When a good night goes bad

Yes, I'm aware I haven't blogged for a while. I've been too busy partying, and subsequently suffering from hangovers, to type out a thought provoking entry. And, as the saying goes, I don't do things by halves.

However, this evening, I'm leaving the heavy boozing to my chums. Instead, I'm opting for my duvet, Sex and the City, endless cups of tea and guilt-inducing chocolate digestive biscuits. How very un-Dubai. But at least you can now discover what it is exactly that has kept me from blogging for so long...

Let me start by offering you ladies a tip; never offer a man no-strings attached sex. Why? Because in the unlikely event he turns you down, as I discovered, it is deeply humiliating, no matter how well you take it.

The lucky gentleman in question was Mr A.P. Little Miss LC and I had organised birthday celebrations for him, which included food, booze and wonderful friends. It was the perfect evening — the food was sublime, the drinks did a good job (perhaps a little too good of a job for me) and the company was at its most beautiful and entertaining.

That evening, as the cocktails flowed, we decided to move from the restaurant to a swanky bar down the road. It's here where it all went downhill for me. Never having been one to realise my limits, I knocked back mojito after mojito, only pausing to toke on a cigarette or laugh hysterically at a joke. Needless to say, my already practically non-existent inhibitions dwindled down to the point I felt comfortable enough to attempt seduction.

I strolled over to Mr. A.P in my skyscraper heels, pulled him closer and whispered in his ear. What I whispered was nothing short of blunt and I was certain I was onto a sure winner. After all, I also gave him a description of my underwear, which was by no means a regular day-to-day set. When I'd finished whispering in his ear, I pulled away and we looked at each other eye to eye. This was it, he was going to kiss me... Except he didn't. He just smiled at my brazen attitude, shook his head and said 'no'.

To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. I was utterly bewildered by his response. Had we not had romantic liaisons in the past, I may have considered this was a likely outcome, but we have been romantically linked. Not only that, but it was his birthday, I was wearing some of my finest underwear and had just offered him a no-strings attached birthday treat.

Had past romantic encounters with other men wrongly led me to believe that all men were sex-hungry, emotionless animals? Had I totally misjudged the male mind? Or was there a genuine explanation for this act of complete abstinence?

I attempted to contest his decision, but Mr. A.P wasn't budging. Despite discussing it length, it was clear he wasn't comfortable with the situation and so I walked away frustrated.

At the end of the night, I made my way home in a taxi. Alone. As I tried to analyse the events of the night in my head, I was also rifling through my clutch trying to find my house keys. I couldn't find them. Great; drunk and locked out. I called my flatmate but there was no answer. Trying everyone else in my phonebook who'd been out that night, I came across Mr. A.P's name. Should I call him? I was genuinely stranded...

I pressed the call button. Mr. A.P answered, but I don't think he was best pleased, and I'm sure he thought it was a ploy. Perhaps it was, subconsciously. He reluctantly allowed me to stay, and so I took a taxi all the way across town... to sleep on his sofa. There was no action. Instead I was left looking desperate and a little bit stupid.

The next morning, I was greeted with a rather obnoxious hangover, a cup of coffee and a smiling Mr. A.P. I can only assume it was a pity smile. We didn't talk about our conversation the night before, Mr A.P is far too much of gentleman to bring it up, and so we discussed the week ahead, which would consist of rugby, booze and a lot of fun.

Before I made my way home, Mr. A.P lent me a pair of his flip-flops to get home in - 5 inch stilettos aren't appreciated at 10am with a raging hangover and a trip across town. So there I was doing the taxi ride of shame; make-up smeared, clutching my underwear and wearing 5 Dirham men's flip-flops. In fact, 'shame' would not be doing this scenario justice.

Funny thing was, two hours later, we were back on the booze at the Rugby 7's. Reading this, you'd probably think I was asking for trouble, but somehow I managed to control myself. After the previous night's performance, I'd be foolish to make the same mistake again.

I'm not 100% sure what this proves. Perhaps it's that Mr. A.P has no interest in me, perhaps it was we both want different outcomes or maybe he saw me as vulnerable (read: desperate) and didn't feel it was the right thing to do. Whatever the reason, I shall always think twice before whispering obscenities into a man's ear. The fear of rejection is far from futile.

What are we?

As the digital age takes a firm hold, it seems it has become more and more difficult to define our relationships. A hundred years ago, a man and woman would be either; friends, afianced, married or illicit lovers. Fifty years on and we could throw in courting. Now, we can be friends, friends with benefits, dating, lovers, fuck buddies, an affair, afianced, married, separated, divorced. The list is endless!

Were all of these relationship statuses non-existent before? Or have we moved with the times and now just feel the need to define everything? Why do women feel the need to analyse every single detail so we can label what we’re doing with a guy? Can’t we just go with the flow and enjoy the ride? Do we feel the need to define our relationships, so that we can set boundaries, in order not to get hurt?

To have a turmoil-free relationship, do we need to know where we're going? I've been caught in that trap a few times - I've wanted a relationship but the guy just wanted something casual. However, if the guy had communicated that to me at the beginning, I could have made a decision whether I wanted to knob him off or risk developing feelings for him, knowing all he desired was a casual relationship. At least if I did go with the latter, I'd only have myself to blame when the pain and heartache ensued.

On the other hand, guys nearly always assume a girl is looking for a serious relationship and so even though I'm not at this point in my life, I seem to be kept at arms length. Look at S and Mr. A.P for example; both of whom seem to think I want something more than they're offering. But truth be told, I don't. I just enjoy hanging out with them and seeing what happens, but maybe I'm not making that clear?

I don't want a committed relationship with either of them because I don't think they're necessarily 100% right for me, but do I need to spell that out to them? And would they even believe me, or are guys programmed to think all girls are after a relationship that will end up in a suburban semi, spending their weekends deciding which nappies to buy, whilst the wife is busy preparing meat and two veg for dinner?

Maybe it's the guys that struggle to go with the flow? Perhaps they need us to define what kind of relationship we're having before they decide whether to back off or not? But what do I define it as? If you're friends who enjoy the occasional mutual benefit, what are you? Friends with benefits? Lovers? Fuck buddies? What are the differences between the three anyway? Does everyone have different definitions? 

What if there are interim periods where neither of us are seeing/sleeping with anyone else, does that mean we're in a relationship or is a relationship solely defined by a mutual desire to be in one? Do definitions help us realise when we're in a transitional period between the different relationship statuses? After all, don't both parties need to be travelling along the same path?

Whatever happens with either S or Mr. A.P, and whatever it's labelled as, I think there's a lot of fun to be had that can make single life that little bit more exciting, particularly when Dubai's dating scene is as dry as the city's summer months.  As long as honest feelings are communicated, I think we can just roll with it and enjoy.

So maybe that's how we can define a definition; a modern day way of communicating...

Tis the season to be jolly

That's right, the season has arrived where it's all about the dresses, champagne and beautiful decorations. No, I'm not talking about Christmas, I'm talking about weddings. And last weekend saw me attend my first wedding of the season...

Drama Queen had been planning her wedding for weeks, months even. Everyone in the office had heard the painstaking phone calls to her father, mother, fiancé and hotel about the dress, cake, food, colour co-ordination and every other tiny detail that makes a wedding day. So to say we were all expecting a knockout wedding would be an understatement.

In anticipation of Drama Queen's spectacular wedding, just as the bride wanted, all the girls planned their perfect wedding outfits, accessories, hair, manicures and pedicures. Let it be known, it's no easy feat being a woman in the naughties, let alone with the added pressure of preparing for, what would probably be, the wedding of the year.

The dress I picked out was a demure, 50's style number. Ivory with black stripes on the skirt, it was perfect wedding attendance material. With the dress, I donned my favourite pair of black sky-high heels and made my way to the hotel to meet my colleagues for warm-up cocktails at one of Dubai's trendiest bars.

Everyone looked picture perfect, but of course we would, we were under the scrutiny of some of Dubai's best looking people. (For those of you who don't know, a Palestinian/Lebanese union is one of unprecedented style and beauty. For both the women, and the men.)

The wedding, as expected, was nothing short of stunning, and all those agonising phone calls Drama Queen had made over the past few weeks had obviously paid off. We all waited for the bride to enter with bated breath, and so when we were ushered to the bottom of the stairs, we knew the tears were imminent.

