• Christmas lights on people’s houses and lawn ornaments that turn the entire neighbourhood into an enchanted fairyland.
• Taking advantage of holiday sales to buy presents for others and myself.
• Wearing boots. Every day.
• Gourmet chocolates. Every holiday, I can count on some distant colleagues to give me boxes of gourmet chocolates. By the end of the holidays, I’m sick of them, but after the holidays are over, I find myself looking forward to the next round of gourmet chocolates in gift-wrapped boxes.
• Hot chocolate, Starbucks’ peppermint mocha, and other winter-themed drinks.
• Christmas trees and tree ornaments. Putting the Christmas tree up is an annual event that involves the entire family.
• Wrapping presents. I always spend one night wrapping all my presents and it makes me feel so satisfied to look at the pile of wrapping paper, tissue paper, bows, and ribbons under the tree when I’m done.
• Presents, of course. Although my family hasn’t done a proper “Christmas morning present-opening” ceremony in five consecutive years. I wonder if it will ever make a come-back now that I am moving away from home.
• Ample excuse to drink a different bottle of wine every night, which includes champagne and ice wine.
• Curling beside the fireplace with a good book, a rug on my lap, and my dog sleeping soundly beside me. This sort of picturesque postcard moment only seems to happen in December.

Happy December, everyone!

Like his name might suggest, he is a perfect gentleman. He has never been in a long relationship because he is too nice and, as we’re all too familiar with, nice boys finish last. Most of the time it seems, girls use him when they need to be comforted, but at the end of the day, pick someone else to be their boyfriend.
I can’t say that I’m not entirely guilty of the same, considering I have never been attracted to him and yet I have let him take me out on these day-long dates for seven years.

We started the day off with shopping and ended the day off with shopping. In between, we had an amazing all-you-can-eat sushi lunch where we took our sweet time catching up. After listening to his ex-girlfriend woes, commiserating on the challenges of falling in love dating, and basically bringing each other up to date on our life stories, I realized that he has grown from a boy into a man. He’s become more cynical about women, become less of a “nice boy”, and I hate to say it but, more attractive as a result. He was proving his own theory about attraction between men and women; women are more attracted to nice boys who act like jerk boys than nice boys who act like nice boys (I have asked him to write a guest blog on this matter so I won’t go into depth here).

After lunch, we drove around aimlessly north of The City. We kept the GPS turned off and just drove, without an inkling of where we were going. It was great to sit in the car and chat and watch the farmland go by, a completely different side to The City I know and love. It was like a mini road trip. Suddenly, out of nowhere popped a mega-mall. We were pretty shopped out but at the sight of a Forever21 sign, I convinced him we had to make a stop.

Forever21, to me, is basically heaven. If I could, I would make that store my closet. I spent a long time in that store trying everything things on, and he was patient enough to wait for me and hold my coat and purse. I am guilty of totally enjoying his coat rack services while I pranced around the store with an idiot grin on my face like a kid in a candy store.

To be honest, I really didn’t mean to shop for myself at all as I have recently started to run low on cash. But everything I bought elicited a “OH MY GOD this is totally awesome I have to have this!” reaction, and after I picked it up I basically couldn’t put it down.

• Black asymmetric tiered skirt: this skirt is reminiscent of the ballerina skirts that I love. What makes this even more fabulous is the different textures of sequin, mesh, and satin.

• Metallic striped racer-back tank: Snazzy snazzy snazzy. The tunic on the online catalog is even more snazzy (didn’t see that in stores) but the one I got is the same without the tunic and hem. Not sure how I feel about the racer-back to be honest, but the metallic stripes go well with black bottoms.

• Evening fringe shoulder bag: Everything about this purse (evening bag, whatever) spells G-L-A-M. Seriously awesome.

• Silver textured leaf charm necklace: I’m totally digging necklaces that are multiple necklaces in one. Also, I love charms and this one has a leaf, a swallow, a pearl, and two flowers. Feminine and chic.

• Gold polished bead necklace: I don’t have enough gold jewelry. I have been a silver girl all my life. Now, I’m evolving.

• Dressy heart trio earrings: Classy and elegant. What caught my eye was the heart-shaped rhinestone pair, but the studded heart-shaped pair is nice too.

Later, we went to Sephora and MAC. I didn’t really want to buy anything, but the MAC ladies are so nice and knowledgeable that they can always talk me into trying stuff out. Once they get me in the make-up chair and start doing things to my face, I always always end up buying something. This time, the MAC girl ended up giving my cheeks a makeover. I had no idea blushes could be so complicated!

• Wave a Wand Sweep and Define Brushes: For CAD $58, this brush set is a steal. I had wanted to buy a different set originally, that contained a slanted eye liner brush, but I actually already had most of the eye brushes in the set. Once the MAC girl explained how I could use the brushes in this “Wave a Wand” set to define my cheeks, I was sold.

• Luna cream colour base: One of the products she used on my cheeks as a “highlighter.” I love it because it is multi-purpose – i.e. can also be used as a brow highlighter.

