Damned if I do, Damned if I don't

Nights out in Dubai are not uncommon for me; I can be found gracing some of the city's best bars every weekend, and occasionally during the week too. Sipping cocktails is a Dubai-expat's most popular hobby. We'll fill every bar, beach and boat during the weekend. After long hours at work all week, it's almost necessary to unwind with a beverage in hand at the weekend. You know what they say - work hard, play harder!

With the majority of the city's population descending upon its watering-holes on a Thursday night, you'd think it would be prime mate-hunting ground. Well, it's not. At least it's not for me. Many of my friends always score on nights out, but I find it to be a rarity these days.

However, on the odd occasion I do meet a charming young man, I struggle with what I'm actually meant to say and do. It's been drummed into me that I need to be mysterious and alluring, that I should never go home with a man on the first night I meet him, that I shouldn't wear short skirts and low-cut tops if I want to be considered girlfriend material and that I need to give them the chance to chase me, etc. None of those things are me; I wear my heart on my sleeve, I'll answer all sorts of questions, I like wearing low-cut tops, I'm easy going and if I want to have sex with a man on the first night, I will.

However, having been single (dateless in fact) for almost 18 months, I decided I might just take some of my friends' advice. But before I go on to tell you what happened when I took their advice, I'll first tell you about what usually happens when I don't take their advice...

It was a Friday night, I'd been at brunch all day and I was a little bit tipsy. I wasn't at one of Dubai's classier joints, but everyone in the club was up for a good time. Stood at the bar, trying to order a drink, I took a toke on my cigarette. As I did, a tall, handsome stranger turned to me and asked to borrow my lighter. Of course I obliged and he struck up a conversation with me. His name was Gerry, and not only was this guy cute, he was also intelligent and interesting without being a complete dick like the rest of Dubai's male population. I was hooked.

Next thing I know, the bar's lights come up and we were being thrown out. We'd been chatting for four hours. I was so into the conversation, that I'd forgotten I was wearing high-heels and that my feet were killing me. I felt like I'd know this guy for ages and I was so overwhelmed that I'd actually met a man I found attractive and intriguing.

When he asked if we could continue drinking at mine, I was a little apprehensive at first, as I didn't want to give him the wrong impression. But then I thought one little drink wouldn't hurt, and so we jumped in a cab and headed back to my place.

At mine, I made us both a drink and we sat on the sofa chatting. We must have been chatting for another three hours, because the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up. I remember thinking how much I liked the guy, something which is so rare for me these days. When he asked if he could stay over, I told him he could sleep on the sofa, but somehow, he made it into my bed. We chatted some more and ended up falling asleep, cuddled up, but without so much as a kiss. However, in the morning, that all went to pot.

I'd done so well up until that point, but I didn't stress about it as we had so much chemistry, I was sure this was the beginning of something beautiful. He took my number and made his way home whilst I snuggled up in bed feeling so very, very happy.

Needless to say, I didn't receive a call, or even as much as a text from him. I felt so disheartened; it had been such a long time since I felt that way about someone and I suddenly remembered how cruel men can really be. Seeing as I didn't have his number, I thought I'd look him up on Facebook and send him a friend request. I typed in his name and up popped his profile picture... with a woman in it. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I thought I better try and find out if he was in a relationship or not before sending him a friend request. I googled his name and, through various other social networking sites, found out he was married.

Why I was surprised, I'm not sure. As I've mentioned before, married men seem to buzz around me like bees around honey but single guys, single guys don't come within 20ft of me... It was, as Alanis Morissette would say, ironic; I'd met the man of my dreams and then seen his beautiful wife. I vowed not to take another guy home ever again.

A few weeks later, I met Steve. Steve was a silver fox that reminded me of an ex (GJ, if you're reading this, it was you). He was tall with beautiful dark brown eyes (although I usually prefer blue) and a cheeky chappy demeanour that kept me hooked. We chatted for ages, discussing everything from work to politics - it was heated, and I loved that he was so opinionated.

We moved from the bar we were in to a karaoke bar across the road. We continued our heated conversation until he ended up singing Johnny Cash songs to me. It was also here we shared a little kiss. Nothing full on, more small pecks on the lips than drunk, high school style snogging.

