Home Alone

I'm not sure what it is; whether it's the realisation it's the end of an era or the fact it's dawned on me that I'm back on the single-shelf, but watching X leave the apartment today was hard. I had no idea it'd be this sad.

So I've moaned about his stuff taking up my wardrobe space and how he's in the shower for more than 20 minutes when I need to get ready for work, but when he left this evening, I shed a tear. A few actually. Perhaps I just needed to get it out of my system, after all this was my first serious relationship and I'd never ended it with a guy before - I was always the one that was dumped before it even began.

As I crawled into bed this evening, I noticed a present he'd left on my pillow. It was a DVD boxset of one of my favourite British dramas (no, I'm not telling you what it is for the sheer embarrassment of it). In the bag were also some of my favourite chocolates. I know most girls won't think it's a big deal, but for me, it was, as X was never really one to buy me flowers or chocolates. In fact, romance wasn't really very high on his agenda, which I guess makes this gift that extra special. Although it could be that I'm just a little emotional.

It's weird, we've not slept in the same bed for well over a month as we've both been away, but it saddens me knowing we're both here but he's not here. It's not that we were an overtly affectionate couple but I'm surprised at how, well, empty my bed feels. I've been fine the last two weeks whilst he's been away, so why now am I upset? Is it something that takes time? How long is it before I've adjusted back to single life? Or does feeling this way mean I don't really want this?

And I thought it was confusing being dumped. All those questions you ask yourself like 'why doesn't he like me? Am I ugly? Is my sense of humour that bad? Did he see that huge zit on my chin?'. But at least with being dumped it's all released through anger - the Alanis Morissette blaring in the background, throwing things around your bedroom, deleting his number and text messages and erasing him from your Facebook friends. They're all great ways of getting some closure. 

Ahh, closure, the word that everyone dreads. Guys hate it, girls need it. Question is, do I? Is that what I'm missing? When my relationship with X ended, there was no slanging match or slamming of doors, nor was there one last really hot sex session. Do those things really help you move on?

As the dumper, I'm not angry and finding the right release for my emotions is hard. I've chosen tears for now but I'm not sure they really represent how I'm feeling. As a professional communicator, aka PR darling, I'm guessing my release will be to bend my friends' ears about it. Girlfriends always have a solution and I'm looking forward to hearing their advice.

It seems there's no way out of a relationship unscathed, whether you're the dumper or dumpee, if it's done face-to-face or by text, if it's mutual or not, at least one of us is always going to get hurt. I'm just hoping the road to recovery isn't a long one.

Single girl etiquette

Ladies, if a 'gentleman' at a bar sends drinks over to you and your girlfriend, what do you do?

a) Nod and mouth 'Thank you'

b) Invite him over to chat

c) Take him to the dance floor

d) Fuck him

This weekend, Miss LC and I performed a little social experiment to find out exactly what a girl is to do...

Whilst drinking at one of Dubai's trendy clubs and eyeing up any potential eligible bachelors, Miss LC and I were handed another round of drinks by the bar staff. With the look of confusion on our faces, the bar staff, who were all lined up at the bar with equal space between each of them, immediately pointed to a man at the bar. Far from it being a sexy, smouldering man in a suit as it always is in American series', we were a little disappointed to see a nerdy blonde guy drinking at the bar on his own.

Unsure of which of the above options we were obliged to do, we asked our quintessentially English friend R on what we should do. Being no help at all, R suggested 'd' as the best option as it was 'the rules'. Clearly R is often the guy at the bar who sends over drinks to the ladies and expects to get laid. This is because it probably works for him, but no doubt it's the suave dress sense (as long as they don't look at his mismatched shoes), his schoolgirl laugh and the irresistible English charm that helps him win the ladies over, rather than the free cocktails. Mr. R, is that how you get so much gash?

Having ruled out option d, we decided we should probably invite him over for a chat. After all, he was on his own, staring at his drink and we thought what he did took balls. Feeling sorry for him, we agreed we'd invite him over for a chat. Earlier in the day I'd said to Miss LC that we really should make an effort to chat to more guys, even if they were minging, because they might have hot friends. That was a mistake, as this guy didn't have any friends, let alone good-looking ones!

Once he'd taken his eyes off his drink and looked up at us, I beckoned him over. I knew immediately that I'd made a mistake, but a minute later he sauntered over. Making polite conversation with him - what's your name, where are you from, what do you do - it became evidently clear that he was somewhat trashed. Swaying and knocking into us as he spoke, his alcohol breath was making us gag.

