And trouble’s gonna follow where I go.

I licked my lips as I checked out my date for the thirteenth time. I had high hopes for tonight. Jamil was definitely trophy boyfriend material. I’d been checking this hottie out for a while. He’s one of the guys who belonged to the private Facebook group chat for Rupaul’s Drag Race fans in the country that I had been a part of since late last year.

If Jamil looked good on his Facebook and Instagram feeds, he looked downright delicious sitting across from me in this fancy restaurant. Gosh, I was just so sick of hookups and the whole dating scene. Maybe this date would be the one. Like seriously. Is it too much to ask to just want to find the perfect boyfriend that I could settle down with? We could even adopt twins! A boy and a girl!

I was zoning out, picturing our first Halloween together as Elio and Oliver from “Call Me By Your Name,” when I realized the waitress was not-so-patiently waiting for Jamil’s drink order. He gave the snotty lady the quick elevator treatment with bored eyes and a snarky tone. “Sorry, miss. Naiinip ka na ba? Bored ka na ata e. Balik ka na lang when you’re more happy to take our order.” I cleared my throat. “Miss, he’s just kidding. Just bring us two glasses of your house sangria. Thank you so much.” The waitress—Beck, per her name tag—rolled her eyes as she left our table. Meow, girl. Okay. We kinda deserved that after the snarky remarks from my date.

Fck. I had such high hopes for this evening and Jamil had already ticked Red Flag #7. I didn’t say a word, just made a mental tally mark in the con column. Jamil’s a month younger than me yet he had that total hot Daddy vibe that checked every box for me. Age is another item on my Red Flag list, which could be negotiable. And yet he’d totally checked off Red Flag number seven, so that was technically two strikes. I recited it silently while I reached for a bread roll and began to butter it. “Red Flag number seven: No depth/substance, which includes but not limited to low IQ, arrogance, and lack of Good Manners and Right Conduct.”

Yes. His being snotty and sarcastic to our food server was a complete infraction of GMRC. However, I was nothing if not fair. Any potential boyfriend would get three strikes before they’re out. That meant Jamil had one more chance to wow me, or not wow me, as the case may be. Beck showed up with two frosty glasses of sangria, garnished with a pretty sliced orange floating on top. I took a sip and set the glass aside as I took another look at my menu.

My mouth fell open when Jamil reached over and took my menu. He closed it and handed both menus to our waitress. “We’ll order later. Thanks.”

Rude. I was going to throw a fit at him but he flashed a full smile and I’d lost my train of thought for how white and perfect his teeth were.

“I like you, Justin. Sobra. I hope you’re not one of those guys na against sa open relationship because that’s what I’m up for.”

I jerked back to reality when I realized he was talking. Did he just say he really likes me? Oh my gosh! But when the words “open relationship” finally registered in my head, I gasped. “Seryoso ka?!”

He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on me. “Yes. Being gay means we can break the norms and create our own rules! That’s what I’m hoping to have with you.”

Oh, hell no.

“Jam, you seem like a great and I really appreciate your honesty. But I refuse to be in an open relationship. Galing na ako sa ganung set up. I’m not completely against it because I know it works for some people, but it doesn’t work for me. I’m sorry.” I felt defeated. I waved at one of the waiters motioning for the check.

“What are you doing? Aalis ka na?” Jamil asked. He was taken aback by my reaction.

“Yes.” I replied.
“Come on, don’t. We can still have a great time.”

He was pretty to look at but I couldn’t get past the fact that I was with another wrong guy.

“Red Flag number twelve: Doesn’t believe in or want monogamy. Sadly, we aren’t ever going to get there. I’m afraid that you received three red flags strikes tonight. Ergo, we can only be friends.”

He stared at me blankly. “I’m sorry, Justin. Can you maybe back up a little bit and explain what you just said? Red Flags? Strikes? I’m completely lost here.”

“It’s simple. I have a list of red flags that I’ve put together that say what my ideal boyfriend shouldn’t be. When I date someone, he’s only allowed two strikes—or infractions, if you will—on our first date or before we determine the relationship. If it gets to third, that’s the end of it.”

Jamil seemed stunned for a moment before he threw his head back and started hooting with laughter. I watched indignantly as he laughed his ass off. So annoying. After taking a moment to wipe his eyes, he shook his head. “Okay. I apologize, Justin. You’re going to have to run that by me one more time. Exactly how many red flags are on this list, and which ones did I check off?”

When I began to explain, he laughed a little more, shaking his head again. “Okay, sure. I see where being snarky at our waitress might be seen as a dick move and my age might be the reason I view relationships differently. But I’m not going to argue with you, because if you’ve been sitting there silently judging me and holding me up to a list of red flags that I was completely unaware of this whole time, things weren’t ever going to work out anyway. A word of advice? Maybe let your future dates know about this list and the whole three-strike rule.”

“Point taken. I’ll take note of that.”

As we waited for the bill, he was still laughing. I had two thoughts as I watched him try to hold his laughter. First, I was glad we didn’t get to order food yet, otherwise I would not have enjoyed it. And second, I’d totally made the right choice when I’d stuck with my three-strike rule. Jamil would never have been a good match for me.

It’s a side show and a circus ain’t a love story.

VALENTINE’S DAY IS LESS THAN A MONTH AWAY and it’s my second favorite “holiday” next to New Year’s Eve.

