Straying Away

It was an honest mistake and, even though, I did not mean any harm by it, I can't honestly say that there was nothing remotely sinister behind my decision to talk to my friend's handsome Aussie friend that night at a club.

I suppose I was feeling a bit lonely and I was feeling particularly friendly because the Aussie bought us girls a bottle of Belvedere to share. And then there were several rounds of shots that I simply could not refuse.

The Aussie and I talked extensively that night, but I was fluttering around from person to person being overly social and not paying any attention to anyone in particular. But perhaps... No, not perhaps... With all certainty, he felt like there was a bit of a connection. And I guess that can happen...  that fabricated type of a connection that can only happen in a nightclub. After a few rounds of drinks and a few accidental looks at each other, he felt persuaded to ask for my number.

He knew I had a boyfriend from the very moment we met and though I felt compelled to insist that he did not need my number, he somehow obtained it anyway. (To be fair, I was probably the one giving it to him, though I must have been pretty drunk, as I do not recall any such interaction.)

I should not have been surprised when he texted me the next day. What should have surprised me was that I texted him back and we carried on an on-and-off conversation for the next two weeks... Chatting about this and that, and me allowing him to simply say "hey" to me in a seemingly-innocent manner all up until the point when my boyfriend came back from the army and just happened to glance at my phone and see the Aussie's name light up on my iPhone screen.

I knew that the Aussie knew that I had a boyfriend. Yet, somehow, even though I could never admit it to my boyfriend ("We're just friends!" I insisted to him over and over again), I felt that I was enjoying the attention of a guy who was clearly trying to forge a connection with me, regardless of the fact that I was attached.

I refused to understand my boyfriend's concerns. I refused to see why he thought that my daily long-distance conversations with a 2-week friend could be misconstrued as inappropriate. I had to sleep on it and wake up with a clear head the next day in order to understand exactly what was going on.

The truth is... it's hard to let go of old habits. Like a dedicated bachelor, I refused to let go of the right to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I refused to account for someone else's feelings. I refused to be unselfish.

The thing is.... ultimately, it is MY problem that I was enjoying prolonged attention from a clearly-interesed guy. It is MY problem that I still party way harder than my 21-year old boyfriend. It is MY problem that I can't see why he is feeling insecure when I come home at 5am when he is training to serve and protect his country and doesn't even get to get a glimpse at an occasional pretty girl when he wants to.

It is, therefore, my duty to change my ways a bit before it's too late and he loses his trust in me. Perhaps, it is time to grow up a bit and whole-heartedly commit to one man and one man only.

After all, why not make a sacrifice for the guy who I feel I can spend the rest of my life with?

I suppose, at the very least, I should give it a try.

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Of Rich Men and Their Dillusions

I received a text from a gentleman I got the mis-pleasure to briefly get acquainted with at a club last week. I must have mistaken his arrogance for interest, because it is the only excuse as to why I gave him my number in the first place and to a shitshow of a text I received from him, literally, minutes ago.

Let's keep in mind that the "gentleman" is, allegedly, 31 years old, so proper spelling, you would think, should be a must. However....

"I can make you laugh alot. I am not serious and quite talkative. And after few drinks i can talk even more. I am naughty and would love to see you soon.

I have seen that you are taller than me still i wanted to go for you coz i feel like it and i have no objections with that but may be you will feel strange dating a man shorter than you. I love wine and i can take you to wine connection at Robertson quay or else at screening room. You will enjoy with me as i have a taste for white girls from US. Don't ask me why... but i have to be honest here that i don't date locals here so its been a while i have been on a date.

And yeah i am spontaneous and quite open minded. A spend thrift and does not care for money and finances.

Life is small and we must live it to fullest. Do you get drunk often?? I do get drunk if i am with a beautiful girl like you or a like minded company to go out with.

My work place is at Tg Pagar, lets meet one day after i return from shanghai (business trip)"

I, of course, just HAD to response to this exhibit of pure, unadulterated Shakespearean poetry:

"Hi there, with all due respect you seem like an intelligent and very driven individual, but I am getting a feeling from your text that we are not looking for quite the same thing.

I understand that some women are attracted to financial stability and the prospect of "getting stuff for free", but I can very well hold my own. Rather, I am looking for something that is more genuine and it is very hard to find in a city like Singapore. I do, however, know with certainty that I will not find ANYTHING genuine with you. Have a nice day. "

Yeah, yeah... I kept it surprisingly level-headed. I had to. One of us had to be the grown up in the situation and it sure as hell wasn't this cretin of a human being.