We established his name was Trinko, that he was Austrian and that he lived in Ajman. When asked where is friends were, he held out his arms towards me and Miss LC. Did he really constitute a three-question conversation as a friendship? Was he really that much of a loner that we were the closest people to him to be called friends? It wouldn't surprise me if that was the case.

As we sipped our drinks in an effort to finish them quickly, so that we could make our excuses and leave, the bar staff were all giving us the knowing look. Do you know the one I mean? The one where they're sympathetic but they're also kind of laughing too? They could see Trinko was was worse for wear and that we had just been polite in inviting him over, not expecting him to be so much of a tool. 

Not long into the conversation, Trinko walked off. We were relieved to say the least. By now, the bar staff were all laughing, and as I glanced at where Trinko had been standing, I noticed a bottle of Captain Morgan rum that had been mostly consumed already. Around the bottle were more drinks. This would have been a perfectly acceptable scene should it have been a group of friends at a bar or two big Russian guys coming to a business agreement, but this was one weedy Austrian guy all on his own.

As he trundled back to the bar, I asked him if he enjoyed drinking on his own. In reply, he managed to slur "I don't like alcohol". As much as I wanted to believe the swaying, rum-fume breathing loner, I couldn't contain myself and simply retorted "It sure doesn't smell like it". Miss LC and I couldn't contain our laughter. It was a sorry situation; two single girls drinking at a bar having only been able to pick up a half-cut, no make that totally-cut, lone ranger. Eugh.

Trinko didn't appreciate us laughing at him, but no sooner had we clocked him looking upset than he was propped up at the bar having a snooze. Yep, he was asleep. This was our opportunity to escape! We downed our drinks in an attempt to make a run for it but we were stopped in our tracks by the woken beast. Being the well-mannered girls that we are, we made our excuses, said goodbye and bolted. Like lightening.

So, the moral of the story is - if a guy sends over a drink to your table, stick to option a. Anything more is heading for disaster. Unless he's a quintessential Englishman, of course.

Oh yes it's ladies night and the feeling's right...

Tuesday nights in Dubai are infamous. It usually involves groups of gossiping girls guzzling free cocktails at one of the city’s sleazier watering holes, whilst inspecting the room for hot men. Yesterday was no exception.

Ladies Night… Six girls (and one token guy) took to Emirates Towers to discuss shoes, shopping and sex. We even talked about how to smuggle our Ann Summers friends into the country, with one suggestion being to unscrew it and place your toothbrush where the batteries are supposed to be held. Although trying to explain to immigration why your toothbrush holder looks like a giant penis with a dwarf rabbit hanging off the end may be slightly more embarrassing than first thought! Nonetheless, it was the best suggestion offered.

Another topic of conversation was my outfit, as instead of going home and getting ready to go out, as any normal girl would, I left work to head to Dubai Mall (which shits all over Shepherd Bush’s Westfield by the way) to pick myself up a new dress. The previous night, I had been watching Sex and the City with Miss LC when there was a scene with Carrie wearing a gorgeous green satin skirt, white blouse and sky high heels. Miss LC commented that nobody could pull off that outfit other than SJP herself. But alas, I spotted a fab green satin skirt in the sales and thought I’d try to pull it off anyway…

After a whirlwind spree, I’d purchased one green satin skirt, one white blouse, two bras, a dress, three pairs of shoes, three necklaces, two pairs of earrings and a partridge in a pear tree. Ok, the partridge bit was a lie. Still, it was quite some feat I thought.

Scurrying into the ladies loos with all my purchases, I tried to sneak into the baby changing room for a bit more space to change, and also to lower the probability of me losing an item of clothing down the toilet bowl. It didn't happen, the immaculately dressed attendant directed me straight back to the ladies bogs.

After banging my elbows on the cubicle door and scratching my own thigh trying to tactfully manoeuvre out of my work skirt, I managed to slip into my new outfit and emerge looking like a brunette version of Carrie Bradshaw after a cake and pie addiction. Ho hum, at least I have a cleavage to be proud of.

After changing in the toilets, I then had to shuffle through the Emirati-packed mall in 6 inch heels, a short skirt and a blouse with so many buttons undone even Jodie Marsh would have been proud. It was shameful and by the time I reached the taxi rank, I felt like a fully-fledged ho bag. Funny thing is, this was a conservative outfit for me. I needn’t have worried though... Minutes later, I arrived at Emirates Towers and my attire was back to being conservative. The outfits some of the girls in Scarlett’s were trying to pull off were outrageous. Clothes that really should be kept for the likes of J.Lo. And hookers. Although, perhaps these girls in Scarlett’s were hookers?