As the Arabian drummers made their way down the stairs, behind them, they revealed the happy couple. It was most definitely a sight for sore eyes. Drama Queen was less drama and all queen — absolutely beautiful, not that any one of us expected anything less. And as the couple made their way down the stairs, guests snapped photos and shed a few happy tears. Myself included.

After all the perfect people had been sitting at the perfectly decorated tables, observing the perfect couple, my colleagues and I decided to head to the bar. As we made our way up the marble bridal stairs, we joked they would do someone some serious damage. Little did I know that someone would be me.

As I took a step up, I suddenly felt a searing pain. I hopped to the side and took off my shoe. There it was; my perfectly manicured foot, covered in blood and missing a big toenail. As my blood dripped down the stairs, I felt faint but my main concern was about ruining the party.

My colleagues gathered around and ushered me into one of their cars to take me to hospital. I'm not going to lie, it wasn't a pleasant trip, but we were at the Iranian hospital so it really should have been expected. With us in our party dresses and them in their abayas, it was a little embarrassing to say the least. And just to crank up the embarrassment factor a notch, I was shoved in a wheelchair. Was this karma biting me in the ass? Was losing a toenail not enough? Evidently not.

After the unbearable, pain-inducing poking and prodding from the doctor and nurse, I was sent on my merry way. Naturally, we went straight back to the wedding, and on the journey there, to distract me from the pain, my colleagues and I belted out Mariah Carey's All I want for Christmas at full blast. It worked, I was distracted for a full three minutes and forty-four seconds. Ok, ok, I had to look that up on my iTunes!

Back at the wedding, I spied my departed toenail on the stairs. I couldn't bring myself to pick it up, and so I left it for the cleaners. After all, it wouldn't be Drama Queen's wedding sans the drama, and so I felt happy to have left my mark of drama, right there on the stairs.

Despite the unbearable pain in my foot, I pulled myself together to throw some shapes on the dance floor with the bride. As I did so, I took a good look around and saw so much happiness and wondered what it was about marriage, aside from the fabulous party, that was so joyous.

Why is it we feel we need marriage to validate our relationships? Let's not sugar-coat it, it's easier than ever to obtain a divorce these days, so there's much less of a commitment to marriage anyway. But then I thought of my perfect relationship and how, in the distant future, I'd probably want to marry my perfect boyfriend. I'm not sure why though; is it just the next logical step, is it for the future kids, or is it security? Perhaps it's even insecurity? But the need to be potentially tied to someone for eternity seems a little drastic, does it not?

Whatever the reason, most girls dream of it from a young age. I mean, Barbie has Ken, Minnie has Mickey (mouse is their surname, right?) and Cinderella has Prince Charming. It's drummed into us girls that marriage is the right step from the age of three, so why would we reject it? Men, on the other hand, are read stories about super-heroes who save the world from destruction, and play with toys like cars and meccano. Is it any wonder that we think women are from Venus and men are from Mars when we're brought up to value totally different things?

Maybe I should consider writing a children's book about the successful career woman who earned so much money that she bought her own jet to fly to her private island where everything was at her disposal — men, food, shoes, handbags... you name it. But then why does that story seem incomplete without her being whisked off her feet by some loveable hunk?

As a single woman in Dubai, are we just enduring the footloose and fancy-free lifestyle, in the hope of bumping into The One along the way, or are we genuinely embracing our freedom? Does even the most cynical woman really just want to settle down? Perhaps she's only a cynic towards marriage because she's not yet met her match?

Well, whatever the reason is for getting hitched, I hope it's the right one and we'll all live happily ever after.

The Friendly Face

It's always strange when you hear your ex is over you and back on the dating scene, but for me, it was even stranger. Or should that be familiar? That's right, I've heard reports that X is back on the dating scene... with my friends.

I'm not overly bothered by it, as he's not seeing close friends of mine, but I still find it weird for some reason. One of the girls is someone I work with and have mutual friends with, the other is a little closer to me as I've known her five years. She and I worked together in London before I moved to Dubai. We used to go out as a big group of girls but she's no Little Miss LC to me.

There is something, deep down, that does make me feel a little nauseous though. I'm not sure if I'm concerned what the girls will think of X, thus reflecting on me, whether it's what X will think of the girls, or if I just can't bear the thought of X having sex when I'm not.

It's not like I want him to hold back on dating until I'm ready to settle down and find a man of my own, so why does it make me feel odd? Do all girls feel this way after a break up? Is it a race between you and your ex to reach coupledom smugness? Or is it just Dubai and the way you can't sneeze without the entire community knowing about it?

Are we that deprived of choice in this city that we feel the need to recycle friends' cast-offs? And why do I feel weird about this but organising a 'one girl's trash is another girl's treasure' singles party is fine? Did my ties with X run deeper than I originally thought when we broke up? Or is it that neither of them have mentioned anything to me?

I have no intention of getting back with X , the feeling's just not there anymore, but are girls not supposed to have a little chat about it first? You know, check there are no hard feelings there. I mean, I could still be hung up on the guy. I'm not, but I could have been. 

At the end of the day, I don't mind if they're together. After all, X and I broke up five months ago, I ended with him and I've moved on since then. I guess I just didn't want to hear it from someone else.

Anyway, I wish them both the best of luck, they're both lovely people and probably far better suited than X and I ever were. But I've made a note to myself not to date a friend's ex before I've had a little chat with her about it first. It's just the courteous thing to do.

Single Satisfaction

Despite the announcement of several engagements and pregnancies this year, I still have a number of fabulous, single girlfriends. They’re the kind of girls that are probably a bit too comfortable being single – independent and strong-minded. Saying that, every girl loves a bit of attention, doesn’t she?

So, amidst all the uncertainty surrounding Mr. A.P, I decided to host a singles dinner. The concept was simple – invite all my single girlfriends in Dubai to dinner, get each one of them to bring a single guy friend, meet at a restaurant with a set price all-you-can-eat-and-drink and let carnage ensue. I was hoping the night might appease some of my single girlfriends’ appetites… In the run up to the dinner, some of my girlfriends moaned how they knew of no eligible bachelors to bring. At first I couldn’t believe that such intelligent, gorgeous and outgoing women didn’t know any eligible men but then I realized that I’d have struggled if my only option hadn’t said yes. Were Dubai’s men really that bad?

There was no need to worry in the end, as like true troopers, they pulled it out of the bag. Although, admittedly, a couple of them had scraped the barrell! But as it was a pilot run, we’ll gloss over that on this occasion.

On the night, eight girls and eight guys turned up at the bar for pre-dinner drinks, in hope of finding their Romeo or Juliet. It was an optimistic thought, but everyone was so curious about how the night would turn out, it didn’t matter. But, as the hostess, there were moments where I felt a little awkward and wished I’d planned it better.

Dinner went well, and people automatically adopted the boy-girl-boy-girl seating plan, which saved us all from the embarrassment of having place-cards that I’d not made! Everyone chatted amongst themselves and there were no issues with the bill, which was an absolute God-send.

Some people dwindled off home but those who wanted to continue the party went on to one of Dubai’s swanky cocktail bars. I left everyone to their own devices and chatted to the eligible bachelor I’d brought along… S.

After a few too many Cosmopolitans, I talked at him about the Mr. A.P situation. Yes, I know… again! He listened though, and he didn’t complain, which was very sweet. In the end, after God knows how long I’d been rambling on about it for, S said he had to go. We hugged goodnight, but it was one of those hugs that went on for just a little bit longer than it should have. Next thing I knew, we were kissing.

At that moment in time, all sorts of things went through my mind - namely visions of bare skin and bed sheets. The visions didn’t materialise, and I can honestly say I’m glad they didn’t. It would have been way too easy. This story has been dragged out for over two years, if it’s going to be done at all; it’s going to be done well.

You know what, here I am; two guys I know I shouldn’t be attracted to, both of whom are telling me they don’t want it, yet things just keep on happening. Could it be that I’m actually enjoying playing this game? Could it be that I don’t want them either? I know they’re both emotionally unavailable, so why would I keep going there unless I’m emotionally unavailable too?

