shouldn't stress too much (yeah, like that's likely to happen) and see if my condition improves, just like the doctor said. Maybe I don't have cancer after all.

So today, I will rest in my bed, take my medication as prescribed and try to recuperate to the best of my ability. And today, before tomorrow brings whatever it is destined to bring, I will tell at least one person I love them.

It's the least and the most I can do. Today.

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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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Titanium

I think I've been getting drunk far too often to cope with my feelings, lately. I know, not the best solution to one's problem, but that gin and tonic look awfully appealing when you feel your laughter is about to turn to tears, when you are at a bar you used to go to with your ex, surrounded by things you used to associate with romance and butterflies.

It's that tantalizing first sip, that enticing second gulp that stings your throat with bitterness and promise. It's the way you start to feel after a while, like nothing and no one can hurt you, that liquid badge of courage that numbs your senses and emotions.

I say I don't care and that it doesn't bother me a bit that the break-up occurred but, the truth is, I am just not brave enough to admit to anyone that I am hurting. Maybe not even emotionally, as things were quietly falling apart for some time now, but definitely mentally. How he could just say that it's over and leave without even looking back.

Isn't this the way things always go? One person leaves because they can't wait to move on, while the other pretends to be all right, while they scramble to piece their love life together.

Truth is, I am throwing myself into this rebound stage where I feel like I am about to hurt a really good guy. And another part of me, the cynical one, tells my brain that I should go ahead and do it anyway, because there are no good guys out there.

I don't want to drink to suppress my feelings and I don't want to hurt the rebound guy, but I think I just might end up doing both, anyway.

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I'm Not Yours

And a thousand of lanterns, their flames slowly glowing against the thin rustling paper, ascended up to the night skies of Patong beach, their peaceful, soft glow interrupted by a chaotic thunder of fireworks all around us. The crowds cheered like crazy, camera phones in their extended hands, trying to capture the last moments of 2011, only to post them later on Facebook or replay them to the friends that were not there.

He was an Australian, staying at our hostel for a couple of nights, traveling from Melbourne, and then to Singapore, Hanoi. Patong beach was his last stop of the holiday vacation. It was the last stop for all of us staying at the hostel. We started off the night as a large, international group but as we took random roads and routes, trying to get through the masses to the beach to welcome 2012, it was just me and the Australian left.

"Tell me the truth, do you like me?" he asked twenty minutes before midnight as he handed me a bouquet of roses that he bought from some random Swedish girl on the street.

I was surprised and flattered by the question. When I first saw him at the hostel bar, the life of the party, I envied his confidence and wondered what it would be like to talk to this guy, to be part of that crowd. And now here I was, with him, unexpectedly, wrapped around my little finger for the night.

"To tell you the truth," I said, "I do but I am dating someone."

We stood in our awkwardness and both felt compelled to say something to each other even though we were surrounded by throngs of screaming, celebrating people and would not hear each other anyway.

"What do you mean by dating?" he finally said. We both knew what I meant.

"You know what I mean..." I looked down at the roses. Their tiny delicate buds looked so fragile that all I wanted to do was to shield them from the people around us. I felt almost out of place standing there, with a simple bouquet of romantic appreciation in my hand, while everyone else around me was holding and imbibing from alcohol containers of various sizes.

"Does he ever give you flowers?" he asked, minutes before midnight.

No, he never gives me flowers. I don't ask him to but I wish he would. Just give me flowers once. No fancy dinners, just flowers. Truth is, I wanted to say, I am starving for affection and don't know how to ask for it. Feel like I have no right to ask for it, somehow. There is nothing like wanting to fall in love and being too afraid to, because of the fear of getting hurt at the end.

"No, he never gives me flowers," I said.

He shook his head. Not accusingly, not indifferently, but mostly just selfishly proud of himself for doing something in the first few hours of meeting me that my dude has not done in the months that I've known him.

"Kiss me," he said.

"You know I can't," I paused, "Not now."

"Then kiss me at midnight. Just one kiss."

There were moments left until the clock struck twelve. I had remnants of silly strings in my hair, my shoes were filled with sand, I clenched the strap of my purse in my hand, paused in some nervous thought. He was some Australian I would never see again, albeit a very handsome Australian, he was just a stranger on a beach somewhere in Thailand.

So I kissed him. Just once, when it struck midnight. And then once again a few minutes later.

A few stolen kisses. Something to escape the real world outside of the beach. Something to stop myself from thinking about The Banker all the goddamn time, while hoping for more, more than I am being offered.

And all around me it was 2012 all of the sudden. I wanted to never leave that place and to leave it immediately, all at the same time.

Happy new year.

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Eat. Pray. Panic.

