[Not So] Former Crushes

I am off to a huge party tonight that my friend is throwing and I'm bringing a new guy with me. This new guy... is tall, cute, intelligent. There is just one problem - I don't know if I'm that into him. There is no reason for me not to be, it's just that sometimes I wonder if he's my type.

There is also another problem. The Artist will be making an appearance at the party and I can't help but wonder... am I bringing the new guy with me so that I can enjoy his company, or is this, instead, some pathetic attempt to make The Artist feel a pinch of jealousy when he sees me with someone else?

I am afraid I am not entirely over my teensy weensy crush, and I am afraid that once I see the man at the party, my buried feelings will come back to haunt me. I mean, if it was entirely up to me, The Artist and I would be having a hot, passionate relationship right now. But, sometimes, sadly, some things are not up to me, nor will they ever be.

But... Perhaps it doesn't matter if my crush will be present at the party tonight. I will have a new guy to distract me, after all, and I KNOW, oh I know, that he likes me. However, something tells me that I will need to go out of my way to pretend that I don't care about The Artist any more. I will need to play it cool, without looking too cold to an observing eye.

Regardless of my superficial dilemma, tonight promises to be interesting, to say the least.

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Turning Pages

On the cusp of being 24, I look back to where I was a year ago, and at everything that had changed since then. The last year was far more adventurous, dangerous, risky, and exhilarating. Last year was a year of making changes, taking steps forward, and improvement. It was also a year of set-backs, repeating the same mistakes, and falling for douche bags. Luckily, the positives outweigh the negatives by far.

A year ago, I was in love. I fell for his advances and let his sweep me off my feet with elegant dinners and glitzy late night martinis. I let him pay for everything and I convinced myself that he was the most wonderful man in the world.

A year ago minus 3 weeks, I had my heart broken and I felt the pain I had never felt before that moment. I must admit I was messed up and confused for a brief moment, trying to figure out what happened. However, I walked away with dignity. He never found out just how deeply he hurt me. He never will.

Eleven months ago, I moved out of my apartment to briefly set my residence at my parents' house. The comfort of a childhood home was soothing. For just a few weeks, it felt nice to be cooked for and cleaned after. It was my brief regression to an earlier stage.

Ten months ago, I was at the Jersey shore, laying out on a beach and listening to the ocean waves crash against the sandy shore.

Nine months ago was my last day at my old job as an architectural staff member at a historical preservation firm in Philadelphia. The goodbyes were bittersweet - it was the best job I have had to date, but I knew that I had to leave in order to pursue bigger and better things.

Eight months ago I moved to Cincinnati with nothing but a car full of clothes. I knew no one and the city felt so small the minute I moved here. I knew it wasn't the city I was going to love, but I didn't know that just in a few days I would meet the most fabulous people who would slowly evolve to be my new family.

Seven months ago, I was busy settling down and exploring the new city. I began getting a hang of a demanding curriculum of my school that was "trying to be like Harvard", in the words of one of my classmates, who eventually decided to drop out of the program.

Six months ago, I had an interview with a firm that two weeks later would offer me a co-op job in their hospitality department.

Five months ago, I drove back to Philadelphia for a Christmas break and spent an amazing three weeks, visiting my old friends whom I haven't seen since that summer and spending quality time with my family.

Four months ago, I began my job at the fabulous firm and started dating a new guy. I visited Nashville, and, surprisingly enough, loved its country-music charm.

Three months ago, I got my first architectural review approved for being featured in a magazine. I was now officially a published writer. I also went to Vegas for the very first time, fell in love with the city and vowed to come back for a visit again.

Two months ago, the guy I had dated for 2.5 months abruptly decided that he didn't want to pursue things with me any more. And to think, I was the one who initially doubted if I should pursue a relationship with him. I also faced rejection from an acquaintance of mine, who I could have sworn liked me at least half as much as I liked him. It was a bad month in my personal life.

One month ago, the fabulous firm notified me that they would like me to come back and work for them this summer. I gladly accepted. I also went to Boston for the very first time to a Harvard leadership conference.

Today, I am on a cusp of being 24. I don't feel a day older and maybe just a tad wiser than I had a year ago. I am still clueless when it comes to men and dating, but I am gaining more and more knowledge and confidence in my profession. I still see my future as an open book, but I have clear direction to where I want to go from here. I am no longer wishing on stars, I am taking steps to making my dreams come true. I am still afraid, but I am hopeful. Above all, I am still me and no one can take that away.

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Oh my goodness, I've been absolutely swamped with work! Who knew that grad school was actually going to be so challenging and time-consuming? But I'm surviving despite it all, and even finding an occassional minute or two to go out around midnight on Friday nights with some good friends who are beginning to become my family in Cincinnati, since we spend so much time with each other in and out of studio.