Am I pressured by friends and family into feeling that I want a relationship when really I don’t want one at all? Do I want to conform to society’s expectations of finding a man with whom I should have a monogamous relationship with, or do I want to rebel…?

I know the answer; it’s you that needs to work it out.

Cleudo

Life... it's full of complications. Complications that can sometimes cause more drama than you care for. Drama that forces you to make a decision. The consequences of that decision can often affect others, and it's those consequences that play a big part in the resolution.

This week I had to make a small decision because of, what I think could have been, exaggerated consequences. After much thought and confusion, I have decided to let the idea of Mr. A.P and I drop. It's not a decision I took lightly, particularly after our last encounter, but I feel it's the right one, for now at least.

I didn't want to make a choice but, unfortunately, that's what happens when others are involved. Particularly when the others are your closest friends. As another friend said to me recently, I should put chicks before dicks. But little did she know of the decision I'd already made in my mind to please my friend. The sacrifice may seem small, but to me it's a big deal. In fact, if I'm honest, it makes me miserable. I shall explain...

I received a number of responses to my last blog post; some telling me to go for it with Mr. A.P, some to wait and see what happens and one to knock it on the head. The latter seemed to cause some controversy amongst the rest of my girlfriends. I know they all have my best interests at heart, but they also have very different opinions on the matter. However, what concerns me most is that the friend, who told me to knock it on the head, knows Mr. A.P and painted a very different picture of how he felt in comparison to what he and I concluded ourselves.

After some very frank conversation, or at least so I thought, with Mr. A.P during our night together, we established that we do like each other. We're obviously also attracted to one another, but agreed we would just remain friends (with the occasional benefit) due to his obsession. I understood that and accepted it. We weren't closing the door, we were just leaving it ajar and I was very comfortable with that. In any case, I wouldn't want it to happen overnight. As I've said before, I prefer it when the excitement of whether or not it will happen is dragged out.

My good friend, however, is insistent this isn't the case. She's so sure that Mr. A.P is disinterested that I've been asked never to speak of him again. Obviously, for the purpose of the blog, I can't totally commit to that, but I have made a conscious effort not to mention his name in her presence.

So, how is my friend so sure that Mr. A.P isn't interested? Well, apparently he most definitely didn't want to spend the evening alone with me and scrabbled around, inviting people over to his place, before my arrival. Clearly, he had little success. In fact, when I called him before I left my office, I gave him the perfect opportunity to decline my company for the evening. He didn't. I believe his words were "I'd appreciate the company". 

My friend also mentioned that Mr. A.P had received a text from his obsession saying she knew he was involved with someone but she loved him and hoped their time would come. Obviously a text like that is provoking and leaves no room for me in his mind. I simply can't compete with it.

With those things in mind, I wondered why Mr. A.P had told me he liked me if that wasn't the case. Was he just trying to tell me what I wanted to hear? Or did he genuinely feel that way? After much thought about it, I decided to call Mr. A.P to give him the chance to be honest with me. 

During the call, I started by telling him that I wasn't disillusioned by the situation and that I take it for all it is right now, and that's a bit of fun. I went on to tell him I just wanted to be honest and clear about my thoughts and that I hoped he would be with me too. He replied by saying he thought we had an honest conversation on Sunday. There it was, his chance to get out of it, but again, he didn't seem to want to.

But what's the explanation for all of this? Could it be that Mr. A.P is putting on a facade, not letting on to anyone else that there is something between us? But then again, why? He knows all our mutual friends would hear the truth from me, surely? Is this just a very bad miscommunication? Who's wrong? Who's right?

In the meantime, I told my friend not to worry about protecting me. Yes, I like Mr. A.P but I don't like him enough to cry any tears over him. Just as it happened with S, I'd be gutted for a day or two, blog about it and move on. It's not really in my nature to be depressed, I'm far too happy-go-lucky for that and I'm in absolutely no rush to jump into a serious relationship anyway. I just enjoy hanging out with him and reaping some of those benefits!

Anyway, earlier this week, my friend and I had made plans go to the movies. Before I left to meet her she told me Mr. A.P had asked what were up to and if I'd mind if he came along. Of course I didn't mind. After all, we are friends and I'd still not established any true disinterest from him. 

Only a minute after my friend had asked me if I was fine with Mr. A.P coming along, he called me to aske me what was going through my head. I didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Then he asked why I had an issue with him going to the movies. I still wondered what the hell he was on about, I mean we are still friends, so why would I be bothered? Then those horrible words came out of his mouth... "Do you mind if we just knock this whole thing on the head?"

My jaw dropped. I wouldn't have been so shocked had he not used that particular phrase but, as soon as he said it, I knew something wasn't right. That was the phrase I'd used in my last blog post when considering how I should handle things with him. It was also the phrase the girls used on my facebook page (which I deleted before he saw). Could it be that it was just a big coincidence? 

I didn't argue. If that's what he wanted, then fine. But then he went on to say how "other people" kept saying things to him about the situation. Not that I really saw it as a situation, although perhaps it is now, but I wondered who the "other people" Mr. A.P spoke of were. And what had they been saying? What was going on here?

Mr. A.P came to the movies with us that evening, although I couldn't bring myself to ask him what the phone call was all about. In fact, we barely spoke the entire night. I couldn't even look at him because I was still trying to figure it all out in my head. How had he come to that decision, despite everything we'd talked about? It was totally unexpected. All I knew was it definitely wasn't him saying those things on the phone to me. So who was?

When I arrived home that evening, I text Mr. A.P saying that I had a feeling that he'd made a decision he didn't really want to make. He didn't reply, but then again I wasn't expecting him to. 

To be honest, I wouldn't mind if the decision had been his, I wouldn't even question it. But I knew this didn't add up and I wanted to know what was going on. Had someone said something about me? Had someone convinced him he was doing the wrong thing? What the fuck was happening here? I needed to get to the bottom of this...

The next day, I was chatting to a colleague of mine who happens to be friends with Mr A.P's obsession. I wondered if it had been Mr. A.P's obsession dictating to him to finish up what was going on between us? I questioned my colleague about her, but I'm assured she's far too loved up to interfere with Mr. A.P's love life. And she's also too loved-up to jeopardise her current relationship by stringing Mr. A.P along anymore.

But hang on a minute, didn't Mr. A.P's obsession text him saying she loved him? I posed the question to my colleague who just couldn't see it... Now I was certain something was up, as for what it was, I had no idea. But rest assured, I am going to get to the bottom of this!!

Stick, twist or bust?

Let it be known that, when it comes to dating, I am a complete masochist. I continually torment myself by trying to work out if a guy I’m into is into me, and if he is will anything ever happen between us. I’m a total glutton for punishment.

To be frank, I think underneath all the agonising, I secretly enjoy the drama of it all. I love waiting and watching it all unfold. Every touch, every kiss… it’s like I’ve been blindfolded and my senses have been heightened. Everything that happens is magnified a hundred times because I’m just so eager to know. To know if he likes me the way I like him. To know if he desires me the way I desire him…

The other night, all those feelings reached fever pitch and I was running on a high. After not having seen Mr A.P for two weeks, I so desperately needed a fix. So when I received an invite round to his new place, I knew I had to take it.

To be honest, I was surprised to receive the invitation in the first place. Only a day or two earlier Little Miss LC had mentioned that Mr. A.P had never made the effort to make any plans with me, and that it was a bit pathetic should he actually like me. She was right, and I almost resigned myself to the fact that it just wasn’t happening. But lo and behold, as if he’d heard our conversation, up pops the invitation to his new pad.

After my previous blog about what constitutes a date, I wondered if this was one. I needed to check and so posed the question to a few of my male friends, most of whom confirmed that it was, indeed, a date. You can imagine my delight. I’d been waiting for this for almost four months and the moment had finally arrived!

Over the few days leading up to the date, some of my friends tried to bring me down to Earth by telling me it wasn’t a date, and that there may be other people there. For a moment, I considered not going. But in my heart of hearts, I knew it was a date. After so many texts between myself and Mr. A.P over the past couple of months, I knew well enough that, if it wasn’t a one-on-one, he’d have made reference to inviting other people.

