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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The Bachelorette

I was once in love, and I believe that the residue of that feeling still lingers with me and sometimes I dilute myself into thinking that I am still in love with Mr. J.

But Mr. J has been a jerk to me, you see. He's been overly jealous of anyone and everyone who is a male friend of mine, for little to no reason at all. And, in turn and in defiance, I made it a point to make more and more frequent plans with my male friends to go out and drink and party and be merry.

"I do what I want," I tell him when I am too tired to hide my fits of rage.

"Well, do what you want then!" he yells back at me.

And I do what I want, but never to hurt him deliberately. Only to keep myself from hurting.

But I am coming to a point of no return. Where I can no longer care about Mr. J because, hey, what am I REALLY getting out of my quasi-relationship with him? What do I get out of chatting with him online or via Blackberry messenger for months without seeing him and then going out with beautiful or not so beautiful men on random dates, not necessarily because I like them, but because I want to explore the city and check out the new restaurants in the new up-and-coming areas.

And sometimes the ultimate no-no dawns on me. I mean, like, my parents would have simultaneous heart attacks if they heard me talk like this but.... what if... I'm MEANT to be single? You know, not like those sad pathetic video games geeks (no offense!) who can't get girls/guys because they spend all of their free time confined to their Wii remotes in their rooms. I am talking more like George Clooney-types, for me it would be something of a female vesion of that I suppose. I mean, I'll give it to Clooney - he's charming, attractive, seems to be interesting in conversations, got a good head on his shoulders, etc, etc. And, oh yeah, he's been known to date LOTS OF BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. Not even movie star types either. He prefers them humble, sometimes slightly naive, and always stunning.

I am not saying that I am equating myself to be a female version of George Clooney. After all, I don't particularly like the guy all that much and, no matter what I say, any woman of Clooney's age attempting to do things Clooney does would not look suave, but desperate and slightly creepy.

But I think that... until I find that special guy, even if it's Mr. J in a few years when and if he grows up a bit, I will be happy to remain single. I can make it on my own. I am damn happy in never having to rely on a guy and I believe that I can make it on my own regardless of how much I need someone to be by my side.

And perhaps all I need, similarly to Clooney being so fond of his women without ever committing, is a pretty, intelligent guy by my side. Nothing serious. No long-term commitment. Just someone who is right for me at this moment, in this situation. Just a sexy companion who can make my life just a little more colorful for the time being.

Which reminds me. Tomorrow is my next date with Mr. Gaydar from the previous post. Maybe it's time to find out if he's gay or not and maybe it's time to have a little PG-13 fun ;)

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The Age of the Metrosexual

As busy as I am with, like, 2000 jobs and the pesky 9am-Saturday-morning GMAT class that I am taking, I have been also trying to win back, one restaurant/bar at a time, my self-proclaimed but once righteously owned social-butterfly-of-the-city-of-Philadelphia title.

A little known fact about me: social situations stress me out. Public engagements, meeting new people, making small talk with newspaper stand owners leave me drained and exhausted at the end of the day. I am never one of those Chatty Cathys at Walmart giving unsolicited advice to a bored sales clerk. But I have been called "shy" and "quiet" so many times in the past, it's become almost a constant daily goal for me to 1)make small talk with one stranger a day2) engage a coworker in a non-work related banter 3)go to and be social and smiling and pleasant at at least one cultural event that does not involve any alcohol (cause it's real easy for me to be social when I'm buzzed) a week.

I don't know why, but "being social" is a very conscious decision for me. I basically have to remember to put that on my to do list or else I risk becoming completely closed off from everyone who is not my BFF. I really would enjoy being a hermit, I suppose, but instead I strive for the opposite. What a contradiction I am.

Though it's kind of the opposite when it comes to dating. I believe that due to going on so many dates in my lifetime I've grown immune to the pre-date nervous jitters. I've become the expert dater, giving date preparation tips to my friends and warning them about first date red flags. I've also learned how to act around a guy to have him consider me to be The Perfect Date. Not to be braggy-braggy, but 4 out of 5 times when I want guys to call me back for a second date, they do.

This one guy though, a new piece in my love life, frequently leaves me puzzled with his unpredictability. Not only is he surprising with the way he acts but he also surprises me with the way I change my mind about him, constantly, from date to date. And thus far we had three get togethers, however unofficial they might have been thus far, that can be considered romantic dates.

You see, when I first met the dude, I thought, nay I was convinced, that he was gay. I remember our first date just a few weeks ago at this claustrophobic but very cozy Old City bar where I walked in just to find him in the crowd and think to myself, "Oh hell no!"

He just had this suave, proper look about him that I find many gay men to have. Not only was he extremely well put together, I found myself being put off by the number of unbuttoned buttons on his collared shirt. I could see a glimpse of his chest and THAT was not something I was prepared for right off the bat.

But that'd be all fine and dandy if it wasn't for other little signs here and there. As we ordered our first round of drinks and got deep into our conversation, he kept furrowing his eyebrows in a very peculiar manner which I found effeminate. And then he would contort his wrist a certain way as he was telling me a story. I just couldn't hold back for much longer, I had to ask, as my curiosity was killing me.

"So... you worked at a straight bar before," I lead into the question, "Have you ever considered working at a gay bar?"

Yeah, I don't beat around the bush when I've had a few drinks in my system.

"I actually applied for a job as a bartender at a gay night club, but they wanted me to wear these skimpy tightie whities. And I wasn't comfortable wearing those as my job uniform," he said, slightly confused about my question.

Well, little by little and with more probing on my part, it kind of came out that he wasn't gay (allegedly) and he, indeed, had girlfriends. I was still put off by the vibe I was getting from him and at the end of that night, though we had plenty of fun drinking and dancing, I was convinced that I didn't want to go out with him again.

But then yesterday, we went to a lounge that had a beautiful outdoor patio overlooking the Delaware river and as we were having drinks, I remember thinking to myself, "What is WRONG with me? This man might, quite possibly be, one of the most good-looking, intelligent people you've ever dated. Look at his face. What a goddamn hottie. Stop thinking he's gay, for crying out loud."

So maybe my gaydar is completely broken now, or maybe I've been right all along and this guy is just dating women because he's in an intense denial about his sexuality. Or maybe he's dating women for a show so that when his parents ask him if he's dating anyone he can say, "Oh yeah, just went out with a girl yesterday." Who knows what his deal might be. I do, however, know what MY deal is.

I've decided that I am gonna go on another date with him. If anything, he's got a hell of a pretty face to look at.

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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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