As we lived in the same area, we shared a taxi home. Steve was first to be dropped off, and as the taxi pulled up outside his building, he tried to persuade me to come in for a drink. I had to really resist the temptation to go up to his apartment, but I knew an innocent drink would end up being not-so-innocent sex, and so I continued my journey back to my apartment. However, despite having had a great night together and Steve inviting me up to his for "a drink", when I declined, he didn't ask for my number or when he might see me again. He was clearly a good-time guy up for whatever he could get his hands on, so to speak.

Then there was Craig, the guy I did follow my friends' advice with. I met Craig at my local, where our eyes literally met across a crowded room, and he spent the evening looking over at me. When I caught his eye, I smiled, but he didn't come over. It was only as he was about to leave that I smiled and waved and he came over to chat.

Craig worked in construction and was manly and flirty. He's definitely one of those guys you'd feel protected being with. After a few hours of flirting, I told Craig my friend and I were moving on to another bar and he immediately asked me for my number. I took it as a good sign and gave him my digits. He did text me, but only for a booty call, which obviously I declined.

After that, I bumped into Craig on a couple of occasions. He continued texting me, but never asked me out on a date. I gave up texting him back.

So, despite all my friends' advice of abstaining and playing a little bit hard-to-get, none of the scenarios proved to be fruitful. So, what is it exactly that makes a guy want to take a girl on a date? When I meet guys, I always have interesting, intelligent conversations but I always throw in a little bit of flirting too - in fact I can't help being a little flirty - but, I never let it become smutty or full of innuendo. So where am I going wrong?

What I've learnt from this is that it doesn't matter how far you go with a guy on the first night - a little flirty conversation, a kiss or hot, sweaty sex - the scenario isn't based on any of those. So, if you want to sleep with the guy you just met, why not? A friend of mine is currently dating a girl he met in a bar and slept with on the first night...

What I've concluded from all of this is that it doesn't matter what I do; I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.

Man, oh man!

Being a single gal about town can be tough - the endless couples dining over candlelight when you're trying to down a cocktail, the guys you chat to who just whip out the finger embraced in a platinum wedding band and, possibly worst of all, the obnoxious arseholes who think you're an obnoxious arsehole. This week, I've experienced it all...

Forget New York as the city that doesn't sleep, Dubai has officially taken its place. Even on a humid Monday night in the heat of summer. Granted, most places were pretty quiet, but what does that matter when you're two girls on the town, polishing off a bottle of wine and contemplating how complicated relationship baggage can really be. It was a heavy conversation and I knew we had to lighten things up a little. And I knew exactly how...

Twenty minutes later, myself and HA were sipping Bullfrogs in Rock Bottom. I'd been frequenting the place a lot recently and I figured, as HA had made the effort to come all the way from Abu Dhabi, that it was only fair that I should take her to Dubai's nightlife highlight. It wasn't long before a guy sent over some shots to us, although I really could have done without it, but having learned my lesson a few days earlier, we just accepted, smiled and said thanks.

Looking around the club, I felt sober, despite being a little over tipsy. There were girls throwing themselves at guys, guys stumbling after girls, both sexes throwing unconventional shapes on the dancefloor and prostitutes pretending to be of higher class than they actually are. In this scenario, I was stone cold sober, proving Monday nights really are for the die hard.

Having had no luck finding a Romeo on Monday night, I was pretty sure Tuesday night would prove fruitful, after all, it was ladies night. I even selected a dress to wear to work that could be easily sexed up with a pair of sky high heels and undoing a few buttons. I had no intentions of going unnoticed. That was until I found out we were going to quiz night at Fibber Magees...

On a regular occasion, I quite enjoy quiz night at Fibbers. In fact, it's often the post-work relief I need - good friends, great food and cheap booze. No, make that free booze. But now I'm back on the shelf, quiz night just didn't cut the mustard. If you're in a relationship, it's great for a bit of escapism, but trying to find a man in there is, well, just not going to happen. Don't get me wrong, I spotted a few cute guys swagger in, but how do you approach the cute guy surrounded by a group of his friends whilst a quiz master is trying to shout a question out to a rowdy crowd? The answer is, you don't.

Luckily, E brought a couple of her friends along that I'd not met and if anything else, it was nice to make small talk with someone new. Unfortunately, the disappointment of not having a wild girls night out at Scarletts, along with the fact that it was the most excruciatingly painful quiz I'd ever been put through (the regular host was on holiday), made me a little withdrawn. You know the night has pretty much been a wash-out when the highlight of the evening is when your friends write "you suck" on a piece of plasticine and then proceed to throw it at the quiz master. Childish? Yes. Hilarious? Definitely!