Since I felt so guilty about my purchases, PHB offered to pay for something as my Christmas present. Isn’t he perfect? When we walked into a Coach store, he noticed that I was holding my breath.
“Are you in shock?”
“It’s so prettyyy…” I said as I exhaled, floating towards a particularly eye-catching purse sitting on the top shelf. I turned to PHB and looked him straight in the eye. “If you buy me that, I will marry you here and now.”
Without hesitation, he said, “Done.” I may have fainted.

The next thing I knew, we were at a bubble tea cafe (’cause we’re Asian like that). After checking that he did not buy that purse for me and I did not black out and marry him in a Coach store, we settled in for a long chat about: men. and. women. It seems we have both come a long way from our naive notions of love and it was great to share everything we had learned with someone of the opposite gender.

When I got home, I felt like I was high. Was it the Forever21 shopping spree that left me in a state of euphoric stupor or was it the almost-engagement in the Coach store that left me light-headed? Both are equally likely. I guess I will never know.

Most of the offerees there were vying for the New York office, but I did meet two girls who were also going to Singapore (and had also already signed their offers) <-- potential roommates!

TheConsultingFirm had booked out the second floor of Country, a restaurant in mid-town New York that has received considerable praise since its opening in 2005. Unlike the name, the restaurant was not "country" at all, it was very much the height of cosmopolitan sophistication. The finger-food that came around during cocktail hour was impeccable. There was a particularly memorable lobster pastry that makes me want to go back to New York just for another bite.
After some cocktails, finger-food, and mingling with the consultants and other recruits, we got down to dinner.

The dinner consisted of a butternut squash appetizer, which was smooth with the subtle hint of autumn ingredients. For my entree, I chose the mushroom risotto, which was creamy and very flavourful. For dessert, there was a hazelnut chocolate mousse cake, as well as miniature chocolate fruit cups and dipped chocolate "kabobs".

For everyone who had already signed their offer, or announced that they were going to sign, the firm had prepared an expensive bottle of French champagne. Several consultants hinted to us that we should open up the champagne right there and then, but I wanted to save mine and share it with my parents. After all, I am the most indebted to my parents, and they are the least likely to ever have expensive champagne, whereas I will probably have plenty of opportunity to be wined and dined during my consulting career (in fact, later that very night, some of the partners bought us several bottles of champagne at the afterparty).

At the dinner, one of the consultants who interviewed me in the first-round came up to congratulate me. From her, I learned that not only was I the only one from my school, but also the only one from Canada. There's nothing like the weight of your nation's reputation sitting on your shoulders to make you drink faster. All the other recruits were from top American universities such as Harvard, Stanford, Yale, UPenn, Cornell, MIT, and so on. Ironically, I became the center of attention for being the only Canadian and for coming from a school that few had heard of.

After the dinner, the consultants spread the word that the unofficial official afterparty was to be held at a rooftop club a few streets over. The club was indeed gorgeous, although we didn’t spend much time actually on the rooftop. Instead, the consultants had taken over one of the private lounge areas (with its own bar) and were buying everyone drinks, especially the offerees who had yet to sign their offers. I tried to mingle some more, but the loud music made it hard to hold a conversation. After a failed attempt with a senior partner who was leaning in too close, I resorted to standing around with my second (or was it third?) glass of champagne, and smiling and nodding to anything anyone said. I finally got back to the hotel at 3am and collapsed into bed.

The next day, I slept in. Even though I woke up at 7am, I let myself lie a little longer on the king-size bed, wrapped in the 500 thread-count sheets, snuggling into the wall of pillows. After showering, I considered ordering room service for breakfast (which was appealing in its unnecessary extravagance and the fact that I have never ordered room service before), but then decided I would rather go down for breakfast myself. I spent a good hour in the hotel restaurant, reading the newspaper from cover to cover while feasting on a platter of eggs and fruit and toast. Unfortunately, I have to report that I am sorely disappointed in the breakfasts I’ve had at New York. Even this one, a made-to-order breakfast in a nice hotel restaurant, was sub-par.

When I spent what I deemed a sufficient amount of time with morning rituals to be deemed “a lazy morning”¹, I went to the Guggenheim Museum to see the Kandinsky exhibit. I spent the afternoon walking around Lower Manhattan, searching for a suitcase. You see, I had come to New York with only a small backpack (since I was only staying one night). But if I wanted to bring that bottle of champagne back to Canada, I would need to check it in some baggage. So I ended up buying a new suitcase, as well as some other gifts for my parents and friends² – I thought if I checked in an empty suitcase with only a bottle of champagne, well, it might be a little awkward.

All in all, it was a good trip. Unlike last time, I didn’t take any pictures, I just enjoyed being in New York. Other than the unfriendly custom officers³, the taxi driver that tried to scam me, and the crazies that yell at you in the subway, I don’t think I would mind coming to New York on a regular basis⁴.

1. I’d always wondered what it would be like – I guess now I know.
2. Of course, I did a little shopping for myself as well – more on that in another post.
3. Apparently to U.S. Customs, I look like someone who would try to smuggle cocaine in my bra.
4. Which is likely, considering the HQ of TheConsultingFirm is in New York.