It's weird. I've been having these rather severe panic attack-like symptoms for the last several hours. My heart is racing, palms are sweaty, wrists are half-numb with tension, breaths are short and quick in an attempt to calm my body down.

Part of it is that I've been stressed with money problems lately. It's something that's been consistently consuming my thoughts. It's nothing Earth-shattering, I guess. I just have not been saving up as much as I wanted to. Living amongst the richest of the rich on an island that has the greatest concentration of millionaires in the world has not exactly made me feel particularly wealthy either.

It's funny how money concerns can become a part of your daily existence. Even when, by all standards, you can call yourself comfortably middle-class, it is keeping up with the ever rising life style expectations and comparing yourselves to the Joneses next door that can make you feel like you've been sinking deeper and deeper into debt.

I didn't think I wanted to be rich when I was younger. But you know what? Being rich just makes things so much easier. So hell yes, I want a million or two to go buy that nice dress that I saw in the Miu Miu store window or to get that nice hot stone massage I keep hearing about or to get my bills paid on time in the US and not worry about the exchange rate going up and down like a roller coaster every couple of days. (Thanks for that crisis, Europe!)

I want to be able to get my family a nice Christmas gift without scouting discount web sites for bargain deals on second-grade stuff that will sort of look like the real deal that I wanted to give them in the first place. I want to be able to fly to Hong Kong or Hanoi for the weekend without checking my bank account to make sure that I have enough money for my ever-sky-rocketing rent for the month. Or, hell, I want to go to the dentist to get that pricy root canal taken care of without worrying that one more unexpected expense will drive me to the poor house.

More so, however, I think that I am currently pissed over the fact that I bought my boyfriend a $300 dollar painting as a birthday present. And while that may not seem like much money to some people, this is actually the most that I had ever spent on any gifts for any boyfriends/friends/pals/family members. This is a testament that I actually want to impress this dude by buying something thoughtful that is, at the same time, on the pricier side, by my standards.

And no, I am not pissed that I spent that money. I wanted to spend it. And I found the perfect painting that I hope he will love as much as I think he will. It's just the fact that I know that he's been to that stupid dating web site again and it's bothering the crap out of me. Makes me feel a bit foolish knowing that he went to the site again, while I am sitting here and buying presents for him.

When I asked him about the site a couple of weeks ago (actually, the conversation about it was sort of brought up by him because he mentioned how someone sent him a weird message recently), he said that he goes on there once in a while when people send him random stuff that he can laugh at. He made it sound so innocent and straight-forward that I immediately felt relieved. I could see that he was being honest and that there was nothing going on behind the closed doors.

However, the question still remains. Why is he on the site? Why does he go on it, about once a week? Is it really because the "hilarious" messages from socially-awkward singles amuse him that much?

Or is it because deep down he is hoping for something different than what he has right now.

I don't wanna waste my hard-earned money on a guy who is not fully there and who will dash at the first sign of a better thing. I can be a damn good girlfriend when I put some effort into it. And now that I am putting effort into this, I want to see the same amount of reciprocation.

And I don't wanna have any more panic attacks over money/love matters. I think I deserve better than that.

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Unofficial Official

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. THAT moment.

It feels damn good, doesn't it?

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

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

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

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

Just a girl that is unofficial as the last one.

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

Nothing more. Nothing less.

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Vexing

And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know,
My weakness, I feel, I must finally show...

-"Awake My Soul", Mumford and Sons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Reality

Tomorrow I'm flying to Chicago to see my love(r) before I fly to Singapore for my job gig for what right now seems like a zillion of years.

I kind of don't want to go. To Singapore that is.... Call it whatever you want, call it cold feet. Call me a wimp. I mean, after all, I was pretty damn excited for, like, the last two months or so, ever since I found out about this international job opportunity. So what the fuck happened?

It's not like I think I am making a mistake and should have never chosen to move across the world in the first place.. It's just this never ending feeling of bitter-sweetness as I'm saying goodbyes to my friends, my family, the guy I love is becoming almost unbearable.

I don't want to lose the relationships I have with the people I hold so closely to my heart... and I know that some will remain close friends despite us being oceans apart. But others will inevitably drift away, fade out with time, or will simply forget about me whether or not I want them to.

Suck it, life. Sometimes you can be such a bittersweet bitch. And, sure, sometimes I can be such a near-sighted simpleton and not see the bigger picture... how this is good for my career and how I am basically moving to a fun, exotic location and will inevitably make new friends and blah bah blah... But still.

It just sort of sucks to finally face reality and no longer talk about moving like it's some hypothetical idea. Because I am basically packing up most of my shit and arranging international shipping and canceling my gym memberships and telling my cell phone company that I'm moving and I need to cancel my data plan. And it's becoming more real than I'd ever thought it'd become.