A few people actually dropped out of the architecture program this quarter during the midreview time. Why? Because the work load can be too much to bear sometimes. As evident by my recent lack of posting, I don't even have time to write a decent blog entry, or for that matter, time to breathe.

The boy situation? Well, it's been pretty much nonexistent, ever since the indirect blow of rejection I received from the Artist a little over a month ago. Though I still think he's the hottest thing since sliced bread, I am willing to let him go and now that school work might be slowing down for a quick second, I am willing to explore my other options as far as dating is concerned.

I actually have a date this Friday and I am keeping my fingers crossed, hoping it all goes well. But really, I am not going to put all my eggs in a basket. Right now, all I am hoping to get out of it is a nice dinner, some pleasant conversation, and if sparks fly - so be it. If they don't, I have other things to worry about in other aspects of my life.

Honestly, I've been able to put my life on hold without a problem or a single regret. Sure, dating is fun, but I am looking to advance in my career. While school has been tough, grueling, challenging and exhausting, it has also been incredibly rewarding. Knowing that this is what I want to do for the rest of my life helps me stay on my path.

Boys will always come along the way. I am not worried one bit.

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He's Just Not That Into Me?

Last night I got to hang out with the Artist and the rest of the gang for the first time in four weeks. I was jittery all day in preparation for the outing because I knew that I just had to tell the Artist that I like him. Picking out the perfect outfit took a considerable amount of time - I had to make sure I looked cute but without trying too hard. Effortless chic, they call it.

Of course, I showed up at the bar and everyone was already there. Including the man himself. One look at him and I had to gather all my strength as to not blush. I think it worked and I think I presented myself to everyone in a cool and collected manner. Inside, my heart was about to jump out of my chest.

After a few drinks my friend, the matchmaker, took me aside and inquired:

"So what do you think? Are you digging the Artist?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "But the real question is, is he digging me?"

My friend didn't have a clear answer for me, "Well, I haven't really talked to him about that directly, but I personally think he thinks you're cute, so if I were you I would go talk to him."

I suddenly felt like a timid little school girl, "You're doing shots with me. Right now. It's the only way I can get the courage up to hit on the Artist."

And with those words, I waved the bartender over.

As the night progressed in time and blurriness, I somehow found myself sitting in a bar stool next to the Artist, with everyone else mingling in a far corner of the bar. He was all mine for the time being and I had to make the most of it. We talked about our families, art, music, near-arrest stories, and miscellaneous madness.

Before long, it was after one am and the only people out of our whole large group left at the bar were me, the Artist, and my friend the matchmaker. My friend saw this as his cue to bow out so that I get some alone time with the guy.

"Are you guys leaving too or are you gonna stick around for a while longer?" my friend asked before heading to the exit door.

The Artist replied, "It's cool, I think I"ll stick around. I live just a few houses over."

Hells yeah. He wants some alone time with me? He likes me?

After my friend left, the Artist and I finished our drinks and he offered to walk me home, since I live pretty close to the bar. I was practically in seventh heaven at that point as I gladly accepted his offer. Surely, a boy who offers to walk a girl home must like her.

As we approached my house, I began to wonder how to tell him that I am really into him. I knew that if I was sober, there would be no way in hell I'd ever be able to profess my attraction to him. It was now or never. After all, as he said earlier that night, he wasn't even going to be in the city this weekend or the next. I had to make my move.

"Well, I guess I will see you sometime soon," the Artist began saying goodbye.

"Hey, wait," I quickly interrupted him, my thoughts spinning like crazy in my drunken head, "I... I just wanted to let you know that I think you're really cute..."

I think he smiled... or maybe cringed... or maybe both... He said, "Wow.. you really caught me off guard with this one..."

As I am trying to remember exactly what he said last night, some bits and pieces are missing out of the equation. I was clearly drunk, not sloppily so, but I was inebriated to a point where now I can't remember for the life of me all that he said last night.

I do remember, however, that there was no definitive answer on his part. He reiterated that he was leaving town for two weeks. And, I believe he said that he will see me soon. He also did not reciprocate my "You're cute" comment. None of these bits of information seem particularly hope-inspiring. We parted very amicably, with lots of smiles, but again, I can't assess due to my drunkenness, how much of that amicability was genuine.

As the Ex put it to me in this afternoon's phone conversation, the Artist is either "a pussy, not that into you, or gay." I am positive it is not the latter of the bunch, so that leaves me with the first two. And with the way the Artist's been acting around me all last night, save for the whole episode at the end of my walk home, I could have put my money on the fact that he might be attracted to me.