Can't help but laugh at shit like this though, right?

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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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How to Behave During a Break-Up (A Classy Edition)

Ladies, (and I'm sorry gentlemen if I am leaving you out of this, but I can't really direct this to you personally as the post below will be coming from direct personal experience).... Ladies, you are about to get dumped. You know it, you've been feeling it coming for quite some time and though you did not want to accept it as reality... you did know that this was going to happen sooner rather than later.

A part of you probably wants to scream and shout and say phrases like "Fuck men!" and "I am going to remain single for the rest of my life!" A part of you wants to post vaguely bitchy messages on Facebook and run your mouth to all those that are willing to listen, telling them what an inadequate son of a bitch you ex-boyfriend really was and, probably, still is.

But, here's the deal. You are better than that. You are well educated, accomplished and kind of a big deal. You've got men (granted, not the men that you want...) swooning all over you and you've pretty much got your shit together (minus those random drunken nights that you had one too many... those things you pretty much want to forget). Keep it together. Follow the simple rules below and you're gonna come out as the absolute class act out of this breakup.

1) Wear a killer outfit to the place where you are going to have The Break-Up Talk. A coffee shop? A park? Yes, regardless, try to look flawless and effortless. Tell him that you are coming straight from work but, instead, take your time to put yourself together in a classy sleek, hip-hugging pencil skirt and a cute top. Make yourself look sexy but not slutty. Show him what he is going to be missing out on and do not, for one second, look remorseful about anything.

2) Be kind, flash a restrained smile and make statements like, "Of course, I understand. " Give a supporting reason why you DO understand so that it doesn't seem like you are agreeing just for the sake of agreeing.

3) Look at your watch or your cell phone clock, discretely but noticeably, as he is pouring his soul out to you as to why he cannot take the next step in a relationship. You are polite but you are also a busy woman. You've got places to go and little time to waste on people like your unimportant ex-boyfriend.

4) Do not flirt with the cute waiter that serves you your cappuccino, but look at him just for a second too long. Long enough for your ex to notice that, yes, you will be ready to move on in no time.

5) Do give him a hug goodbye. The kind of hug you would typically give your brother.

6) Do not turn around and look back once you've said the final parting words. Walk away with dignity. You never have to see him again. You will have more than enough opportunities for rebounds and relationships and breakups. He will be a blur in your timeline (thanks, Facebook, for ruining THAT word for me) in no time.

7) Do not cry. Convince yourself that you are all right. You ARE all right. Fake it 'til you make it and keep walking with your head held high.

True Story. Goodbye, Banker (and as much as I think that you're a stellar guy, go fuck yourself, nevertheless).

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St(r)aying Away

Maybe I am just not good at relationships.

No, I'm not the best, but I tried. I definitely tried with this guy, that's for sure.

The impending feeling of doom is settling down upon me and I can see, with a considerable amount of fear, that this relationship might, just might, be winding down and seeing the last of its days.

But how can I full-heartedly invest in a guy who, point blank, says straight to my face that he is feeling so homesick that he is considering moving back to the States in as soon as four months? That he is thinking about continuing his career back home, somewhere in California, eighteen hours away from me.

I want to say, please stay, don't go. I like you so much. We've got such a thing going here.

But instead, I am numb and silent with the realization that he, despite introducing me to his brother and friends, and giving me the code to his apartment, is choosing something else over me.

How can I carry on with him as if nothing is happening when, in my head, there is a silent but deadly countdown of days left to spend with him. How can I not try my damnest to become as detached as he is?

I had this shit happen to me once when I told a guy I was moving away for grad school. I did not expect that he was going to abandon me, as suddenly as he did, then.

This time I can leave elegantly, quietly, and with dignity in tact. This time I can ignore that timid tug of heart that keeps telling me to stay and just see what happens. To text him one more time to see if he wants to go for a mid-afternoon bike ride or if he wants to hang out at his apartment or go to the pool.

This time I can even ask why the hell he is doing this to me... if I muster up enough courage.

This time. Before the four month death sentence rolls around.

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Broken Teeth and Wounded Hearts

A tragedy transpired recently upon which I was left disfigured and disappointed.

