My Dirty Laundry

It's Just Dinner

2012-02-13T08:36:00.006-09:00

To get over a guy, I just might need to spend Valentine's Day with someone else.

As I was barely waking up from my funky, post-break-up blues, a new friend of mine offered to take me on a date.

"A date? I can't. I told you The Banker and I JUST broke up," I protested whole-heartedly. There is no way in hell I am ready to jump on that wagon again. It is way too soon to start feeling again. It is way too soon to be agreeing to go on dates. It is way too soon for, well, anything romantic at all.

"Come on. It'll be a casual dinner. You need to be cheered up, right? Let me take you out," he insisted to my utmost surprise.

I looked at him quizzically. He was, kind of cute, after all. Totally not my type, but why the hell not. It's just a casual dinner after all.

He's a new cup of tea to me, this friend of mine. He's Indonesian/Singaporean, by way of Los Angeles. An accomplished DJ and production company owner. Smart as hell and creative. He seems like a nice guy, and even if he's not...

It's a New Year. Maybe it's time to sample something new to get over something old. What's the worst that can happen?

How to Behave During a Break-Up (A Classy Edition)

2012-02-09T06:17:00.005-09:00

Ladies, (and I'm sorry gentlemen if I am leaving you out of this, but I can't really direct this to you personally as the post below will be coming from direct personal experience).... Ladies, you are about to get dumped. You know it, you've been feeling it coming for quite some time and though you did not want to accept it as reality... you did know that this was going to happen sooner rather than later.

A part of you probably wants to scream and shout and say phrases like "Fuck men!" and "I am going to remain single for the rest of my life!" A part of you wants to post vaguely bitchy messages on Facebook and run your mouth to all those that are willing to listen, telling them what an inadequate son of a bitch you ex-boyfriend really was and, probably, still is.

But, here's the deal. You are better than that. You are well educated, accomplished and kind of a big deal. You've got men (granted, not the men that you want...) swooning all over you and you've pretty much got your shit together (minus those random drunken nights that you had one too many... those things you pretty much want to forget). Keep it together. Follow the simple rules below and you're gonna come out as the absolute class act out of this breakup.

1) Wear a killer outfit to the place where you are going to have The Break-Up Talk. A coffee shop? A park? Yes, regardless, try to look flawless and effortless. Tell him that you are coming straight from work but, instead, take your time to put yourself together in a classy sleek, hip-hugging pencil skirt and a cute top. Make yourself look sexy but not slutty. Show him what he is going to be missing out on and do not, for one second, look remorseful about anything.

2) Be kind, flash a restrained smile and make statements like, "Of course, I understand. " Give a supporting reason why you DO understand so that it doesn't seem like you are agreeing just for the sake of agreeing.

3) Look at your watch or your cell phone clock, discretely but noticeably, as he is pouring his soul out to you as to why he cannot take the next step in a relationship. You are polite but you are also a busy woman. You've got places to go and little time to waste on people like your unimportant ex-boyfriend.

4) Do not flirt with the cute waiter that serves you your cappuccino, but look at him just for a second too long. Long enough for your ex to notice that, yes, you will be ready to move on in no time.

5) Do give him a hug goodbye. The kind of hug you would typically give your brother.

6) Do not turn around and look back once you've said the final parting words. Walk away with dignity. You never have to see him again. You will have more than enough opportunities for rebounds and relationships and breakups. He will be a blur in your timeline (thanks, Facebook, for ruining THAT word for me) in no time.

7) Do not cry. Convince yourself that you are all right. You ARE all right. Fake it 'til you make it and keep walking with your head held high.

True Story. Goodbye, Banker (and as much as I think that you're a stellar guy, go fuck yourself, nevertheless).

Small Steps

2012-01-28T05:49:00.004-09:00

The couple next to me at our table at Piedra Negra just recently got engaged. I found out about the engagement a couple of days earlier, through a news feed on Facebook but this was the first time I was seeing them in person. They were both good friends of The Banker, but in the last month or so I became more or less acquainted with the girl, so I could not wait to congratulate them when I showed up at the bar.

Her ring sparkled seductively as she shimmied her hand in my face, showing off the rock. I admired the cut, the feminine band that held the stone so gently, yet firmly within its grasp. And then I felt it.

At first I did not know what it was and I was slightly surprised and taken aback by the slight pang and the impact of the unexpected feeling that came over me.

You see, I've never been the one to swoon over engagements or engagement parties or bridal showers. I always vowed to be that girl that got drunk (but not embarrassingly so) at bachelorette parties, and took shots with all the single dudes at the wedding receptions, and danced my ass off in my smoking hot bridesmaid dress on the dance floor, and made out with the best man (but only if he was hot).

But this time it was different. I felt a bit jealous. I felt a bit behind the curve. I felt like... I actually wanted to look forward to an engagement party... of my own.

It was weird and confusing and maybe even conformist to the "societal standards". But, fuck it. Regardless as to whether I am brainwashed or not, I still want a fairly tale ending of my own.

The Banker ordered us another round of margaritas, blissfully unaware of the emotional mini-rollercoaster that was going on in my head. Meanwhile, I chatted away happily, but with various darker thoughts brewing in my mind. Like, why does he always introduce me to his friends simply as "L", not his "girlfriend L". Am I his girlfriend or am I just another piece that he is seeing?

I began feeling slightly tipsy from the alcohol in no time. Maybe it was the lack of sleep due to work-related meetings and meeting preparations the night before but, at some point, I just decided to let my worries go, as they were getting in the way of my fun. There was really no point in ruining my night due to my own emotional turmoil. I was being a freaking girl, after all, and I was not enjoying it one bit.

We were all expecting The Banker's friend Mr Hong Kong to make his triumphant return to Singapore and to the bar we were at. He was, apparently, coming back from months-long travels elsewhere. And as he finally arrived around 11pm, The Banker gestured for him to take an empty seat next to us and to join the conversation.

"Oh, by the way," The Banker said, after his initial greetings with Mr Hong Kong, "This is my girlfriend, L."

My head did a double spin and my heart pounced with excitement. Did I just really hear something that I've been wanting to hear for months now?

"Hello," I said, cool as a cucumber, extending my hand to shake his, "It is very nice to meet you."

"Pleasure to meet you too," Mr Hong Kong replied, "The Banker told me so much about you. It's great to finally meet the girl he's been talking about so much."

I know, I know. The whole situation may seem like such a non-event to some. Almost a banal example of a side non-conversation. But to me... well, to me, it was a memorable exchange to say the least.

The first time he publicly introduced me as his girl. A confirmation of our relationship, however nonchalant it was for him, it was a big deal to me, though I will never admit this to anyone in person.

I looked at the newly-engaged couple, happily intertwined in their new togetherness and I did not feel that pang of jealousy any more. Far from the point of getting engaged, nevertheless, I felt just right in my moment right then and there.

