Shakespeare Quotes, 2010

Eloquence. A skill that a man often confuses with the ability of being a smooth talker. To brush a girl's capricious hair lock falling on her face in just the right way and flash a row of perfectly straight teeth in a smile that could stop a determined stereotypically-Iraqi suicide bomber who is midway to his point of Ground Zero - yes, that is, without a doubt, an excellent example of a guy who certainly knows how to work his adoring female crowd. But eloquence? No, that is something entirely different that escapes a mindset of an average straight male living in the year of 2010 all together on the best of nights.

Of course, my best of nights, now that I am back and completely settled in Philly, often involves a row of overtanned douchebags, reeking of self-entitlement and steroids and Axe body spray. (Better Axe than BO as I always say.) But then again, even on the worst of my nights, I often remember what I am looking for in a guy. And I am not willing to lower my standards for a night of regrets and awkward mornings.

Some eloquent players do stand out above all the others, in their effortless ways of putting their emotions in prose that can make Shakespeare look like The Situation from Jersey Shore. I jest, of course.

Peep this overly verbose text message from an admirer who, apparently, has been eyeing me all night and finally got the guts, nay, the balls, to ask me, nay, my friend who mistakenly thought that I'd actually want this guy, for my phone number just so he could send me this gem via a text message that deserves its righteous, immortal glory:

"Hi my name is Ryan im am interested in you. you looked very hot for some man that really want to go out with you. and if you give me your name and I well be your friend for every and date you for every. and i really need a girl to go and hang out with me as a friend and as a girlfriend to date me."

Oh what a true treasure this man is. For I am always flattered when I receive drunken, broken-English verses from the creepy men who have been watching me drink my wine all night long. I am forever enamoured and my heart is aflutter because this special man, clearly, has a very unique way with words.

If lesbianism was a choice, I would have, long ago, crossed over to the other side.

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Comfortably Numb

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

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

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

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

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

And as for trying to see me sooner?

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

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

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

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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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Poetic Injustice

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

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

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

"Missing you already..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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