Okay, maybe not exactly disfigured, but pretty self-conscious and a bit terrified at the same time. You see,Ii have had this filling in my front tooth for about a year. My last dentist was kind of shitty when it came to certain things, like performing routine examinations on one's teeth and I, unfortunately, was one of his involuntary victims.

A year ago, he blissful filed away at my front tooth that only had a minimal amount of cavity evidence and slapped a filling to cover up the gap. A year later, (this week to be exact) as I was happily munching away at a slice of cheese, I felt something chip off in my mouth. Suddenly, the previously soft and mushy slice of cheese in my mouth started tasting rather crunchy. I pulled out a little piece of white solid from my mouth and felt a newly-formed gap between my front teeth with my tongue. Much to my horror, my fears were justified as I felt a small chunk of tooth missing from the front of my beautiful veneers.

Son of a bitch!

I was supposed to see The Banker that night but almost canceled on the count of him seeing me looking like a beauty queen at a meth addict pageant, but he insisted on me coming over. He said that I would look beautiful even if I had George Washington's wooden teeth.

Whatever, man. That cheesy line worked and shortly after work that day I was on a subway to his place, trying not to smile to strangers with my toothless void.

The Banker gave me a hug as soon as I entered his apartment and, slowly but surely, I started to feel all the tension just melt away. I had all the intentions, mind you, to speak my mind and inquire him about his prowls on the dating site that night. But, just like my tension, I felt my anger and the sense of urgency just melt away as he wrapped his arms around me.

He hugged me, he reassured me, he made my worries go away, even if temporary, for a couple of minutes or so. We settled on his couch and he laid down, with his head resting on my lap as we eventually started drifting away to sleep after our respective days of work and health-related troubles.

It was not until shortly past midnight that I started to feel myself waking up. It was one of those lucid dream-like states, where I was aware that I was awake but I was still drowsily engrossed in a dream I must have been having just a second prior to waking up. I felt my sense of reality tighten around the fact that it must have been late and that I should be getting home. I wanted to say, "I am falling asleep.." to The Banker to let him know that I should be leaving to go home shortly.

Instead, I said..

"I am falling in love..."

Oh.

OH FUCK!

It sort of came out very awkwardly, like "I am falling in lov..shhlalalblahblahargh... I'm falling asleep! I mean I'm falling asleep!" I was trying to eat my own words and try to quickly think of what I really wanted to say.

The lights were dim in the room, otherwise, if he had been fully awake, The Banker would have seen my face turn beet red. I tried to play it off as a no-big-deal type of situation. But, really, I just wanted to turn back time and take back that Freudian slip of a tongue. Shortly after, still mortified, I gathered my things and left his place to go home.

"See ya this weekend!" I said and slammed the door behind me in a rush to get out of there and be left alone with my thoughts. I am foolish to even hope that he had not heard what I said.

I think he just wanted to ignore it and pretend like he did not hear me.

To be truthful, I just have this feeling (and whenever I get this feeling, I am usually right) that he is just not going to get involved with me past the point we are already at. And instead of keeping my distance, I say crap like that to him.

Careless. I am never this careless. I don't like this one bit.

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Color Me Confused

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But really,

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

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Unofficial Official

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. THAT moment.

It feels damn good, doesn't it?

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

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

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

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

Just a girl that is unofficial as the last one.

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

Nothing more. Nothing less.

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Friends with Some Benefits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Hung. (Over?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I mean, continuously making out throughout the night.

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

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

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

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Where Did You Go, Love?

I'm gonna try and make it my first blog post with a video snippet. This is what I did last night. You can hear The Banker and I in the background talking...





Basically, to make a long story not so long, I am getting about neck deep in this shit-filled lake of juggling two guys on two different sides of the world. I can't get the courage to confess about what I am doing to either of the men and, as bizarre as it might sound, a part of me is hoping that I get called out on my devious doings by one of the dudes, so the final decision is made for me.

Now that was a paragraph that I'd never thought I'd type in my entire life.

And with the double life that I am leading right now, well, I am just hoping that I have more time to figure out if The Banker likes me for me (cause, honestly, I still think he's hiding something) or if Mr J can handle us being apart for two years. It's this double life... it's becoming so polarizing, a game of two extremes. The extravagant lifestyle beyond my wildest dreams by weekend and a homely version of (almost) playing house with Mr J that I am living during the week.