Sure enough, when I arrived at Mr. A.P’s place, it was just me and him. As we sat by the pool, listening to music, drinking wine and having one of our conversations where time stands still, I wondered how the evening would go. Would we both be too chicken-shit to make a move? Would he spurn my advances? Or would we end up in a state of romantic ecstasy?

As the evening progressed, our inhibitions dwindled (thank you alcohol)! I laid my cards on the table. I told Mr. A.P I liked him. I didn’t need to say anymore, he knew exactly what I meant. I braced myself for the inevitable let down but it never came. Instead, he took me by surprise and told me he liked me too.

That was it. Now I knew. I didn’t need to analyse anything anymore, I’d heard it from the horse’s mouth and that was all I needed. I didn’t need to ask anyone for their opinion and I didn’t need to work out what happened that night. It was black and white. There were still hurdles but, esentially, there’s a mutual attraction.

We moved from the patio table to the pool, and I think we both knew what would happen at that point. The playful splashing led to dunking, the dunking led to kissing, the kissing led to… well, I'll leave that to your imagination. It was perfect. Eveything I hoped it would be and more.

Ahh, the kissing. So soft yet still so passionate. They're all consuming and take me far away, out of this world. Picture this; in the pool, my legs are around his waist, his hands on my back and neck, I cup his face and run my fingers through his hair whilst the water lapped around us. It felt like I was in a movie scene but better – it was real.

When we woke up the next morning, we snuggled skin-on-skin. On a regular day, I stress about making it to the office on time but, that day, I couldn’t have cared less. I was so content I could have easily stayed there, in his arms, all day. I can’t put how I felt into words, no words would do it justice.

As the day went on, my state of bliss subsided. I think my friends were so used to giving me their opinions, that I didn’t even need to ask them this time round. Thing is, on this occasion, I didn’t want to hear any opinions. I don’t care if I’m going to get hurt. I don’t care if he’s only after what he can get. I just don’t care about any of that. Let me momentarily bask in this state of bliss. Let me reap all the feel-good factors before you bring me down. Let me fantasise about what could be, lose myself in the reverie, drift ethereally…

Back to reality and I do have to question Mr A.P’s motives. He may well like me, but if he doesn’t know what he wants i.e. me, then I’m not sure I can wait to find out. At the moment, he’s in a win-win situation as I’ve not been the primary reason for our meetings. Aside, perhaps, from the last one. I, on the other hand, am pining after him. Every time I see him or someone mentions his name I get butterflies in my stomach.

So, do I suck it up and wait? Do I make an effort to see him again one-on-one? Do I knock it on the head? Or do I bang my head against a brick wall?

Answers are appreciated but please be gentle.

More than just friends?

Over the past few weeks, when chatting to friends about my man-confusion, a couple of them have said I may be in the "friend zone". I always thought the term was reserved for members of the opposite sex whose company you enjoyed, but whose face was not one you'd want to wake up next to after a heavy night out on the tiles. I like to refer to them as the unfuckables.

It hadn't occurred to me that I could slowly make my way into the "friend zone" with a guy I'd been romantically linked to. Surely, if you're physically attracted to someone, that never really dies? At least not unless they did something awful, like bought S Club 7 CDs or wore white socks with Jesus sandals. So, that brings me to the question, where mutual attraction is involved, does the "friend zone" ever exist?

Some people believe if you don't act on your mutual attraction in a fairly swift manner, you're cast aside into the "friend zone". Whilst I agree that an infatuation can lose its spark, I'm not sure that the attraction completely disappears. Even when dating somebody else, the attraction between you and your friend may still remain, and who's to say nothing will materialise? So, do you ever put someone you're attracted to in the "friend zone"?

If there's been sexual contact in the past, whether first base or fourth base, but the relationship didn't fully develop for whatever reason, do you put your friend in the "friend zone"? Some guys tell me if there's been sexual contact in the past, then they can never put a girl in the "friend zone". As a girl, I'd say the same. No guy I've been intimate with in the past has been put in the "friend zone" because; he's either a douchebag (and no longer my friend) or I wouldn't say no to shacking up with them again in the future.

What about if there are barriers? Perhaps you work with them or they're your best friend's ex. I guess it depends if you're a fan of risky business...

I think if a guy tells you he's worried your friendship will change or that he values you too much as a friend to become involved with you, as much as I hate to say it, he's just not that into you. However, if I said so much to one of my male friends, it would mean one of two things; I'm not attracted to you at all or I am attracted to you but I'm too scared you don't feel the same way and I want you to tell me otherwise. It's a barrier against rejection.

In my eyes, when there's mutual attraction, the "friend zone" doesn't exist, for men or for women. The "friend zone" is really only a question to be considered if you're at the stage where you know you get on well, but nothing has yet progressed. But there really is no need to worry, if the feeling is mutual, something will happen... eventually.

Are you playing The Game by The Rules?

Ask any of my friends, they'll all tell you I'm a dating disaster. I have an extraordinary, and somewhat inexplicable, talent for making guys bolt for the door. 

It's not that I'm as dull as Gwyneth Paltrow on Prozac, or that I look like Kelly Osbourne after she's been dragged through a hedge backwards (at least I hope not), so why does it keep happening? Well, according to some of my friends, it's because I'm not playing The Game. That's right, I'm being inequitably punished by Cupid just because I'm a heart-on-my-sleeve type of girl.

I can't help being an expressive person, that's who I am and I like it that way. I look at those around me who suppress their feelings and they don't seem to be as happy and content as I do. It doesn't really entice me into giving it a try. Although, it is always the ice queens who have the men running in circles around them. Just look at Mr. A.P and his obsession... She has no interest but he's right there, chasing her like a doe-eyed lost puppy. I mean, seriously, is that what the world has come to; men are dazzled by socially inept women?

On the very rare occasion that I have tried to hold back showing how I feel, it's reached a point where I can no longer bear it and end up blurting it out like a teenager with tourettes - I know it's wrong but I just can't help it.

I've often wondered what the point of playing The Game is anyway; surely there will be someone out there who will love me for my spirited nature? Well, up until now, apparently not. And it has made me consider giving The Game a shot. Ignoring calls and texts, never initiating a date, making him jealous and keeping the old trap shut. Yep, sounds great, doesn't it?

So, I've taken the first steps to playing The Game by The Rules. I've started by desperately trying not to overanalyse every call, text and conversation. Let me tell you, it's no easy task and I'm probably only down to analysing 50% of our communication. To be honest, I don't know why I analyse it anyway, as I only end up torturing myself. And my friends, who have had to continually endure the 'But what does that mean?' question.

The other step I've attempted to take is to chill out about it. What happens, happens and I can't force it. I can't make him want me, so why try? Why waste precious time and effort over it? Well, I haven't. Instead, I've made the most of my spare time by sipping Cosmopolitans with the girls and complaining about chilling out about it.

I've also began resisting the temptation to text him. I'm spurred on thanks to the iPhone, as texts are displayed as a conversation and it's satisfying to see two or more consecutive texts from him with no interception from a green bubble (a text from me). According to The Rules, I should only respond once to every four of his texts or emails. Personally, I think that's a bit extreme. That's not a game, that's being a downright bitch. After all, he is my friend and I do want that friendship to continue regardless.

The majority of my friends support my decision to play The Game, many even encourage it. Even S has told me I need to make Mr. A.P jealous by subtly mentioning other guy friends. Yes, I told S about Mr. A.P. I told him the whole excruciating story. Poor guy stayed up until 4am listening to me bang on about it the other night. Although we did chat about what happened between us too...

That's the great thing about me and S, we're quite open with each other and any embarrassment seems to just fizzle away. In fact, it's one of the reasons I'm so fond of him. 

A few things were explained to me that night, like why he abruptly left after our first meet-up since THAT night and that he does like me, and has done since we first met. That should be what I wanted to hear, right? Except it wasn't really. I was over it, I no longer craved to know how he felt and now I do know, I'm confused. But you know what, I'm not going to try to figure it out. It was dead and buried in my mind, and I'm not about to resurrect it as I'm sure it'll only haunt me. Besides, I find it hard enough playing The Game with Mr. A.P, I certainly don't need double the trouble.

What I want to know now is if any girls out there are more successful in the romance department when playing by The Rules? And guys, when a girl plays The Game, does it make you want her? Where are the boundaries between enticing and prick tease?

