Girl and City

Ironically, not two days after my “Officially Single” post, I meet someone!

Well, “meet someone” is a bit of a stretch. More like, I went out for Halloween, got drunk, and made out with someone.

And that’s where the story should have ended. But the next day, in the middle of my deathly hangover, NJB adds me on Facebook.

So I’m sitting there, trying not to throw up for the umpteenth time, hovering between “Accept” or “Reject” this unsolicited friend request. Quite honestly, I was surprised he even remembered my name. I certainly didn’t remember his (but my skills of deduction helped me realize who this friend request had to have come from.)

Do I really want to be friends with this guy?
I mean, I don’t want to be like “the bitch” who goes and uses some guy just so she’d have someone to grind up against in the club, and then drops him like garbage.
On the other hand, if I accept this friend request, I don’t want him to think it actually means something, like I want to actually be friends (or more) with him.
Because, let’s be clear about something, when I go out to a club, I’m not there to meet guys. In fact, I have very low expectations of the quality of guys in clubs. Sure, it’s fun if I meet someone that I actually enjoy dancing with, but that’s a one-night thing. If that accidental meeting extends beyond the one drunken night, it’s no longer fun anymore.

That is, at least, the lesson I’ve learned from four years of university.

So, while I should have been flattered that he remembered my name, while I should have felt a smidgen of optimism that you actually can meet decent guys in clubs, all I could think was “Damn, I shouldn’t have given him my real name.”

In the end, I did add him on Facebook, and when he messaged me for my number, I gave it to him. I realized that jadedness begets jadedness, and I didn’t want to perpetuate the cycle. I’d rather be the foolish girl who believes the best in everyone despite past experience than the bitch who treats men like garbage just because she’s been treated like garbage in the past. I didn’t want to perpetuate the cyclical behaviour that ruins the chances of happiness for everyone, because – well, it doesn’t have to be this way.

So, let it be known that if you ever meet me in a club or at a party, I will always give you my real name.

P.S. I was the Little Red Riding Hood for Halloween. I’m not one for fancy Halloween costumes but my roommate happened to have this, so I lucked out.

“Girls Night Out or Girls Gone Wild?” was the question I was trying to answer this Saturday night with WAF. We’d been planning a staycation for this weekend because we both needed to let out some steam. To get the best bang for our buck, we booked one night at a hostel¹ and planned to start the weekend off right, with shopping and cocktails, followed by pre-drinking at a lounge and ending the night at a club.

At noon on Friday, we were just finalizing our plans via a flurry of excited emails² when I received an email from LawyerMan asking if I still wanted to work for him as a legal assistant at his firm. I hadn’t heard from him since the interview, where he had made it abundantly clear that I was grossly underqualified for the position. I had interpreted the lack of communication as “I am too busy to even email you to let you know that, like I said at the interview, I don’t want you,” and left it at that. When I read his email, a simple one-liner asking if I was still interested in the position, I jumped at the opportunity and immediately said yes. I asked him when he wanted me to start. He said Monday.

Keep in mind that not only was I currently working, but I was in a different city! What kind of employer emails you on Friday afternoon to tell you to come in on Monday? Did he think I’d been sitting on my ass, twiddling my thumbs for the entire four weeks since the interview?
But of course I said yes, because I was afraid he’d change his mind. After all, this was the sort of opportunity that could really help me with my career, even if the opportunity came with an inconsiderate boss.
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1. two summers ago, I had stayed at hostel with Zee and ER so I was comfortable with it, but this time we were staying at a different hostel, so I wasn’t sure if it would be sketchy or not. It turned out to be quite clean, although the location was a bit sketchy. [↩]
2. Both of us were at work and, apparently, not that dedicated to our jobs. [↩]

“God, I hate the rain,” WAF remarked as we huddled under her umbrella. Just as we approached an intersection, a gust of wind flipped her umbrella outwards.
“Fuck. I hate this umbrella, too. It’s completely useless.” Without another word, she tossed the umbrella on the ground. It was still open, still flipped backward, and now lying on the street in front of a parked car.
“You’re just going to leave that there?” I asked, as she started to cross the street without checking traffic.
I jogged to keep up with her. “You can’t just leave that there, what if it flies into oncoming traffic?”
“Don’t be silly. How could it do that?”
“Wind! Strong wind! I mean, Mary Poppins could fly with her umbrella!” Nearby, a guy in a suit gave us a strange look.
“Nope, it’s not going to happen.” She pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