It also sort of sucks that I already know that the last day of this trip to Chicago will be me realizing how much I heart the guy and me fighting back the tears like I usually do before our goodbyes....

Only I've never said goodbye and I then jetted off to live in a foreign country before...

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Excuse Me?

I am chatting with my kind-of co-worker (and a long, long time friend) from the Washington, D.C. branch of the office about my recent acceptance of a position in Singapore and he inquires me about the current size of the office, the number of people that currently work here.

"Oh about fifteen people but they are hiring about five more people, including me. I hear there is a Spanish girl and an Italian designer joining the company at the end of June as well so we will have people from almost every continent haha"

To that he just says:

"Oh I hear the Spanish girl is beautiful."

Now what's that supposed to mean? Call me overly sensitive but I sort of felt slighted in a way. Not that I am trying to compete for the guy's attention or trying to assert that I am just as pretty as the next girl. But still... my pride's been hurt.

Thanks, dude. Though I know you didn't mean it... I just kind of don't want to hear the rumors about how beautiful someone might or might not be. At least not when I am trying to make casual talk about job matters.

Am I right or am I right?

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You May Keep Your Picket Fence, Please

Would I settle for something boring and ordinary? I asked myself this question about my whole existence today, in the midst of doubts and worries about the future. Would I be okay with just settling or am I still searching for my purpose?

Back in August, I landed myself a contract job at a world renowned architecture firm that defies the boring and the ordinary. The principal of the firm was a power house of a human being in the 1960's and defined his own style, a style that proclaimed itself to be the antithesis to Le Corbusier's statement "Less is more." He and his wife changed the world of architecture in many ways, shook up the simplicity of Modernism and shocked many with their less-than-orthodox approach to architecture. Loud. Bold. Larger than life. He was and still is a man of a quiet demeanor, never too fond of his spotlight but, nevertheless, he was and still is an undisputed legend.

I am not comparing myself to the likes of his stature. Right now, I find myself elated just to be working in his presence and be able to say "Hi" to him every day as he infallibly, makes his rounds to greet all of his employees every morning. No, I am no legend, I ain't kidding myself.

But I also can't help but compare my lifetime aspirations to what this man, the legend, has been able to achieve. I only hope to take the route less conventional but the route that makes me exuberantly happy, the way his life path made him.

My Ex of some years ago settled for a boring life. And I am not saying it with any malicious undertones and, well, maybe with just a slight hint of elitism that we all inherit after we leave our former lovers to pursue the greener pastures. But he settled for a boring and ordinary life, a boring and ordinary house, a boring and ordinary profession and, if I may, a boring and ordinary fiance.... I swear I could fall asleep from my lack of interest just writing this paragraph.

It's all fine and good in my book. This boring and ordinary deal. After all, sometimes I strive for some good ol' boring balance in my life, but I fear I would get restless in my boring and ordinary house with some boring and ordinary dude. I don't particularly want to conform to someone's else's definition of the American Dream. Why, that would just be a cop out.

I may be still building my version of a brick house with a white picket fence, but, you better believe it, when it's completed it will be anything but boring and ordinary.

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Comfortably Numb

Sometimes it dawns on you, as you're beating a dead horse over its head with a long but sturdy stick, that, maybe just maybe, that horse is not going resurrect and come back from the dead. And even if it it, what kind of horse would it be, anyway?

Call me overworked and insecure, cause many a times that's exactly how I would describe myself, but I feel like my feeble attempts as having a "relationship" with Mr. J are not working out, not to my liking at least.

See, what I am supposed to do as a "girlfriend" is to refuse any flirtations from the fine gentlemen I happen to meet from time to time when going out. What I am supposed to do is refuse offers of free alcohol, decline any offers of guys' numbers, remain chaste and pure as freshly fallen snow.

Sure, I suppose, these are all reasonable requests in any standard relationship. I realize that he's hoping to keep me away from temptations (trust me, there aren't that many so he shouldn't really worry that much) but I also realize that I should be expecting, nay, demanding more from him in return. Aside from his reciprocation of all this faithfulness, I would also expect a some sort of an effort to, oh I don't know, come see me before December?

Yes, December. As in, three and a half months from now is when our next official get together has been penciled into the mental calendar.

And as for trying to see me sooner?

"I'd love to but law school is so time consuming."

But time is ticking and it won't be slowing down any time soon. Am I really willing to wait another two years, until God knows what, and hold on for dear life to this dating pattern?

Mr. J has been getting far too comfortable with this arrangement. Maybe it's time to get him back up on his toes and make him work a little.

