Single but Not Available

The past few years I've mastered single-dom. My last serious relationship was in 2010 and that was a long distance relationship i.e., no date nights at the local BYOB, cooking together, an extra hand when I needed to change a lightbulb. Just long lonely flights and even lonelier nights.
However, I did have a pseudo-boyfriend for a while, one who ended up wanting to be my real-life boyfriend. And we all know how that story goes.
My point is, being single takes a certain kind of skill especially if you are away from family and home. But after a while you settle into your little routine of independence, conjuring up your next boyfriend. That's the nice thing about being single. You get to make up your own ideal boy and not deal with current BS. I was getting drinks with a girlfriend of mine when we came up with the idea of a magic blender. One so powerful that it can extract the top-notch qualities of each and every single one of our exes. Like Craig's personality + Charlie's physique + Howard's devotion. If only.
Coming back to the present, I'm dating a commitment-phobe. It has been thrown at my face several times. I don't quite believe in changing someone. Perhaps we adapt to our partners but changing one's mindset is a completely different. So the question is, to stay or to leave? And I write this to remind myself that I'll be okay either way. Until the next concoction comes along.

Why men and women can't be friends.

It's not everyday that your best friend tells you that he's in love with you. And that's precisely what happened this past week. It was mid-week, without warning while we were on our way back from grabbing dinner and shopping for our upcoming end-of-summer joint party. Oh yeah, and we were in a car. A car that was moving about 60 miles an hour. Which was as fast as my heart was racing when George asked if I could see myself going out with him. It was pretty clever of him considering that I had no escape route. It was just me, George and approximately ten bags of hot dog buns.

So what were the subsequent events? Well, as a kid, have you ever read gamebooks which allowed you to choose your own adventure and star in your own stories? Not from one or two but up to forty possible endings? I have to admit that I got quite a kick out of them when I was younger. If you hated the ending, not a problem. Just start over.

So a split-second after George spoke up, I went through all the potential outcomes in my head. Ideally, I'd be madly in love with him and having being prompted by his confession we will now begin a relationship based on true love and friendship and go on to live happily ever after. That was best-case scenario. However, we all know by now that life does not work that way.

A week later, I pulled George aside and confirmed that I had no romantic feelings for him. It was painful to watch as his face fell. It is instinctive to protect and guard the feelings of your friends and loved ones. However, on this very day I had failed to do so which although inevitable, was mixed with disappointment and guilt.  

Everything aside, I was mostly worried about our friendship. Will it be all or nothing?

Love Hangover

"I've got the sweetest hangover, I don't wanna get over."

In the spirit of the 4th of July, I too declared independence by hooking up with my best guy friend's roommate, Charlie. If there's one thing I should have learned about myself within the past year, it's this. I don't do casual relationships. In fact, I'm incapable of doing casual relationships. Every bone in my body screams monogamous whether I like it or not.

In college, while girlfriends were busy experimenting and chatting up every cute boy they came across,  I happily stayed close to my college sweetheart, Craig. We're not discussing Craig today however, because life with Craig was pretty significant. Nope. Today we're honing in on something more fleeting.

Charlie.

Charlie was the perfect candidate. Newly single, Charlie was 6 ft 2, blonde, blue-eyed and most importantly, we really didn't have that much in common besides the fact that Ali was a mutual friend. Plus, for the last four years, Charlie and Mary had been an entity. They were both health nuts, super athletic, worked-out 24/7 and never came out to parties. On top of that, they lived together and were business partners.  Hence, I never gave Charlie a second thought. I couldn't think of another couple who were more perfect for each other.

Until, of course, when they were not. One day, Mary woke up and decided that their four year relationship had run its course. She later confided in me that it was turning into a roommate situation. Ouch. Of course it didn't hurt that she'd fallen for another boy who also happened to be Charlie's friend from the soccer league. If there's ever a time to be thankful about singledom it would be right this moment.

Having learned something from past failed relationships, I wasn't about to offer my services to a potential rebounder. I thought that I was being clever. I've been setting up all sorts of armor since Craig, protecting myself from emotionally unavailable men such as Charlie. However, in the attempt to make up for all the time I'd lost to commited love and with the help of a few rounds of Pinot Grigio, I'd underestimated the power of pillow talk. The relaxed flirting and casual banter that can be dangerously mistaken for something more than  what a casual relationship embodies. Although the head is well-instructed, the heart however is not immuned to gentle words or a soft touch.

By Monday, I'd started waking up from the haze of the long self-indulgent weekend. Not unlike the effect of mixing cocktails with beer, I'd gotten my first real hangover. And it was bittersweet. It's always such a good idea to do three tequila shots in a row but we very rarely ever stop to think about how we'd feel curled up on the bathroom floor the morning after.

With all that being said would I have made a different choice if given a do over? Probably not. Given my past experiences, I should have learned that I'm emotionally handicapped when it comes to casual relationships. But most importantly, I'm more proud of what I've learned to put into practice and that is to breathe and  let go when required. Just like a regular hangover, there's nothing a little time and a gallon of orange juice can't do.

And I'm perfectly okay with that.

"And the stars they all aligned."

If you asked me what I was doing this Saturday, and I take a while to respond, it's probably because I'm going on yet another one of those dreadful first-dates. Unfortunately, there has been quite a few of them in the past year. I've started losing count, let alone remember their names. Last month alone there was a Stan, Steve, erm, I think a Michael before that and the most recent one named Alex. Even girlfriends have stopped asking. "Oh great. Have fun." No exclamation in sight.

