Misreading the signs

Let me tell you a little bit about me; I’m the kind of girl that likes to take the bull by the horns. I like to jump into things head first, and If I want something, I want it right now. I always grab what I want and run with it — my career, my move to Dubai, my education. I'm never one to sit back and hope good things come my way.

I’m hasty. I like to dive into the deep end, give the unknown a try. I buy it, take it home, try it on and if I don’t like it I return it to the store. I have the same philosophy with men — meet them, take them home, date them and dump them if I’m not sure. That's if it gets that far, of course.

However, sometimes, it doesn't do me any favours. I find myself so caught up in my typical Arian attitude, I disregard all the signs. Or I interpret them to be something I want them to be and not what they really are. It's not even that I necessarily want to be with these guys, I just thrive on the thrill of the chase.

All of my latest squeezes are laden with misread signs. I confused Mr.W.S's friendly cuddles for a deeper affection, and I assumed Mr. A.P's regular communication to be a sign of mutual attraction. I was wrong on both occasions. So very, very wrong. I seemed to forget men lie, bend the truth and are complete cowards when it comes to telling a woman exactly how they feel. They think, by not being blunt with you, they're being gentle with your feelings when, in reality, it's a slippery slope to infatuation and heartache.

When a guy calls you to invite you out, it's not because he's interested in you. If he snuggles up to you, holds your hand or smells your hair, it's not a sign that he wants to be closer to you beyond that moment. Just like us girls, guys also need to feel desired, and if that means using a girl friend and abusing her feelings, then so be it.

It doesn't matter if he's leading you on, because, in his eyes, as soon as you start reading into the signals he's giving you, you're some kind of crazy stalker girl. He'll automatically think you want his babies the second you wonder if there might be more to the relationship than being 'just friends'.

Men always make out that it's the women who are crazy psychos, that we're stalkers because our affections are not reciprocated. I've started to wonder if it's the other way around. I'm not so socially inept that I can't make my feelings known. Or is their lack of directness because they enjoy the attention and want to keep you on a back burner when there's nothing else around? Either way, it's not a woman's fault if she misreads the signs; we're so used to confused signals, that none of it makes sense anymore.

As much as I enjoy thinking a guy might be into me because he text me back within ten minutes, I now know that it's probably not true. Just as it's not true that he is into me because he didn't leave my place until dinner time after a night of romance. And, when he offers you his business card, don't take it thinking he actually wants to hear from you. It's more than likely he feels the need to offer it to you, when you're leaving is apartment, to relieve that awkward moment...

So, girls, it's perfectly normal to misread the signs, in fact, it's standard. And boys, don't be alarmed when me fall head over heels because you can't man up and tell us how you really feel.

Don't Stop Me Now

So, I dropped off the radar for a few days – no Facebook, no blog, no foursquare and no mobile phone. It was blissful. Nobody could tell me what a psycho I was for blogging about our sexual escapades, nobody could accuse me of stalking them and all the back-stabbing gossipers would have nothing to talk about and actually have to do some work. Amazing.

Whilst enjoying my hibernation, it didn’t once cross my mind that people would be worried about my whereabouts. But little did I know what a fuss I was causing in the virtual world. Friends and acquaintances thought I’d been slung into the slammer, run over by a bus, deported from Dubai… the assumptions as to where I’d disappeared to were in overdrive. In reality, all I’d really done was taken my Facebook down. Strange how we rely on an online social network to keep up to date with our friends’ welfare. Me included. What happened to popping round someone’s house for a cup of tea and a chit-chat?

When people learnt I was alive and well, the next question on their lips was why I’d decided to drop off the radar. Truth is, it’s this blog. I’d never expected it to turn into the popular read it seems to be, I just wanted to share my experiences with my best friends back home, as I don’t always have the time to Skype them. I didn’t think two thousand people across the world would be interested in reading about my sex life and subsequently gossiping about it.

With the spotlight on me, it’s made it very difficult to blog the way I want to. I’ve received phone calls and emails advising me to stop writing what I write. Boys have begged me not to write about them, girls have told me to watch my back. I’ve had to delete posts or explain myself profusely just to keep other people happy, which is not what my blog is about. This blog is about sexual relationships and the truth behind them, not an airbrushed porno.