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Poetic Injustice

It snuck up on me all of the sudden. This thing called Life. It crept up gently and without a single acknowledgement from me, like these things often do. Before I knew it, the stars aligned for just one second and my part-time job and my move to Philadelphia led me to a position at a famous architecture firm, even if this position is only for 3 months. I landed it - a simple girl who sent in a cover letter and a resume three months ago - I got a call for an interview and got the job three days later.

Now I have a temporary full time job, a long-term part-time job on the weekends. I write for a weekly blog and I am going to be starting business school prep classes in 5 days. What does this all mean?

Me wishing I had a freaking guy by my side so I could share my brief nights off and a few glasses of wine (cause, damn it, I am not about to give up alcohol).

"Missing you already..."

I drove all the way through the bland nothingness of the Ohio Valley to the turns and curves ofthe Pennsylvania mountains to the city I longed for, the City of Brotherly Love. The city where I feel so at home even after nights of drinking and dealing with popped collar douchebags.

"I'm feeling kind of lonely, knowing that you won't be close to me any more..."

I felt deep satisfaction, ordering a Yuengling - what turns out to be a Pennsylvania-specific beer that people in other states consider to be a treasure. I felt the urge to tell the bouncers and bartenders who checked my ID that I wasn't REALLY from Ohio. That I was simply returning to my home I had the need to leave for a few years.

"When can we see each other again... with our busy schedules... when will it be..."

I drove to my high school, remembering all the road turns and stop signs along the way. I drove past the old Genuardi's - a grocery store I've never been to but drove past every day on my way to and from school. I drove past Jeanes hospital - the one I had to be taken to one night to remedy my severe asthma attack. I drove past my favorite bars and shops - ooh, that Nicole Millerstore... haven't been to it in a couple of years! SHOPPING!!

"Don't know if I can last with you in Philly, you going out with new guys to clubs and bars..."

I don't know either, Mr J. But all of my self-imposed glitz and glamour of the big metropolis pales at the thought of never seeing you again.

You're the only guy I've ever loved this much. (Yeah yeah, I'm being cheesy...) Everyone else fails to come even remotely close. Maybe some day you can see that being jealous of the "new guys" is a fruitless effort. All the new guys in the world can't compare to you.

I hope you can last with me in Philly. 'Cause despite the occasional meaningless dates I go on, to cure my boredom, that I don't tell you about, I can wait years for you. And you're the only guy I've ever been able to say this about.

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The New Me

The new me is much like the old me, really, with a couple of minor post-grad adjustments, such as my recent move back to the city of cheesesteaks and guidos (Philly is now even more guided-up since the explosive nation-wide popularity of Jersey Shore).

The new me will do shit for free while living (temporarily?) with her parents working a part-time job in the fashion industry (plus-size fashion industry, of all places). The new me is open to taking the path less traveled after becoming a Master in Architecture. Forget being an "Architectural Intern", bring on a "Visual Merchandising Designer Assistant."

The new me recently became a blogger for ARTSHARKS which is a site that brings art and art objects to every day life and tries to get non-art enthusiasts excited about it. Predictably enough, though, the site is operated, updated and visited pretty much solely by art enthusiasts and art aficionados. But this could be fun.

The new me is also doing a free speaking engagement this fall at a Mississippian university, which seems to be kind of a big deal. My proposal for a presentation got approved last night by the peeps that are running the show and the rest, as they say, is history. Speaking in front of, what I hope to be, hundreds of people? Sure, no problem. Never mind that I have a fear of speaking in public. Come see me be a nervous wreck on stage, while operating a clicker to change Powerpoint slides. Though it is, after all, kind of a big deal so maybe being a nervous wreck for an hour is worth the exposure.

The new me is, more than ever, about living in the moment. The new me willingly volunteered to drive from Philadelphia to St Louis (with a stop in Cincinnati to tend to my apartment that I am still technically the tenant of until the end of July) to see Mr J. Today, he is flying back from Europe into the lovely city, most notably known for its giant steel arch and possibly late-nineties rapper Nelly, and I will be driving in just a few measly hours to see him and, let's be honest, to get some for the first time in three months.

The new me is also ready to not let the rose-colored glasses get in the way of seeing the world the way it is. Just two days ago, I went on a date with a guy whom I met last Saturday at a Philly bar. Ya know, gotta keep my options open, in case this 12-hour relationship with Mr J doesn't work out.

Was my date cute? He was pretty darn gorgeous. Was there a connection? Sparks flew left and right. Was I blown away enough to forget about Mr J? Absolutely not.

But is it really so wrong to keep my options open? The new me certainly doesn't think so.