But wait.... don't you want to know that Stan is actually a tax lawyer who makes an obscene amount of money but is lactose-intolerant? Or that Alex, at 24, is way too young for me but has sick abs because he used to run track in college? And the 100 meter hurdles, no less. *sigh*. But I digress.

I hesitate to tell you my Saturday night plans not because I'm shy or afraid of judgement. But rather, I've grown jaded and honestly, a tad wary. Most dates end with me feeling neutral at best which is good enough for me to pick up the phone if Stan calls for a second date but I'm not exactly drumming my fingers on the table by the telephone or holding my breath either. Whatever. At worst, I want to leave the second I step into that Thai restaurant. But no. I put on a smile, force myself to sit in that chair across from Dave and agree to share an appetizer. I even recommend the curry puffs! I make him feel so at ease that he calls for a second date. Yes, I am THAT girl. I'm so good that you confuse my charm for chemistry.

Hence, my call-back success rate has been pretty good. The boys almost always follow up. A clever few schedule the next date while they're walking me to my car (subtract fifty points for those who don't (walk me)). Except of course for the one that you actually sit by the telephone for. And the one where your heart actually skips a beat when the familiar three tone text message alert comes in. But of course.

 "Ask me out again. Ask me out again. Ask me out again."  As if saying it three times in a row (and maybe every hour, all week) will somehow create some energy waves powerful enough to elicit a response. This, unfortunately, is the irony of wanting something too much.

So I'll just sit here and wait for the stars to align. Maybe then Alex and his six-pack abs will call me back for that second date like he said he would.  

The truth is...

I wasn't always okay. Spencer had left me a wreck. Whenever I think about our brief "courtship", the term "sudden death" comes to mind.  In a sport or a game, the sudden death challenge is a tie-breaker that determines the final winner after an agreed amount of time has past.

A week prior to the demise of our relationship, we were head-to-head in this love game. In order to get ahead, he'd made several excellent moves. He'd convinced me that;
A.We do have common ground (something that I had begun to doubt for reasons that I will discuss later).
B. I was going to be made priority.

Oops. He might as well have yelled-out "Checkmate!". Because as soon as I let my guard down, *bam*  I was consumed by "sudden death".

"Before death we try to deny it for as long as possible, but once death occurs we are encouraged to move on as soon as possible."

Besides identifying a winner, "sudden death" also refers to exactly what it means. To die unexpectedly. It is slightly morbid, I get it. However, the feeling of grief and confusion that follows? Not exactly a walk in the park either. One day you're sharing eggs and pancakes with the person while making future plans, the next day they simply cease to exist in your world. There is absolutely no closure. Because now, it's completely up to you to wrap up that chapter of your life. And nothing's ever pretty when hastily finished.

My point is break-ups suck as it is. Why turn it into a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare? If you had a mortal enemy, the worst thing you could possibly wish upon the person isn't death. The only difference between death and heartbreak is this. Death ends. Your pain and suffering ends with it. 

On the other hand, surviving a "sudden death" heartbreak? This could go on forever... 

There's this trend...

The taller the men, the more awful the boyfriend they'll make. And that's an understatement.

Hello. My name is J. Welcome to my confessions. At the risk of being accused of generalizing, I would like to elaborate. I'm no statistician. However, in my world, there has been a trend. Unfortunately so, because I do love my men tall. I'm 5 ft 4" with a penchant for stepping out in strappy heels and peep-toe pumps. But is it worth the heartache?

The latest damage was done by Spencer. Environmentally friendly, supposedly sweet, funny and most importantly, tall, Spencer. We had Japanese on our first date and split a bottle of Sapporo over dinner. Conversation flowed. We did the check dance (it was his 29th birthday), he paid and I smiled politely. I wasn't sure about him but he played by the books and called three days later. By the fifth date we'd shared our first kiss and I stood on his toes (the floor was cold) while he ate a midnight snack by the kitchen sink. Little did I know that there'd be many more such incidents just minus my presence. But I digress. We'll get into that later.

Sixth date he mentioned that he already knew that I'd make the "perfect girlfriend". Eigth was a sweet Valentine's Day. We stopped counting soon after.

We spoke everyday before bedtime. And if you happened to be sitting next to our table at the local jazz club, you would have died in envy because we were that annoyingly blissful couple. Then, one fine day after a great time (or so I thought) in Upstate NY where we had spent the weekend, Spencer calls me at our usual hour and dropped the bomb. "We're not right for each other", sobbed Spencer.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. How did wildly affectionate and sweet dear Spencer flip the switch on me and turned into a blubbering idiot in under 24 hours?

"I once was broken up with by a guy's doorman. "I'm sorry Ms. Hobbes, Jonathan won't be coming down. Ever.""-Miranda-

In the episode "The Post-It Sticks Twice", Berger beat Carrie Bradshaw to the dumping-line via a sticky-note, mere hours after he'd won back her affection. 

""I'm sorry,
  I can't,
  Don't hate me."
"Motherfucker's concise."-Samantha-

Now, being a self-proclaimed serial monogamist, I've had my fair share of breakups. Both as dumper and dumpee. But Spencer clearly needs a lecture (or three or four) on break-up etiquettes.

"Well, it's funny you should mention that Billy, because, actually, there is (a good way to break up with someone). You can have the guts and the courtesy to tell a woman, to her face, that you no longer want to see her. Call me crazy but, I think that, you can make a point of ending your relationship in a manner that does not include an e-mail, a doorman, or a missing persons report."-Carrie-

Lesson numero uno for you Spence Berger.

The Golden Rule i.e. Karma can be a bitch! You talked the talk but failed so miserably at walking the walk.

Coming up next: Listen, we need to talk.