Our conversation at the end of the night threw everything into a loop. I don't think he likes me... or is there still hope? Should I keep hoping until the next time I see him, which, I imagine will be in about two weeks or so. Should I keep hoping or move on now?

I wish I knew the answers...

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To My First Love

First loves can be tragic, they can be mistakes, they can be gateways into other relationships, they can be extinguished as quickly as they were ignited. My first love? It was great.

Well, it wasn't perfect. Far from it, really. He was 17 and Iwas 16. We were egotistical, hormone-driven, rule-defying teenagers. And though he told me he loved me several times, we never officially dated and he had the audacity to date other girls around the same time I professed my love for him. I couldn't sleep sometimes because I was on the verge of tears, hell, I was balling my eyes out because the newfound emotion was too intense to contain in my twig-skinny 16 year old body. It was actually pretty wonderful.

Almost eight years later, we still keep in touch, tell each other how great we are, how proud we are of each other's accomplishments. He's all grown up now, as am I, or at least I like to think so. He's been married for the past 3 years and happily so. We both had other loves since our loves drifted apart from each other and our hearts had moved on. We both remember fondly the times we were absolutely crazy about each other, because, whether or not I was his first love or if he had ever truly loved me at all, we shared a very deep connection.

I want to proudly say this though - my first love was and will always remain a wonderful person, and though at times I wondered what would happen if he didn't live so far away from me now (oh, and if he wasn't married), I have no regrets about any of my feelings for him at any point of our relationship and friendship.

Right now, feeling stressed out from school work overload and priorities and responsibilities of my adult life, I am ever so grateful that I got a chance to talk to him today. If he were ever to read this, I would tell him that he is a wonderful friend and that I am so thankful for every kind word he had for in times of need and despair.

Thank you, my first love.

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News Flash: Girl's Heart Broken Yet Again

When a man after a man decides after about 3-6 weeks of dating me to start treating with with uttermost neglect and carelessness, I can't help but think that there must be something repulsive about me. It's, evidently, not on the surface, since I manage to hide it from them for those said 3-6 weeks, but after that trial period expires, these guys begin seeing me in a different, apparently, unfavorable light. What's a girl to do when she doesn't know what, if anything, she's doing wrong?

Basically, what I am trying to get to is that I have a strong suspicion that the little "relationship" me and PDA Guy had is over. I can't say I am all that upset about it - I felt like I was settling in many ways. A part of me thinks that I was willing to settle for him is because I was single for some time and I needed a warm body next to me when I woke up a few Saturdays in a row. I can't say that I completely got that urge out of my system but I am not willing to pursue PDA Guy any more.

When we hung out on Thursday, things felt different. I got all prettied up for him and he didn't even try. He didn't even bother to try. He had band practice just before I came over to his place and he didn't even take a damn shower. Eww, dude, seriously?

I was pretty pissed at him and when we said our goodnights, we didn't kiss each other, just smiled politely, like estranged neighbors. It's like my pissiness transferred to him and I felt like he was thinking, "To hell with you. I don't want a pissed off chick." My notions were confirmed yesterday. I called him and he answered; said he was gonna call later, and never did.

Fuck it. Let me move on to something bigger and better, thank you very much.

I called up my friend that night after 7pm as I made a decision that I was not going to wait for the PDA Guy to call - a decision that proved to be the right one. He said that they were all playing beer pong at his house and I was more than welcome to come over. Well, don't mind if i do!

It was eight of us, celebrating the beginning of spring break with booze, music and ping pong balls. After a few unsuccessful attempts to sink the last lonely cup on the table, I decided to give up on the game. My friend and I grabbed ourselves two nice cold beers out of the fridge and our conversation turned to the painful subject of failed relationships.

"So where's your boy?" my friend said, as if he sensed that something was not right.

I sighed, "I don't think he's my boy any more." I went into the whole lengthy ordeal of a story and recounted more than one ways of how PDA Guy dicked me over and how I was done playing his game.

"Wow, really?" my friend responded," I was really hoping things would work out with you and this guy. He seemed nice but I understand why you're fed up with him."

I nodded, "You know I said it once and I'll say it again - I have the worst luck with men out of anyone I know, but what can I do but not give up and just keep looking...Say, if you have any single friends, let me know."

My friend's response was quick and enthusiastic, "Oh yeah! Yeah! For sure! I have, like, six friends I could set you up with. I mean, there's the Artist..."

Whaaaa???! Just when I thought I got a door slammed in my face, a window of opportunity opened itself up.