I raised my hand and waved down the nearest bartender to come and take my next order.

"A shot of coffee tequila for this guy, please," I requested, as I pointed to The Banker.

It was going to be a long, fun night and in a silent and roundabout way, I just had to thank my dude for making things just a little more official.

Good job, babe.

Love, When Life Happens

2012-01-20T03:35:00.005-09:00

Eavesdropping is a no-no in my book, but when it helps to smooth out a situation, I think there can be a grey line that can be negotiated between the right the the wrong.

The other morning I was coming back from the land of the sweet, sweet dreams and opening my heavy eyelids to see the bright rays of a Sunday morning sun for the first time, when I heard The Banker, just in the room next door, talking via Skype to his brother.

Now, The Banker is a miracle of nature. He can drink like no other on a Saturday night (or retain an appearance of drinking heavily while maintaining his utmost composure), but he is up and running at 6am every Sunday morning.

I, on the other hand, like to savor the only God-given day of the week when I can actually sleep in so, whenever I am at his place or otherwise, I like to snooze it UP until at least 10am the next morning, hungover or not.

This particular morning I was stone cold sober and so my interest was instantly peaked when I overheard The Banker's conversation with his brother switch from the brother's girl troubles to the ever-cumbersome topic of The Banker's stay in Singapore.

"You know, I miss the US so much and the trip back home made me even more homesick.." I heard his voice trail off and pause, as it was, presumably, his brother's turn to talk.

"Yeah, to be honest, man, I don't know what I'm gonna do yet, but I plan on sticking around Singapore for a year or two more," he finally finished off his thought after his brother offered some advice (as I can only assume).

A year or two more?

Now that I can certainly take way better than just 5 months. That I can live with and spend the next year or two trying to charm the pants off this guy.

The truth is, when push comes to shove, I am not ready to leave this city. Feeling like a foreigner in a foreign land and being the minority (white woman in an Asian country) for the first time ever has actually not been all that bad and I am starting to truly feel at home here.

I would love to continue my journey with The Banker, but the truth is, no matter how heartbroken I would be if he left right now (and believe me, I would be sort of devastated), I would still pick Singapore for a whole slew of reasons (which I might talk about in more depth later, but these reasons are mostly career-related and mostly kind of super awesome)

Number one, though, being that I think I finally found my home, and I do mean home, here in Asia. At least for a little while.

St(r)aying Away

2012-01-10T07:38:00.005-09:00

Maybe I am just not good at relationships.

No, I'm not the best, but I tried. I definitely tried with this guy, that's for sure.

The impending feeling of doom is settling down upon me and I can see, with a considerable amount of fear, that this relationship might, just might, be winding down and seeing the last of its days.

But how can I full-heartedly invest in a guy who, point blank, says straight to my face that he is feeling so homesick that he is considering moving back to the States in as soon as four months? That he is thinking about continuing his career back home, somewhere in California, eighteen hours away from me.

I want to say, please stay, don't go. I like you so much. We've got such a thing going here.

But instead, I am numb and silent with the realization that he, despite introducing me to his brother and friends, and giving me the code to his apartment, is choosing something else over me.

How can I carry on with him as if nothing is happening when, in my head, there is a silent but deadly countdown of days left to spend with him. How can I not try my damnest to become as detached as he is?

I had this shit happen to me once when I told a guy I was moving away for grad school. I did not expect that he was going to abandon me, as suddenly as he did, then.

This time I can leave elegantly, quietly, and with dignity in tact. This time I can ignore that timid tug of heart that keeps telling me to stay and just see what happens. To text him one more time to see if he wants to go for a mid-afternoon bike ride or if he wants to hang out at his apartment or go to the pool.

This time I can even ask why the hell he is doing this to me... if I muster up enough courage.

This time. Before the four month death sentence rolls around.

I'm Not Yours

2012-01-01T19:02:00.005-09:00

And a thousand of lanterns, their flames slowly glowing against the thin rustling paper, ascended up to the night skies of Patong beach, their peaceful, soft glow interrupted by a chaotic thunder of fireworks all around us. The crowds cheered like crazy, camera phones in their extended hands, trying to capture the last moments of 2011, only to post them later on Facebook or replay them to the friends that were not there.

He was an Australian, staying at our hostel for a couple of nights, traveling from Melbourne, and then to Singapore, Hanoi. Patong beach was his last stop of the holiday vacation. It was the last stop for all of us staying at the hostel. We started off the night as a large, international group but as we took random roads and routes, trying to get through the masses to the beach to welcome 2012, it was just me and the Australian left.

"Tell me the truth, do you like me?" he asked twenty minutes before midnight as he handed me a bouquet of roses that he bought from some random Swedish girl on the street.

I was surprised and flattered by the question. When I first saw him at the hostel bar, the life of the party, I envied his confidence and wondered what it would be like to talk to this guy, to be part of that crowd. And now here I was, with him, unexpectedly, wrapped around my little finger for the night.

"To tell you the truth," I said, "I do but I am dating someone."

We stood in our awkwardness and both felt compelled to say something to each other even though we were surrounded by throngs of screaming, celebrating people and would not hear each other anyway.

"What do you mean by dating?" he finally said. We both knew what I meant.

"You know what I mean..." I looked down at the roses. Their tiny delicate buds looked so fragile that all I wanted to do was to shield them from the people around us. I felt almost out of place standing there, with a simple bouquet of romantic appreciation in my hand, while everyone else around me was holding and imbibing from alcohol containers of various sizes.

"Does he ever give you flowers?" he asked, minutes before midnight.

No, he never gives me flowers. I don't ask him to but I wish he would. Just give me flowers once. No fancy dinners, just flowers. Truth is, I wanted to say, I am starving for affection and don't know how to ask for it. Feel like I have no right to ask for it, somehow. There is nothing like wanting to fall in love and being too afraid to, because of the fear of getting hurt at the end.

"No, he never gives me flowers," I said.

He shook his head. Not accusingly, not indifferently, but mostly just selfishly proud of himself for doing something in the first few hours of meeting me that my dude has not done in the months that I've known him.

"Kiss me," he said.

"You know I can't," I paused, "Not now."

"Then kiss me at midnight. Just one kiss."

There were moments left until the clock struck twelve. I had remnants of silly strings in my hair, my shoes were filled with sand, I clenched the strap of my purse in my hand, paused in some nervous thought. He was some Australian I would never see again, albeit a very handsome Australian, he was just a stranger on a beach somewhere in Thailand.

So I kissed him. Just once, when it struck midnight. And then once again a few minutes later.

A few stolen kisses. Something to escape the real world outside of the beach. Something to stop myself from thinking about The Banker all the goddamn time, while hoping for more, more than I am being offered.

And all around me it was 2012 all of the sudden. I wanted to never leave that place and to leave it immediately, all at the same time.

Happy new year.

Ask, and You Shall Receive?