And to the people slating me behind my back, don’t think I don’t know. You might think you’re superior to me or have far higher morals and standards, but we both know that’s not true, so get off your high horse. And let’s stop pretending I’m the only person in Dubai with a sex life. There’s some crazy stuff that happens in this city, and I certainly don’t participate. At the end of the day, I’m just a normal girl trying to find the right man and encountering a number of wrong ones along the way.

The only reason I’ve decided to come back from my hiatus is because so many people genuinely enjoy reading my blog, and I’m not caving in for the haters. So, you can all expect to see more shamelessly salacious blog posts, only this time, nothing will be edited or taken down to please others.

Crazy Cat Lady

As a young, single girl, I thought long and hard about taking the stray kitten, I'd fallen in love with, home. Not only is a pet hard work, but I was also worried that having a cat would see me labelled as a 'Crazy Cat Lady' by hot guys. To help me make a decision about whether I should welcome a little kitty into my home or not, I decided to ask some of my male friends if I would indeed be labelled a Crazy Cat Lady. The responses I received were mixed.

There are some guys who see a woman who owns a cat as a caring and affectionate person. That is, until she acquires more than two cats, after which, she will be branded the Crazy Cat Lady. Then there are the guys who seem to think a girl with a cat either a) has a dying need to nurture, and will therefore want to have babies with the next man she gets her claws into (excuse the pun), or b) is some weird, loner type who can only communicate with her feline friends. I, however, am neither of those stereotypes.

Originally, I had no intention of having a pet, they're a lot of hassle and I travel/party way too much to be able to give it the attention it would require. But a sad story of abandoned, stray kittens on the beach got the better of me, and I ended up taking one of the little blighters home.

Now, I absolutely adore my kitten. She has so much personality - She fetches, chases anything that moves and bounces around doing back-flips, which has proven to be a great source of entertainment. But, how has my love life fared up since I've had her?

Well, I do make a conscious effort not to bang on about my kitten all the time, as I think that'd freak most men out, but when I do mention her, guys are usually intrigued. Probably because she sounds more like a dog than a cat, and all guys love dogs. Having said that, one guy I met seemed quite put off that I had a cat. In fact, he looked positively repulsed. But as soon as he came back to my place, he was putty in my kitten's paws. So much so, I had to revert his attention back to another pussy...

On other occasions, my kitten has proven to be a hit from the word go. Mr. PL, for example, expressed his love for cats and, when I told him how cool my little feline friend was, he seemed keen on getting one for himself. Although, I'm not sure if he was speaking metaphorically! Another guy I met was a complete cat lover and couldn't wait to get back to mine to meet my kitten. Had I not told him about her, I don't think I'd have been able to lure him over to my place.

So, whilst my little fur-ball has, so far, seemed to help me reel men in, she has not been able to persuade them to stick around. Now, that could be down to me, but I prefer to blame her incessant miaowing, or scratching at the bedroom door, as the reason men don't seem to want to contact me again. I'm not going to lie, a screeching cat at the bedroom door in the throes of passion are a bit of a dampener. If I wasn't 35 floors up, I'd throw her outside, but living where I live, I have no option but to endure her screams for attention.

The other thing I worry about, is meeting the man of my dreams, only to find out he's allergic to cats or fur. What would I do then? Give up the cat or give up the man? I made a life-long commitment when I took home my kitten, but it'd be just my luck to fall in love with a guy who had cat allergies, leaving me to be a lonely old spinster, smelling of cat pee, with twenty odd felines crawling all over my home. An image that, quite frankly, scares the shit out of me.

I guess all I can do is hope my love interest doesn't have cat allergies. And as for the men who think a girl with a cat is a nutter, all I can say is; love me, love my pussy.

How not to break-up with a girl

We've all had our fair share of bad break-ups; from slanging matches to devious acts of revenge, it's all part of the process to find The One. But sometimes, men can be a little less tactful when trying to break-up with us. Either that, or they're so tactful, it's actually even worse.

Case in point: a guy, MN, who I once dated back in late 2002/early 2003. I met MN on the internet, way before it was cool to do that. There was a flurry of emails, texts and phone calls before we met and when we finally arranged to go on a date, I was over the moon. The moment we met was like a lightning bolt and I remember it so clearly...