In the meantime, I'm hoping playing by The Rules will allow me to score. It's not yet been fruitful but something tells me not to give up hope...

When a date is a date is a date

It’s pretty obvious when you’re on a date, right? A guy asks you out for dinner, you have your hair and nails done, squeeze into that LBD that you know always makes you look a complete knock-out, don your favourite Laboutins and head to the most chic restaurant in town. Or so you’d think…

According to a male friend of mine, a date is not always a 'date’ and most guys really don’t like labelling a date a 'date’. Make sense? Apparently, men dislike the connotations associated with the word ‘date’. In other words, they think a 'date’ pressurises them into having a full blown relationship. So, if a guy just asks you to hang out one-on-one, effectively, you’re on a date. And guys think girls are complicated!

With that in mind, I thought back to how many dates I’d been on without even realising. Turns out it’s been a fair few. The reason I didn’t recognise they were dates is because they were either with a friend (but not too good a friend that it was definitely platonic) or a business acquaintance.

So, does that mean my sweaty roller blading session with Mr. A.P was a date? And my drinking binges with S were too? Do they know they were dates? And if Mr. A.P and I continue with our one-on-one blading sessions, does that mean we're dating? Well, we're going on dates, aren't we?

Still unclear on the definition of 'a date', I questioned a few friends of mine last night. What I'd hoped would give me a clear answer, turned into an insightful debate. Does a date have to be one-on-one? What if your coupled-up friends ask you out for dinner with them and their single guy friend? Is that a date? It may be a double date, but it's a date. And then what about when a single girl and her single male friend go shopping together? Surely that's not a date if you're just friends, that would be a frienaissance, which, as I learnt yesterday, is is where two friends agree to meet for a social activity on a purely platonic level.

What about a rendez-vous? To me, a rendez-vous is a little bit secretive and a little bit naughty, perhaps even downright filthy, and I wouldn't put it in the same bracket as a date. However, its literal translation from French does mean 'date' or 'appointment', suggesting it's not an illicit meeting.

Going back to 'date', according to my friend, BG, a date is sweet and is expected to grow into something. She was obviously referring to the fruit, but she had a point nonetheless... However, it was my housemate, BBD, who probably had the best definition for 'a date'. He described it as a pre-arranged meeting between two people where there is romantic intent from at least one party. I think that's as close to hitting the nail on the head as possible. Would you disagree?

BBD also mentioned that if you want to be 100% certain that you are on a date with the man in question, sleep with him. If he won't sleep with you, it wasn't a date. Unless it was a blind-date and you turned out to be a dog.

So children, now that we have (sort of) established the term 'date', we can now move on to 'dating'. Surely a string of dates with a person means that you are dating? But what if these get-togethers happen sporadically? Do the dates need to occur in quick succession, say no more than a week apart, in order to consitute 'dating'? What if you're in a LDR and only go on dates once a month? What if you go on dates with a friend once every month but you see each other in your circle of friends twice a week?

What about, what BG calls, 'the fillers'? In other words, the contact inbetween the time you went on your last date and when you go on your next date? It could be phone calls, emails, texts, seeing each other in a group of friends, facebook comments etc. Are they significant? Would a lack of fillers signify there is less romantic interest? Ultimately, without fillers, there will be no next date, so they must have some significance...

And after how many 'dates' do you consider yourself to be 'dating'? My guess would be that dating is the interim period between the first date, where you decide you have an attraction to someone or not, and entering into a relationship, which is where you have decided you want to commit to this person. The boys questioned seem to think that 'dating' only occurs after the third date. Why is that, as according to a study at the Edinburgh Science Festival a few years ago, most people decide whether or not we're partner material within the first 30 seconds of meeting?

Would you go on a second date with someone you weren't interested in dating? Nine times out of ten, the answer is no. So, a second date means you want to find out even more about that person to decide whether or not you wish to embark upon a relationship with them. Therefore, you are dating, right?

In addition to all that, BBD seemed to think that if there is no sexual contact (kissing included) after two or three dates, then you're no longer dating and have, instead, entered into a frienaissance. But what if you have had sexual contact but you weren't, technically, on a date at the time? I mean, if there's sexual contact at any time, you would consider that as romantic interest, wouldn't you?

It's a lot to think about and maybe there is no definition. Perhaps 'date' and 'dating' are subjective terms and the only certainty is that they're both minefields. However, let us not forget that they are the learning playground of life...

Do it like a lady

Not so long ago, I didn’t know what it was like to fuck like a man. By that, I mean I didn’t know how to be intimate without emotions getting in the way. The boys with whom I’d had encounters with in the past were always guys I wanted to be in a relationship with. Never had I been with a man just for instant gratification - it was always in (failed) hope that it would be a small step towards romantic bliss.

I’m one of those girls who always wants to prolong the post coital cuddle. I just love the way it’s almost like a jigsaw puzzle – two bodies connecting and fitting together so snugly; surely that had to be a good thing, right? He couldn’t possibly overlook how good we are together, could he?

As it happens, yes he can. In fact, quite often, these guys were so good at overlooking it that they made me believe they hadn’t overlooked it at all! Some of the lies spun out of it were incredible, but I shan’t go into that on this occasion.

Point is, more often than not, men simply don’t care. Over the past few years I’ve struggled to understand how it’s possible to be intimate with someone without wanting to date them. The whole caveman theory just didn’t cut it for me; society has evolved, surely genetic make-up from over two thousand years ago can’t determine how emotionally attached a guy is to me. And if that is the case then why are there millions of men out there blissfully married? It’s blatantly a theory made up by a man in a white coat to excuse himself, and any other feeble male, from making a commitment. Or so I thought…

Finally, I was enlightened over the weekend – I experienced romantic liasions where there were absolutely no emotions involved. Perhaps it was the alcohol induced, fuzzy head. Perhaps it was sheer desperation to move on from my stagnant crush on Mr. A.P. Or maybe, just maybe, reality had hit me and I wanted to find out what really goes through a man’s mind (if anything).

Aside from the initial few moments, panicking about becoming emotionally attached, it was an incredibly liberating feeling... I didn’t need this man, I didn’t even really desire him, but I was in control. I called the shots.

Saying that, I now know how it feels for a guy when all he wants is for you to leave his apartment but you’re insisting on another round. All I wanted to do was have a shower, a cup of coffee and get round to Little Miss LC’s for a debriefing session whilst having a sunbathe. Trouble is, I don’t really have the heart to tell a guy to be on his way, so I was kind of lumbered with him hanging around until my hints became less and less subtle and he eventually left.

Admittedly, I felt a little ashamed that I’d used him… until he sent me a text giving me a score out of ten!! Don’t get me wrong, it was a fairly decent score, but did he honestly think I’d give a crap? It doesn’t matter what score you give me – be it a zero or a ten – if you do that kind of thing, then I will always think you’re a jumped up prick. Afterall, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, so your little scoring system really means shit, my friend.

The next day, somewhat unexpectedly, he messages me asking for more. I had to chuckle, I could see myself in him. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I’d have definitely sent a similar text and then proceed to check my phone every five seconds for a response, which would often never materialise and then emotional torture would ensue.

Luckily, I don’t think he was emotionally attached and therefore it didn’t matter whether I responded or not. However, I thought it’d be best to tell him it wouldn’t be happening again. Whilst it may have felt good to be in control, there’s nothing like the feeling of intimacy with someone you have feelings for - every kiss and stroke is intensified and it just makes the whole experience more meaningful and more pleasurable.

Even if it ends in tears, much of the time, the goosebumps, butterflies and oh-my-god-I-can’t-believe-this-is-finally-happening thoughts are worth so much more.

So, ladies, if you’re thinking of doing it like a man, my advice would be not to bother, as I don’t think we’re built to reap the benefits the way that guys do. And boys, if you’re thinking of doing it like a girl, well, you really should because right now, you’re missing out…

Love in the desert is different.

Love in the desert is different. What I mean by that is; it’s not easy.

I spent five years on the London dating scene and there are so many ways to meet so many gorgeous men. Any girls night out in the West End will throw up at least one or two fairly decent guys. Then there’s things like speed-dating and online dating which, during my time in the big smoke, I couldn’t get enough of!