But is it really that bad to not know what I’m meant to do when I’m twenty? I mean, isn’t that the point of these summer internships – to figure out if it’s really for you? And yet if you tell an interviewer that – that you’re not sure if this really is what you want to do, you’re just testing out the waters – they’ll be yelling out “Next” before you can say “Give me a chance.” So, I play by the rules and pretend that I have wanted to be an accountant/financial analyst/marketing specialist/advertising assistant since kindergarten, when every other (normal) kid wanted to be a policeman/woman or a firefighter.

So, inspired by Jamie Ann, I have decided to put together a list of jobs that I know I would enjoy:

• Ice cream/gelato taste tester. With my abundant experience (over six years) in consuming ice cream of varying flavours (from ginger to hazelnut to strawberry rhubarb), I am sure I can discern what will be a hit or a flop. Although, how could anything sweet and creamy be a flop?
• Food critic. Dining at fine restaurants and then ripping into their cooking skills? I can do that. I practically do already. I just need to be paid for it.
• A permanent judge on the Japanese Iron Chef. I’d be much better than those amateur foodies (actors/actresses, voice actors/actresses) they bring in.
• Personal shopper for Carrie-Bradshaw-esque girls. Buying beautiful clothes and shoes and accessories with someone else’s money? And getting paid to do it? Hells yeah!
• Part-time driver. You know how cars don’t function as well if they’ve been sitting idle for a long time? This is of particular concern to people who own fancy little sports cars or expensive manual cars of the European variety. I can drive them! I mean, these people never own less than four cars, so once in a while, I can come by and take one of their cars out for a drive.
• Exclusive purse promoter. Need me to subtly introduce your new limited-stock high-end purse to society (in other words, wear the purse to select shopping meccas in the world)? I can do that. Fab purses, airfare and accommodations to international locations, and the potential to meet some very good-looking people included.

Know anyone who’s hiring?

1. Except when they tell you you’re over-qualified, which hasn’t happened to me yet since I do not even have a bachelor’s.

He wanted me to make some marketing materials for a new product, and he wanted it by the end of the day. Kind of a ludicrous demand, since I had not heard anything about this product until he emailed/called me¹. I think the Director purposely did not tell me about this new product launch because he wanted to work on the marketing materials himself. And/or he hates me. My Director must be quite petty if he is competing for projects with his UNPAID INTERN. I mean, honestly, he has nothing to worry about. I don’t want his job. I don’t even want to work for this company. I got roped into this unpaid internship mess before I could say “bite me.” So really, he has nothing to worry about. I’m not sticking around. But I do not tell him that.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day trying to put together a brochure and various other materials for the product. They sent me what they had already – which looked like garbage – so I sent everything back looking nothing like the original (a.k.a much better). But even so, the CEO ignored some of my suggestions. For some reason he really likes gray, despite what I keep telling him about it looking incredibly dull on printed media. Since I’m not in charge of writing the content, I couldn’t change that, but I honestly wanted to (ok, I admit, I did change it a bit. A lot). Because the slogan and the product descriptions and everything on the brochure was just not attractive. The product is targeted at my age group so I should know what’s appealing and what’s not. And their brochure contents were not. But the CEO didn’t take my suggestions. I think this product is going to flop. But I am not telling them that.

At the end of the day though, I did manage to squeeze in both a shower and a pedicure (sort of).

The next day, I turned my cell phone off and drove out to University Town to pick up a dress I had left at my apartment. That morning I suddenly remembered I had a bachelorette party to attend this Saturday and nothing to wear. It’s a themed party, something about Hollywood Glam from the 20s-80s. I have yet to make my final decision on my outfit (this requires serious thinking, considering I have five whole dresses that have never been introduced to society, and they are all equally deserving of some public attention), but at least I now have all five dresses in The City with me. The drive cost me $40 in gas, but that’s less than I’d spend if I went out and bought another dress, so it was worth it.

Today started off with an interview downtown. This time for a LSAT teaching position, which is only part-time but pays extremely well. I cinched the interview (I actually prepared this time! Although it only made me realize how much worse, comparatively, I was at the Advertising interviews), then headed uptown to a sample shoe sale. I now make it a point to attend these because I have sample size feet (I am a lucky, lucky girl) and I hate paying for extravagant amounts for shoes I know I will only wear once or twice.
After two hours of circling and finding nothing, I finally found a pair of black BCBG stilettos just as I was about to leave. For $45, they were a steal! I am technically not supposed to spend anymore money until I actually land a job². But you’re not going to tell, are you?

1. He always emails me and then calls me right after to make sure I received his email. Even if I respond to his email. He is one of those people that are constantly on their Bluetooth headsets yapping away, so I think he calls me just so he can prove to the world that he always has someone to be on the phone with. One time, when he was on the phone with me, he was in the car with his wife and turned to yell at her about something. WHILE I WAS STILL ON THE LINE. Another time, I thought I heard a car accident in the background. I think he’s crazy. Another thought I do not care to tell him.
2. Especially considering that I have been going out for $40 meals every day; plus I bought two dresses, $200 worth of makeup, and a $120 purse over the weekend

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.