We'd arranged to meet at Angel tube station and then head to a bar. On the tube journey there, the butterflies in my tummy were unreal. As I walked off the tube and went up the escalator, there he was waiting for me — tall, handsome and with a gorgeous smile. We instantly recognised each other, despite never having met before. It was an amazing moment and we greeted each other as if we'd been friends for years.

In the bar, we did not stop talking. We covered all sorts of topics, from jobs to university, families to travelling. I liked him and I liked him a lot.

That night also happened to be the night of MN's work Christmas party, so after a few hours of chatting, MN invited me to the Christmas do. Of course I accepted, and so we made our way to the salsa bar where I'd meet all of his colleagues.

As soon as we arrived, MN bought me a drink and introduced me to his friends. They were all so welcoming and I immediately felt at ease. After exchanging niceties and explaining to them how we met, I remember MN taking my hand and leading me to the dance floor. We gave salsa dancing our best shot, but we were both so awful that there was nothing to do apart from laugh and drink more!

At the end of the night, MN was a total gentleman and made sure I made it home safely. Before we parted, he gave me a long lingering goodnight kiss. I'll never forget the way that kiss tasted. Or the aftershave he was wearing. It had been an amazing night with an amazing guy; I was hooked.

From there on, MN and I dated. We saw each other almost every day. One night we went for a few drinks in a bar in town and there was a couple on the opposite sofa to us, locking lips. MN grabbed me and told me there was only one way to not have to watch them — if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. So MN and I passionately kissed for the rest of the evening, only coming up for air or a sip of our drinks. I haven't been kissed like that since.

Public displays of affection (PDAs) weren't uncommon between MN and I. We'd regularly be caught in an embrace, so often so that we'd quite often get comments from onlookers. We were in the queue for the ice rink once and the gentleman behind us recommended we be surgically removed from one another before we attempt to ice-skate and end up seriously injuring ourselves. That was another fantastic date. And afterwards we went to Harrod's to look at the pedigree puppies and kittens before eating some of the most expensive ice-cream on their cafe's menu.

MN and I even spent New Year together. Just us. It's probably still the best and most memorable New Year I've had. By this point, I was head over heels in love with the guy. Totally and utterly smitten. Everything he said to me was perfect. Every moment I spent with him was amazing. We were glued to one another's side and we even talked about going away together. This, I thought, was love.

Then, one night, MN leave to go to work at 4am. Being a copper, he often worked some crazy hours. He kissed me goodbye and was about to leave but came back for another kiss. After five minutes of kissing, he actually had to leave for work, and so he left me in his bed to catch up on my sleep. By this point, I was so in love and so comfortable with MN, that I thought I'd stay at his place until he was due to come home.

Around the time he was meant to be back, I sent him a text message letting him know I was still in his bed, hoping he'd rush home to make love to me. But he text me back telling me I could stay but he wouldn't be coming back as he'd had bad news back home in Scotland and he was going back there to sort it out. He promised he'd call me when he was on the train, so I had a shower and made my way back to my flat.

Hours passed and there was no phone call. I tried ringing him but there was no answer. I sent text messages, left voicemails... nothing. I was so worried, I didn't know what to think. This went on for weeks. Six weeks to be exact. I was lost. From being so in love and showered with affection, to having no contact with MN whatsoever, completely broke my heart.

Those six weeks were possibly the worst of my life. I holed myself up in my room the whole time, listening to the same three soppy songs on repeat and watching the same sad bit of movie over and over and over again. I only left my room when I had to sneak to the shop to buy chocolate gateaux to gorge on. Not even my friends could coax me out. I cried so much, I'm surprised I didn't dehydrate.

At the end of the six weeks, I finally received an email from MN. He explained how he'd got his ex-girlfriend pregnant, and as she was American, he'd be moving to the States to be with her. My heart sunk. I was absolutely destroyed, but I knew there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. I told him I understood and that I'd really like to take him to the airport to say goodbye. He agreed.