Last night, it's dinner, drinks, bottle service... with The Banker and his finance friends. Flirting over vodka drinks, dancing suggestively with my dude du jour.... deliberate hand touching, hips swinging in his direction, body heat between us... Music, enveloping us in its seductive spell.... Me, forgetting for the nth time about the other man on the other side of the world... Giving into the temptation that is right in front of me, like a dangling carrot.

The Banker, taking my hand and whispering in my ear if I want to get out of the club... Me, in a half-dazed state, nodding, smiling, brushing the strands of my hair off my face in an attempt to look sexy before I tighten the grip of my fingers around his hand and follow him outside into the warm night...

Late night making out... clothes falling on the floor...

I wish I could say it was all unplanned and not premeditated. But I would be lying. I knew damn well what I was doing.

And this afternoon, a different story. Skyping for three hours with Mr J...

"So you found some new friends in Singapore? You're hanging out with investment bankers now, you say? Anyone flirting with you?" He asks me with a not-so-subtle hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Yeah, sometimes... but I brush them off..." I say. I look so convincing in my mirror image on Skype.

"So there are no other guys in your life? Does that mean you still like me and wanna make this work? You're not gonna cheat on me, are you?"

"No, there are no other guys..." I feel like a fool, trying to convince him of something that I know is a lie, "But are we even together at this point? With all the fighting we've been doing lately, I am confused..."

"Yeah, we're together. Of course, we're together..." he says. He seems so sincere and tender and I see the unspoken love in his eyes. It's 2am on a Saturday night in Chicago, and he's talking to me. He doesn't care about any other women... I know it for a fact.

I think he loves me. I think I am getting what I've been asking for for the last 2.5 years.

Except now I am not so sure that I want it any more....

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My Heart Full of Deceit

I'm being a bad fucking person these days. And excuse the following, profanity-peppered post, but this is what I do when I'm in distress. I curse.

Funny thing is, I wrote this whole long post that I am about to rewrite from memory earlier today and when I clicked "Publish Post", the whole thing got erased. It's like even this blog doesn't want to be associated with my insanity.

But I need to get this off my chest, otherwise, I feel like I'm going to lose my marbles for good.

It's just that.. I've always followed rules when it came to dating. Not even rules, but more like guidelines. Never fall for two people at the same time, never date one guy right after another, don't do anything but kiss on the first three dates, be upfront and honest, etc etc. But apparently, the fucking rules are out of the window on this little island or, at least, the rules no longer apply.

How was I supposed to know, when I met The Banker for our first date at the alley bar, that I'd actually start falling for him?

Regardless of what I expected or didn't expect, I should have told Mr J that I needed space and time to cool things with him and that I wanted to date other people. But I'm a fucking coward because here I am, three dates deep with The Banker and having him - this seemingly-wonderful, sexy, funny, smart as hell man - telling me that I am a girl like no other, and I still haven't told Mr J about any of the high-jinks I've been up to.

Why haven't I been upfront up to this point? Why am I still not upfront even as this sting of guilt is beginning to weigh down on my conscience more and more with every passing day?

I know why. Because Mr J has been less than pleasant with his refusal to tell me that he misses me because "it's no use to talk about emotions while we are half the world apart". Because his incessant fear/controlling behaviour over what I am doing and am I "hooking up" with people has reached a boiling point way before I even met The Banker.

I know why. Because I am selfishly looking out for MY best interest... Because I am still not sure if The Banker is for real and all of his wining and dining has been happening because he is genuinely smitten by me or if he is just waiting to sleep with me and be done with it.

I mean, like yesterday, I was sitting in this five-star Mario Batali restaurant, and as cultured, sophisticated and classy as I consider myself to be, I felt like the whole experience was so beyond and out of my league. My legs were nervously shaking as I was picking my $40 "first course" and hesitating which $70 "second course" I wanted to order, all the while sipping on $200 wine. And there he was, across the table from me, with a million-dollar smile and the most beautiful deep hazel eyes I had ever seen. It was so out of my league but it was more than perfect.

This man, I don't care how rich he is, cannot be just doing all of this just because he is smitten. If he's smitten. I don't care how attractive he thinks I am, I'm sure he could buy anything and anyone if he wanted, so why me? Is he trying to buy me, which would be absolutely vomit-inducing in my book? Or is he so fascinated with my boring chitter-chatter about architecture and construction documents that I blabbered on and on about during our dinner? Fucking yawn.

With all of this out of the way, I have no excuse to keep leading Mr J and to lie to The Banker. I don't care whether the latter is an international playboy or a truly one-in-a-million absolutely genuine, incredible guy that he seems to be.