Emirates Towers, I would normally describe as one of the classier establishments in Dubai. Filled with high-end boutiques and home to several offices occupied by international companies, it has the perfect recipe to be filled with beautiful, intelligent people. But somehow, Scarlett’s seems to evade from its responsibility to maintain a certain standard of class. Perhaps, on a Tuesday, that has something to do with the number of free cocktails offered to women upon entry?

Taking a scan around the room, like an owl of a field, I quickly came to the conclusion that there were no cute guys in Scarlett’s, but I had a back-up plan. Yep, I invited K. For those of you who don’t know, K is my cheeseburger. I dated him three years ago but it ended in tears… my tears. I’m the reason he broke his leg but I’m also the one who looked after him when he was hobbling around on crutches. After it ended, I didn’t see much of K. He started dating another girl and I was too busy eating ice cream out of the tub and watching tear-jerking rom-coms to care.

Anyway, back to last night. So, K came along to Scarlett’s and it was nice to see him. It was like the old days, teasing and flirting. Then K told me he’s leaving Dubai and moving to Amsterdam... at the end of the month! Not the most devastating news but something inside me sank a little, after all he was still an option. Well, now he’s just an option for the next week or so and I might as well make the most of it, starting right now.

We moved on from sleazy Scarlett’s over to Harry Ghatto’s, an excellent move instigated by myself and E. I immediately put in my request to sing Alanis Morissette’s You Oughta Know. Anyone who knows me can verify I rarely sing anything else, but this time it had a bit more meaning to it. Not only had a been through similar emotions, as the song depicts, with K but Jagged Little Pill was one of the first albums we bonded over.

In the bar, K sat with three good-looking girls and chatted away to them whilst I sang along to everyone else's karaoke song and chugged champagne. Now, my attempts at subtlety are usually pretty weak, but I think I managed to conceal any desires I had of seducing K by encouraging him to chat to the girls at the bar.

On such occasions in the past, my plan has often backfired and the guy I was interested in would end up going home with one of the ladies I’d encouraged him to chat with. That would make sense, right? Except in my head I’d be outraged. Why? Seriously, what kind of numb skull tries to set up the guy she likes with the hot girl at the bar wearing a plunging neckline? To be honest, I’m not sure why I do it. I guess I’m testing the waters, you know, to find out if the guy actually likes me or if he’s willing to slope off home with some dirty blonde.

As it happens, despite K being sat with the girls for almost the entire duration we were in the karaoke bar, he didn’t go home with any of them. Nor did he seem too interested. In fact, he even engaged in some flirty, jokey, put-down type banter with me in front of them. It was endearing as it was a side to K I’d not really seen before.

In the meantime, whilst all this was happening, E was in conversation with another cute German guy and M was there for moral support. It went well, or so I hear...

After my pretty damn angry rendition of You Oughtta Know, K and I left. No, not like that. At least not yet. On the way out, I commented on his lack of effort with the girls at the bar but he seemed pretty uninspired by them. Something I found most unusual. The drive home was even more like old times than our flirty banter in the bar had been. I love that nostalgic feeling and reminiscing brings me such happiness.

It’s probably the reason why I still see J every time I go back to the UK, I have so many fond memories of him – the first date, the music we listened to when driving home, the first kiss etc. There’s also the fact that it’s still new and exciting, despite having been together before. You also know what you’re in for. By that I mean there’s no gasps when he drops his pants, and you know he doesn’t have any insane sex fetishes! I know many girls would disagree with me - a lot of my girlfriends tell me to move forwards, but why? It’s not like I’m getting into a relationship. I mean which is worse, taking home an ex or taking home someone you’ve just met?

Pulling up outside my building, I desperately wanted to invite K up, but something held me back from making the initial move. Asking me for a kiss, I gave him a peck on the cheek. Asking for another one, I gave him a lingering kiss on the other cheek. I felt he had plenty of opportunity to turn his head a little to kiss me, but he didn’t, so I took it as a sign he wasn’t interested. Although, I’m not convinced. After dwelling on it, something tells me we were both just too chicken shit to make a move.

As I stepped out of the car and walked towards the building door, K flashed his headlights at me, but I just turned my head, gave him a smile and continued through the door. I was half expecting him to shout after me or give me a call, but he didn’t and I guess that kind of thing only happens in movies and I was just romanticising. I’m a little disappointed nothing happened but at the same time, I’m pleased I didn’t. There's someone else I’d rather hold out for...

Seven thousand nine hundred and ninety six

There are over 100,000 Brits in Dubai. Supposedly 72% of Dubai's population are men. So if my calculations are correct, that means there are 72,000 British men in Dubai but we'll knock it down to 50,000 as that 72% includes an incredibly high number of Sub-Continent labourers.