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Powerpoint Hell or... Is It All Worth It?

How do we find our worth?

I've been critical of people relying too much on their partners for their source of happiness. Clingy and with no backbone and life of their own as I saw them, I've laughed at those people. After all, how could they lose sight of their own selves and give themselves so wholly to someone else without any regard for their own well being?

I'll never be one of those people, I said to myself from time to time again. I am the epitome of independence, paving my own way through life and not relying on anyone (well, maybe a little bit on my parents but, that's besides the point). I am the modern woman, confident (at least for the most part), happy with myself (most of the times), fiercely tough and oh so well put together at all times.

But today, after over two weeks of routinely spending about, and often more than, 20 hours a day on work to prepare for my thesis presentation and receiving a lackluster review, I realized something. I rely on work for my source of happiness. Work is what controls my life 100% of the time.

Crazy, isn't it? As I stood in front of my thesis critics, surrounded by presentation boards and half-numb from sleep deprivation, I heard them say things about my project, I heard them ask questions. I responded with as much interest and enthusiasm as I could muster up while trying to not fall asleep standing up. I wrapped up the presentation and took down the boards. Ad then itt was over. Just like that.

And as far as the last two weeks go... Can I really ever get them back? Am I any better than those people I laugh at who spend all of their time catering to and adjusting their schedules so they could spend as much of their time as possible with their significant others? Perhaps, they are too dependent and perhaps their co-dependency is not healthy. But am I really better than them?

I've let my work control my life. And a healthy dose of passion is never a bad thing - if I ever end up finding a job in my field in THIS economy, I am certain that I will be happier than about 90% of employed people out there. But I have also sacrificed all of my social life, all of the joy one gets from the first few days of spring, and all of the meaningful conversations I could have had with my good friends from the past and present. And for what? Work? How am I any better if I am just as dependent on work as others are on their lovers?

Maybe it's time to close the lid of my laptop, walk out on my balcony and get a lungful of fresh air for the first time in two weeks. Or maybe, as it is in my case, it is time to simply fall into somber sleep for about fifteen hours.

Starting.... now.

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I'm Gonna Give It to You Next

Valentine's Day sucked.

I mean, basically, I'm not even going to sugarcoat it and lie about receiving flowers and poems and presents from the man of my dreams, aka Mr J. No, no, as much as I want him to be my knight in shining armor, I will be the first one to admit that he was the one who screwed me over and made the special day of love the worst Valentine's Day in a couple of years.

Granted that last year I received a dozen of beautiful roses from a good looking gentleman (that I wasn't particularly attracted to) and this year the first message that I got from Mr J was him being unreasonably and insanely jealous of a friend who wrote on my Facebook wall merely wishing me a "Happy Valentine's Day". I was pretty disappointed and heart-broken, to say the least. I immediately texted Mr J with a very sarcastic and telling "Happy Valentine's Day to you to..."

The rest of the day proceeded to be a blur of arguments, accusations and apologies. Mr J almost immediately said that he was sorry for, allegedly, "forgetting" about V-Day, even though later on, he changed his story to telling me that he was really about to wish me a "Happy V-Day" until he saw a questionable post on my Facebook wall. It didn't matter to me... any of the apologies and any of his reasons didn't make much of a difference because, by that point, my day had already been ruined.

So the events that transpired since February 14th may or may have not been in my best interest and judgment. Still fuming over my Valentine's Day fiasco with Mr J, I decided to take this guy, whom I met a couple of weeks ago at a club, up on his offer and go get a couple of drinks with him tonight. I've decided that I would keep a open mind and go on a first date I've been on (that was not with Mr J) in a many months.

The new guy was smooth - he picked the day and the time and the place for our date - and I was impressed with the location he chose for our meeting. A quaint, tucked-away bar in the middle of a beautiful upscale neighborhood on a hill overlooking the entire city of Cincinnati. So it was just me and the guy for the first thirty minutes at this historic beautiful bar. Candle light, live music, delicious wine - it was a perfect setting to sweep a girl off her feet, and boy was I ready to get swept off.

I dressed casually, not trying too hard to impress but definitely going for that effortless, casual elegance that is oh so appropriate on a typical Wednesday night. He was looking fine, a bit older than I remembered him to look the first night I met him, but dashing nonetheless. We ordered our first drinks and moved a bit closer to one another at our corner table, in an effort to get to know each a little better.

We talked and talked. The wine felt good in my system. And I was... I was the girl on the edge of my plush seat, for the first time in what seemed like ages, genuinely interested in the guy who was sitting across from me. The candle light reflected sparking seduction in the guy's eyes and I made several conscious efforts to not stare at him too hard as I spoke to him about this and that.