I just can't seem to bring myself to tell Mr J the truth. We've been on and off and doing this hamster wheel game for 2.5 years now and there is no end in sight, that is unless I put an end to it now. But I loved or love or something.... him and a part of me knows that it is way too soon to jump from one man to another.

I sicken myself thinking than only 45 days ago I was helping Mr J with his web site, making plans with him to come visit me for Christmas when I fly home from Singapore. Only 45 days ago I was so, so, so into loving him even though the word love was never said once.

But another part of me wants, wants, WANTS what another man seems to now be so willingly wanting to bring to the table. It wants what I couldn't ever get with Mr J. Affection, companionship, proximity. And in order to have this from The Banker, I have to move on from Mr J.

This is a fucked up mess and I don't see a clean way out. No matter what I do from now on, I will be a cold-hearted bitch in someone's eyes.

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All My Life I've Been Good..

So Mr J are "on a break." And I'm thinking, what the hell?

I mean, I'm the first one to admit when I'm wrong. Okay, okay, maybe not the first one, but, within all the reasonable bounds, I can admit with some reluctance when I need to modify my behavior or apologize to a person when I, intentionally or unintentionally, offend them.

But with Mr. J, I am totally the one who is pretty much always right.

And throughout this entire relationship, I've been fairly good and well-behaved. Despite us living hundreds of miles apart, I have not once drunkenly made out with anyone at a bar. I have compromised my values more than once just to not start any fights with J. I have been willing to stick it out with him through thick and thin, even when my friends rolled their eyes and said "You're STILL with him? You can find a MUCH better guy for yourself."

And now he wants to be "on a break" because we fight too much (and who's fault exactly is that?!) and because he is "not sure if we can make it".

Man, I just don't think that I am the one in this relationship who deserves to be put on hold and told that my presence in his life has been stressing him out lately.

I've been good. I've been really good, damn it. But right now, quite frankly, I feel like cheating on him with a gorgeous lawyer that I could meet at a bar on any given night.

And normally, I am not the one for having and condoning these types of thoughts: "Cheating is never okay.. blah blah blah..." But the truth of the matter is, I have been so good lately, that it's pretty exciting to think bad thoughts. I do not feel appreciated. I will be spending yet another Valentine's Day without a freaking gift or a hint of acknowledgment. I feel like I could use a sexy distraction.

Mr J better watch out because his self-imposed "break" on our relationship just might become a permanent one.

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The End

You know it really is over, when your heart hurts the most.

I have felt this pain only a few times in my life... but I am afraid to admit, that this pain lasted me more than a few months. I have to remember how strong I was during those fragile months and keep on with all my gathered strength... I have to keep on and know and believe that one day, everything really does get better.

What I am driving at is...

Mr J and I, however on and off that relationship has been for the last two years, are done for good. I deleted him from my phone, facebook, blackberry messenger, Skype. Anything that I could have possibly done, I did.

You see, he was supposed to come and visit me in less than three weeks but, in true Mr J's fashion he started saying things like "I don't know if I should come.. it might be too painful not knowing when I am going to see you again..." Blah blah, fucking blah

For a few minutes, I tried to convince him that he should come. That no matter what our future holds for us, we should treasure the few and far moments of togetherness and just hope for the best.

But am I supposed to even try to convince him?

I couldn't help but keep crying as I went through all my technological outlets of contacting him. Do you know how fucking bad it hurts? This pain is far too familiar but, I'll be damned, I forgot just how raw it feels.

I am right here, in that moment that everyone who's ever been in a relationship dreads. I've got my mascara running down both cheeks. I am sitting here and wondering "What if." What if I could have said anything differently. What if I could have convinced him somehow. What if...

But, at some point, there are no more what ifs in the game of love. You either try or you don't. He, by saying that he doesn't want to come see me any more, stopped trying. And I, by removing his name from my life, ended it once and for all.

I am strong in my utmost fragility. I will persevere. Love, however important it might be, does not define me, nor does it complete me. I will survive.

But for now I just want to have my moment and cry a little bit in complete silence, before anyone sees me crumble. After all is said and done, I'd rather have loved and lost, than not loved at all.

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Surviving the Zoo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All throughout the night...

"Those bitches are fine!"

"Look at you with your pink lipstick."

"Yo, mama, come here!"