2011-12-22T07:23:00.004-09:00

My life might be close to being shambles in many different, sometimes completely unrelated areas, I might drink too much, I might be home sick, I might be guarded and suspicious that my dude will never commit to me the way I want him to, I might be afraid, slightly insecure and a little bit angry.

But yesterday I took charge of one area of my life. I did something absolutely terrifying that took a lot of guts on my part. I did something terrifying and was (finally!) rewarded for it.

After six months of working at my company, I asked for a raise.

I was afraid to hear a negative answer. When my boss called me into his office for a chat at the end of that same day I sent him an email with my raise request, I was fully prepared to keep my face as straight as possible and not let any disappointment seep through to the surface.

He is always an intimidating dude when it comes to discussing serious financial things. He is the type of a person who has the "fuck you" face even when he says yes to something. I nearly crapped my pants at the thought of going into his office and sitting down, one-on-one, to discuss all matters concerning my personal financial security.

But I heard something entirely beyond my expectations. I heard that I am probably the best employee they currently have at the company and that even though it is typically not within the company's policy to give employees raises so soon after their hire, that I was absolutely worth being dangled a proverbial monetary carrot in front of.

And who was I to disagree?

Granted, the raise, as I was told, would not be a great amount. And I would not see the increase in my paycheck until the end of January...

But I did it. For the first time in my life, I asked for a raise. And for the first time in my life, not only did I received it, but I was also validated as a kick-ass employee that I always suspected I would grow up to be.

And, damn, it feels good to be rewarded!

Broken Teeth and Wounded Hearts

2011-12-17T22:06:00.003-09:00

A tragedy transpired recently upon which I was left disfigured and disappointed.

Okay, maybe not exactly disfigured, but pretty self-conscious and a bit terrified at the same time. You see,Ii have had this filling in my front tooth for about a year. My last dentist was kind of shitty when it came to certain things, like performing routine examinations on one's teeth and I, unfortunately, was one of his involuntary victims.

A year ago, he blissful filed away at my front tooth that only had a minimal amount of cavity evidence and slapped a filling to cover up the gap. A year later, (this week to be exact) as I was happily munching away at a slice of cheese, I felt something chip off in my mouth. Suddenly, the previously soft and mushy slice of cheese in my mouth started tasting rather crunchy. I pulled out a little piece of white solid from my mouth and felt a newly-formed gap between my front teeth with my tongue. Much to my horror, my fears were justified as I felt a small chunk of tooth missing from the front of my beautiful veneers.

Son of a bitch!

I was supposed to see The Banker that night but almost canceled on the count of him seeing me looking like a beauty queen at a meth addict pageant, but he insisted on me coming over. He said that I would look beautiful even if I had George Washington's wooden teeth.

Whatever, man. That cheesy line worked and shortly after work that day I was on a subway to his place, trying not to smile to strangers with my toothless void.

The Banker gave me a hug as soon as I entered his apartment and, slowly but surely, I started to feel all the tension just melt away. I had all the intentions, mind you, to speak my mind and inquire him about his prowls on the dating site that night. But, just like my tension, I felt my anger and the sense of urgency just melt away as he wrapped his arms around me.

He hugged me, he reassured me, he made my worries go away, even if temporary, for a couple of minutes or so. We settled on his couch and he laid down, with his head resting on my lap as we eventually started drifting away to sleep after our respective days of work and health-related troubles.

It was not until shortly past midnight that I started to feel myself waking up. It was one of those lucid dream-like states, where I was aware that I was awake but I was still drowsily engrossed in a dream I must have been having just a second prior to waking up. I felt my sense of reality tighten around the fact that it must have been late and that I should be getting home. I wanted to say, "I am falling asleep.." to The Banker to let him know that I should be leaving to go home shortly.

Instead, I said..

"I am falling in love..."

Oh.

OH FUCK!

It sort of came out very awkwardly, like "I am falling in lov..shhlalalblahblahargh... I'm falling asleep! I mean I'm falling asleep!" I was trying to eat my own words and try to quickly think of what I really wanted to say.

The lights were dim in the room, otherwise, if he had been fully awake, The Banker would have seen my face turn beet red. I tried to play it off as a no-big-deal type of situation. But, really, I just wanted to turn back time and take back that Freudian slip of a tongue. Shortly after, still mortified, I gathered my things and left his place to go home.

"See ya this weekend!" I said and slammed the door behind me in a rush to get out of there and be left alone with my thoughts. I am foolish to even hope that he had not heard what I said.

I think he just wanted to ignore it and pretend like he did not hear me.

To be truthful, I just have this feeling (and whenever I get this feeling, I am usually right) that he is just not going to get involved with me past the point we are already at. And instead of keeping my distance, I say crap like that to him.

Careless. I am never this careless. I don't like this one bit.

Unsure.

2011-12-09T06:54:00.005-09:00

I like boys
They like me
They look so good
in they jeans

Want you to be the one
And my on-ly
I wanna be faithful
But I can't keep my hand out that cookie jar

I am conflicted. And the fact that it is eternal summer here, and my man isn't say the things that I want him to say, and that the temptation is always there is not making things any easier.

I am just sort of feeling that he is full of secrets. Not a lot of secrets, but just some that he does not want me to know about.

Like the girl that wrote on his wall for his birthday yesterday..:

"happy birthday, babe. It was great seeing you in Chicago. x"

Okay she could be a friend, but not a lot of MY friends call ME babe. Well, I guess, she's not even that pretty. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself to keep away from feelings of jealousy. But still...

And I would not call any of my non-single friends "babe". Just saying.

Don't get me wrong. I want this guy more than anyone else in the world. He just has to show me more sweet, sweet loving, loving.

Otherwise, it's not like there aren't any other viable options for extracurricular entertainment...

I'm just saying.

Of Men and Creepsters

2011-11-24T04:09:00.005-09:00

Out to Ladies' Night on a Wednesday night for the first time in about 4 years, in a different city, let alone country this time, was a lot less painful on my body than I had imaged it to be, despite my reservations and pessimistic predictions about the ordeal that I would have to endure the next morning at work. In fact, despite having free shots poured down my throat and gulping them down like I was some 21-year old hardly, I hardly felt any damage at all. At 27, I, apparently, can keep it together like the best of them can. At 27, I'm not sure it is something to brag about all that much.

But hey, I've been told I look only 24 on more than one occasion, so for the sake of the argument, I'll go with the notion and let myself indulge in free tequila shots despite vowing, over and over again, how I will never have tequila again.

The Banker is away for two weeks. He is visiting his family for Thanksgiving and I, despite all my suspicions and worries about his prowling around on the internet for God knows what, am beginning to notice that my missing him like hell takes precedent over any suspicions I might have had over the given situation. I gotta give him this - he picked a perfect time to be away, because this girl has been getting a taste of life without his sexy ass in her life and, believe me, it ain't all that pretty.