"So, how are you enjoying Cincinnati? Better or worse than Philly?" his hand brushed lightly against mine as he moved in an inch closer.

And...

And all I could think about was Mr J.

The way he would talk to me, if he was sitting right across from me at this precise moment. The way his eyes would meet mine and the way his lips would part and curl lightly in the most radiant smile I've ever seen. My beautiful man was not there with me and I was on a date with someone who just didn't quite measure up despite all the seeming perfection on the surface.

I excused myself and walked to the bathroom to take a breather. I checked my phone. There was a text message from Mr J - the first one in a long while that was not full of jealousy and distrust. It was a message from Mr J I fell so deeply in love with:

"Hey cutie, thinking of you. Have a good night ;)"

My heart turned into a professional acrobat at that instant and did backward flips and cartwheels.

I returned to the table and drank another glass of wine and talked about exciting things and places I wanted to do and visit with the guy who made so much effort to take me out on this lovely date. The guy touched my hand a couple more times. And it felt nice, and it felt genuine. It just didn't feel quite right.

I promised the guy a second date but, frankly, I don't know if it's ever going to take place. After all has been said and done, time after time, I still continue to realize that I am so in love with Mr J that I can't even enjoy being with anyone else.

And maybe I shouldn't even bother with anyone else for the moment. Not even when Mr J and I don't quite see eye to eye.

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Mr J and the Case of the Ifs, Thens and Maybes

Two days before the start of the winter quarter, I made that excruciating 9 hour drive from Philadelphia back to Cincinnati (hopefully) for the last time ever. I usually make the long drive as opposed to just booking a flight once a year, because my winter break is rather long and I prefer having my car to drive places and not ask my parents to haul my ass everywhere. The latter option just makes me feel like I am 15 all over again.

After seeing most of my Philly friends and visiting most of my old hang out spots in the city, it was pretty hard to say goodbye and drive away, especially knowing that school was about to commence once again. However, despite everything, I was also eager to drive back because Mr J and I made plans to see one another one last time before he went back to law school.

I bitched about the long drive to Mr J via text messages as I was making my way down from Harrisburg to Pittsburgh and through the wilderness of West Virginia to Columbus:

"What a lovely 9 house drive. lol"

He texted me back with, "I'll make it worth your while when you come back ;)"

Ooh baby. I would have lied if I said that text didn't make me put the pedal to the metal and disregard the speed limit for the rest of the trip home. Mr freaking J rocks my world.

Mr J came over around 8 pm that Saturday and we opted out of going out, preferring to have a quiet night in. It was so cozy and fun cuddling up with him on a couch and I couldn't help but think, in the back of my mind, how nice it would be if we were a couple and could do this all the time.

Mr J, meanwhile, was telling me about his plans to transfer law schools over the summer:

"I was thinking about transferring to Cincinnati. How funny would that be."

"Yeah, but I probably won't even be here then," I lamented, "I am kind of looking forwrard to leaving Ohio as soon as I graduate."

"You won't even consider working for any Cincinnati firms at all?" Mr J asked.

I paused. As much as I dislike Cincy and don't want to work for any firms in the area, except for, maybe, one that's not even hiring right now, I enjoyed the idea of being near Mr J. I mean, I've always talked about me rather being single for years and years and waiting for that "right guy" to come along than settling for some average Joe Schmo, but when that right guy did seem to come along, shouldn't I be making a bit of an effort to not move away thousands of miles away from him?

"I don't know. I mean, you never know what's gonna happen. I still have a bit of time to decide, I could possibly consider a firm or two in town if I don't get any other lucrative offers from any other places," I mumbled with uncertainty.

We left the conversation at that, cuddled up in a tight embrace, unresolved in the status of our relationship. Call me crazy but I could see giving up my fun single life and growing old and wrinkly with this guy. Call me insane but I've never had feelings like I have for him for anyone else, not even for previous boyfriends of two years. So the question now becomes... do I consider altering my life plans for this guy (something that I can potentially regret for the rest of my life)? Do I follow my career and leave any potential for a relationship behind? Do I do nothing and wait to see if time apart from each other cools off our feelings for one another?

I am still open to a possibility of dating other people here in Cincinnati, but I would be very suprised if I find anyone, even remotely as awesome as Mr J, here in Ohio or elsewhere. Perhaps the deciding factor would be whether or not Mr J feels the same way about me too.

I just really hate waiting in a limbo.

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Torn Between Two

When I was out with Mr H last night, Mr J texted me several times. I ignored it.
He called me several times around 2am. I ignored it.
He texted me more but I was too preoccupied with Mr H. So I ignored it.