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

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

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

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

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Can We Talk about This?

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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Rules of Infatuation

The men of Cincinnati (and I am generalizing here a bit) have very odd dating tendencies. To put it kindly.

When I moved to Cincinnati a few years go, I thought Philly, my hometown, was bad. Boy, was I not prepared for the lovely Midwestern surprise that welcomed me to the Queen city with its open, cow-tipping and bocce-playing arms.

Going from one unsuccessful date to another, I finally came to a conclusion that it would better for my sanity to never date anyone from Cincinnati again. It's not that guys here are absolutely insane - no, they make perfectly lovely friends, but when it comes to crossing that friendship line into the dating realm, the quirky tendencies slowly involve into creepy behavior and the weirdness just comes pouring out like that oil leak down in the Gulf Coast.

However, this self-imposed dating ban does not apply to people who were not originally born in Cincinnati. As long as the dudes were born, or grew up elsewhere, I found that I could get along with them more easily. We could more readily find subjects to talk about that did not involve the latest Over The Rhine (Harlem Lite, if you will) "hot spots" or going "four-wheeling" on Sunday afternoons.

So through my turmoil with Mr J, I continued to keep my options open, while being cautiously optimistic about the Cincinnati dating scene. And there were a few rays of hope in the sea of blandness. For example, when I met the Entrepreneur, who is originally from LA and is a bar owner and promoter, I found him to be refreshingly worldly and verbose without being pompous.

But is he living up to my expectations today, after four or five dates that I've been on with him thus far?

On the surface, there is nothing wrong with the man. I will stand by my initial assessment of him being charming and well-versed and quite cute, but I will also admit that something is just... not quite right.

Like the other night, he invited me to his bar opening in an unnamed Cincinnati suburb and made it sound like it was going to be a classy, top-of-the-world affair. I understood that a classy affair in Cincinnati wouldn't be quite up to the standards of most of the major US cities, but I was looking forward to a night out on a town, a couple of drinks and an engaging conversation with the Entrepreneur more than I was looking for anything over-the-top out of the bar itself.

"You're looking lovely, my love," he flashed his smile upon my arrival at the front door. I forced out a reciprocating gesture of acknowledgment and tried to ignore how many "loves" he used in a single sentence. After all, it was his night, his opening - I was a guest at his party and I intended to be nothing but gracious.

However, my graciousness quickly left the building as soon as I was seated at a rustic table in the dark corner of a poorly-lit outdoor patio. My good intentions were quickly replaced by the feelings of disappointment and resentment as the Entrepreneur excused himself from the table shortly after seating me to shake some hands of the new arrivals and check on the supplies of Absolut and Ciroc and the front bar.

I ordered a drink from a bored cocktail waitress and slammed a 5 dollar bill on a table. God forbid I get a one free drink after driving for almost thirty minutes to support Entrepreneur in his venture. I sat there, shivering from the frighteningly chilly wind gusts for a good number of minutes and by myself. The sparse crowds were not providing too much entertainment in terms of people-watching and I was quickly relegated to pulling out my phone and attempting to look busy fake-texting no one.

The Entrepreneur came back with one Diet Coke in his hand and plopped his ass next to me on a bench.

"How are you doing, love?", he asked, oblivious to my discontent.
"Oh fine, great, you know. Just glad it's Friday..." I pulled out my standard "Oh thank God it's Friday, this week's been hell" line that I usually use minutes before I politely duck out of a lame party early.

"Oh I understand completely. So when's your graduation?" he twirled the tiny straw in his glass, mixing the soda with the melting ice cubes.

"Next week," I answered absent-mindedly. I was completely done being charming for the night.

"That's great. You should be so proud of yourself. So do you think I can come to you graduation and meet the folks?"

Oh hell to the no. I was glad I wasn't sipping on any liquids at that moment 'cause, surely, they would have probably come out of my nostrils in the sheer impulse of shock and amusement.

"I... we only have a limited number of seating arrangements at the arena. I had to make reservations for my parents well in advance..."

Maybe he knew I was lying to him - I really could barely keep a straight face. Bringing a man to one of the most important events of my life is something that I would do only if I was involved in a serious relationship with him, certainly not after just four casual dates.

I left within an hour of arriving at the Entrepreneur's bar with a sour but familiar taste of disappointment in my mouth. The good thing was that he, too, felt that the chemistry between us fizzled out all in the sixty-minute time span.