Single on this day can be a total shot to the heart. On the one hand, my cheerful friends with their loving partners inform me “at least you can go with whoever you want.” On the other, I kind of want to punch them in the face.

When flying solo during this time of the year geared toward couples, I often feel the farthest thing from wonderful. The romantic movies that take over the cinemas, the “hearts and cherubs” decor at the mall and almost every point of sight, all that David Pomeranz music—it can make me feel pretty lonely.

I honestly want to ask Stephan Jenkins out on Valentine’s Day, maybe have dinner or watch “Call Me By Your Name,” hoping it’s still on after a week from its opening on January 31. I also plan to bring him flowers or chocolates or a teddy (I’m cheesy like that, don’t judge), or a bottle of Jack which I think he would prefer. But even the thought takes tons of courage to even say the damn invite. This scares me lot that he might give another “Let’s see” and I’ll end up giving a smile emoji and an “it’s cool” cop-out.

He has all the right to subtly reject my asking him out, I know. We’re NOT EVEN DATING, for crying out loud. He doesn’t need to please me, to make me feel special, or to pretend he enjoys my company. Though I like him a lot, I can’t expect him to feel the same about me. All we shared besides salivas and sweats were mere late night meetings, occasional exchange of messages, and the one Sunday morning we ate at McDonald’s. I’m the only one hoping we could do something else; perhaps more. Do I complain? Partly yes. Do I let him know? I wish I have it in my gut.

Part of being someone’s “bitch”—his word, not mine—is the stupid, upsetting stuff: getting attached, hoping it leads to something other than sex, putting your hope into it. Extra hits if the guy you’re having this kind of set-up with is doing all the things you wish he’d do with you and to you with other people and you have no say because it doesn’t work that way.

Obviously.

A month ago over text, Izzy—one of my girl friends—expressed her concern about my choices and decisions lately when I told her about him. She said maybe the reason I remain interested with him until now is because I enjoy the chase and it’s thrilling for me to “want what you can’t completely have.” Can’t say she’s right, but maybe it’s true. Maybe I confuse infatuation with ego.

I guess I should stop wanting him and go for someone else, which by the way I’ve already tried several times since our last meeting but failed. Men these days would almost always only want me for sex and nothing more—at least the guys that I like.

Another thing my friend said that had me revisit all the bad dates and exes I have had: “what you allow is what will continue.” That’s a cold, hard truth you guys. Cold. Hard. Truth.

Okay, now I feel stupid. But whatever.

All you lucky people have less than a month to keep your loving partners or dates in time for Valentine’s so please, pretty please, don’t fck it up. If he/she wants to see one of God’s gifts to humanity that is Jamie Dornan on the big screen a.k.a. “Fifty Shades Freed,” go watch it. Because love is about compromise, even it’s often stupid.

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car.

THIS IS ABOUT MELVIN.

Of all the guys I had dated since my breakup with Erl, he was the youngest and most interested in me than anyone I’d ever been with. He was completely out of my standards but I was okay with it—at the time.

After a couple of bad dates, I thought maybe I should try someone different for a change. Someone who’s not in my usual roster. Someone who I can be with that doesn’t oblige me to put the most effort in. Someone who’s as attractive but not as predictable. He was the perfect getaway car.

I thought that if I start dating someone opposite from my ex and the other guys I had dated I’d be happier. I led myself to believe he was going to save me and that he was the one I have been waiting and wanting and hoping for.

He was so sure about his feelings for me and I thought for sure I was willing to make it work with him. I was wrong. He turned out to be another mistake. Although this time, it wasn’t because he broke my heart but because I broke his.

To be honest, I had great moments with him. He made me smile every time he tells me how lucky he feels that we’re together. He treated me like a princess that needs to be served and pleased and protected at all cost. But for the most part, I felt uneasy and uncomfortable and annoyed around him.

I didn’t feel the sincerity in him. I felt like he was only putting a show. It seemed all too good to be true. I didn’t feel that he was being his true self. Or perhaps he was being completely himself but I misjudged him because a huge part of me knew he was not the one for me.

Perhaps I over-reacted when I told him that he needs to grow up because we had only been dating for a few weeks yet he was already stressing me out with his pettiness and issues. I was always annoyed at him for it. Also didn’t like that he was only always talking about himself: “My friends tell me I’m this…” “People at work tell me I’m that…” “I have so many suitors…” “What I want is…” and more I’m-this-I’m-that monologues. He was too full of himself that I never felt he wanted to get to know me.

I knew I had to end it even he wanted to reason with me and try to patch things up. I also knew I had to do it in a way that’s awful and disrespectful and insensitive to push him away. So I went out on date and posted it on Facebook for the world and him to see. It worked.

After that night, he gradually disappeared from my life. He stopped calling, texting, and sending me pictures of the LEGO display he’s been working on for the casino he is employed at.

One friend told me that maybe I wasn’t being fair to myself and to him. Maybe I could have at least tried to understand and get to know Melvin better, see where the relationship could have gone if I did. Maybe I threw a good thing away because I was too sensitive about someone who was only being himself. Maybe I got it all wrong, maybe I was being a total asshole.

Or maybe it didn’t work out like I had hoped ‘cause I rushed into it. Clearly, we weren’t ready. I know I wasn’t. And we know nothing good starts in a getaway car.