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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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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