It was very early in the morning and I picked him up to make our way to Heathrow. He didn't have much luggage and I asked him where all his bags were. He told me all his things were being shipped. When we arrived at Heathrow, I parked the car and we walked to the check-in area. It was there I said a very tearful goodbye to MN, knowing I'd probably never see him again. But before we parted, we went to a photo booth to have our photo taken together. I still have those pictures in a drawer next to my bed, and whenever I feel down, for some reason, I always pull them out and remember the good times.

I waved MN off and made my way back home. I was so emotional that I ended up crashing my car into a pillar! When I finally made it home, I locked myself away again.

A few weeks later, I started to get over my first love, and so I went back to work. I used to work as a Tequila Girl in bars in London, which meant roaming around a pub in a skin-tight, red dress, knee-high boots and a leather holster belt, chatting to groups of men (and occasionally women) and selling shots of tequila. One night, I ended up chatting to a lovely group of lads. I asked them what they did and when they told me they were policemen I rolled my eyes and moaned. They asked me what the problem was and so I explained the MN story to them.

When I'd finished my story, one of the guys asked me what MN's name was. When I told him, the lads all looked at one another and smirked. I asked them what was going on and they informed me that MN was in the country. In fact, he'd never left the country in the first place. I couldn't believe my ears. At first, I thought they were trying to wind me up, but I soon realised they were serious. But how? I'd driven him to the airport, waved him off in a tearful parting... surely that couldn't have all been a lie?

It turns out that it was. MN had fabricated the entire story — having to go back home to Scotland, the ex-girlfriend being pregnant and flying to the States. And he'd made it up to dump me.

The whole thing was outrageous and it depressed me even more than had he just explained to me how he felt. I felt totally cheated, like he'd never wanted to spend all those precious moments with me when we were dating, that he'd never really liked me at all. Suddenly, I could see my heart smashed into small pieces, strewn across the floor, and I'd spend then next two years picking up the pieces and trying to put it back together again.

I understand guys can sometimes feel pressured into trying to soften the blow when it comes to breaking-up with a girl, but to go to such great lengths is cruel, not to mention totally unnecessary. A woman might initially be upset and angry when you break-up with her honestly, but you'll be saving her so much heartache in the long-run. Not to mention saving you a lot of hassle of making up such a story.

Perhaps my story is an extreme one, but this isn't the first time I've been lied to by a guy to get me in, or out, of his bed. I just hope that in the future, I date guys who are mature enough to tell me that I'm just not the one for them. It'd be appreciated far more and easier to get over than questioning as to why he felt a need to make-up such a story. I mean, am I really that bad?

The Unobtainables

When it comes to relationships, I have a terrible track record. In fact they're so bad, I'd barely call them relationships. Constantly falling for guys who are bad for me; it would seem that I love setting myself up for heartache.

My problem? Well, according to an article in the British edition of Cosmopolitan magazine, I'm attracted to unavailable men. At first, I laughed at the obscenity of it. Then I thought of past men I'd desired (and a couple of current ones too). Had I been in a serious relationship with any of them? No. The only guy I've ever been in a serious relationship with, I dumped. Probably because it was all just too easy to plod along with him and it didn't excite me enough.

The more I think about it, the more sure I am that unavailable men are absolutely who I'm attracted to. Sometimes, there are guys I don't even necessarily find that physically attractive that I just have to have. For example, I know it'd be wrong for me to get involved with a guy who is either married, expecting a child with another woman, someone I work with or treated me so badly in the past, but I just can't help myself. It's like I'm drawn to them.

It probably explains why I suddenly realised how much I wanted J - because he's having a child with someone else and I can't have him anymore. It also explains why I continued chatting to Billy the banker - he was married and so I knew it'd be more of a challenge.

Is that what makes unavailable men so attractive to me - the challenge? I don't think I've ever had a thing for a guy who has been interested in me in the long term. Is it because it's a challenge to try to win them over? I've never been a girl for the easy life and I've always enjoyed having dramas in my life; from break-ups with boyfriends to suddenly moving 3500 miles away from home. From sleeping with someone I shouldn't, to constantly being the one to be pulled over by the police for no apparent reason. Drama just seems to find me but, if I'm honest, I absolutely love it. After all, what's a high without a low, right?