Or so I thought.

At approximately 2am early in the morning, just around the time of the bar closing, I received a text message from the Entrepreneur, laying out his feelings on a table:
"I'm sorry if I seemed nervous. I suppose it's due to the level of infatuation I have for you."

I couldn't believe it. After such a lackluster night, I, somehow, managed to sweep the man off his feet, all while having no intentions of being flirtatious or charming or sweet. Perhaps, I've been approaching this dating game from a wrong angle but, as it stands right now, the next man I may or may not go on a date with will not be our Entrepreneur.

After all, Mr J is still very much on my mind, even if he is thousands of miles away.

Damn it.

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Insignificant Others

You are insignificant to me. An insignificant other, I think, as I walk down this concrete sidewalk in the late hours of a Saturday afternoon that's well past its prime. I embellished you and made you into this wonderful creature of a man in my own head, yet you think nothing of pulling quite a little number on me.

I pass a college-age couple holding hands on their way to Potbelly and I smirk at the idea of holding hands with anyone. Ever. I am frigid and will not be letting my fingers loose any time soon, not even for a single moment because a single moment is enough for me to clench that Blackberry and type a dramatic one-liner to you.

I can end it with you right now. But I am still waiting.

You want me to get on that roller-coaster of an emotional ride where the high peaks are counteracted by the deep and infuriating lows. You want to make me feel how intense of an effect you have on me by making me go from balling my eyes out on my bed in a fetal position to throwing something at you and punch a hole in my apartment wall, one right after another. But I won't/I'll try not to.

I enter Potbelly to order a sandwich and stand behind the lovey-dovey couple, half-heartedly contemplating getting a tuna sandwich with swiss cheese and a bottle of Orangina. You pop up in my head again and distract me enough to not be able to formulate a cohesive order once I approach the sandwich girl behind the counter.

"One second, I haven't decided yet," I mutter and step back, letting the people behind me place their orders instead.

The chalk-board with daily soup and milkshake specials is to the left of me and I pretend to be perusing the selection, deep in thought. Meanwhile, I unfold the palm of my hand and look down at my Blackberry, as my anxiety builds up inside and threatens to spill over.

This must be the fiftieth time today that I've checked my phone hoping for something, anything from you.

No messages. No messages for three days, while you're galloping around somewhere in the exotic Mediterranean lands with your study-abroad friends. Do you believe that?

I curse my Blackberry and technology of the last twenty years in general for making me feel so alienated while being so connected to the world. I can't miss a single newsletter in my Gmail inbox from Architectural Record, yet your daily updates have been abruptly cut down from three or four to none.

"Are you ready to order?" the sandwich girl urges me to make a decision and prevent me from blocking the inflow of customers coming in for a dinner after some baseball game.

"Yeah... tuna sandwich on white bread with provologne... please..."

My meal is the least of my problems right now.

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The Near-Death Experience

I was sitting at the Greene Turtle in the Baltimore/Washington D.C. airport, coming back from a fun and sun-filled vacation in Ft. Myers with three of my friends and having a cheeseburger slider, when I began to feel funny.

At first, I tried to ignore it and concentrate on the West Virginia/Kentucky basketball game that was on on one of the flat screen TV's at the restaurant. The feeling came and went in short, rapid waves at first - I fell fine one minute and not so fine the next - but it was bearable. However, as minutes went by, the faint pain coming from the left side of my chest began to spread up and down and across my body.

I took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the dull, persistent ache and concentrate on my friends' conversation, but the pain began to spread to my eyes now. I felt my vision get blurry and my fingers began to shake uncontrollably.

"Are you ok?" one of my friends looked at me with some concern from across the table.

"I... I don't know," I didn't want to cause commotion but I was becoming alarmed.

"What hurts?" he asked.

"My heart... I feel like I'm having a heart attack...." I was now struggling to simply get the words out of my mouth and ignore the dizziness.

"Do you want me to call 911?" he asked.

I paused. There was no money in my bank account to pay for the emergency services and I was just coming back from a pricey vacation but no money is enough when you feel like your every breath is your last.

"Yeah, I need some help... right now..." I mumbled grabbing my head with my hands to keep it from slamming the table. Life was not flashing before my eyes and I was not walking towards "The Light" but death certainly seemed imminent at that moment.