"Let me stop you right here," I said, trying to keep my excitement in check, "I think The Artist is an excellent choice, because, frankly, I think he is really cute."

"Well, I'll tell you this, I'll tell you this..." my friend replied, "The Artist left today for his home town and he won't be back til the end of spring break. From what I know, there's a girl there he likes and he's going to try to hang out with her. Also, from what I know, chances of anything happening between him and her are not that good. Now, if things don't work out between them two, you will be the first one to know."

"...And if he gets with her, he's off limits," I nodded, understanding the situation, "I understand. Just keep me updated."

And with that, we returned to our game of beer pong, but for the rest of the night I couldn't stop thinking about The Artist and how much I want things to not work out between him and his object of affection. Oh yeah, and I hope he thinks I'm pretty.

I never thought I'd say this but... I can't wait for spring break to be over!

For the two of you who might be wondering what this man looks like, this is him here. I hope no one I or he knows stumbles upon this and recognizes who he is. This is as much of his face as I feel comfortable revealing but, trust me, the man is gorgeous.

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The Artist

Funny how I should be filling out my scholarship applications, as their deadlines are getting dangerously close, too close for my liking, but I am simply sitting here, refusing to adhere to schedules and time constraints. Also known as, procrastinating.

Next week I am off to Philadelphia to visit my fam, and the week after next - it's Harvard, for a symposium where I am supposed to represent one of my school's organizations. I need this. Travel helps me clear my head and calm my heart. I would travel all the time if I could. But I suppose I should be grateful, not restless - this year I am traveling to more new places than ever before. Let's hope this trend continues.

Though content about my professional and social life, I AM, however, deeply concerned when it comes to matter of my heart, hence my urgency of trying to get away from Cincinnati for a bit. Not that I am trying to dilute myself with notions that I can get away from my own emotions, feelings that are ever so persistent in my head, twirling around, disturbing my peace.

The PDA Guy, a bunch of my friends and I went out this weekend to an Italian restaurant downtown to indulge in pasta and chicken parmesan and various other culinary creations. After dinner I asked him, as we were walking back to my car:

"So are you coming out with us to the wine cellar? We're all going in an hour or two, and you should join us."

"You know... I hate to be a party pooper, but I am just a little tired from all the overtime this week. I am thinking about going to bed around midnight..." he said, and squeezed my hand, as if reassuring me that he's not simply bailing on me.

"Well, all right. I can understand that, but... if I get done early, do you want to hang out for a bit?" I was hoping he'd get my hint that I was really asking him if I could come over to cuddle and have sex with him.

"Sorry, I am just gonna go to bed early. I will definitely call you and we'll hang out at least a few times before you go away to Philly."

He sounded sincere and I believed him. I dropped him off at his place and drove down to the wine cellar to meet up with a bunch of my friends who already cracked open a few bottles of wines.

My friends brought other people with them, mostly strangers to me. As the wine kept flowing, and everyone began to unwind, I found myself talking to a couple of people I didn't know. One of those people was the Artist.

I've met the Artist before, during my first introduction of the PDA Guy to my circle of friends just a week ago. The Artist went out with all of us that night but we haven't really talked that much then, as I was preoccupied talking to the PDA Guy and the Artist was sitting all the way at the other end of our incredibly long table.

This night I, however, found myself standing right next to the Artist and him, his best friend and I talked about his girl troubles. Just about then it hit me like a rock. The Artist was gorgeous. Gorgeous and smart and aaaaahhh!!! What the hell?! How did I let my thought spin out of control when he is not the person I should be fantasizing about?

Later on that night, we all, including the Artist and I, went back to my friend's place to play some poker. As it got later and later, we all lost a track of time and it was time to call it a night. Or an early morning, as it was getting close to being 5am.

"I guess I'll start walking back to my place," the Artist said, looking up at the clock.

"I could give you a ride," I noted casually. "LET ME GIVE YOU A RIDE! IT'S NO TROUBLE AT ALL!!" was what I wanted to scream.

I drove him around the block. He lived surprisingly close to my friend's house and as I pulled my car up at his front door, I seriously toyed with the idea of asking the Artist for his number.

"Blah blah blah, blah blah. Blah," the Artist said. I can't recall what his words were to save my life. I was too distracted by his gorgeousness. His number, his number, I want his number now!

"...Yeah. I'll see you around, I'm sure," I mumbled, trying to hide my disappointment, because deep inside, the wicked part of me wanted him to lean in and kiss me. He didn't but I probably would have kissed him back if he laid those sexy lips on mine.

Now I know what I need to do. I need to forget about the Artist, right? The problem is, can I actually make myself do that or am I enjoying my fantasies about him a little too much?

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