Hope Floats

There are things that some people might take for granted that I miss doing with a significant other.

Like holding a guy's hand on a chilly spring afternoon while walking down the street to get groceries for dinner.

Like casually throwing in "babe" or "love", or various terms of endearment, in such banal phrases as," Oh, that's just Mean Girls on TV, love." or "Babe, while you're in the kitchen can you get me a glass of orange juice?" Not that I would ever overuse these words... I just miss the feeling of knowing that I could say them to someone.

Like ordering different things at a restaurant and then trying each other's dishes and debating who had a better meal.

Like bypassing a loud, rowdy neighborhood bar filled with boozed up kids right out of college and going to a wine bar instead, where the music is subdued enough to have a meaningful conversation and the candles are bright enough to see that mischievous sparkle in each others' eyes.

Like waking up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason and feeling his arm around me. And moving my body closer to his for a tighter embrace before drifting back to sleep again.

Like placing an order at a bar that's crowded enough that there's not enough space for the two of us. And while placing an order, turning around casually to double check what drinks he wanted, just to catch him checking you out.

Maybe that's why there is a tiny bit of hope in me that is refusing to burn out inside of me.

Maybe that's why I don't turn the ringer of my cell phone off at night - telling others that I only leave my phone on because it serves as an alarm to wake me up, but really, secretly hoping that he will call late after a night out.

Maybe that's why when he does call, I don't answer, but I smile because he still thinks about me too. And it's that feeling of comfort that makes me believe that I am still not over what we once had.

Whatcha doing to me, Hope? Or am I just mistaking you for your cousin - Blind Silliness....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a pity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Slight Turn for the Wrong

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah?

Yeah.

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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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Trabajando

80 hour weeks leave me no time to sleep, let alone update my blog.
Leave me no time for love life, if I were to have one.

But this weekend I get to buy myself a fabulous new pair of Marc Jacobs shades.
And really, that fact alone makes up for all the late nights at the office...

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Holiday Magic

First of all, Merry Christmas! The holiday season is upon us and, despite some dramatic and traumatic moments with our family at the dinner table, tis good to slow down for a moment and reflect on another year that has passed us so quickly.

Second of all, y'all have a permission to slap me across my face and call me stupid. Why, you ask? It's really simple. I did something that I might advise others against doing. I knew very well that I might regret my moment of weakness later on, but I followed my heart, and did not listen to my head, regardless.

See, I just can't seem to cut myself off from Mr. J.

Is this how drug addicts feel, when their crack pipe is taken away? I know, I certainly was having mad withdrawals from not talking to the dude, from not being able to tell him about my day, even from all the fighting that we've been doing. I tried not responding to him, I tried telling him that I was done for good. I told him that our relationship was not working, that there were too many fights and arguments to keep this thing going. I really thought I was well on my way to starting a new chapter of my life.

But a few weeks ago, after one of our epic fights, after I deleted him as a friend on Facebook, got rid of his number, blocked his text messages... I started talking to him again.

I know, I know... I have no right to complain if anything goes wrong now, do I? I mean, it's like the presidential election - if we don't vote, we have no right to be pissed off about the president.

It was kind of like that. I said to myself, okay, I am just going to give Mr J another (yet another) shot, and then if things go sour, well, I just won't write about it on my blog. No one will ever hear my complaints.

But of course, I hoped for the best. Mr J said that he was going to come visit me a week before Christmas, and I thought, "I think this will be good. We will renew our romance and all the fighting will go away, at least for a while."

I said yes to him and I booked a lovely hotel downtown for four days, in anticipation of his arrival. That's another thing - everyone I prepare for his visit or every time I am flying/driving to visit him, I feel like a giddy little school girl and my stomach does all sorts of flips and turns. Butterflies all over the place. And... I was just not ready to give up that feeling. I couldn't bare to think that I could no longer allow myself to feel those things for Mr J. Cause I felt them, despite all the fighting and the breaking up. I felt them still.

His stay in Philly, as I predicted, was perfect. We went to restaurants, to my office Christmas party, to see the Christmas tree in Rittenhouse Square, to the Art Museum. We went shopping and he surprised me with the most beautiful necklace from Swarowski. It was a spur of the moment kind of thing and I was completely blown away with how he presented it to me.

I was trying on a jacket at Express and he came up from behind and said, "Do you think this necklace will go with your outfit?"

I didn't understand at first. I saw a necklace he held up again my neck and simply said, "Yeah, it's kind of cute." I was just not in the mood to buy a jacket AND a necklace in one day. It didn't even cross my mind that he bought it for me while I was trying on dresses in the fitting room.

But he said, "It's yours. I thought you'd look so pretty wearing it and I bought it. Do you like it?"

I gasped with excitement and joy, as if he was presenting me with an engagement ring.

"It's beautiful, J! You kiddin' me? I freaking LOVE it!"

Lots of hugs followed. In that moment, I had no shadow of regret for caving in and renewing my relationship with him. I can't tell you with certainty that I will never regret the decision or that I will never cry over him again. But I can say that this has been a magical holiday season thus far, and Mr J made it just so.

Happy holidays!

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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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