I was downtown with WAF during her lunch break to make sure she was ok – and by that I mean, she wasn’t running back into the arms of BAD. Except now she wanted to run into the arms of her married coworker, who was apparently very sweet on her and open to the idea of a no-strings-attached affair. As if.
We ducked into a 50s-themed restaurant-bar and WAF ordered a bottle of wine before I had even removed my coat.
“Are you not eating?”
“Are you kidding? Everything on their menu has to be at least 300 calories. I can’t afford that. Plus I need alcohol if I’m going to get through today without calling BAD.” So this was how she lost twenty pounds since the last time I saw her. Good ol’ anorexia. Who needs food when you have cigarettes and alcohol? I considered force-feeding her fries, but by the time our waitress returned, I was happily buzzed and had forgotten all about it. Great, I was drunk at noon on a Wednesday off of indistinguishable house wine. And I wasn’t even the depressed one. (more…)

“One time, this friend of mine met a hot guy at a bar, then found out he was a plumber,” FF said the word ‘plumber’ like ‘terrorist’. She rolled her eyes as if to say “That was the end of that.”
ALS chuckled and added, “You can never really find good men in bars.”
The three of us were in the back of a taxi, heading home after a night out at a swanky new lounge we’d discovered. It boasted a list of over thirty martinis, including one that cost a whopping $99 and came with a ‘diamond.’

“What’s wrong with plumbers?” I asked defiantly, suddenly feeling protective of the low-income populous. “I mean, girls are always swooning over hot firefighters. How is a hot plumber any different?”
“That is true. They do come rescue you in times of need,” ALS offered.
“If you get their number, you can at least call them for a plumbing job even if you don’t end up going on a date,” FF added jokingly.
“It’s true!” I emphasized in all seriousness. “Personally, I love handymen, and I’m sure I have a higher chance of needing a plumber than a fireman. They should make a hot plumbers calender, like they do with firemen.”
The taxi driver checked me out through his rearview mirror and laughed audibly.
“Housewives across the country would go nuts,” FF chimed.

Love sickness, according to Wikipedia, is defined as “a non-medical term used to describe mental and physical symptoms associated with falling in love.” Falling in love is also defined on there too but I was too scared to click on the link. Love sickness is apparently also an anxiety disorder. Well, I gotta buy a vowel because that explains why I am perpetually a mess whenever some boy comes along. I am suffering from an anxiety disorder!

Last week, I went to a conference in Boston with about 20 other kids from The Business School. The conference sucked. So we skipped most of it to explore Boston instead. DEB was on the trip, and we spent a lot of time together. I really didn’t mean to, since I had already gotten over his dreamy eyes and given up on him. On the bus there, I ended up sitting beside him, but nothing happened of course. We didn’t talk much, but we didn’t sleep much either. Later, I would realize this was because he was as excited about me sitting beside him as I was.

Twelve hours is a long time to spend on a bus, especially when you’re brushing shoulders with a guy who has the power to make your knees go weak. As soon as we arrived, the Girls (BI, GHG, and me) realized we had adjoining rooms with the Guys (DEB, FMB, and two others). You know what this means — late-night sneaking into each others’ rooms was not going to be a problem.

After registering for the conference (which was a nightmare because the guy “in charge” of our delegation did not have the first idea what he was doing and had the maturity of an 8-year-old), BI and I went to Chinatown in search of cheap and fast food. We found an ancient-looking banquet hall that was bizarrely decorated, with faded walls, dingy carpets, a musty smell. In true Cantonese dim-sum style, carts soon started to roll by our table, offering unidentifiable dishes made almost entirely with MSG.

When we returned to the hotel, I did not feel like going to the afternoon workshops, so when I ran into a group of girls headed to Newbury St. for some shopping, I invited myself along. Newbury St. is famous in Boston for its high-end boutique stores, and I was excited to see for myself how it compared to The City.

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