One of the first stores we went into was Victoria Secret, which we don’t have in The City, so it was hard to contain my inner shopaholic. However, I was somberly reminded that I had only brought so much cash for the trip and I didn’t want to spend it all on the first day. I decided that I would come back on the last day if I still had cash left over.
The next store we went to was Anthropologie. It was adorable: exposed brick walls, cute patterned dresses, funky accessories, and even colourful kitchenware! As soon as I picked up anything and looked at its price tag though, I realized that this store, too, was out of my reach. So I found a couch, picked up a book of Spanish love poems, and started reading – just to avoid browsing around the store and getting the temptation to buy everything. Even from my safety zone of the couch, I could see the accessories stand, and there was a particular pair of earrings that caught my attention. It was a pair of dangling bronze pearls, unassumingly elegant and large enough to catch your attention. I dismissed it, assuming it would be very pricey. But as the girls and I were just about to leave the store, I couldn’t go without giving it a closer look. Nervously, I reached toward the rack and picked it up, knowing that the longer I held it, the more in love with it I was. I hesitated. Did I want to know how much it was? I really, really wanted it, but if it was too expensive, was I going to be able to walk away from it? Slowly, I turned it over.
$9.99 it read, in a red pen that had crossed out its original retail price of $40. This was destiny!
I let out an audible yelp. The people around me gave me a strange look before returning to their shopping. The Shopping God must have wanted me to have these earrings. I must have pleased him in some way in the past and this was my reward!
I literally dashed to the checkout counter and forked over the money. The shopaholic in me was appeased.

After shopping, the girls wanted to get food, but I was still full from the dim sum, so I wandered around on my own. I had done a bit of research before my trip, and I knew that I was on part of the Freedom Trail. There were a few things I wanted to see before I went back to the hotel, such as some churches and the Boston Public Library. I am a sucker for architecture. I love taking pictures of buildings and cityscapes, which I find just as breathtaking as natural landscapes.

By the time I got back to the hotel, the rest of my delegation was back our rooms debating how to spend our first night in Boston.

Since most of us were 20, we couldn’t go out drinking, so the few of us that were legal drinking age ended up buying alcohol and bringing it back to the hotel room, where we got quite drunk quite fast. We were hanging out in the Guys’ room, which sort of became party central. Until then, I had been determined that nothing was going to happen on this trip and that the DEB crush was not to be rekindled. But as we became more and more drunk, he was more and more flirty and encouraging me to drink, and somehow I ended up lying on his lap.
To sober up, we went for a walk outside in the brisk night air. As soon as we were outside, GHG linked her arm through DEB‘s, and told him to hold her. Another guy in our group commented on her flirty behaviour by turning to me and saying, “I didn’t know she was like that.” I shrugged. We were drunk, it was forgiveable. But it also gave me the courage to be more forward with DEB, and soon enough, I was the one linking arms with him. If I was sober, I probably would’ve known better, but seeing him link arms with GHG helped me justify that it wasn’t a big deal. We were walking ahead of the group, and I don’t remember exactly what we talked about, but I do remember him getting very serious at one point and asking me whether I thought he was a good guy, or something to that affect. I called him soulless because he was selling himself out to be a ruthless, money-grubbing trader on Wall St..
“Seriously, you don’t think I’m soulless do you?” He asked, casting me a sideways glance.
“Sure I do,” I replied nonchalantly.
He stopped walking and turned to look at me. “Really? You actually think that way of me?”
I tugged on his arm and kept walking, “No, of course not. I think you’re a swell guy.” I was purposefully being sarcastic to avoid telling him that I thought he was so sweet that it made me want to die.
He laughed. “Be serious!” he said, giving my arm a squeeze.
“I don’t want to be serious!” I whined in a tipsy stupor.
“But then I can never tell when you’re being serious or not!” He referred to the time we had to work on a presentation together, when he actually started to believe that I disliked him.
I laughed, pleased that I could make him so frustrated. “Of course I don’t think you’re soulless, nor do I find you annoying,” I said reassuringly. “Well, maybe sometimes.”

We walked on, arm in arm, enjoying the night breeze of Boston. After a while, the rest of the group caught up to us, and we headed back to the hotel. On the elevator ride up, he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me, leaning his head on mine. I lost myself in that moment and melted into his warmth.

Back in our rooms, GHG and I debriefed the drunken night. She kept saying how much she enjoyed it, and confessed to me that she thought DEB was “the sweetest guy ever.”
“I love how we flirt with each other and all that without it being awkward, even though he has a girlfriend. I just feel really comfortable around him. He’s a great guy.” I agreed halfheartedly, soberly realizing that I wasn’t the only one who had a little crush on DEB.

The next morning, I had planned a Boston/Harvard tour for our delegation, so we got on our coach bus and headed toward Harvard campus. The bus dropped us off in Harvard Square, which is a lovely commercial centre in the middle of campus with unique shops and famous little bookstores.

We did our own tour around Harvard Yard, since we didn’t have time to go with the tour guide.

The Widener Library was closed, but we later found out that there is a very interesting story behind this library. An excerpt from Wikipedia explains:

Widener Library commemorates Harry Elkins Widener a 1907 Harvard graduate, who was a book collector and victim of the Titanic disaster. His mother, Eleanor Elkins, made a $3.5 million donation to Harvard University to build a library named after him.
According to a campus legend, under the terms of the Widener family donation, the exterior of the library is never to be altered, or else ownership of the building reverts to the city of Cambridge. Because of this, according to the legend, Harvard has been always been limited and creative in its renovation options, including the building of a causeway to neighboring Houghton Library through what was a large window.
There is a legend at Harvard that in order to prevent what befell Widener from happening to another student, all students of Harvard College are required to prove that they can swim before they are allowed to graduate. While Harvard did implement a swimming test in the 1920s, it had nothing to do with Widener, and the swim test is no longer required of students.

