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.

Gone with the Bullfrog

If you want to know how to fuck something up before it begins, make sure you come to me, as I'm a pro. I’m like an emotional bulldozer, knocking down any feelings that are still standing. Yep, I bulldozed my way through anything that might have been with Mr.W.S and I feel like shit.

The other day, I had a little chat on the phone with Mr.W.S, and I finally plucked up the courage to ask him what he was doing that evening. He told me he was going for dinner with friends so, when I mentioned I’d be in our favourite bar, he said he might see me in there around midnight. Of course I was looking forward to it, I love being around him and I enjoy my nights out so much more when he’s there.

That evening, at the bar, my friends and I were knocking back the free bullfrogs. It was the perfect pastime whilst waiting to see Mr.W.S. In fact I was having such a blast that when I looked at my phone, it was already half past midnight. I did a quick scout around the bar to see if he had already arrived, but when I didn’t see him, I thought I’d give him a call to tell him to hurry up.

Back in the bar, my friend had slipped off home but I decided to hang out and wait for Mr.W.S to turn up... He didn’t. I think it was then it dawned on me that he just wasn’t interested. And so I burst into tears. There I was, in the middle of the bar, alone and bawling my eyes out. The only comfort I had was being offered tissues from drunk strangers.

Mascara running down my face, I text Mr.W.S. Having read the messages back, they didn’t really make much sense, nor did they really portray how I felt. At all. I remember being so drunk, I was struggling to send text messages, so I called him instead. I really don’t remember what I said, I just remember crying uncontrollably and wanting to see him. I also recall thinking he must think I’m crazy. I’m not.

The only other part of the conversation I have a vague recollection of is him telling me to get in a taxi and then my phone battery dying. I sobbed all the way home. I felt so needy that I decided the only way to stop that would be to distance myself from Mr W.S. So, when I got home, I hit the delete button next to his name on Facebook. I didn’t want to but, in my drunken stupor, I thought it’d be for the best – for me and for him.

The next morning, not only did I wake up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, I also looked a complete wreck and felt incredibly embarrassed. As soon as I opened my eyes, I turned on my Mac and typed his name into Facebook. I cringed when his wall didn’t appear. I wanted to kick myself. Great, now not only does he think I’m a complete lunatic, he probably also thinks I hate him. Fabulous. Just the scenario you want to be faced with on a Monday morning.

I stewed over it all day and wondered whether I should call or text him, but I couldn't imagine he’d want to hear from me. I’d been a massive twat and I was pretty certain there was no way of redeeming myself.

Luckily for me, Mr W.S called me that evening. And whilst I was completely mortified, I was so relieved that he didn't think I was a total idiot. Even if I do think so.

But, as always with me, I never receive good news without some bad news... Yep, he finally told me he's just not that into me. So, yes, some of you can now say "I told you so" and feel all smug that I've, once again, been flung onto the rejected pile. However, I'm cool with it. The way I see it is that I don't want to be with someone who isn't into me any more than I'd want to be with Frank Gallagher. So, as Rhett Butler once said, "frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn".

Singled Out

I'm not usually fussed about being single. In fact, over the years, I've actually come to enjoy it. However, recently, it's started to frustrate me. Not because I need a man to make me happy, but because all of my friends are in relationships. Yes, I know I sound like a child who wants the latest toy, but that's exactly how not being in a relationship is making me feel - left out.

Prime example; there's a bank holiday coming up and I'm dying to get away for a short break. But who to go with? All my friends have plans with their other halves, so I've no choice to book for one. And do you have any idea how much extra I have to pay just because I'm going on holiday alone? It's like a single-tax or something. Talk about kicking a woman while she's down!

The other problem with being single is that your friends never stop going on about trying to find you a partner. They always scratch their heads and ask you why you're still single with a bemused look on their faces. Well, it's not like I have an answer to that, is it?

Last weekend, I was out with some friends for a few drinks and from the moment I arrived until the moment I left, the conversation revolved around my love life. Or lack thereof. Don't get me wrong, I'm not one to shy away from the topic (bloody hell, I write a blog about it for goodness sake) but when it goes on and on for five hours plus, it does become a little tiresome... No, I don't know why I'm still single. No, I'm not covered in scales. No, I don't keep a collection of toenail clippings. And no, I don't talk about ex-boyfriends to guys I've just met. Anyway, on this particular night out, I left in a strop - something I almost never do. Why? Because it all got a bit too much...

On a night out, if I've not found a charming young man to occupy myself with, I do have a tendency to text or call J. I believe this is my single-girl right. I'm not doing anything wrong, I merely want some attention from a man I know will sleep with me. Ok, I know he's 3500 miles away, but it's the attention I'm after. So, when my friends nag and moan at me for contacting J, I take offence. I mean it's alright for them in their lovey-dovey relationships, probably getting all the nookie they need. I bet they've forgotten what it feels like to crave attention from the opposite sex. Well, I haven't!