A prime example - last night at Ladies Night at Ku De Ta. A premier clubbing and drinking spot in Singapore and one of the top 10 in the world. In the WORLD, people. That has to count for the quality of the patrons that enter and leave this place, right?

Not at all. The whole place was swarming with creepy crawlers who kept their hungry eyes on alcohol-consuming, unsuspecting ladies in order to make their sleazy moves the minute a girl began looking tipsy.

I, for one, had at least two guys try to approach me AFTER I had several shots of Grey Gooze.

Oh. Hey. Didn't notice you there, buddy. Oh, you're from Norway? Sorry, nothing against Norway, but go back where you came from because you are just standing there, blocking the dance floor, sipping your watered down whiskey sour and, generally, being completely and utterly awful.

My friends were not having any better "luck" than me. Through the haze of the artificial fog pumped through the room at regular intervals, I saw the ladies get assaulted from different angles by men of all races, ages and nationalities. Creepiness, you know, knows no boundaries. If our nations of the world could unite under one common derivative only, it would be the ample availability of creepy male specimen across all borders and nations. Welcome to the true definition of globalization.

I ended up having fun with the girls despite everything. Occasional free drinks certainly helped the situation. But, through it all, I couldn't help thinking about The Banker. And what a truly fucking great catch he is. And what I want to do to him when he comes back to this country.

I texted him with a sexy and slightly filthy text message that I will keep to myself for the time being. He texted back with something that simultaneously made my heart skip a beat and made me wish that he could fly back to Singapore immediately so I could rip his boxers off.

And then it dawned on me... Maybe it's all going to be just fine. I've got a fabulous man who just happens to turn me on as much intellectually as he turns me on physically. What the fuck else could I possibly ask for?

Why worry so much, after all.

Eat. Pray. Panic.

2011-11-19T04:07:00.003-09:00

It's weird. I've been having these rather severe panic attack-like symptoms for the last several hours. My heart is racing, palms are sweaty, wrists are half-numb with tension, breaths are short and quick in an attempt to calm my body down.

Part of it is that I've been stressed with money problems lately. It's something that's been consistently consuming my thoughts. It's nothing Earth-shattering, I guess. I just have not been saving up as much as I wanted to. Living amongst the richest of the rich on an island that has the greatest concentration of millionaires in the world has not exactly made me feel particularly wealthy either.

It's funny how money concerns can become a part of your daily existence. Even when, by all standards, you can call yourself comfortably middle-class, it is keeping up with the ever rising life style expectations and comparing yourselves to the Joneses next door that can make you feel like you've been sinking deeper and deeper into debt.

I didn't think I wanted to be rich when I was younger. But you know what? Being rich just makes things so much easier. So hell yes, I want a million or two to go buy that nice dress that I saw in the Miu Miu store window or to get that nice hot stone massage I keep hearing about or to get my bills paid on time in the US and not worry about the exchange rate going up and down like a roller coaster every couple of days. (Thanks for that crisis, Europe!)

I want to be able to get my family a nice Christmas gift without scouting discount web sites for bargain deals on second-grade stuff that will sort of look like the real deal that I wanted to give them in the first place. I want to be able to fly to Hong Kong or Hanoi for the weekend without checking my bank account to make sure that I have enough money for my ever-sky-rocketing rent for the month. Or, hell, I want to go to the dentist to get that pricy root canal taken care of without worrying that one more unexpected expense will drive me to the poor house.

More so, however, I think that I am currently pissed over the fact that I bought my boyfriend a $300 dollar painting as a birthday present. And while that may not seem like much money to some people, this is actually the most that I had ever spent on any gifts for any boyfriends/friends/pals/family members. This is a testament that I actually want to impress this dude by buying something thoughtful that is, at the same time, on the pricier side, by my standards.

And no, I am not pissed that I spent that money. I wanted to spend it. And I found the perfect painting that I hope he will love as much as I think he will. It's just the fact that I know that he's been to that stupid dating web site again and it's bothering the crap out of me. Makes me feel a bit foolish knowing that he went to the site again, while I am sitting here and buying presents for him.

When I asked him about the site a couple of weeks ago (actually, the conversation about it was sort of brought up by him because he mentioned how someone sent him a weird message recently), he said that he goes on there once in a while when people send him random stuff that he can laugh at. He made it sound so innocent and straight-forward that I immediately felt relieved. I could see that he was being honest and that there was nothing going on behind the closed doors.

However, the question still remains. Why is he on the site? Why does he go on it, about once a week? Is it really because the "hilarious" messages from socially-awkward singles amuse him that much?

Or is it because deep down he is hoping for something different than what he has right now.

I don't wanna waste my hard-earned money on a guy who is not fully there and who will dash at the first sign of a better thing. I can be a damn good girlfriend when I put some effort into it. And now that I am putting effort into this, I want to see the same amount of reciprocation.

And I don't wanna have any more panic attacks over money/love matters. I think I deserve better than that.

Love Stoned

2011-11-11T05:36:00.005-09:00

Falling in love is a fucking beautiful feeling. I can go through makeout sessions and awkward first dates a million and one times without so much as batting an eyelash. But I relish and savor every time Cupid throws his arrows my way which, I think, is not that frequently. However, I can firmly say that I've been in love more than once.

You see, there is not just one soul mate for us in our lives. People, men, women, come and go. They enter and exit our lives and we turn the pages of our chapters, hoping that some day, we'll have that memorable bestseller that is flying off the shelves everywhere from New York to Kuala Lumpur.

And once in a blue moon, there will be that special someone that will knock our boots off. We'll turn around, stomped, flabbergasted, taken aback. We might deny it at first, too afraid to admit it, fearful of getting hurt or rejected. But we will know... oh, we will know..

when we fall in love.

My first love was at sixteen. A very emotional, passionate love affair with a lad from London. I barely touched, hardly kissed the guy because, basically, our connection consisted of, primarily, late night longing, careless confessions that were taken back as easily as they were said, sleepless fantasies. My sixteen year old self sure loved the drama of that heartfelt sting....

I don't think I denied it even for one second. I knew that I was in love. I still believe, despite the whole being-immature-and-not-beng-sure-what-love-was-at-the-time, that Alex was my first true love.

My second love was Dan. That took a while to realize and to admit to myself. Dan had a girlfriend whom I had never met, but that did not prevent me from having an on and off thing with him for over two years. We dated other people, yes. He dated his girlfriend, his wife now, on and off. I dated guys here and there, running back to Dan when things got lonely or boring.

He was a bastard, in retrospect. He cheated shamelessly on his girlfriend and I was much too young to care. Though, out of subconscious guilt and knowing that he had a girl all along, I never gave him my real name. To this day, if he remembers me at all, I am a girl with a name that's not my own.

My third love was Mr J. It was the most adult kind of love I had experienced but also the most passionate kind. The kind that I thought I was too old for. I felt things, I smiled when he called, I giggled like a little school girl. I cried when he hurt me. I fucking hated his guts when he was being a dick. But I loved, loved, LOVED him unconditionally.