The ambulance ride to the hospital on a stretcher was a blur. I remember the IV needle in my vein wiggling back and forth as the driver rushed through bumpy streets. I remember my feet dangling off a stretcher and thinking that I was, somehow, too tall to fit on it comfortably. I remember numerous questions, as the doctors tried to eliminate the possibility of heart attack out of the equation.

And then, while at the hospital still hooked up to an IV machine, I remember starting to feel better. Gradually, the pain began to back off and subdue. I remember walking out into the emergency room's waiting area to wait on my blood work to come back and seeing my three friends sitting in the cushioned vestibule chairs waiting for me.

There is nothing like a near-death experience to realize who your true friends are. There is nothing like not knowing if you will ever see the light of another day to put the final pieces of the unresolved puzzles back in their places.

Because as I sat in the waiting room's chair, surrounded by my concerned friends and all the love and support I needed at that moment, I received a text message from Mr J asking me what I was doing. Not having talked to him in a while and feeling in need of as much of compassion as I could possibly receive I texted back with, "I'm in the ER."

To which he said....

"Ew, why?" (followed by "are you ok?")

The sheer audacity of responding to a serious, potentially-life-altering message with an "ew, why?" was absolutely repulsing. I texted with "i'm fine," pressed "End Conversation" button and stopped talking to him.

At the end, the blood work came back fine. My heart is in an excellent condition and the chest pain I was feeling was due to stress and dehydration. And I will, somehow, deal with the medical bill when it comes because, at the end, it's being alive that really matters.

In the moment of weakness, when all your ability to hold your own leaves your body, only your true friends will come through with love and support that you really need. I was blessed to receive that love and support that I needed to get through and make it alive through last night. I can only hope that Mr J will find friends like mine when he is feel vulnerable and sick.

I just know that he should not count on me being one of those people.

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My Heart and What He Did to It

Someone noted my blog as one of their favorites to read on bloginterviewer.com and to that someone, I say, thank you and I am super excited that my semi-coherent ramblings can actually be considered a good read! So please check out, if you will or care to do so, the interview thingie I did at bloginterviewer.com. Just click the button above (cause I finally bothered to learn how to link pictures to things) and gimme some love!

You know when your friend goes through a tough break-up, you are the epitome of rationality, comforting and nurturing and telling him/her that no matter how bad it hurts, it will, inevitably, get better?

Well, it does get better. You know it does. Surely, you are certain that it does. You've been through this before - you had to let someone go or someone let you go for whatever reason and the pain was unbearable for some time. When you knew that what you were doing was for the best, and that there was no viable future for you and your former companion, and that your tears and hopes were not worth remaining in the dead-end situation, you put on a brave front, kicked your heart to the curb and let your brain make the rational decision. And you felt that pain. And you dealt with it somehow. And you came out a stronger individual as a result of your experience.

But when you, yourself, end up in that very same situation once again, all rationality goes right out of the window. And after you've cried uncontrollably in your pillow to stifle your sobbing because the walls of your apartment were too thin and you didn't want your neighbors to hear your laments, after you've wiped your face with a tear-soaked tissue and reminded yourself that you deserve so much better and that he is a fool to treat you this way, you still felt that painful pang that felt more like a punch to your heart. And that's when you questioned yourself, asking "Is it really going to get better?"

Okay, so I am talking about myself here and the final straw that broke a camel's back in the ongoing saga with me and Mr J. After he declared that he will be "too busy" to visit me for his spring break this week, I've decided that I've had enough.

Enough of his irrational jealousy and late night phone calls, enough of him questioning every single post on my Facebook wall by my very platonic male friends, enough of it all. I am done with Mr J and, this time, I do believe that I'm done for good.

I have been living in a fantasy land for the last several months, thinking that, somehow, Mr J and I can end up together. Who am I kidding? He is not ready for a relationship. Instead, he wants to have his cake and eat it too. Well... not even eat it. He just wants to control the cake and question the cake about cake's every single move. But the truth of the matter is, the cake is very single and, as some time passes and the cake will find a rewarding and fulfilling job and settle down somewhere, the cake will be ready to date again.

So, as the cake... I mean, as I am sitting here and having a second beer and feeling the alcohol begin to dull my pain, I am ready to call it quits on this quasi-relationship for good.

Goodbye (and fuck you), Mr J. Someday you'll be nothing but a distant memory and, someday, you will realize that you've let a great girl slip right out of your stubby fingers. Don't worry, that day will come, but it will be far too late to salvage anything you've already irreparably destroyed.

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