So after being told by my loved-up friends, with their disapproving looks, that I shouldn't be contacting J, I decided enough was enough and left. I can just about tolerate discussing my lacklustre love-life all evening, but trying to stop me from getting that little bit of attention I need to stop me from going mad... well, that's just taking it too far.

Is being in a relationship like joining the Free Masons? Is it like some exclusive club that I have no idea how to join and even if I do find out, I have to wait for someone to die before they let me join? At least my friends haven't reached the stage of organising 'couples only' dinners. Although sometimes I think they're not far off.

It's not that I'm not happy for my friends, or that I'm jealous of their relationships, I just wish being single wasn't so exclusive. I'd quite like to go on holiday with one of my friends or be their plus one to an event. It'd also be lovely if there was some spontaneity, rather than them having to consult the other half before committing to spending time with me.

Anyway, before I sound like some bitter old spinster, I suppose I better be grateful that I at least have a cat to come home to... Oh.

I better shape up, 'cause I need a man!!

On the whole, I love being single. I don't have to account for anyone else when I do anything - my decisions are my decisions. I'm free to come and go as I please, nobody will whinge when I have hairy legs and I don't have to keep putting down the toilet seat. I'm a strong and independent woman with no need to rely on a man for financial or emotional support. So why would I want to be in a relationship?

Today, I discovered why it might be nice to have a man in my life. I'd just been to the mall to stock up on some essential items before my best friend comes to visit me here in Dubai. As I struggled with bags of heavy shopping, I wished the slow moving people in front of me would just move out of the fucking way, and that the parents with kids who kept running in my path would keep control of their little brats. I mean, if you can carry all those designer shopping bags, you can hold your child's hand. Because you can bet your bottom dollar if I whacked the little tykes on the head with any of my bags, the parents would be the first ones to cast me a dirty look. However, this wasn't even the point I wished I had a man.

Red faced, arms aching and sweating from my trip to the mall, I made it home. I put away my shopping but left out the tortilla chips and salsa. I thought they'd be the perfect antidote to my stressful mall trip. I gripped the lid of the salsa jar and twisted it. It didn't open. No worries, it'll loosen, right? It didn't. I tried again, this time using the bottom of my bath mat for a better grip. The bugger still didn't shift. Attempt number three included dipping the lid in boiling water, in the hope it would expand. It didn't. In a last attempt, I put a hole in the top of the jar, but it still wouldn't budge.

Now I was tired, sweating, frustrated and had sore wrists. I cursed being single. Yes, for those moments proceeding my fight with a salsa jar, I wanted a boyfriend. Someone who could flex their muscles and open the lid, so I could gorge on my tortilla chips whilst they felt manly for helping the poor damsel in distress. You see, I wouldn't be the only one who benefits from that arrangement. As it goes, my salsa jar is still sitting on my kitchen work top, unopened and unloved. Just like its owner.

Like I said, I'm happy being single but there are times when it'd be nice to have a man in my life. Of course when you've had no physical love for a while, it's always nice to have a guy satisfy those needs rather than your battery operated friend. No matter what anyone says, the two are just not the same. In fact, they're poles apart - one is a physical satisfaction, the other is an emotional satisfaction with the physical satisfaction being a byproduct.

Then there are times when you've made a mistake and need someone else's opinion on what to do. Perhaps it's not something your friends or family can help with. Or something you don't want to share with them. You know what they say, a problem shared is a problem halved. But they also say what doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. However, the salsa jar dilemma proves that the latter isn't strictly true. Unless they're referring to my ability to cope with starvation.

Perhaps this is the way men feel when they can't iron out a stubborn crease in their shirt, or are bored of eating beans on toast every night. Maybe women are designed to know nothing about cars and men are designed to know nothing about cleaning products. Maybe it's that way for a reason; to need and desire a partner.

It's funny because I can have a child without a partner. Hell, I can have a child without even having sex, thanks to science and technology. But when I need to open a jar of salsa, I need a man...

Single Satisfaction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When a date is a date is a date

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do it like a lady

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010 - The year of The Wedding

I'm reaching that point in my life where fewer of my friends will be ticking the 'single' box on an application form when there's an enquiry about their single status. As each month passes by, another one of my friends becomes engaged...

It's become so ridiculous, that I even received a dual congratulatory email notice from my boss for two of my colleagues' (separate) engagements. It'd had only been two weeks since the last congratulatory engagement email. And there was another one a few weeks prior to that. There's only 23 of us in the bloody office, and that's including the ones who are married anyway!