We met up in Cincinnati, Louisville, Chicago, Philly, St Louis. Our romance was whirlwind. He denied how attracted he was to me in the beginning; he made it seem like it was no big deal that he was driving to see me every weekend for 2.5 hours back and forth from Dayton to Louisville. But I could see he was scared shitless that I was the girl that made him sweat and wait. He said he only had one serious relationship before me and that she cheated on him the entire time. I saw this guys emotions unravel before me. I wanted him like I never wanted anyone before.

It was own version of a cross-country love affair. But we were never destined to be close, not even in the same state. It all ended, slowly but surely, when I left to go to Singapore, half hoping that he would stop me by asking me to be his one and only.

He finally did. He asked me, begged me to be his girlfriend. But only when I arrived in Singapore. Much too late. I wanted him to ask me that question for over two years, but when he finally did, I said "no".

Because I met my number four.

Ah shit, I think I'm in love again.

Seducing the Liar

2011-11-04T23:46:00.006-09:00

I am the last person to admit that I am jealous. Mostly that is because I am, as I try to convince people when they inquire in disbelief, very hard to make jealous. I trust men. It comes with sufficient self-confidence which I only acquired in the last 4 years or so. But even before that, I was never the jealous type. Don't ask me why, I like keeping it this way.

But I must admit that I am jealous right now. Jealous because I am not sure what The Banker can possibly want more. I have two theories, though. Indulge me, please:

Theory Numero Uno: He got spoiled by money. Okay, maybe that is not fair to put it this way. He was always spoiled by money. He grew up in Beverly Hills (90210, indeed) and his family is all sort of ridiculously unfathomably wealthy.

And hey, don't mean to throw my own sex under the bus here, but a lot of girls, women.... tend to go for those rich types. Don't get me wrong, The Banker could get a girl if he did not have a penny in his pocket, as far as I'm concerned (those dreamy eyes...), but I am sure those hundred dollar dinners and VIP jet-setting lifestyle can make ANY man slightly more attractive. Like I said, to some women... and don't look at me with a side eye. I have dated so many penny-less stoners and broke artists that I can be absolved of a gold-digging title for as long as I live.

So maybe he's looking for Miss December 2012 to show off to his friends. I very well know men who, no matter how pretty their current girl is, are always on a look out for a fresh face. Chronic bachelors they are, always on a prowl. They never see a good thing when it comes or when it leaves, they only see the next thing.

Theory Numero Dos: His religion. Plain and simple, he is Jewish and I am not. And while it may not be a big deal to me, it could be a bigger deal than I think it is for him.

His mother is Jewish, his father is Jewish, his brothers are Jewish, his cousins are Jewish. I've always been attracted to Jewish men, so I don't care if I have to convert at some point to be with one. But to him? Maybe it's a different story and mom and dad won't approve of him dating a shiksa.

So there you have it. Two theories twirling restlessly about my head, clouding my mind with their nagging whispers. Leave him, stay with him, try harder, seduce him, dump him.

But tonight, jealousy fades into the background and I'll be taking the seduction route. Cooking has always been my forte though I don't do it often. But tonight, I will be cooking a three-course gourmet meal for the Banker and serving it to him in my itty-bitty pretty heels.

Yeah, shoot me in the face. But after all, they say that the surest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, isn't it?

Color Me Confused

2011-10-31T04:21:00.004-09:00

You know, I just don't get it. If a guy is not that into you and is looking for something better, then why is he making plans with you? Why is he asking you to meet your roommates? Why does he offer up an idea of you and him going on a weekend vacation together?

I am conflicted as to what kind of game The Banker is playing. I have not brought up what I know yet, because I simply don't know how to. It's not like I can just go:

"Hey, so you've been checking your online dating profile quite frequently, you little bastard. What's up with that?"

A part of me keeps telling myself that I am overreacting and that I should keep calm, keep my guard up and sleep with one eye open. But what kind of a relationship is that?

But things are so fucking good on the surface. I cannot comprehend why a man would put on such a front and continue dating me if he is just looking for a way out. Or for another woman for that matter.

A part of me wants to punch him in the face. Or kick him right in the balls in a middle of a busy street and walk away while he's grabbing his crotch in excruciating pain.

Another part of me keeps hoping that it' all just nothing. And while I can't come up with even one reasonable explanation to his prowling around a dating site, I am still struggling to understand his motives.

Like, why would he give me a code to his apartment, knowing that I can come in at any time and take anything I want from his place. Why bother going through all this trouble of putting on a sweet and innocent facade for four months now.

There was one time four years ago when I posted a guy's number on a gay dating site and told everyone and their mother to call him for a "good time". Yes, that was four years ago but, when push comes to shove and when I feel like I am being disrespected to no end... well, then I won't be above doing the same with The Banker's number. Hell hath no fury...

But really,

I just want things to be normal. For once in my love life. Not too much to ask for, eh?

Unofficial Official

2011-10-28T06:41:00.004-09:00

You know that perfect moment that you keep telling yourself you deserve?

That you deserved all along? And that you fought all doubts and let down all those walls you built up because, finally, you thought, finally you found that person who could be everything they say they are.

The perfect moment where you let your guard down for a guy. And you say to yourself, in sheer surprise:

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? My heart is still in tact. I am still here. He didn't reveal his true ugly colors or confessed that he had a girlfriend or that he was impotent or that he had children or that he was emotionally unavailable. He is actually what he says he is. He is as close to perfection as they come. Hang on to him, you silly self, hang on to him, damn it!"

The perfect moment where he asks if he could list you as an emergency contact number when he gets somewhat seriously injured and has to go to a hospital over night. The moment that he gives you a door code to his apartment so you could let yourself in any time you wanted to.

The seemingly perfect moment where you silence your doubts and just let things take their natural course and let yourself... almost let yourself get swept away?

Yeah. THAT moment.

It feels damn good, doesn't it?

Until you find out, through happenstance, that your Mr Perfect has an active profile on a dating site. And, yes, Mr Perfect told you before that he was on the said site and that he was looking for a serious relationship, whether he met that right girl online or not online. And you were perfectly okay with it, and just assumed that he took the profile down when he asked you to be exclusive.

Until you found out that he logged in again just four days ago. And then again yesterday, just before he took you out on that date.

Until you try to convince yourself that, MAYBE, you are overreacting and it's just nothing and he is just curious. And then you realize that, MAYBE, just maybe, he is just fishing for someone else that is not you.

That you are not a girlfriend after all. You are just a girl he is dating for the moment.

Just a girl that is unofficial as the last one.

