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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Untitled

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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