Now, I'm not expecting all 50,000 male, British expats to be single or under 40, so we'll say half are single, and half of those are under 40. Then we'll estimate that a third of whoever's left is passable on the looks front. That means there are just over 8,000 Brit-boy hotties in this city. So, my question is... Where are they?

Now, I know I've had liaisons with about five or six of these guys already, but that still leaves 7,996 of them to discover! Let's face it, it's not like I lock myself away at home and I'm hardly the shy and retiring type. I venture out. I've trawled Dubai's nightclubs on many occasions, checking out the latest hotspots and the talent it may or may not host. I attend the events on Dubai's must-do social calendar -the Rugby 7's, the world cup, they're all there. So why is it so hard to spot cute guys?

Seriously, where do they hang out? Is it in the freezer aisle at Spinney's? Border's at Mall of the Emirates? Or are they all at the gym on a Friday night? Come on boys, we know you're out there, so why hide? Does the benevolent charmer feel intimidated by Dubai's women? With a reputation for being gold-digging, high maintenance Barbie dolls, I wouldn't be surprised if most men run for cover from the perfectly manicured claws. Or is that precisely what they're looking for and the reason us down-to-earth gals are barely given a glance, never mind a second one!

Not satisfied with my club trawling and shop hunting, I've decided to open my options to discover exactly where these 7,996 good-looking, intelligent Brit boys might be. I'm starting at the gym...

Not one for physical activity outside of the bedroom, I figured 'nothing ventured, nothing gained' and have signed myself up to a month's worth of kickboxing torture at Safa Park. Three time a week. That's right, I've joined a bootcamp. Yep, for one month, I'm sacrificing 850 Dirhams worth of dresses, shoes and cosmopolitans in a bid to find Mr. Right. Or at least Mr. Right Now. And let me tell you, that was no easy decision to make.

So boys, have a little heart and make some effort too. If you're cute, come over, say hi, we can talk about Man City splashing the cash, you're new 35 inch wheels on the Jeep or simply where you like to hang out. Don't worry, I won't scratch...

Where is the love?

Before I start wittering on about my Dubai dating disasters, I want to explain why I'm single. I wasn't lied to, cheated on, dumped for a slimmer and sultrier woman or anything else. Quite the opposite. My ex, who we'll call, well X, for argument's sake, is a very honest and caring guy. The type that's always there and dependable. Tall and good-looking. Argh, I can hear a lot of girls screaming 'So why did you end it?'. Well, certain events unfolded that made me realise, as lovely as X is, it just wasn't working. Yes, honesty and loyalty are highly commendable traits, but it's not enough. Is it?

As a typical Aries, I crave excitement and passion, the type that gives you butterflies in your stomach and makes you want to rip your partner's clothes off whenever you see them. Where you're on the phone all night talking about everything or nothing at all. The type that makes you want to try out new things together, like travel to Timbuktu or learn how to tango.

I know after almost two years in a relationship that can fade, but truth be told, it was never really there at the beginning either. We'd lost the buzz before we even started dating. There was no thunderbolt and I wasn't swept off my feet. I merely settled because I wanted a taster. Having never been in a long-term relationship, I was desperate. Desperate to know what it was like to share your dreams with someone, desperate to come home to someone you thought about all day, everyday and desperate not to be labelled 'single' for the rest of my life. But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself X was the right guy for me, deep down, I still felt like I was single. Sure I loved (and still love) X, but I'm not, and never have been, in love with him.

Whilst I attempted to battle my deeper emotions, listening to my mother's advice that I'd only break my own heart and he was a good guy, I continued my relationship with X, holding onto the hope that maybe one day, the spark would come. It did briefly arise once or twice, but never long enough for me to reap all of its benefits.

It only became glaringly obvious to me that I should call things off when I started going out with my friends and not inviting him in fear I'd have to spend the evening talking to him. But I should want to do that, right? Well that's just it, I didn't. I'd rather spend the evening gossiping with the girls. The nights out without him became more frequent and I was spending an increasing amount of time with an old guy friend who we'll call S.

Spending time with a friend I've not seen in a while is perfectly acceptable and no threat to my relationship with X. That is, until it becomes physical. It didn't involve sex, but it easily could have done if it wasn't for my conscience niggling away at me. And the fact my legs weren't exactly silky smooth (I was waiting to get a wax, ok)! 