And you realize that maybe his last girlfriend did not leave him because he was working too hard all the time. Maybe she left him because she realized that she was not his girlfriend at all. She was just a girl he was dating at that moment.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

A Special Something-Something

2011-10-22T20:09:00.006-09:00

It's a lazy Sunday morning and The Banker and I are lounging on his comfy living room couch, watching TV. Not bothered to get fully dressed, we are eating cereal in nothing but our underwear and flipping channels between Sunday morning cartoons on Nickelodeon and "I Shouldn't Be Alive" on Discovery. Our feet are stretched out on his coffee table (my mom never let me put my feet up on the coffee table at my parents' house, so I always take special pleasure when I get the opportunity to defy this childhood rule). He's checking the market on the Blackberry that's attached to his hip at all times and planning his next trade moves. I am not checking my phone at all, because in my line of work there is nothing important enough to deserve a Sunday morning reply.

This is as close to domestic bliss as it gets for me. For the first time after my post Mr J-dating, I am beginning to fully realize how damn lucky I am to have this guy. I couldn't possibly ask for anything more of him because he is as perfect as they come.

I've always been a firm believer that there is something there when I meet a guy who makes me want to be a better person. Well, The Banker makes me want to be the best person I can possibly be.

For real.

One Drink to Calm Your Jitters

2011-10-20T02:26:00.008-09:00

I am at a KTV - a Japanese-style karaoke adventure where you are basically given a rented booth for a couple of hours so that you and your friends can sing/scream your hearts out to dozens of your all-time favorite songs. That is exactly what I am doing right now.

The projector above my head is spewing rays of blue, green and red light. The small room with lounge-type chairs has been transformed into a mini-disco and The Banker and I are singing (badly), drinking our jugs of beer and rocking out to our favorite Guns'n'Roses tune.

I am wearing a form-fitting black dress with tussles and navy blue peep-toe shoes but I am one step away from classy as I take a full swig of my beer before turning my attention back to the microphone. The Banker doesn't seem to mind that my beer almost comes out of my nose right before I chime in to sing along to the chorus in "Sweet Child of Mine".

My mission tonight is simple: I need to get buzzed enough to ask The Banker where we stand with our relationship. Ever since I discovered that I was starting to develop deeper feelings for him, I'd been aching to find out how he feels about me. Am I girlfriend material or just a date to spend weekends with? I just had to get enough beer in me first to work up the courage to ask the question.

Back at his place, I chicken out a little bit. I am feeling the butterflies in my stomach despite my remarkable ability to consume two big jugs of beer in under two hours. Despite the alcohol assumption, I am, somehow, stone-cold sober.

I tell The Banker that I need to use his bathroom but I go and shut the door behind myself just to look in the mirror and give myself a mental pep talk. Tonight HAS to be the night. I don't need to get drunk to ask, I just need to ask and be done with it. Besides, if I WAS drunk right now, I'd probably puke from nervousness.

Back in his living room, I take a full breath, and before I have a chance to chicken out again, I slowly drag words out of myself:

"Soooo.... I've got a question for ya..."

No going back now. Just breathe and keep talking, damn it!

He says, "Yeah? What's up?" and looks up at me from the couch.

"I gotta ask you this... Because I was just wondering... Where do we stand in terms of this whole dating thing? Are we serious? Are we just chilling?"

I try to sound casual but, on the inside, I am finally thankful for those two jugs of beer I drank earlier. They are mellowing me out enough to stop me from being a complete emotional wreck or from studdering too much. Dare I say it, I actually DO sound like, oh, it's no big deal.

"I was waiting for you to bring this up," he says without hesitating, "You know when you just moved here and we started seeing each other, I told you I was looking for a serious relationship. I wanted to give you time to get acclimated with Singapore - a new city, let alone, a new continent. I figured you need some time to make your own friends and establish life here before we developed anything serious."

I hang onto his every word, "Uh huh..." I simply say when he pauses.

"So do you want to make this official?" he smiles.

"Uh huh." I say. I'm speechless but throw my arms around him and hold onto him tightly, as if afraid that he will change his mind and run away. He hugs me back and I look up into his eyes. I feel myself beaming with happiness and, for a moment, I make myself slightly sick with all this lovey dovey-ness and want to tell myself to "get a room."

And just like that, I am no longer single. And while my single life rocked my socks off while it lasted, I am happy to report that being called someone's, no, not someone's.... being called The Banker's girlfriend feels, excuse my language, fucking peachy!

Friends with Some Benefits

2011-10-13T15:27:00.007-09:00

I am sitting in a dark movie theater, with a Hawaiian pizza on my lap and The Banker in his seat to my right. This is my first experience at the movies in Singapore and, I must say, it is an underwhelming one.

No, there is absolutely nothing wrong with the cushioned red velvet seats, or the air conditioning, or the size of the projection screen. The food tastes pretty phenomenal for movie theater food and the space between the row of seats in front of us in aplenty for me to stretch my sore legs and feet.

But I'm puzzled and confused and a little mad. The Banker is not even trying to hold my hand. Why the fuck is he not trying to hold my hand? Never mind the Hawaiian pizza on my lap, I'm done devouring that. Here is my empty right hand, resting casually on the arm rest separating me and him. Why isn't he reaching for it?

I try to hide my annoyance and concentrate on what's going on on the screen. This is the part of the movie where Justin Timberlake is talking to his father at the airport and is asking the father about a woman's name that the dad keeps saying.

The dad says this about the mystery woman, in his moment of clarity, "She was my one true love and probably the reason your mother eventually left me."

JT looks stunned. He always thought it was his mother's fault for leaving but now he is realizing that the fact that his father never acted upon his feelings for his true love hindered his relationship with his own mother. JT is also realizing that he, without a shadow of a doubt, is in love with HIS true love, miss Mila Kunis, and that he must do whatever it takes to win her back and prove to her that she is not just a friend with benefits.

I am too bitter to enjoy this part and I can't help but think about my situation with The Banker in terms of the situation between JT and Mila, except that at the end we don't end up falling in love and making out in front of a dancing crowd of flash mobbers in the Grand Central Station.

What if in real life my JT already knows that I will be nothing more than a friend with benefits. Maybe he does not see our affection as something that should be acted upon outside of his bedroom. Maybe he views hand-holding as something reserved for the girl that he will eventually fall in love with. A girl who is not me.

Maybe my JT knows that I am just his Mila Kunis - a fun chick to spend time with but not girlfriend material. And despite the fact that I might be cute, charming, witty, intelligent, sharp as nails, I am simply not the girl for him.

I look at my JT as the credits of the movie start to roll by and people begin hustling to the exit. He's occupied in his moment, trying to figure out if Emma Stone made a cameo in the movie (she did, by the way, but only for a couple of seconds, due to Singaporean movie editing skills). I am occupied in my moment, trying to figure out just what the fuck it is that we're doing.

In the friends with benefits scenario, I would be that friend that is starting to feel like she is in too deep. And as the 'friends with benefits' rules go, I should be the one trying to supress my feelings and get the eff out before my heart gets damaged.