Before we left, I made sure everyone rubbed the lucky left foot of John Harvard. I am not sure where this legend came about, but it’s something that all Asian tour groups believe fervently in, and seeing as it was Friday the 13th that day, I felt like we all needed some good luck.

Interesting fact about the John Harvard statue (Wikipedia):

The statue, known by Harvard tour guides as the statue of three lies, claims that it depicts John Harvard, Founder, 1638, but in reality Harvard was a contributor, not the founder; the institution was founded in 1636; and the statue is actually a likeness of someone else. The sculptor used a student as a model because he had no image of John Harvard to work from.

We then raided the Harvard Business School (HBS), which was only appropriate given that the founder of our business school was a graduate of HBS and our education system is based off theirs. I left a thank-you message in one of their classrooms before we left.

Next, our coach took us to Faneuil Hall Market Place, which is a beautiful part of downtown Boston just bursting with character. There were so many eateries to choose from in the Quincy Market Colonnade that I had to walk up and down the hall three times before I could decide.

DEB and I got separated from the others after lunch, and we wandered around on our own. Once again, we were arm-in-arm, laughing and talking like a couple. He catered to my whims, let me lead him around to stores that I wanted to see, and waited patiently as I fell in love with Boston and tried to take pictures of everything.

When I got back from committee in the afternoon, DEB seemed to have missed me. After all, we had been quite a couple in the morning and had such a good time together. As I was cleaning up in the Girls’ room, he came up and gave me a hug from behind.
“How was committee?” He asked, like a husband asking his wife how her day was.
“Terrible, as usual. Complete waste of time.”
“Are you okay?” He turned me around to face him.
“Of course I’m okay.”
We stood there gazing at each other, inches apart. Just then, my roommates came home.

BI and I wanted to skip the evening committee session and go to the symphony. The rest of the group thought it was a good idea, so we all decided to skip committee. As we got dolled up (even the boys!), the sun was setting on the city outside.

For dinner, we went to Legal Sea Foods, a restaurant near our hotel that turned out to be a great decision¹. As the resident wine expert, I ordered a bottle of 2006 German Riesling that everyone complemented. Our waiter was amazingly accommodating, and best of all, did not ID us. After placing our orders, we were reading our place mats and noticed that Legal was known for their clam chowder, which none of us had ordered. So we called our waiter back and he brought us a bowl and eight spoons to share. In a matter of seconds, the bowl was empty and we were fighting over who got to lick the bowl.

With warm stomachs, we headed over to the Boston Symphony Orchestra to listen to some Mozart. The orchestra hall was beautiful, as it was the original building, and had very European moldings and statues on the inside.


The music director, James Levine, is an extremely well-known American music director, and is also the music director of the Metropolitan Opera in New York. What fascinated me was his crazy hair and the way he swiveled around in the conductor’s chair.

At the symphony, PCG² held onto DEB as if he was a lifesaver. Her arms were tightly around his and it didn’t look like she would ever let go. I noticed her attachment to DEB that morning when we toured Harvard as well. The worst part was that DEB didn’t seem sensitive to the fact that he had been flirting with me all through dinner. It didn’t help that when we got back to our hotel, BI said she’d seen PCG emerge from her room with DEB, her hair all messy, and then immediately pull GHG aside for some girl talk.
“Just judging by that, there has to be something going on between PCG and DEB,” BI said as she straightened her hair. We were getting ready to go to the conference’s cocktail party.
“But doesn’t DEB have a girlfriend?” I asked, feigning ignorance.
“Yep. And it seems like they’re really serious too. I was talking to him earlier and he said that she might just be the girl he ends up marrying.”
“Then how could he be like this around other girls? How would his girlfriend feel if she knew?”
“I don’t know, but I know I wouldn’t want to marry him,” BI said decisively, alluding to the fact that DEB might cheat.
“He said he might marry her?” I asked, perplexed. It didn’t make sense to me. DEB had said that he’d met his girlfriend after hitting on her one time at a party in Grade 11. They’ve been together ever since, although he tried to break up with her twice. After that, he decided to just stick with it. “I feel like he’s just settling, maybe that’s why he acts like such a player.”
“Oh believe me, I know. He is a complete womanizer.” Then BI told me a story about how he had flirted with her when they first met.
“He’s so smooth that you don’t realize it, but he does come on pretty strong huh?” I remarked, more casually than I felt.
So DEB is a flirt. He doesn’t like me, he likes women. Although this realization should have strengthened my resolve to forget about him, instead it made me wonder if I could toy around with him too. Since it was just some harmless flirting that didn’t mean anything to him, why should it mean anything to me?

Nonetheless, I ignored DEB at the cocktail party and ended up chatting in Mandarin with three girls from Beijing University, who were very nice and very curious about American culture. Being in a group of Asian girls also meant we were hit on more than once, but I advised them not to react to it as most of the boys were nerds who couldn’t get any at home and were trying to take advantage of desperate nerd-girls.