Perhaps it's my age. I mean, right now, I have little interest in finding The One, being contractually bound to him and then popping out his offspring, once every year, for the next however many years. No, thanks. It's all just... too normal. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I consciously sniff out married men or guys with emotional issues, but for some reason I'm insanely attracted to them if they are. I don't want to be, but I just can't help myself.

Unobtainable men are also great to fantasise about... It's all so exciting and you're constantly on a high, thinking about the next time you'll see them. They're a woman's version of the schoolgirl crush, and thinking about that first kiss or the first time you strip them off is just so hot!

But what if it isn't my age? Cosmopolitan magazine seemed to think it could be something to do with self-esteem and/or past relationships, but I honestly don't think that's the reason. I've never been one to really care what others think of me and I had a very healthy, balanced upbringing. Sure, my past relationships with men have been rollercoasters, but only because I let them.

Another point the article made was that women who go after unavailable men are usually big discussers or over-thinkers, or even both. Apparently women attracted to unavailable men are so caught up in discussing, thinking and daydreaming that we don't realise that we're trapped in inaction. Does that mean this blog is a tell-tale sign of my relationship tendencies towards unobtainables?

Why is it always the woman that's attracted to unavailable men? It could be that I'm actually the emotionally unavailable one and the guys I go for reflect that. It's not like every woman that goes for unavailable men has deep emotional issues. In fact, I'm surprised a magazine, that's supposedly meant to encourage women to be empowered when it comes to sex and relationships, is so quick to point the finger at the women.

This article is bad journalism anyway; not one of the twenty points was backed up by a study or psychologists opinion, they were all obvious, and mindless, assumptions. Not that I really should have expected anything more from Cosmopolitan magazine.

I guess the most worrying part about being attracted to unobtainable men, is acting on it. Not because how it affects me, but because of the ripple effect - the wife, the mother of the child, colleagues or my friends. Let's be clear, I've only ever slept with one married man (as far as I know) and I didn't even find out he was married until a few days later. And I'd only strike up romantic liaisons with a guy I work with if he assured me he wouldn't make it an issue. But I do worry that, one day, it might cause issues.

Maybe there's nothing I can do about it. Maybe unavailable men give out a pheromone that I'm irresistibly attracted to and, until my chemistry changes, I just have to accept that living dangerously is part of my DNA.

Like a virgin

A recent conversation, with a colleague and fellow blogger of mine, led me to question if it's better to save ourselves until we're married or if we should explore the crazy sexual world that's out there before we decide to commit.

Being a virgin is no longer seen as 'uncool' as it was when I was a teenager, when everyone couldn't wait to get their rocks off to anyone who'd give it to them. Losing your virginity to your husband is now seen as the ultimate way for a girl to say "I love you". Even if your new husband has slept with half of the city.

Perhaps it's just living in Dubai, but a large chunk of unmarried girls here are still virgins. They're waiting for that special someone, to live the fairytale where their Prince Charming will sweep them off their feet on their wedding day, carry them over the threshold and onto the four-poster bed where they'll make passionate love all night long.

Don't get me wrong, the notion is very sweet, if not a little naive. I know of very few women who had an enjoyable experience losing their virginity. In fact, I think I'm one of the few who had a pleasurable experience. Ok, so it wasn't the Prince charming fairytale, but it was a hell of a lot of fun and I don't regret it at all. In fact, I'm glad I did it when I did. I wasn't too young where I had no idea what I was doing, and I wasn't too old that I'd make up for lost time in the future. Losing my virginity opened my eyes to a whole new world, and I began to explore myself sexually.

However, many women who are sexually liberated are seen as insecure or lacking self-respect. I'm not sure I agree with that. Don't get me wrong, I don't think a woman needs to throw herself at every man that breathes, but exploring sex is healthy. How do you know what you like and what you don't like? Self-love is a great way to fantasise but it's just that, a fantasy - when you put them into practice, you might find they're not what you imagined. After all, we're one of only three species' designed to have sex for pleasure, along with chimpanzees and dolphins, so surely being sexually active outside of wedlock is no bad thing?

