I really should stop clubbing like this. The type that leaves you virtually incapacitated for the following day. Yes. I have to stop. Not to mention the midnight pratas, supplied with soda. Not very good for the best of figures.
So. Within the span of, say a month – I’ve met three people.Made out with 3 people. The number of people who are still in touch? 2. Well, not such a bad statistic after all. Maybe there should be a glimmer of hope amidst all the dancing lights. Maybe some men aren’t big ass hole douchebags who just want to pick up chicks?
I think what bothers me is the classic feeling of cheapness that comes as a result of it. The idea that they can just take a kiss, leave, then probably fancy me again when they feel like. Don’t they know that wars were waged because of kisses? That deep down inside, my conservative school girl self was crying in rampant hysteria of figuring out how modern dating pans out. Because it doesn’t come with a manual.
Not to mention. Expensive. At the rate of meeting 3 men, I should have had at least had them ask me out on dates, one way or another. At least, expect a marginal return for those blasting music and overpriced booze.
So yeah. I’m meeting up one of them ( either the French man or the British bloke that I used to date) this evening. I was thinking of a nice dinner followed by tea. Then, the guy from last night’s episode is hopping on to a London flight tomorrow and will be back in 2 weeks. How complicated! I sometimes wish I could just ask them to tick off an excel sheet of their available free time, then I can distribute my time evenly. Then everyone’s happy. Then all I have to do is weigh in the emotional validation of each. Preferably without alcohol’s rose tinted glasses.
A REVIEW OF THAT NIGHT:
There’s something so exciting, and ravishingly Sex and the City about this lifestyle. But is it really what I want?
I woke up today in a strange bed, with kisses from a stranger. Nothing happened past that, but the pale walls freaked me out initially. I freaked out!!!!!!! Like AAAAAAHH! – Because all of a sudden, there was this hairy man next to me, who smelled so different, who looked so un-asian, in a very Gerard Butler kind of scruffy way. There was no foundation of trust just yet, because he pleaded to me that evening — all heartingly with doleful eyes, that yes, I should stay, just hang out for a while, and no, we’re not going to do anything, you really should, maybe just a couple of hours, that it would be lovely to see me in the morning, that it would be nice to cuddle..AAAAAAAHHHH! Again.
I was enveloped by compliments the entire evening. It was….. SURREAL. It was almost too good to be true. Okay, after freaking out with the pale walls, I settled down, reoriented myself with RGB colours of the world. He stood up and got some water, and I was relieved to see himself fully clothed, and I was fully clothed, and whew, wasn’t that a nice feeling to feel your knickers still in their right place. He returned with a glass of water to mellow out last nights hennesys, then he starts saying how lovely I was, but I SLEPT on him (which I tend to do with guys, the sad part is, i’m not too sure if i snore, and fack that’s such a deal breaker to wake up sounding like shrek) **whew** Calm down.
So. He goes all kissy again, and showers me with compliments again and asks me what I knew about tennis, since he’s *apparently* a tennis instructor, thus explaining his very beautiful biceps (weakness: beautiful teeth and biceps on men with beautiful accents) and thus I replied: I only know…. Uh… Anna Kournikova? Then he broke out in laughter, saying that the last time she played tennis was 10 years ago. Okay, at that moment I felt like a real dits. But he was fine with it. I said, she’s very hot. and pretty. Thus I remember her. Fair enough, he says.
We hang out for a while, and he’s all like, cuddly, which is surprising for a man, then my inner Robin Sherbatsky wanted to flee as soon as possible, to which he said, let’s hang out for a while. He showed me his facebook page, and we saw an episode of a sitcom, while he was holding my hand in bed. We were stained with pseudo togetherness.
At that time, he also informed me of other “mandatories” – I have a sister, yes, my house in London is near Wimbledon, do Filipinos know of that? Yes. I like your accent, he tells me – ?! Which was the first time someone ever said that because I speak with a really flat english mash up of accents. THEN, Boom. I took a cab. Then boom again, he sms’es and tells me :
You left your belt in my bed.
(Yes, my dominatrix belt. ) I’m kidding.
Oh really? Hmmm. You can use that as an excuse to ask me out again.
I sure will. XX
Hmmmm…. I don’t know about you, in fact, I’m not very well versed with sms etiquette of the foreign kind, but when a man sms’es you with something that involves xx – it usually means hugs and kisses, and I hope he wasn’t hoping to see me naked next time.
I’ll leave out the other gross details for now, but its safe to say that this was a very amusing weekend. mutual attraction and fun. aaaaand. he sms’es and nothing happened. what a beautiful mission. 
I sure hope he sms’es again. In the meantime, let’s hang out with the other ones who are still left in the country. Maybe as friends, but maybe I should potentially avoid going to the pseudo togetherness zone just yet. It just feels like once you’ve done stuff, there are no un-do buttons to kisses, it’s either it turns out fantastic afterward, or just plain awkward when you both are sober. >_<
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