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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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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To Tan or Not to Tan

I now am back to living at a very close proximity to Jersey - the home of the Snooki poofs, padded bras, long nails in all shades of neon and, yes, bright orange tans. And while I know that I am not the most fair-skinned white girl out there, I definitely enjoy avoiding having my skin appear to be bluish or greenish in tone, especially on those days when I get less than a required amount of sleep. Or those days when I am painfully hungover, when my skin pretty much decides to turn gray.

For those three years that I lived in Cincinnati, I was a paying member of a tanning establishment but my trips to the cancer beds were few and far in between. Mostly, I would go and tan after a rough week of exams and final critiques, when I would feel the need to just treat myself to some pampering and/or when I would see the need when I looked in a mirror and saw a zombie-looking flesh glaring back at me.

Now back in Philadelphia, I am feeling... and, don't laugh... but I am feeling like I am under so much peer pressure to tan more. For example, this week... I went tanning twice, but I went two days in a row - which I had never done before! And on the radio, just the other day, I heard a Hollywood Tan ad where the voice proclaimed, however erroneous the claim might have been, that a "healthy glow" makes you look 150% more attractive. Now, that's a WHOLE lot of attractive!

I know it's not the healthiest thing that I could do to my body, but it really does appear to take away the slight black semi-circles from all those restless nights right from under my eyes. I am feeling the burn, but my skin has acquired that healthy glow that everyone seems to rave about so much. My face looks fresh, my body looks like it's been kissed by the loving rays of sun and, ultimately, I can't help but admit that I've gained an additional level of confidence.

The frequent urge to tan is also coming in handy as of late. Like, tonight I am going to this Singles Party - an event that I, inadvertently, assigned myself to when I won the VIP passes for myself and a friend by calling into a local radio station at just the right minute. And, I gots to say, I feel like my tan is giving me that edge, that... je ne sais quoi... and I feel like I'm gonna be a bit of an It girl at this singles soiree. An It girl in all ways but bad, I hope.

I must add that I am still a long way from looking orange. And, I know, I know... the bottom line is that tanning causes cancer... I'll limit myself to one tan a week. Deal?

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The Importance of Having a Mint

So the story starts off pretty blandly: I was out bar hopping this Saturday night with a girl friend of mine. We started our night off with some sushi and white wine and then headed to a new bar that we have not been to yet for some dancing. Pretty mundane, right?

Oh, I wish.

Now I haven't been dancing in a while and, considering that it is one of my favorite activities, I was itching to just let loose on the dance floor. I mean, it's just one of those things that keeps you young and going.

Another good thing about dancing is that if you're a pretty decent dancer, you will inevitably get hit on by almost any guy around you. It must be something about the dance floor, the energy of it, that grabs even the more shy guys by the balls and pulls them towards the dancing girls.

So, of course, I am dancing and I spot a cute guy from across the way. Tall, dark and handsome, just the way I like them, I see him begin to approach me as he locks eyes with me. Sure, I'm in for some innocent dancing. Mr J shouldn't even worry - I love the kid and wouldn't think about crossing any lines; plus, dancing for me is just that - dancing. It doesn't hurt, however, if it is dancing with someone sexy.

So, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome approaches me and I am pleasantly surprised. He's got some good moves! I am thinking, this is great. It's not even midnight yet and I have already found someone good to dance with without having my toes stepped on.

But then he decides to speak.

At first I didn't think anything of it. In fact, I thought I was imagining things. How could an attractive guy like him have such BAD BREATH?! Silently, I prayed that he wouldn't talk a lot and just let me enjoy the dance.

But then, Mr Chatty Cathy, decides to speak again. Nope, I definitely wasn't imagining anything. The dude needed a Listerine strip. BADLY.

I tried to be coy about it. "Looks like your glass is empty. You should get another drink," I said, hoping that the smell of alcohol would hide whatever stench was coming out of his mouth. (Gross, gross!)

"I will later," he said in response, clueless that I was now deliberately holding my breath, trying not to inhale too much, in his presence.

I mean, seriously?

Luckily for me, my friend kept getting harassed by some drunken fool throughout the night and she finally has had enough. She tugged on my shirt, signaling to me that she was ready to go. I wasn't about to start disagreeing.

"My friend wants to leave.. BYE!"

I bolted out of there as if my life depended on me escaping the bar in under sixty seconds. Fortunately, the rank breath-ed guy did not follow me to the exit. I flung the exit door open and made my escape into the cold air of the night. As I stepped outside, I, finally, took a nice long breath.

Lesson learned: no amount of hot can save a man if he doesn't have a nice breath. And that's the absolute truth.

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I'm in love.

I've always been in love with him.

I don't know how I am going to do when the time to stop loving him will become a necessity.

I just hope that moment never comes.

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Keeping On

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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