But what about those who do wait for that perfect guy? There are so many sexually deviant men out there, what happens when you find out your new husband wants to blindfold you, chain you up to the bed and... pee on you? No, it hasn't happened to anyone I know, it's just an example. After all, golden showers are just one of the very many outrageous sexual preferences out there. You only need to take a glimpse into the world of pornography to see how fucked up it can really be.

Whilst I'm all for trying something new, there are sexual acts, such as that of the golden shower, that I'm just not willing to participate in. The thought of being eternally bound to someone who might want me to do that is, well quite frankly, frightening. Then there are the guys who just can't get it up or suffer from premature ejaculation. And more often than not, guys are more than willing to put their fingers in their ears, stamp their feet and refuse to acknowledge they have a problem. But, once you're married, it's tough luck for you. If you're single, you put on your clothes and head back to your own apartment where you won't have to suffer the humiliation of someone peeing on you or ejaculating on your leg.

But what do guys think? Most Arab men won't marry a girl unless she's a virgin, yet most Western men would be far too scared to touch one. Who is the pressure on? Western women to lose their virginity too quickly or Arab women to not give into temptation? Surely if a man really loves you, it doesn't matter anyway? Without telling them the truth, how would they even know? There are so many myths about men being able to tell if you're a virgin or not - from bleeding the first time you have sex, to men being able to feel if your hymen is in tact or not and even to how active you are in the bedroom. It's all so 1950's.

So, whilst peer pressure and magazines such as Cosmopolitan might have encouraged me to go out and get laid in my teens, I'm so very grateful that they did. If I was a virgin and wound up married to a guy who was a freak in the bedroom, my problems would be so much worse than just sleeping with another man.

So, for all the virgins out there, I salute you for being so brave!

Good sex, bad sex

The dating world is quite often a cruel one, so when you reach the point where you’ve had a few dates and are ready to take your new relationship to the next level, it’s all such a thrill - that flirtatious touch on the arm, the first kiss and the throes of passion in the bedroom...

We all know the first time to fourth base can be a little bumpy, that’s natural, but what about when the chemistry between the sheets is almost non-existent? Can you tell the difference between the bumpy first time and when it’s just not working? And how can two people get on so well out of the bedroom, be attracted to each other, and yet have zilch going on in the sexual chemistry department?

Does sexual chemistry ever improve over time? And how important is it to a relationship?

Personally, I believe it’s just as important as being friends. There’s nothing worse than dreary sex in a relationship. Well, unless you’re dating a wife-beater, a megalomaniac, a workaholic, a liar, a cheater, a bore or an addict, and then dreary sex is the least of your worries!

I was once seeing a guy I was really into – he was tall, cute, funny and we were friends. Things between us were electric and I couldn’t wait to get him into the bedroom. The day I did was a sad day… Much to my disappointment, the sex was nothing more than dull. There was no spark, no passion and we didn’t really connect. It was a shame, because outside of the bedroom, we were the perfect couple. Needless to say, we didn’t wait to find out if our sexual chemistry would improve…

But then there are the guys you date where the sex is un-fucking-believable but they rip your heart out and trample all over it. J and I are the perfect example of this – amazing lovers but too non-committal to give our relationship a real go of it.

Little Miss LC and I were discussing this the other day, and we both found that in every relationship we’d ever endured, we either had great relationships and bad sex or great sex and bad relationships.

Is it that you can’t have both? And is that why we sometimes have to sacrifice one of the checked boxes on our list? Should we just settle or should we keep searching for that perfect chemistry?

I thought of asking all my (seemingly) happily married friends what their sex lives were like, but then they’d never admit they were having dull sex with their partners.

Perhaps it is just a bumpy ride the first time and we ought to give it a chance before we decide it’s not working. But how long do you give it before you’re stuck in a rut? My mother always tells me to stick with the honest guys that aren’t very exciting. Truth be told, I can’t resist a bad boy, where the sex is out of this world and our relationship is too complex to explain. Or too simple that it’s non-existent.

Perhaps when I’m older (and wiser) I’ll realise that mind-blowing sex isn’t necessary in a relationship and I’ll be happy with someone who’s just willing to be my friend. But in the meantime, I’m looking for the perfect combination, even if that means having my heart smashed into a million pieces in the process. If I find it, I’ll let you know…

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.

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...

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…

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.

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...