And then in my inbox this morning, I saw this:
"looks like you messed things up last night. if there is one thing i do not take from anyone is to be out right ignored, and lied to. the last thing you texted me was that ur at a bar...you've answered your phone at a bar when ive called before, let alone text me...and then you went on to ignore me further by not texting me back when you "got home" which is why i finding the fact you went home alone highly doubtful. So I'm sure you are seeing someone or at least you did last night...it was very inconsiderate of you to not as much as text me back when it was clear that i was upset by your ignoring me. If you really do "like" me, it's gonna take one hell of an explanation to get me to understand, as of not i could care less if we talk again, from how you ignored me last night...it was beyond rude."

He, of course, is not my boyfriend so the jealousy issues need to be dealt with, on his personal time. I, however, am being deceitful in not telling him about Mr H. So what, right? I don't owe him anything... but I do, however, feel like a shady person for not revealing the truth and letting it be known, once and for all, that I just might be moving on.

I could tell Mr J the truth about Mr H. That would, without a doubt, put an end to anything I've had with Mr J. My dilemma is that the romance with Mr H is still so brand new and I don't know nearly enough about him to know if he really is who he says he is and I still miss Mr J so much and we share so much history.... In the end, depending on a decision I make, I might just end up alone.

But I guess I can't have my cake and eat it too, so I need to make that decision, even if it means losing Mr J in the end.

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So Am I Completely in the Wrong Here?

I am a very rational person with rare outbursts of completely unruly passion that I allow to seep through the pores of my skin only once in a blue moon. I am the one who does not easily give into temptation, I am the one who, even while drunk, can be an excellent cock blocker for my friends, much to the chagrin of the creepy men who tend to take advantage of drunk girls at bars. I am the voice of reason - the one who tells my best friend not to hook up with a married seductress he works with, no matter how much she tells him that the flame of passion is long gone from her marriage.

With Mr. January, I decided to take the opposite route. I took a step toward getting a feel for what it would be like to emotionally give myself to someone. I took a chance on my unconditional falling in love, or rather, unconditional love took a chance on me. And, as the story goes, the harder you fall in love, the harder it is to get yourself out of a grave you dug with your own shovel.

I asked Mr. January last night if he'd be up for me visiting him this weekend and he replied with, "I would love that but I don't think that's such a good idea."

And I went, "Well I really want to see you even though we might not see each other again for a while."

And he hesitated. Even through the text messages, I sensed him putting his guard up. And for very brief but very crucial fine minutes thereafter, I tried my best to seduce him with promises and reminders of how much fun we have every time we see each other. And he said, "Well,I am not saying no. I will let you know tomorrow, for sure. I will assess how much work I will have this weekend and get back to you. " And blah blah blah, and I know he will text me tomorrow with an apology and a list of excuses. And I know why he is making those excuses. I know where he is coming from and I simply don't care, though I am already feeling the premature sadness creeping on. I want him to say, "Come over" and deal with consequences later, but I know that message will never come.

I know, I texted him in a moment of incredible weakness. My heart was feeling fragile and restless and I was longing for companionship. He was the one I thought of in this fragment of weakness, he is the one I always think about and I can't bare the thought of thinking about him being with someone else. Someone other than me. I wanted to see him before I moved back to school. I wanted to keep our memories of each other as fresh as possible.

Work and career always came first for me, but with Mr. J, my world was turned upside down the minute he walked into my life. This is what makes it so hard to passively watch him drift out of it, especially knowing that distance is the only thing making my love for him, not only unbearable, but painful.

And now, I am so missing our passionate drunk and sober texts we'd send each other all the time. I am missing his eyes. I am missing the way he judged people and the way he argued about politics. I am missing absolutely everything about him.

Can we all go through life taking care of our finances before we take care of our hearts? I might sound like Carrie Bradshaw right now, and in a way, I feel like her, as I am trying to pour my emotions and confusions onto my glossy laptop screen (sans a burning cigarette in my hand). But I can't help but wonder if I am viewing my summer romance with incredibly rose colored glasses or if Mr. J truly has a truly legitimate point. Maybe love can't conquer all, after all.

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And Once Again It's on...

Some things always remain the same. The sky, inevitably, is always blue. College kids, inevitably, always grow up and forget their wayward ways to become more responsible adults. Some douchebags always remains douchebags, and some people still dilute themselves into thinking that they are still 25 and they can dress the part even though their are several decades older.

Other things do change though. Like today, through Facebook of course, I found out that one of my long-term exes proposed to his girlfriend of one year. My first reaction was, thankfully, not, "Oh no! The one that got away!!" It was more like, "Oh Jesus, Mr. Moneybags, you were able to afford a decent ring in THIS economy."