So, with Tuesday out of the way, I knew picking up my single spirits was definitely a job for the weekend and you can imagine my delight when Little Miss S informed me and Miss LC that the U.S Navy boys were in town and she was dragging them out to get a taster of a real Dubai night. We were swooning at the very thought of it and the end of the week could not come quick enough.

Thursday night at Hive, Miss LC and I spotted Little Miss S outside with said boys. Not wanting to venture outside in the fear of morphing into frizzy-haired, shiny-faced beasts, we remained in the cool of the AC, casually sipping our cosmos. To my horror, I spotted BJ, and it almost made me want to sit outside and let the beast inside me free. 

BJ is an ex. Not my ex. A friends ex. I really don't like him, at least not like that, although a week earlier he'd struck up conversation with me on Facebook. The conversation went a little something like this:

BJ: So you're single now?

Me: Yes, how did you know that?

BJ: A guess.

Me: Ok.

BJ: We should hang out sometime.

Me: Ok, let me know when you're out and about.

BJ: I meant I could be round in the next hour.

Me: What? It's midnight on a weeknight.

BJ: I've always fancied you.

Me: Ok.

BJ: I know you fancy me.

Me: Errr ok.

BJ: I know you do, I remember the time when you told me you did.

Me: Funny that, because I don't. And no, I don't fancy you.

BJ: Fair enough

BJ goes offline

It was cringe-worthy and so when I saw him at the bar, it was an avoid-all-eye-contact situation. I knew if I looked in his direction he'd come over and slap my arse. He was that kind of guy (if you couldn't already guess from the above conversation). To ensure all eye contact was avoided, Miss LC and I stood by a mirror and checked out the whole bar through our new reflective friend. It came in handy. We checked out loads of guys without the whole awkward "12 o'clock. But don't look now" situation.

Midway through our mirror watching, we were pleasantly surprised to be graced with the presence of MA and NH, collectively known as CC aka the cool couple. In tow was Mr. AP, who I'd previously met at quiz night, followed by RB with his unmistakable school girl laugh. At that point Little Miss S brought in her entourage of Navy boys. Never had I been so disappointed with the military. A far cry from the suited, tall, muscle men image I had in my head, stood before us was a 5'9" boy who must have been fresh out of school. This was definitely not the type of seamen we were hoping for.

To my rescue, NH swiftly brought in Mr. AP and introduced us for a third time. It was one of those slightly awkward and embarrassing moments where both Mr. AP and I both knew we were the single guy and the single girl being made to have a conversation. Fortunately, the conversation didn't remain a forced one for more than a minute or so. Five minutes in and I was so engrossed in conversation with Mr. AP that I'd totally forgotten I was in a bar. We mostly talked about travel, which is always one of my favourite topics in conversation. He genuinely seemed interested in my travel related experiences and I was genuinely interested in his upbringing in the region. I have no idea how long we talked for. It may have been 10 minutes, it could have been an hour, I totally lost track of time.

Conversation came to an end when Mr. AP had to leave due to work commitments the next morning. When he asked me if I'd be going skiing on Sunday, I told him I might be around for drinks in the aptly named Apres bar after the skiing session. After all, I need to keep all my doors wide open, right?

So, with another door open, I was ready to open even more doors, but this time the door of the i2 Lounge. It was somewhere none of us had ventured before, but we needed a change from our regular haunts. We weren't disappointed, well except for Miss LC who prefers a little more class. i2 was dingy, sweaty and a little bit grimy but with the 80's tunes blaring out and the couldn't-give-a-fuck crowd, it was the perfect remedy from Dubai's monotonous could-give-a-fuck crowd.

We drank, we danced and we giggled. Hell, even tequila shots were involved! But as the clock ticked, the crowd became rowdier and denser, to the point I was being knocked left, right and centre. I left, happy that I'd found another place to frequent, so long as it wasn't past 1.30am on a Friday morning.

After sleeping off the hangover and indulging in my Friday ritual of having a Pizza Hut, I rounded up the girls for another night of Dubai debauchery. All in brightly coloured dresses, we made our way to a cocktail lounge across town. It was dead. At least until Little Miss S turned up with a new set of U.S Navy boys.

