Green-Eyed Monster

Do you get jealous?

I do.

It is perfectly natural to get jealous. You know, you just bitch about it once, and you get the reassurance that you need and you move on. Not the clinical, psychotic, delusional kind of jealousy that I was subjected to once.

I do not get jealous of other women flocking around a guy I am seeing. Hell, I am so self-centered to think that anyone from the opposite sex would forsake others just to be with me. That when it comes to marketability, I'm at the top of my species.

I am almost always jealous of a guy's past. It's funny, considering that my past is so varied and colorful, beating two Scarlett O' Haras. The skeletons in my closet can probably fill up several cemeteries or satiate dogs in a hundred animal shelters.

Some questions that run through my mind are: Does she cross his mind when he's with me? When he says sweet nothings to me, is he merely repeating them? Is one of his past loves a meterstick for what we have together?

So every time I run across a photo or a goddamn Friendster comment, I breathe, letting my green-eyed monster run its course thorugh my veins.

Then I think of a line from Walt Whitman's To You - I have loved many men and women, but I love none better than you.

Go F*ck Yourself

Every time there is someone new in the office, we always ask them about their preferences. It's some kind of a ritual everyone goes through. However, it is a really mean game. We give the newbie a choice between two people and ask him who he'd rather sleep with. We do this until we have exhausted everyone in our depatment.

There is someone who is the last person everyone chose to sleep with. He happens to be mad at me just because I said that the two commercial models he dated dumped him. There was nothing wrong with what I said, considering that everyone knows his story since he has been whining about it for months on end.

It's pretty sad since he and I used to be really close.

Our stations are next to each other in the fourth floor minipod. I know that he cannot stand to breathe the same air as I do and each time I work there, I can feel hate waves emanating from him. I don't hate him at all. I feel, well, pity. I happen to be the only person who could put up with his whining and wishy-washiness. Oh well. His loss.

Let's call this guy E.

Last Friday, the other trainers and I were at Amici in Don Bosco. It is one of our favorite Italian restaurants. Over pizza, sausages, pasta, and gelato, the new trainers were grilled.

Apart from the Who Would You Rather Sleep With Game, there is another question: Would you rather do E. or be E.?

Suddenly, Glory realized that I have never been asked this question.

After some thinking, I answered, "I'd rather be E. so that I can do myself. He really needs it."