I mean, I guess that's always a good sign when I am feeling more competitive with the dude's money than his love interest. I think that might have been the ultimate test of whether or not I may still have any feelings for him, if I ever needed a test to prove the obvious. Today's emotions showed that, no, indeed, I was not secretly pining over my ex boyfriend and wishing for his ass to come back into my lap.

An engagement is a monumental thing though, not just from a monetary stand point. It does require a level of commitment from a guy that is usually to be appauded. An engagement ritual usually involves a long and agonizing process of a guy pondering whether or not he really wants to propose and give up all the hot chicks lining up to spread the legs for him (trust me, this was SO not the case with my ex...), deciding on the price and the amount to spend, and the actual trip to the store (hopefully that store name does not begin with Wal and end with Mart) to buy the said ring.

An engagement is indeed a prelude to marriage. My ex has always been one of those people who has been painfully dependent on being with someone and on striving for that ultimate field goal that, for him, constitutes a faithful, blissful marriage. While I am happy dancing in clubs on Friday nights, burning the midnight oil on Mondays and drinking my mid-week beer on Wednesdays, he is happy to be with his girl. And while I whole-heartedly admire and respect his goals, I cannot relate them to my own, at this point in my life.

Hell, if Mr. January himself proposed to me today, I'd be all like, "Babe, let's go have a couple of shots and dance it off at a club and talk it over in the morning." Of course, this is coming from a girl who has all the potential to evolve into a 70-year-old crazy cat lady who slaps the perfectly-toned asses of her nursing home attendants and lives in the la-la-land of the better days.

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Dance of Fire

So much has occurred, some things planned and some things unplanned, over the course of the last month. Firstly, I got a 6-month job in Louisville. Yeah, due to the economic crisis I sort of had to abandon dreams of New York City or LA rather quickly. Not because I couldn't afford apartments there or anything, but simply because all of the firms I applied to replied back with "We regret to inform you that we are not in a position to hire at this time." Great. Louisville it is. I just keep going, slowly but surely, deeper and deeper down South.

Which, to be perfectly clear, I don't mind at all. Nothing really holding me back or prompting me to stay in Cincinnati. Nothing or no one ever did. The guy that I was sort of seeing... both of them actually - the one who didn't take me out of Valentine's Day and the one who did - they're both still okay and I kind of like them both. The one who blew me off, let's call him Mr. Flaky... we still have a really strong friendship bond and I am attracted to him physically like I am attracted to no other. But at the same time there's this laconic feeling about the whole thing with him - I don't really make the effort to see him and the bulk of our communication occurs online.

Despite the lack of enthusiasm on both of our parts, I still sort of think that maybe we still have a potential of being together... in a couple of years or so. He's the type of guy who can hold my interest and keep me guessing without appearing to be completely shady. He's the type of guy who I still want after three months of knowing him, and that is saying a whole lot. Even though I am not a firm believer in fate, this is where I have to put up my hands and leave it up to it, because if, per chance, we're meant to cross our romantic paths in some distant future, this will happen with or without me doing anything about it.

On a slightly more personal note, this week will make exactly one year of me, well... not bumping uglies with anyone. It's probably a big deal for a lot of people, especially those who are in healthy relationships, but for me it's, in many ways, just another week. Do I miss sex? Of course. But can I go for another year without it, if push comes to shove? Yeah, no problem in that department.

I don't know if that makes me weird or simply extremely picky. I saw this documentary where a bunch of people talked about themselves and their "issues" while completely naked in front of the camera. And at first their bodies and imperfections were supremely distracting, but after a while I felt really connected to the rawness of their uncensored emotions. It was like, holy shit, it takes guts to strip down to bare essentials and talk about stuff like love, cancer, abuse.

Well, there was this one woman who was stunningly beautiful - probably in her late thirties. She spoke about how she willingly was staying away from sex and she's been doing that for six years. And her reasoning was that she had a very hard time opening up to anyone and feeling like men were genuinely into her. I guess I kind of feel the same way, where in the beginning of dating I don't really open up and guard my feelings and monitor what I say. And then when some time passes and I do feel like I'm ready to open up, the guys are no longer worthy of the effort - my feelings fade away.

Mr. Flaky makes me act a bit more uncensored about myself. I feel like I can talk to him about sex and what I want and I like that. But then again, with him I have a perfectly casual friendship (that can on occasion be more sexually charged than during other times) so maybe that's exactly why I can open up to him - because I am not putting all of my eggs in one basket. All in all, he's freaking sexy and if fantasizing about him is the most action I get this year, I won't be extremely heart-broken about it. I'd rather wait for a guy who's really worth my time then go on a casual sex rampage amidst some Louisville bars.

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