In the desert, you rely on your friends to introduce you to eligible bachelors. Yes, the ratio of men to women is about 75:25 and, yes, there are an abundance of gorgeous bars filled with men, where the nightlife thrives. But for some reason, Dubai breeds men with ridiculous egos and then lets them loose in a variety of its hotspots.

I’m not sure why men in this city think they’re all that. Perhaps it’s something to do with Dubai’s laws; afterall, it’s difficult to live here without working. And jobs like bar tending, security and mechanics are all taken by the Filipino and Indian Sub-Continent workforce. What that means is that all the Western lads living in Dubai are educated and have a good job to speak of.

I think another factor is the calibre of women in Dubai… Why? Well, generally speaking, when you exchange numbers with a guy you’ve met at a bar in Dubai, he’ll usually text within 30 minutes asking for a shag. Either that or he’ll never text at all. I think, perhaps, this may often come down to the standard of the girls in Dubai, many of whom are here for a year or two to earn a quick buck and are satisfied with a quick fuck.

Do these girls make it harder for the rest of us? If guys are constantly offered no-strings attached sex by girls laced with plastic, can the rest of us really compete? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a bit of fun, but it’s not like I’m on a mission to gather as many notches on my bedpost as possible.

Then of course there is the whole plastic issue. Most girls in this city are plumped, cut and lasered into shape. To top it all off, they’re dressed in the shortest Chanel dress known to man, perma-tanned, have cat claw french manicures, are draped in diamonds and wearing so much make-up that I’m surprised they can hold their heads up. Most guys I know say they don’t go for the high-maintenance thing, but I know of very few guys who, in reality, would turn down a night with plastic fantastic. And, if plastic fantastic was interested, I’d bet they’d date her.

Making an effort is one thing, but splurging my entire salary on trying to be every man’s fantasy is not really what I’m about. Nor can I really afford it.

The thing about Dubai is there’s very little expression. Either that or it attracts the same kind of people. I mean, I never see goths or punks walking around... I don’t know how I differ myself from the rest, or how the rest differ themselves from me. Everything is so clean-cut and professional here that we look like carbon copies of one another in order to be aesthetically pleasing to our boss / client / friends. Saying that, perhaps it’s a good thing? If we’re all blank canvasses, then we can not judge a book by its cover…

Obviously, as a country under Sharia law, the UAE isn’t too keen on its citizens dating. That’s why you won’t find speed-dating events here, and all online dating sites are blocked. If I’m honest, I miss it. I used to love the thrill of receiving an email from a stranger, checking out his photo and then going for a date and learning so much about him. And at least I didn’t meet him when I was drunk in a bar, spewing on the dancefloor, so I can still keep an air of class about me.

I met so many guys online, including my first love. I also met J online and we still see each other seven years on. I had some disasters too though. One guy sent me photos of himself and he was so hot, I couldn’t believe my luck! Needless to say, the photos were really of a male model and the guy sending them turned out to be an overweight stalker type. But I always took precautions and had my wits about me, so I remained safe.

In London, it was always easy to meet up with at least two guys a week from an online dating website. And then of course there would be the cute guy you met at the weekend, so there were usually three dates every week. It’d be fun deciding whether I liked the guy enough to pursue it or not. Candlelit dinners, post work drinking and even a trip to Thorpe Park.

The limited online dating you do find in Dubai consists usually consists of twenty-something Indians and Pakistanis looking for a wife. Or sleazy Lebanese men who think Europeans are filthy in the bedroom. It’s rare to find a suave and sophisticated Romeo online here, and if you have, well, hat off to you!

I guess I’ve kind of succumbed to the Sharia way of dating as all the guys I’ve been with in Dubai, I’ve always met through friends. Emiratis don’t randomly date, they’re always introduced through family.

The way I see it is they’ve already been vetted out, so I know, at least, they’re not a psycho. I’ve also passed the stage where friends introduce me to someone and within minutes we’re all over each other. I like to think I’m a little more refined than that these days… Some flirty banter and a few cheeky smiles is more than enough to begin with. Then I asess what the guy is like around friends and whether or not he may be interested in me. A deep conversation or two wouldn’t go amiss either.

However, there’s always a danger to this, as I’ve experienced with Mr A.P and S. When things don’t go the way you’d like them to, you end up ducking and diving, trying to stay out of their way so the pain isn’t too raw. If they’re going to a party, you can’t go and you’re constantly checking with your friends to find out if he will be out with them or not.

So, not only are we restricted when it comes to meeting a guy, we’re also restricted when it comes to dating. Kissing in public is generally frowned upon, but, again, I do sort of agree. There’s nothing worse than seeing two mingers in a club slobbering all over each other. A sight oh so common in the UK.

I guess most of you heard about the British couple having sex on the beach here in Dubai last year? My opinion is if you want to do that, please find a secluded spot. Nobody else wants to see your white wobbly bits jiggling around as you fuck some drunk twat… take it home! Ok, we’re not meant to have sex before marriage in Dubai, it’s illegal, but the chances of you being caught in your own home are pretty damn slim.

So, whilst dating in Dubai can be trickier and requires a lot more effort, it’s also a lot more mysterious and demure, making it a little bit more fun!

Mates Rates

It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way about Dubai. Over the last year or so, I’ve found myself pining to be back in London, surrounded by familiarity, rain and old friends. Dubai had become stale and I wondered if my time was up.

I’d be sick of the sand and dust everywhere, tired of running around in the fifty degree heat and bored of unnecessaarily drawn out procedures. Even the most menial tasks became a chore.

My days seemed to blur into one, all predictable and fairly mundane. Sure, there’d be the odd occasion to write home about but nothing that really instilled that long-lasting happy feeling in your soul. Do you know what I mean? The feeling that makes you happy to be here? Proud. Where you take in your surroundings whilst singing to your favourite song that’s just come on the radio, or laugh out loud reminiscing about the night before and can’t believe how lucky you are? The place, the people, the situations…

Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling again lately. Despite the occasional disappointment in the love life department, I am so happy to be here. I’ve caught myself randomly smiling wondering why life is treating me so well… I’ve also laughed out loud when I’m on my own, thinking of my eccentric friends – all of whom are so different but all have something in common.

Since I’ve been single, my circle of friends has shifted slightly. I’m doing new things and I’ve made new (and more importantly, good) friends. Some old friends have dropped of the radar. Not for any particular reason, it’s just the way life goes. But sometimes there are some friends you know you’ll never let go of.

My three Bournemouth girls, and oldest friends, S, N and R. Despite being 3500 miles away from them for the last four years, nothing’s changed. Everytime I see them, it’s just like being cast back to our college days. We’ve been through it all together – the make-ups, the break-ups, the holding of each others’ hair whilst being sick, driving tests, university, moving away and our first steps on the career ladder.

It’s been an emotional journey, and we’ve had our ups and downs, but they’re solid friends with whom I know I’ll share even more treasured memories like promotions, weddings and babies. It’s the kind of friendship you dream of as a kid, before you get distracted by boys, and nothing can take away its magic. The purity and innocence of my friendships with S, N and R are what makes them so special and it’s probably why they haven’t faded and never will…

Then there are the friends from Uni. I stood side by side with SE and LB throught our three years at Middlesex – scraping the pennies together for another drink at the pub, spending nights playing computer games instead of completing coursework and sharing the joy on graduation day. I laugh at the memories of us striving to be more grown up than we were but showing our real age through our mistakes.

It wasn’t just lectures where I learnt and discovered new things with SE and LB, the whole three years at university were eye openers. I can learn a lot just from looking back and seeing why, out of all the friends I had at university, I chose to remain close to SE and LB throughout the years after uni. Perhaps we’re still all learning together, despite the distance. Perhaps the distance is an education in itself…

Finally there are my Dubai friends. In a city that throws unexpected changes at you, it can be difficult to maintain good friendships. I was once told I wouldn’t make good friends here due to the transient nature of Dubai. But in reality, that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

There are some people who tend to flit between different social groups, but my core friends are a constant. Never have I been so in love with a group of people, but I honestly think my friends are the best. They’ve brought back my love for Dubai!

As a group, we’re always up to something, whether it’s having a BBQ, celebrating an engagement, throwing a dinner party, going away for the weekend, electrocuting ourselves, wakeboarding, singing karaoke, skinny dipping, taking Dubai’s bars by storm, watching porn or playing the pub quiz. And even though there may be some heartache and arguments along the way, every single moment is awesome.