That thick, loud American accent is almost enough to put a girl right off her cocktails but we persevered knowing that it wasn't long until their curfew. However, what we couldn't stand was the obnoxious attitude, which was quite rightfully put back in its place by Miss HJ, queen of the demoralising put downs! Unsurprisingly, they thought we were stuck-up, rich girls.

Whilst at the table, I had to quiz the queen of demoralising put downs about S. After all, they're very close. I don't know why I brought it up, I guess it's unfinished business that's playing on my mind. The whole will we/won't we thing is torture and I haven't seen S in so long that I've had too much time to dwell on it. Do you or don't you risk the friendship? Does he even like me? Was it the booze? It can't just be the booze, we were sober the next day. Do I want it? What do I want? Friendship, fun or relationship? Or can you have all three with one guy? What does he want? Is this all in my head? Have I totally blown this out of proportion? Or is the feeling really there?

Queenie wouldn't divulge. Perhaps my desire for information wasn't clear enough. Perhaps she genuinely didn't know. Whatever it is, if there's one thing I've learnt, it's not to put all my eggs in one basket.

After a number of cocktails we left the navy boys and headed to yet another cocktail bar. The conversation in the taxi on the way was one of those you're unlikely to forget - one that is perhaps too taboo for my blog.

At the bar, I decided that as a single girl, I should go back to my single ways. During the past couple of weeks, I hadn't really met any guys of interest. Yes, I do have someone in my mind, but as I said, I need to keep all options open. So I took the plunge and chatted to the two random guys whose table we had overtaken.

The two guys were Billy and John. They were very pleasant chaps and seemed genuinely surprised that I strolled up to them, bold as brass, to strike up a conversation with them. I discovered Billy was single but John was recently married. I wouldn't have known John was married if Billy hadn't pointed it out - John held his pint in his right hand with his left hand in his pocket throughout the duration of our conversation.

That brings me to the question whether or not guys should keep schtum about the wedding band or thrust it in your face to warn you off before you even open your mouth? If they keep quiet, you think they have an agenda, if they tell you they're married within the first two minutes of meeting you, you feel like you have an agenda. Why don't men just use subtle hints? There's no need to rub my single nose in it.

The married men in the next bar we went to thrust it in my face. The wedding band, that is. I was mildly offended as they were middle-aged and hardly the hottest men at the bar! I mean, as if I'd come onto them anyway. But they did push me in the direction of their single friend, Danny.

The first thing about Danny that I noticed was that he was short. Any of my friends will tell you I have a penchant for tall men. Very tall. X was 6'6". J is 6'3". S is probably around the 6' mark. But here I was, in a conversation with 5'8" Danny. I became frustrated with having to hunch over to talk to him. To be fair to him, I am only 5'5", but in my heels, no matter which pair I'd have put on that evening, I reach at least 5'10". It got to the point where Danny grabbed my legs and took my shoes off. Yep, I was barefoot in a bar. Oh. The. Shame. But it was less shameful than bending my knees to talk to a guy, so I thought I'd go with it.

Danny and I talked for a while. About what, I couldn't really tell you. By that point, the cocktails had gone to my head. His friends left, my friends left, and before we knew it, we were sat at the bar drinking by ourselves. We didn't stay long but it was too late to go to another bar, so instead we went back to his friends place where Danny told me there'd be a few of them up drinking. When we got there, everyone was in bed. Typical man-ploy I thought.

It worked. Well, sort of anyway. We didn't do much talking, but we did a hell of a lot of kissing. It was definitely the ego-boost I needed. However, I wouldn't go as far as to I sleep with him, despite my urges. I guess I'm just past that age where sex on the first night is acceptable. Sure, it might have been great to gossip about it with the girls at our next cocktail session but I think I'm also at the age where I like to have sex that actually means something. Besides, the shame the next morning would override the pleasure from the night before.

After a lot of kissing, I decided I should go home. As I left, Danny asked me for my number. I gave it to him, not that I think he'll call. Even if he does I'm not sure I'd go out with him. But I am dead set on keeping all those doors open, so I won't rule him out completely. Call it shallow, but I'm just uncomfortable with his height. My heels are too important to me.

So now I'm looking forward to the next week... Will Danny call? Will I hit it off with Mr. AP? Will I meet a new Romeo? Or will things happen with S when he returns? Your guess is as good as mine...

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.