Thing is, my physical encounter with S felt good. So good. It was exciting and I was revelling in the feeling of that moment's freedom. Not only that, but I wanted more. More of S or more excitement, I'm not sure. Probably both. For the first time in a long time, I was being utterly selfish, even if it was only for a few moments until the old conscience kicked in. The exhilarating feeling I was experiencing was quickly followed by the realisation I couldn't continue feeling the way I was feeling unless I did something about my current relationship.

Not wanting to become a liar or a cheat by embarking upon some sort of sordid affair, after a chat with the girls, I knew what I had to do. End it with X.

The next night, I stayed in and X went out. When he came home, I wasn't my usual chatty self. He knew something was up and asked me what was wrong. Being unable to get the words out I repeatedly said 'nothing'. Eventually, X coaxed the problem out of me. I didn't mention S, I thought it'd be better all round if I didn't include him in the equation, after all he was irrelevant in this scenario. He's not irrelevant to me, but in terms of ending my relationship with X, S was just a catalyst in helping me realise what was fundamentally wrong with my relationship.

Breaking it to X that I didn't think it was working was hard, and he pleaded with me to try to work things out but in my eyes, it wasn't possible. We'd had the same conversation previously in our relationship and I was always left clinging on to the hope something exciting would happen. It didn't. We're just two very different people - he enjoys going to the gym and working out, I like eating a take-out and watching a DVD. He hates getting drunk, whereas I can think of no better way to spend my Friday night. He hates the sun, whilst I'm a sun-worshipper who is forever wanting to top up my tan. It was just destined not to work from the start and in the end, I think X finally accepted that.

In the days post break-up, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, albeit not all of it as I still felt a tad guilty. That weight that had been there so long, I'd forgotten it existed. It's not that I was burdened by X, but I did feel somewhat emancipated after the break-up. And for the first time in many, many years, I was happy to be single. My impending vacation was the perfect ticket to a break-up without being wracked with guilt and when I returned back to Dubai, X will have moved out and I'd be free... free to come and go as I pleased without an explanation, free to eat take-outs unashamedly and free to finally call my wardrobe my own again.

Whilst back in the UK, I met up with J, with whom I meet up with everytime I'm home. He's been my err "gratification" partner for the last five or six years. We've maintained a great relationship, with the exception of a few months when I lived a few hundred yards away from him. It was one of those where I fell for him, it wasn't reciprocated, yet I still tried my hardest to win over his affections to the point I became a bit of a stalker and actually saw less of him than I had pre obsessive-crush. It took me some time, and a couple of pretty nasty arguments with him, to realise J was never going to fall for my charms. In fact, I think it took me a move 3500 miles away to realise! But, now I get it and I'm totally cool with it. In fact, I kinda like the way it is now. 

J to me is like Big to Carrie Bradshaw before she ends up marrying him. She loves him, she doesn't love him, it's physical, it's emotional. In fact, their relationship is never defined until she ends up marrying him - not the ending I see myself and J embarking upon! 

Anyway, back to the point, whilst paying J a visit on my annual trip home, I told him about my single status and he made a comment along the lines of "You see, Reems, you actually want to be single". And, scary thing is, I think he might be right. Despite my bunny-boiler attempts a few years ago to convince him to take me as his girlfriend, even J could see I was more suited to single life. Perhaps he did me a favour?

But then I wonder how quickly the novelty of being single wears off? The novelty of being in a relationship wore off pretty quickly. Is the answer a string of relationships? One guy friend at uni used to be in relationships with girls but always end it before the six-month mark. Is that how to play the game in order to maximise the enjoyment of a relationship - the initial excitement, finding out all about someone new and then dumping them before the novelty wears off? Or does that become like drug abuse where you're constantly on a relationship high, always searching for your next partner? Or does 'The One' rehabilitate you back into the real world of love? Does 'The One" make you feel like you're still on a high and so you simply stop playing games? 

Luckily for me, I still have all of this to figure out and you get to find out how I figure it out. Ain't dating a treat!

The Debut

Ok, so I set up a blog about six months ago, but shamefully (get it), I forgot the username and password. So here I am, setting up a new account.

I guess to some, this may be an incredibly dull blog, to others it may be just what they want to hear... The make-ups, the break-ups, the fashion faux pas' and the everyday struggles of Dubai life. Or just life in general.

As a recently single girl, catapulted back into the realms of Dubai's dating scene, I'm hoping my blog may be of light entertainment for some of you. Perhaps you know me but don't really know me and would like to know more and my blog fills out all the blanks? Perhaps you're in the same boat as me you just want to know you're not the only one drifting off shore. Perhaps you really don't give a fuck but enjoy my self proclaimed witty banter! Whatever it is, I hope you enjoy my observations, my feelings and my thoughts.