The next day was Valentine’s Day, and I actually went to all my committees and got my money’s worth for the conference. They were sending out rose-a-grams in the conference, and sadly I did not get one, but I found out later that someone had actually sent me one but it got sent to the wrong committee. I managed to avoid DEB since I had lunch with people from my committee. I was still mulling over what BI had said.
For dinner, I went out with AHB, a high school friend that also happens to be MFL‘s best friend. We talked easily, and at the end of the night he gave me two tickets to the Museum of Fine Arts, which he got for free somehow.
When I got back to the hotel, everyone was curious to know where I had been all day and who I had had lunch and dinner with. I didn’t want to tell them I had dinner with AHB because they would interrogate me about him and I didn’t want to explain to them that AHB was actually my ex’s best friend.

That night was the conference dance, and I had brought a cute little pink dress for just the occasion. I had bought it a long time ago on sale, but I’d never worn it because it was very low cut, I didn’t think I had enough cleavage to pull it off. However, I had found a bra that could give me a bit of a lift in that area, so I finally decided to wear the dress. When I went into the Guys’ room (where everyone was hanging out) after I changed, everyone started whooping and cheering. Uncharacteristically (maybe it was the gin and tonic I had), I did a little twirl and pose, basking in the compliments. When DEB saw me, his eyes just about jumped out of their sockets.
I exited with a curtsy and DEB followed me back to the Girls’ room. He stood in the doorway, the threshold between the Girls’ room and the Guys’ room, as if afraid to be alone with me. His eyes never left me. Making up his mind, he walked towards me, closing the distance between us so quickly that before I knew it, we were abreast and his arms were around my waist. I rested my arms on his shoulder.
“You look amazing,” he said, captivated.
“Thank you. You do too.” And he did. He was wearing a very sharp suit with a sleek belt that made him look tall and irresistible.
I looked in the mirror beside us. You had to admit, we looked good together. Just then, my roommate entered the room and we broke our embrace. Too quickly, it seemed, for both of us.
As we left the room, he stayed close to me the whole time, walking me arm in arm to the elevator. As we were waiting, I commented that his cologne smelled nice. Then he asked me what I was wearing. “Guess,” I said, and he bent down and took a whiff of my neck. The air was palpable with sexual tension.
“Ohh,” he moaned, as he straightened up. “I don’t know what it is, but you smell so good.”
“Guess,” I said again, with a twinkle in my eye. Again, he bent down to smell my neck.
“Something tropical. Mango? No. Coconut?”
“Yes. It’s coconut lime.”
As we piled into the elevator, DEB stood behind me, his hands on my hips, pulling me towards him. I was giddy with the knowledge that I could make him want me so badly.

However, when we got to the dance, we lost each other, and when I found him later, he insisted we find the rest of the group. As a group, we danced together for a while, then all of a sudden, he started grinding some random chick. I was miffed. I didn’t understand it. He had acted like he couldn’t get enough of me, and yet, here he was grinding a random when he could’ve been dancing with me.
It left a sour note in my mouth for the rest of the night, and when we got back to the hotel room, FMB noticed how down I was and tried to cheer me up. Except, he was flirting and coming on very strong. I didn’t understand that either, I mean this guy had been super nice to me the whole trip, but had never exhibited that kind of interest. All of a sudden, we were playing a game where the stakes were that if I lost, I had to kiss him. He cheated, I lost, he asked me to kiss him. I looked around. There were three other people in the same room! I couldn’t, so I refused him by not taking his request seriously. In all honesty, I would have kissed him. It was Valentine’s Day, I was without a boy, and DEB was with some random chick, having a ball. But my sense of propriety kept me from making out with FMB in front of other people. I wasn’t nearly drunk enough.

When DEB came back to the hotel room, he didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead, GHG was lying on his bed with him and asked him (I was so shocked by how forward she was) to spoon her.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I had been as reserved as I could around DEB despite how attracted I was to him because I knew he had a girlfriend and I felt awful as it was. But now I saw him for who he really was. DEB was not a cute, sweet, nice boy. He was an insensitive womanizer, and a terrible boyfriend. Depressed, I changed out of the dress that seemed to make boys go crazy, and called it a night.

The next day was our last day there, and instead of going to committee, BI and I went to the Museum of Fine Arts. We grabbed a quick breakfast at au bon pain, a breakfast chain that I’d seen everywhere in Boston but hadn’t had a chance to try. Although the layout and selection was impressive, the actual food was not. Then we somehow navigated our way to the museum by taking the subway, which the locals insisted calling “train.”

The Boston Museum of Fine Arts held a surprisingly varied and impressive collection from Japanese prints all the way to impressionist paintings.







The two of us bought an audio tour and took our time going through the exhibits. As it turned out, BI and I have very similar “tourist” habits — enjoying good food, exploring ethnic areas like Chinatown and Little Italy, spending all day at a museum, etc. and neither of us minded being on our own. We spent over three hours browsing the exhibits until we realized we had to go. We made it back to the hotel just in time to stuff everything in our luggage and get on the bus.