Hung. (Over?)

2011-10-08T22:02:00.005-09:00

This morning, I opened my sleepy eyes to find myself sprawled on my bed, still wearing my cocktail dress from the night before, with a menacing headache, busted knee from (I GUESS) falling down at some point last night, lipstick smeared on my pillow, and my jewelry thrown about the room in the most careless manner than only told me one thing... I got so shitfaced last night.

It started off innocently enough. I met my friend, Chicago Dude, at 4pm to watch the England vs France rugby match at a local Aussie bar. For some reason, I thought it would be a grand idea to start drinking at noon, so I showed up at the bar with having already drank about half a bottle of Californian Cabernet Sauvignon. Watch out, boys, here comes a one classy girl!

I looked good but I imbibed a lot throughout the night. In fact, I am kind of afraid to log into my banking account and check the statement after last night, since I keep finding random receipts in my purse and on my table (and even one in my bed!), showing me, continuously, withdrawing money and charging my card for all the "beverages" I've consumed.

I ended up at Le Noir, a premier night club for professional partiers somewhere between ten and midnight, where I ran into The Banker's friend.

"Hey, L, what are you doing here? Where's your boy?" he asked me, while eyeing the Chicago Dude up and down.

Great. Every time I ran into The Banker's friend, I'm with another guy.

"I think, he's at a wedding! I'm gonna see him tomorrow!" I screamed, surely while holding a glass full of Chardonnay, so that The Banker's friend could hear me over the deafening pounds of the latest David Guetta remix.

I'm not sure if he believed me. But, hey, at that point I was beyond the point of caring.

I proceeded to drunkenly text various people with nonsentical syllables. I texted my coworker a letter L. I texted another friend with a simple "why??", which, I'm sure, she will ask me about on Monday. I texted The Banker as well. I guess, for him I gathered my last bits of sanity, because that text actually made sense to me this morning when I reread it, while trying to retrace the last night's steps.

"I miss you!" it said, plainly and vulnerably, but I was relieved that I could show him a bit of my feelings without worrying whether or not he's going to hurt me in the end.

But the best part of the night, of course, was me losing the Chicago Dude somewhere in the crowd at another night club, dancing with Some Guy on the dance floor and then following him to his VIP table, and then, somehow, making out with the said guy. A lot.

I mean, continuously making out throughout the night.

I mean, I don't even have the slightest clue about who he is, how old he is, or even what his name is.

Like I said, I got so shitfaced. And, to sum it all up, I don't think being shitfaced is a good look for me. Alls I hope for is that my late night makeout session was not recorded by the innocent bystanders who just might retell the story to The Banker.

I'm single. But still. I really like my smokingly-gorgeous, strikingly intellegent Banker and I don't wanna lose him all because of the dude whose face I wouldn't be able to recognize if I saw him today.

High for This

2011-10-01T21:39:00.002-09:00

I really love the phrase "He's not that into you".

Not that I would ever want to hear it in reference to me, but I get it, you know? I get its meaning down to its core. I've felt that way towards dozens of guys I went out on dates with in the past. They were perfectly fine, cute, pleasant, I just wasn't that into them.

Sure, I gave some of them a second or even a third chance. I waited for feelings to emerge, because some of my friends would say, when I told them about my dating escapades: "Awww, he sounds like a great guy. Give it another date or two." And I did, I obeyed and I went on more dates, always with the same outcome. I still wasn't that into them.

Things tend to fade when a person is not that into someone they are dating. There is just not enough energy or incentive to keep things going. Even when the sex is great, it's like, yeah, but what's next?

What is next? Pain? Regret? Indifference? Issues that come up later on when you start dating someone else who is actually into you? None of the above?

I can say this much: I am feeling scared. Even though I go about my day like nothing affects me the way that he (The Banker) does, I revert to being such a girl at night, analyzing every one of his moves, every red flag, every signal that can ease my mind as to where our little affair is heading.

There are plenty of red flags. Plenty. But I also see many glimpses of his tender side, especially when we are alone, resting skin to skin. It is those red flags and those glimpses of tenderness that pick me up and hurl me down with their madness. As much of an expert I can say I am on dating issues, with my own relationships, I make all the mistakes and, frankly, I just do not know shit.

So:

Red flag: he didn't invite me to a good friend's wedding coming up this weekend. I saw an invitation lying openly for weeks now on his living room coffee table. He mentioned he was going to this wedding a couple of times, very casually each time. It's not that he's trying to conceal this wedding or that he's taking some other chick to it. The question that lingers in my head, though, is why he didn't invite me. If I'm his main squeeze, I should have the right to tag along to this wedding, yeah?

Glimpse of hope: I mentioned that I wanted to go on a vacation because I was starting to feel homesick and wanted to just get off this island for a bit. He said: "Well, you should go take a weekend trip somewhere!" To which I replied: "God, I'd love to. But my friends' and my vacation schedules do not really correspond and I have no one to go with." He raised his eyebrows and he looked slightly surprised and insulted at the same time.... "Well, you should go with me, duh!" he said.

I mean, at least he wants to continue spending time with me, right? But just how serious is all of this. The question that's hurting my brain with its importance is.... is this for real or is this all until the next best thing comes along?

Is he just not that into me?

Vexing

2011-09-24T03:09:00.006-09:00

And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know,
My weakness, I feel, I must finally show...

-"Awake My Soul", Mumford and Sons

Somewhere deep down inside, I am a fragile human being, I'm sure. But sometime along the road of life, my constant longing for being fiercely independent has pushed my fragility deep inside. It is only something I know about myself when I feel vulnerable and only after a couple of glasses of wine. (Cheers, amigos!)

My friend asked me yesterday, as we were sharing a cab to our respective homes, whether or not I was in love with The Banker.

I did not hesitate: "I'm not. I don't know what he's thinking... don't know yet what he wants from me. And, really, until then, I have to prevent myself from developing any sort of deep feelings for him. For my own sake."

The reply was only partially true. I am conflicted on the subject and feel I could go either way with a variety of different answers. They would all be true.

One answer is true to my reply to my friend. I have been burned before. Badly. All because I opened up to a guy who did not have all of his eggs in his basket. I, to this day, do not know why the dude decided to drop me. I do not really care any more, on an emotional level; I am just still slightly curious.

And, truth be told, I do not feel that The Banker is completely giving into me. It's just this sixth sense that I have developed about these things; call it woman's intuition, I call it being "relationship smart". So, naturally, based on my prior experiences and on my own self-analysis, my choice to remain guarded makes sense.

Another answer is that I am not sure if my first answer really holds true. The way I see things is... love is something that cannot be controlled. I mean, if I was truly meant to fall in love with The Banker, wouldn't I have just decided to go with it by now. I mean, it's been three months and either I can control my emotions better and better with time, or it's that I, deep down inside, don't believe I could fall in love with The Banker.

