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.

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...