DEB sat with me again for the ride back. This time, I had the courage to lean on his shoulder, and I slept while he watched movies. Aside from reminiscing about what a good time we had had and how Boston surprised us in its character and old school charm, we did not talk much. I was still wrestling with the disappointment I felt the night before at DEB‘s behaviour. What was worse was that I actually felt sad that the trip was coming to an end because DEB had been like my “Boston boyfriend” – albeit a very loose definition of boyfriend. He must have sensed it too, because when we stopped for food, DEB kept his arm around me and leaned his head on my shoulder. Knowing that DEB was no good and that I would never want him to be my boyfriend even if he was single made me want to hold onto him (the sweet side of him, that is) even more.

Oddly enough, halfway through the ride back, he moved to a different seat because he said his legs were feeling cramped. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. ACB came and sat down beside me and we ended up talking about his love life (nonexistent). He told me that he had actually sent a rose-a-gram to me, but I never got it because it went to the wrong committee. We ended up opening a bottle of red wine I had bought at the border and drank it out of soft drink cups. If I thought that was a weird way to end the trip, what happened next was even more inexplicable.
Minutes prior to us arriving at The Business School, DEB came back to sit with me. He put his arm around me and hugged me tightly, telling me he was really glad I came on this trip and that he was going to miss me.
As we unloaded the bus, he never left my side, helping me carry my luggage and call a cab. We said goodbye with a long and tight hug, twice. It was as if he was trying to tell me, in a bizarre sort of way, that despite his undiscriminating flirtatiousness to all women, I was his “Boston girlfriend.” He had picked me, for whatever reason. And without wanting to, I forgave him for his promiscuity and insensitivity, playing with all these girls at once. Without wanting to, I was smitten.
In the cab on the way home, I thought about the way he had treated me on the trip compared to the other girls. The other girls were much more forward about their flirting, and although he never turned them away, he also never initiated it (minus the random girl he grinded with). But with me, he had been the one to put his arms around me, to pull me towards him, to hold me. And the other girls saw the way he was around me, especially PCG, who shot me more than one dirty look during this trip. Maybe it was because I wasn’t as forward as the other girls, because I played hard to get and therefore seemed like a challenge to him that he treated me differently. All this is quite possible. But it’s hard to rationalize against what I want to believe: that I was special to him.

And now, days later, I still can’t get him out of my mind, even though I know that if I keep pining over the details of the trip, I will only be hurt, because when I see him in class again on Monday, he will act like nothing happened and I will feel like a fool. Just a foolish love-sick girl.

1. Because we walked in without a reservation and there were 8 of us, at first they said we would have to wait at least 40 minutes. So then we decided to leave because if we waited, we wouldn’t have enough time to eat before the symphony started. When they heard that we were leaving, they ended up seating us in a private dining room. Everyone was so pleased, and I declared it was because we had all rubbed the lucky foot of John Harvard that day.
2. PCG is the president of our class. She was not in our hotel room, but she is actually GHG‘s roommate back home.

The first night after I arrived in The City, I went out for dinner with two girlfriends at a little-known Shanghainese restaurant and we had Peking duck, an elaborate three-course affair¹.

The next day I went shopping with my mother and I bought two blazers, a pair of trousers, and a pink blouse. Since I entered TBS, I have been purchasing business clothes almost exclusively (primarily because I had none before).

A few days later, I was out shopping again, followed by mainland-style dim sum at First Markham Place.

The next night was dinner at Grazie, a lively Italian restaurant uptown. I drove threw a blizzard to get there, but it was worth it. ALS was there, along with three other girlfriends. Over pasta (theirs), pizza (mine), and wine (ours), I related to them the MFL conversation and they all agreed that our friendship was an unhealthy one.
“It sounds like neither of you want to let go. But where is this going to go?” PL emphasized.
“Exactly,” I agreed, bobbing my head up and down, “I’m too weak to let go. I can’t let go until he does. But he won’t.”
“He’s a douchebag. Seriously, you just have to forget about him. Stop seeing him!” ALS practically yelled.
“I don’t see that there is anything wrong with it really. Maybe he still likes you. Maybe you guys will get back together someday,” OBF interjected hopefully.
“No, it’s not going to happen. It just won’t,” I said with finality.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re both different now!”
“And as different people, maybe you’ll get back together!” OBF was the most idealistic of the three, even though none of them had much relationship experience. In other words, none of them had any exes to speak of, so it was difficult for them to imagine having a post-relationship relationship.