And a third answer is the silliest one of all. The third answer is that my true love could still be Mr J.

He and I are broken up, it's true. But we talk occasionally and I see the man that I've always wanted to be with, I see him as someone I can't bare to lose. Doesn't that mean that I'm still in love with...

Well, let's not even go there right now.

I just want The Banker to tell me what he wants. I want him to decide for me. It's not really fair to anyone, but I think I have too many options right now. And none of the options are a sure thing.

Of Dating Types

2011-09-22T03:37:00.005-09:00

There are two types of women in the world. Those that say that they have a "type" of a guy they usually go for, and those that say they don't. Up until maybe a year ago, I would say I belonged to the latter category.

Honestly, I've dated them all: geeks, stoners, tattoo artists, wanna-be rappers, good guys, bad guys, racist guys (once, and never again), guys who had girlfriends (once, and never again), poor guys, rich guys, skinny guys, fat guys (okay, like, American football quarterback-type kind of "fat", but still), models, hot dog vendors, "entrepreneurs", mafia bosses (allegedly), frat boys, musicians, bankers, lawyers, and so forth. Therefore, it might be fair for me to say that I do not necessarily have that one type of a guy I go for.

But it all comes down to looks. And that is where I DO have a type. As shallow and egotistical as it may sound, I've realized about a year ago that I date the same types of guys. And though the look that I went for when I was eighteen is not the same as the look that I go for now, it is something that has remained pretty consistent throughout my dating years, despite having gone out with men from all backgrounds and occupations.

From 14 to 16, I went through my discovery-of-boys phase. I didn't necessarily date anyone back then. I was way too skinny and awkward looking to land myself a date, but I was super attracted to boys with a little bit of Latino flava. Puertorican boys really rang my bell. So much so that I really wanted to name my first-born Marcus. My mother was not pleased but I thought Marcus was the most beautiful name for a boy I could ever pick. I really wanted to marry a cute Puertorican back then, what can I say.

From 16 to 20, it was a blend of Irish and German for me. It was the oddest thing because I truly firmly believed that all of America's single guys had German mothers and Irish fathers because that is precisely the blend of nationalities that I would encounter in every single guy I had dated back then.

At 20, I met several good-looking Italians, and that's when I realized that the Irish were out, and from that point on, tall, dark and handsome Italians were SO in. My one serious boyfriend at that point was like 110% Italian and I loved the fact that he had a big family, had dark spiky hair and was close to his mother.

At 22, I broke up with the said boyfriend and started my dating spree. It's been good, bad and ugly but I realized at that point that I was beginning to raise my standards significantly higher and was solidifying the range of guys I was going for.

I realized that I was very into Jewish men.

Okay, so not really hardcore religious Jews. It was more about these gorgeous Jewish Americans that I first started meeting back when I was in undergrad at UPenn. They were liberal, they were outgoing, they were like the next step of my dating evolution from the tall, dark and handsome Italians. The Jewish men were all that, plus more sophisticated (which may have had something to do with my dating demographic getting older), more intriguing, more worldly.

Basically, I am just going to make the long story short and say this. God bless America, God bless the Italians and, especially and specifically and more over and hereafter, God bless the sexy single Jewish men.

Mazel tov!

Today.

2011-09-17T17:49:00.004-09:00

What prompts us to decide that 'TODAY' will be the first day of the rest of our lives?

Could it be something monumental, like a realization that the way we're doing things is not really working? Is it a promise to ourselves to live lives differently, to change those things that we dislike about ourselves, to try harder to get to the goals we've once set?

To me, it's a refresher and renewal of a vow that I have to do persist with my goal to something big, while I am still on this planet. So, today, I woke up and decided that 'TODAY' is going to be the first day of the rest of my life.

It has to start with small steps... trying to work even harder at work (I've got a big museum meeting tomorrow where I plan on dazzling the senior curator with my knowledge), trying to get some writing gigs (I so desperately want to be a legit writer some day), trying to sort things out on a personal side (which might be the trickiest thing of all).

And I am already getting myself ready for my first big reward (something that will keep me motivated). My first Christmas ever that will be spent away from freezing temperatures and parkas and next to or right on some of the most pristine beaches in the world.

I will be dropping it all in December and going to Thailand for a beach lounging, elephant riding, cocktail drinking, deep-water diving adventure. I mean, how can you go wrong with a view like this:

Forget money troubles, men, drama. Forget everything because this, ladies and gentlemen, is my ultimate version of paradise. And if I can get this piece of heaven for ten days staight... well, I'll take it with a cherry on top.

Nighthawks

2011-09-11T05:36:00.004-09:00

In this city of millionaires, lately I've been feeling like I'm not making a damn dime. This city's heart is so damn cold at night. Plus, my love life is a total hot mess. Plus, my attempts at a poetic prose just don't have the same ring to them when I write them out on a cocktail napkin.

Welcome to my world at twenty seven, where I can't sort anything out and the only thing I can't stop doing is making mistakes and continuing writing.

Writing like I'm some damn novelist-wannabe. Writing, writing, writing until my brain swells up and bleeds with words. Words that only make me more confused, yearn for the time lost, long for something that is only a creation of my mind.

You know what the most frustrating thing is?

No, it's not not knowing what you want. It's knowing exactly what you want and having no clue how to get it.

In This California King Bed...

2011-08-29T05:13:00.005-09:00

We are not ten thousand miles apart... In fact, we are becoming closer than I though we would, skin to skin, with your warm breath on my bare shoulder. Yet, I am still guarding my heart and guarding my steps and guarding my sanity because I know that if I lose myself back again, I will lose myself for good and for a while.

You look at me and kiss the palm of my hand, and then each one of my fingers. I feel like giving in because it is better than feeling like I want to give up. Yet, I hold back because men like you are rarely an open book. Most often, men like you have secrets of your own that I almost do not want to uncover what you have got hiding in your pandora box. Though, men like you make my head go spinning, like I am still drunk from a night before.

The bell at the clock tower somewhere outside but nearby strikes noon, yet we do not move. I do not want to call a cab and go home yet. Yet, I know I have to leave and make my day off meaningful, filled with my dance classes, my futile exercises in writing and daydreaming about greatness.

Your skin feels so smooth yet rugged and masculine. Your ass looks damn good when you slowly get up and walk out of your bedroom to go find your phone. I sink my left cheek back into the heavenly pillows and sheets and close my eyes to shield them from the incoming rays of unforgiving tropical sun peeking in splices through the half-open shades.

I want to fall asleep again but I conquer my laziness and slip on some clothes and go find you. You're in the kitchen, cooking eggs in nothing but your boxers. I momentarily consider taking a picture of you just like that, blissfully unaware of my presence, and sending the candid picture to GQ magazine to brag about what it is that I am seeing right now. Take that, Ryan Reynolds.

Yet I simply stare for a few seconds and disappear back into the shadows of the hallway.

I just want to go back to your California king bed.