Whether I’ve known them four years or four months, they feel like family. If you’re in trouble, you know they’ll rally together to support you. And I’m a firm believer that you get what you give, which is why none of the bad apples linger.

When you’re 3500 miles away from home, its these guys you want to befriend; they have it all. I love each and every one of them for the same reasons and for different reasons.

M&N, aka the Cool Couple (CC) - for love and laughs
E – for loyalty and genuinity
Mr A.P – for adrenaline and mischief
NJG – for advice and honesty
HC – for bluntness and a splash of colour
RRB – for those schoolgirl giggles
KB, CJ and ML - for sanity, stories and a little education

Last but not least, Little Miss LC…

Little Miss LC is my bestie in Dubai, we’ve been friends pretty much since I first moved here and, although we had a blip for a while thanks to a relationship wanker (a boy for those of you confused), we’re pretty much inseperable. People often ask if we come as a pair and, whenever I tell someone I’m going out on the lash, they’ll always assume it’s with her. They’d be right.

I love Little Miss LC as though she were my little sister. In fact, I probably love her more. We shop together, dine together, drink together. We talk about everything and absolutely nothing. There are no taboos - sex, drugs, periods, childbirth, men, bikini waxes… You name it, we’ve talked about it. We arrive at parties together and we leave parties together, we’re side-by-side pretty much the whole way.

We’ve shared so many good times – drunk Austrian men buying us drinks, road trips with the roof down, bumping into exes and pretending not to see, being spat on by stand-up comedians, hiding people’s cigarettes and shoes, singing karaoke on our own in my flat and laughing so hard it hurts and/or we pee ourselves.

But now, now it’s coming to an end… Two months until Amsterdam steals her and it feels like a boyfriend has just split up with me. I begin to wonder - who will the new girl be? Will she be as fun as me? Will she be prettier? Will bestie think of me when she’s sipping cocktails with her?

It might take me a while to move on. Right now I can’t even think about finding a new gal pal. I guess I’ll just have to make the most of the next two months, which may explain why we’ve been out on the razzle dazzle pretty much every night over the last few days. The realisation that it’s an end of an era has finally hit home… and it’s pretty sad.

How will I tell her what I think of her new boyfriend? How will she tell me what she makes of my new man? Who will tell me if something I’ve tried on in a shop looks hideous? Who’s going to get excited with me about shoes? And who is going to drink cocktail after cocktail after cocktail with me?

I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it… In the meantime, I just want her to know I love her and I’m gonna miss the Bestie Wanker like crazy!! Bring on the nights out over the next two months, lady. And bring on my trip to Amsterdam! Dubai… Watch out!!

xxxxxxxxx

Is it in his eyes?

Cher once said if you wanna know if he loves you so, it’s in his kiss. I’m not so sure… Is taking advice from a fifty-something, gay icon with so much plastic surgery it almost makes Pete Burns look normal, a good thing? I highly doubt it.

Yes, I’m talking about Mr A.P. The last couple of weeks have all been, well, a bit of a head fuck really.

It all started getting complicated around the time of my dinner party. I thought we’d taken a step forward but, in hindsight, I think we took five steps back. The communication between the two of us has definitely stepped up a gear (there’s a lot of texting going on) but how that translates into where we are in terms of our friendship / relationship, I have no idea. And it’s not helped when most texts are either cryptic or start off by sounding like he’s interested and ending in a way to suggest we’re just friends. Why can’t men just be clear?!

So, after torturing myself thinking about it whilst I was in China and Japan (I even resorted to asking my little brother for advice. Oh the shame), I have returned to even more torture... A bunch of us took up the opportunity to rinse Dubai’s offer of free drinks on ladies night. The plan was to start at Hive (two free Cosmos), followed by Agency (two free glasses of wine), then onto Scarlett’s (five free cocktails) and hopefully ending up in Harry Ghatto’s. I think God gave us women all this free alcohol to ease the pain inflicted upon us by fuckwit men… I mean, give us a break! Us ladies already go through PMS and childbirth to bear you children and this is how you repay us?

Anyway, we all met in Hive and began down the road to oblivion. I tried to keep my distance from Mr A.P in order to guage his level of interest – would he make the effort and come over to me? Well, as it happens, he did. But I wondered on what level…

By the time we reached Harry Ghatto’s for some karaoke, we were all in our happy place. Naturally, I immediately got up to sing Alanis Morissette’s You Oughta Know. I know I sang other songs, but I have absolutely no recollection of what they were, or if I even had the ability to sing them!

The night still remains a series of blurry, alcohol induced memories. Some of which include calling a guy an egotistical wanker, stealing a bottle(!) of vodka, spilling my drink all over my dress, pinching nipples and… kissing. Yes, Mr A.P and I locked lips and, much like one of our first conversations, I was so into it that I had no idea how long it went on for. Soft, gentle and what could only be described as (if we weren’t so blindingly drunk) romantic kisses. Was this a clincher? They say your true feelings come out when you’re drunk… I hope so because our sober relationship is no more than flirty conversation, some eye contact and a few cheeky smiles.

Mid-tingling kiss, Mr A.P pulls back. This happened a few times, occasionally to look into each others eyes and smile, but this was not one of those pull backs. Nope, instead, he murmurs the words “Stop it, I shouldn’t be doing this” and then goes back to kissing me. Obviously being so hammered, it took me a few seconds to realise what he said. When I ask him what he meant, he started bleating on about the Aussie chick he’s obsessed with. Argh!! Why? Why ruin a perfectly good moment with stories about some other girl? And what makes it worse is I've heard reports that she's not that attractive and is also a complete bitch. Errmmm HELLO?! Am I missing something here?

Should I have been sober, I’d have been put off for the fear of her face popping into his head whilst we were mid pash. Eugh, that would be awful! But, being the drunken barbarian that I am, I was far too into the moment to give a fuck, so I just continued kissing him.

I do recall asking him if he loved her. He said he didn’t but I’m not sure I believe him. I mean how can a 38 year old man have such a schoolboy crush on a girl who treats him like shit and is cohabiting with another man... her boyfriend? I’m allowed obsessive crushes because I’m only 25 and obviously still have a lot to learn about men, but he really has no excuse.

So, after all the kissing that night, Mr A.P announced he was going home to crash at E’s. At that point, in my drunken haze, it made sense he came home with me, so I did the dutiful thing and offered… My offer was declined due to obsession mentioned above. Probably a good thing; wouldn’t want her popping into his head when we’re kissing, let alone during any heavier petting! Saying that, at the time I was pretty pissed off and as he went to kiss me goodbye, I pulled away.

You’d think that’d be the end of the drama for one night, but no, the next morning I find out one of the girls who came out with us tried to take Mr. A.P home at the end of the night too. Is that normal? Ok, I know I can’t really be upset about it, it's not like we're seeing each other, but I am a little shocked. If I saw a guy kissing a girl all night, there is no way on Earth I’d try to take him home because a) it’s slutty b) it’s totally inappropriate and c) I don’t have the balls for that.

Seriously though, is that what it’s coming to now? Is it acceptable to go for a guy who’s in a clinch with another girl? Am I too naïve in believing in a silent sisterhood? I didn’t realise rugby tackling other girls out of the way was order of the day in 2009!! And why is it always me this happens to? As The Bird reminded me this weekend, the same thing happened to me twice a couple of years ago – I’d really like a guy, which my friends knew about, yet said “friends” still launched themselves at the guys in question. I just can’t quite get my head around it… Ladies, opinions!

The next morning, obviously feeling a little worse for wear, I sat at my desk, bleary eyed and shaking from the alcohol abuse. (Dad, if you're reading this, I only had a couple of Malibu and Cokes.) I thought it best to send Mr A.P a text to clear the air before I start obsessing about what happened the night before. My text was quite casual, you know, along the lines of let’s just put the whole thing behind us and move on. I wasn’t really expecting a reply, but he did send one back. To me, it was cryptic. He didn’t say he wanted me, nor did it say he didn’t want me. Great! Now I’d spend the next two to three days obsessing about that text! Could he just not reply? Or would I obsess about that too? There really is no pleasing me…

Over the next couple of days, the texts went back and forth as they had been for the last couple of weeks. It wasn’t until Friday that I saw him again at the Cool Couple’s engagement party in Fujairah, and I must admit, I was a little embarrassed. I knew I had to distance myself from him and I managed to keep it up until just before he left…

My friends, however, were on a mission. Being the amazing girlfriends they are, they attempted to coax out Mr A.P’s true feelings for me (if he had any). HC, who lacks tact at the best of times, let alone when completely leathered, pulled Mr. A.P aside and got straight to the point – does he or does he not like me?