Looking at our group, OBF is definitely Charlotte York. She is naive, idealistic, and believes there is a soul mate out there for everyone. Her own relationship is a dictatorship – her boyfriend essentially caters to her every whim, she being a very needy person.
PL is Miranda Hobbes: smart, quick-witted, and snappy. She can be charming, but most of the time she is strongly argumentative, opinionated, and judgmental. Her current and only boyfriend is a man twenty years older than us, divorced, and used to be our economics teacher in high school (he still teaches there). There was a big scandal over their relationship, but since it was not official until after his divorce and after PL graduated, nothing could be done by the school. It is not altogether surprising that her boyfriend is a forty-year-old; she was always into older men, finding everyone under the age of 29 to be far too immature.
ALS is so desperately inexperienced that she cannot be any of the women from Sex and the City. For her character, the show would simply be named “The City.” She is immensely close with her family – for example, she tells her mother everything, from the parties she goes to (very few) to the boys she likes (again, very few). I cannot even begin to imagine telling my mother those sorts of things. I mean, what are girlfriends for?
And I am, without a doubt, Carrie Bradshaw. Not because everyone wants to be Carrie Bradshaw, the long-legged, charming, and quick-witted sex goddess, but because I was Carrie Bradshaw before I knew Carrie Bradshaw existed. My blog is my very own “Sex and the City” column, and while I was far less obsessed with fashion and shoes until a few years ago, that has more to do with age and income than with personality. Worst of all, I, at my young age, already have a “Mr. Big.” In fact, if it hadn’t been for this single factor, I might not be Carrie Bradshaw at all. I might not even be a character on Sex and the City. I might be a more care-free character on Friends, or a more career-oriented character on Lipstick Jungle. Instead, I am Carrie Bradshaw because I have Mr. Big, and because of Mr. Big, I also have had more run-ins with the opposite gender in the Land of Ambiguity than I care for. Consequently, I have also formed a circle of friends to commiserate with, a la Bridget Jones. So, I blame this entirely on MFL.

1. The first course is skin wrapped in “pancakes,” the second is stir-fried ground duck that you can roll in lettuce leaves, and the third is duck soup.

—

I had a job interview today, and as soon as the interview was over, I went shopping.
I didn’t mean to do it of course, but the Fairweather beside it was having a sale! I just had to have a little peek. Besides, I made a pretty good impression during the interview – surely, she was going to give me the job, right? Of course.
So I went into Fairweather looking for a dress to wear this weekend for SassyGirl in the City Part 2. Actually, I already have a dress that I’ve decided to wear this weekend, but I had to keep an open mind. What if there was a better dress out there, just waiting for me to take it home with me? One musn’t be prejudiced about these things after all.
I didn’t find anything (Fairweather’s clothes were never good enough for me anyways, I sniff), but as I was walking out of the store, I picked up a skirt off the sale rack and paid for it. What? I deserve a little indulgence, it’s going to be my birthday soon! Besides, I’m sure I got that job.
As I was walking towards the bus stop, I noticed a small wine store. I don’t have any more wine in my apartment, I suddenly recalled, and promptly walked in and bought a bottle of 2006 Muscat. How could I call myself a city girl without a constant stash of alcohol at home?
Then I checked the bus schedule and realized I still had another half hour. I’ll just go into one more store, I thought. So I walked into another clothing store, wine bottle in hand and everything. I decided I would just find a pair of shoes to match the dress I had at home. I didn’t see any shoes that matched the dress, but I did find a ridiculously cute pair of black stilettos. Come on, black is sexy, timeless, and functional! Who didn’t need a good pair of black stilettos, right? Then I noticed a couple colourful tops and dresses on the wall and decided to try them on, too.
Two hours later, I had both salesladies at my beck and call and had tried on almost every top and dress the store owned. There were at least twenty discarded items outside my change room when I finally emerged victorious with a stunning strapless dress that was perfect for a night out on the town. It wasn’t on sale, but I could always keep the tag on and return it if I didn’t end up wearing it this weekend right? I congratulated myself on being so shrewd and told the cashier to ring it up. Just then, I noticed a very Victory-Ford-esque dress on the highest rack and had to try it on. So I did. And it was adorable. Even the lady in the change room beside mine said so.
“How much is that?” She asked. I showed her the price tag.
“You have to buy it. It looks like it was made for you.”
“I know right?”
I look like Victory Ford, I thought to myself as I examined my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t think it possible, but I do. I actually look like the fictional fashionista herself!

But I’d already found a dress that looked good on me. When was I going to wear this one? Ah, just buy both, wear one, and return whichever one you don’t end up wearing! My shrewd inner accountant told me. Good thinking, I thought back, as I ran my fingers over the satin bow and smiled into the mirror.
So as the cashier rang up the purchases, I asked her what their return policy was. “You have two weeks for an exchange or store credit. The shoes are final sale.”
Wait, what? Did I just hear her right? I can’t get a refund?
But it was too late. She’d already swiped my credit card, and I was too embarrassed to ask her to put one of the dresses back after she’d helped me for two hours.
Surely, I got that job right? I thought to myself as I walked out of the store with $80 worth of purchases. I mentally calculated how much I’d spent after the interview. At least $120. Clearly, what WAF said did not resonate with me. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, I do need shoes. I only own one pair of stilettos and they’re totally not as cute as these ones. And it’s not like I can just get pretty shoes and without any pretty clothes to go with them, right? I wouldn’t want to romp around naked in stilettos, after all. Besides, even though they weren’t on sale, they weren’t expensive either. Where else am I going to find a dress like that for under $50? Plus, it makes me look like Victory Ford. No, they were worth it. And I can wear the other dress when we go to Montreal! I can’t look like a poor student when I’m partying it up there, of course.
By the time I made it to the bus stop, I was feeling loads better. I must have gotten that job, I thought optimistically. God, or at least the God of Fashion, must have known I got the job and strategically placed those stores there for me to find.
So, God, I hope I got that job.