Apparently he does. During her conversation with Mr. A.P, HC took it upon herself to place bets with him on whether I was wearing underwear or not. Not your conventional gamble, but who am I to complain? There were also unconventional stakes… Shots for her, kissing me for him. I’m not going to say who bet on what, but I’ll tell you Mr A.P lost the bet.So, did he kiss me? Yes, but not because that was the deal, nor because he saw the light and finally realised I’m such an amazing girl. Why then? You know as well as I do… You don’t have a clue? Yeah, well that’s about as much as I know too!

In order to piece this puzzle together, let me explain where the kissing came in… Mr A.P intended to head back to Dubai rather than stay the night in Fujairah with the rest of us (apparently he had things to do). When it came to him leaving (he was hitching a ride with E), he started looking for his bag. In a last minute scramble to get him to stay, the girls told him they didn't think he really wanted to leave or he'd remember where his bag was. As Mr. A.P frantically searched for his bag, the girls continued to coerce him into staying. I don't know where I was when that was going on but I knew I'd have to make an attempt at getting him to stay...

I spotted him, grabbed him by the wrists and dragged him round the other side of the chalet so I could chat to him without the others around. We kissed. He pulled away. I asked him to stay. He said he couldn't. We kissed. Again. He pulled away. Again. Do you see a pattern here? This whole scenario started to irritate me. I asked him what the problem was this time and he said "It's messy". Don't I know it! For God's sake, boy, MAN UP!!! I told him I didn't understand him, that there comes a point (not sure what that point that is, but there is one) and I asked him if he really wanted to go. He told me he didn't and that he wanted to stay with us, hang out and drink but going home was the sensible thing to do.

The sensible thing to do? Is obsessing over a girl with a boyfriend the sensible thing to do? Is leading me on the sensible thing to do? No, but he does it! So where does sense come in? I told him if he wanted to go, he should go and then I stormed off and telling him I give up. He left.

Have I given up? Well, sort of. I'm trying to give up. He text me the next morning, just friendly chit chat stuff. I ignored it. I have to, otherwise we'll end up going round in circles. I'm doing to him exactly what he should be doing to Aussie chick.

Not heard from him today, so the temptation to text back wasn't there, which is great. E is having a BBQ tomorrow night. Part of me hopes he won't be there, but the other part of me hopes he will. I know I need to avoid him where possible but it's difficult when you're in the same circle of friends.

I need him to give me a definitive answer - Either; yes I like you but I need time to get over Aussie chick, no I'm not interested in you that way, or yes I like you but I have no intention of starting anything up with you. Stop leading me on and tell me the truth, it's the not knowing that's torture!! You know how I feel, if you're not interested, stop flirting with me, stop texting me everyday and stop bloody kissing me!!!

So Cher was wrong, you can't tell if it's in his kiss. In fact, as soft, gentle and amazing as his kiss is, it's quite probable that it's a load of bullshit.

Can't cook or won't cook?

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I know this to be true having witnessed this from an early age. Watching my mother slave away in the kitchen to appease the hunger pangs of my father, brother and I. There are very few occasions I can recollect where my father had left food on his plate. In fact, the most vivid memories I have of family meals consist of jars of pickled onions, mango chutney and green peppers taking up the table, and my father’s dinner plate strewn with olive pips. Homer Simpson springs to mind.

I also recall my mother painstakingly preparing dinner for a number of guests my dad had invited to our home. As an Arab, my mother would never be satisfied with just serving a simple dish. There would be salads and dips, followed by meat and then a sweet she had baked. All this activity would take place whilst my father was in the living room entertaining guests, smugly knowing they were about to be blown away by the food on offer.

Perhaps naively, I wanted to recreate the satisfaction that I remember from my parents’ dinner parties, however I was so unprepared for the amount of effort it would take…

With Ramadan in full swing and dinner parties seemingly the new going out, I invited a few friends over for a casual dinner party. I only intended on inviting around six people (the capacity of my dining table) but this soon became nine, ten, eleven and then twelve. Yep, I’d set myself the mammoth task of cooking for twelve! Not something I’d seen my mother, whom I consider a culinary genius, do! As the big day edged closer, I found beads of sweat forming at my temples every time I thought about it.

Shopping for the ingredients was a chore in itself – why is it next to impossible to find Ricotta cheese in this city?! What hadn’t crossed my mind is where I was planning to seat everyone. With only a small dining table for six, I soon realised I better purchase a fold out table and some extra chairs.

As I struggled through the aisles of Carrefour, bumping into children on trainers with wheels, clinging to the fold out table I was about to purchase whilst pushing a trolley with three fold out chairs hanging from my forearm, I prayed hosting this dinner party would be worth it. I mean, could I really pull this off? I can barely cook for myself, let alone twelve people! Or is it that I won’t cook for myself?

I watched as the Filipino checkout lady swiped the barcodes of my purchases. The end result was a bit of a shocker, something my plastic credit card was definitely not expecting, but I perservered.

Luckily I’d bagged myself a parking spot close to the mall entrance, so the trolley journey to my car would be to painful. I loaded my car with the goods, leaving the table until last… To my horror, it wouldn’t fit in my car! I turned the table around, attempted to take the roof of my car down, stripped the table of it’s packaging, making it vulnerable to scratches and scrapes. Nothing worked. I pushed and pulled and after 20 minutes of struggling, finally managed to wedge the beast in. I was sweating. It felt like I’d just wrestled with a grizzly bear in the 45 degree heat and 80% humidity, only then to go home and slave away over a hot stove for two hours!

Despite the odd setback, I actually enjoyed preparing for my dinner party and found that I have a talent for baking cakes. Perfect wife material. I was in the kitchen until 2am, having completely forgotten to eat myself. I opened the fridge in the hope of finding a midnight snack to gorge on before bed… Nothing. Nothing but the ingredients for my dinner party. I was tempted to scoff some of the cheese but knew it was too important to sacrifice. And so I went to bed hungry, having fasted all day and knowing I’d be fasting all day the following day. At least I’d appreciate the meal I was cooking!

The day of the dinner party arrived and I rushed home from work to complete my task. All was going well and I was slightly comforted by the fact my flatmate, a former chef, would soon be returning home and could help me out. But before I knew it there was a knock at the door… E and Mr A.P had arrived. Arrrggghh! I looked a mess – lack of make-up, strapless dress with bra straps protruding… not a good look.

I gave them simple instructions on the small tasks left and went to spruce myself up. As my guests trickled through my front door, I began to feel a sense of self-pride. Is this how my mother felt when cooking for my father and his friends? Or was this a deeper satisfaction as I was cooking for people I’d invited?

I’d already laid the table out and decorated the room with candles and so there was nothing left to do except dish up. I hoped that my guests had had enough wine on an empty stomach to not notice any flaws in my lasagne… As we all huddled around the table, I began to wonder what would be said of my attempts at a feast. Would my friends be polite and pat their stomachs as they winced and swallowed another bite? I guess I’ll never really know what they thought, although I think the coffee cake I’d baked went down pretty well.

Is it even the food that matters? I hate to lessen the worth of my mother’s dedication in the kitchen all those years ago, but I can’t help but wonder if it really is just the company that makes or breaks a dinner party. Afterall, I was surrounded by my nearest and dearest and everyone at the dinner table that evening was worth the hours of effort. Or perhaps it’s the entertainment? If that’s the case, I recommend to anyone hosting a dinner party to purchase electrocution games, post it notes and porn!

All in all, the evening was a success and I was up until all hours playing electrocution roulette with the boys whilst they drank… tequila and coke!! I think the reason behind hosting the dinner party was achieved. It was definitely one of those nights I won’t forget. For so many reasons…