I already have three weddings to attend in 2010 (and quite possibly one more if another of my friends say yes to their imminent proposal), and that's not including attending those of my colleagues. It looks like it might actually get to the point where I won't have time to sort out my own love life because I'll be off celebrating another couple's love for each other every weekend of the year. That'd be tragic. Although they do say it's the most likely place to meet your future spouse... Must be the romantic light we all see each other in.

Most magazines would cruelly point out that I'm jealous of my friends' blissful relationships, but they're wrong. I'm more concerned about how we'll maintain our friendships. It might be fine for a year or so after the wedding, but then you get the "I'm pregnant" announcement, which obviously means no boozy nights out as she can't drink and he's working all hours under the sun to prepare for the little one's arrival. Then along comes baby and it's all breast feeding and nappies. Don't get me wrong, I love kids and I don't mind hearing about their first step/word/poo but can we not do it over cocktails in a swish bar occasionally?

Is that selfish? I understand a husband/wife/child is a huge commitment and, ultimately, that's my aim too... one day. But I vow not to let my friendships slip away. After all, I'd appreciate my friends for still being my friends after nine months of being a bore. I'd also appreciate that just because I'm married or had a child, our friendship does not revolve around that and the occasional girls night out will still be needed, even if my arse does wobble.

Truth is, I'm worried I'm going to be left behind. A mere distant memory of the 'good old single days'... There will be no more dancing like a loon until 3am because she's too worried everyone can see she's carrying a little baby weight and has been too busy to hit the gym. There will be no dinner parties because they can't find someone to babysit, and they can't host because their living room is full of toys, not to mention a screaming, attention-seeking  child. 

So, may my days be full of baby gossip, child entertaining and warmth, whilst my nights are cold and lonely watching Sex and the City, longing for what might have been if we were all still single.

Waiting for a bus out of Singledom

Men are like buses… you wait around for one for ages and then three come along at the same time. Question is; which one will I ride? What’s the final destination? What happens if I get the wrong bus? How will I know I’ve taken the wrong bus until it’s off course and then it’s too late to change? Is it all about the destination or is it the journey that matters most?

Right now I’m bus-hopping, not quite sure upon which bus I should embark before they pull out of the station. There are delays and sometimes I wonder if the drivers want to switch destinations or, worst of all, create diversions. Or will they just shut the doors and drive on?Such has been my musings of late.

I feel like I’ve been in a waiting room for eternity. I was hoping for a clincher with Mr. A.P the other night, but he didn’t come out with us in the end. Neither did K. And S is still away, prolonging my suspense. So, instead, I drank myself into oblivion. Free drinks really don’t help my situation and I ended up in a karaoke bar, sans mon amies, being possessive over the microphone and puking on my own feet because I missed the target of the toilet basin. Hardly the girl Mr. A.P, K or S would want to be seen with!

Not knowing when to stop, I ended up meeting an old school friend for a drink at the other end of town. Not any drink though. Nope, that’d be silly. I went in all guns blazing and ordered a tiki puka puka. For those of you reading this outside of Dubai, a tiki puka puka is one of the drinks you only order when you want to be found in a pool of your own sick. Unfortunately, I wasn’t found…

I wish I hadn’t drank so much, I’d quite have liked to have had a proper catch up with my old school friend rather than overwhelm her with drunken ramblings! Poor lass. It was still great to see her though. It’s always nice to see someone you haven’t seen for so many years, to see the direction they’ve taken in life even though they pretty much started at the same point as you.

Anyway, after a night of drunken rampaging, I was woken up at 8.45am by my colleague waiting to pick me up to go to work. Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!! Pyjamas off, work clothes on, brush teeth and out the door. Luckily, my friend drove so I could put on some make-up in the car but I was so hungover, my face was a blur. I definitely didn’t look my best. Or smell it.

I always thought it took litres of water, a fry-up and some panadol to cure a hangover, but do you know what cures it best of all? A text from a guy you’re lusting after. Mr. A.P sent me a message in the morning and it totally perked me up. In fact he text me a few times, and a couple of them even included a kiss at the end! Not sure why the letter x at an end of a text really makes all the difference, but oddly it does. I mean, is that like a peck-on-the-cheek x or is a grab-me-and-kiss-me-passionately x? I’m hoping the latter!

But still, with all this stuff with Mr. A.P going on, I’m waiting for S. He’s finally confirmed when he’s coming back and when we can hang out, but the only thing is it’s during Ramadan. I’m no devout Muslim, not by a long shot, but if I say I’m going to do something, I like to stick to it. It’s all about willpower for me and pushing myself that little bit further. And yes, even if that means abstaining for a month from both alcohol and sex.

I think I might buckle. I’ve been waiting for so long that I don’t think I can possibly hold out for another month. In fact thinking about another week is tough enough. I’ve been listening to Paula Cole’s Feelin’ Love on repeat, which probably hasn’t helped my desires, and I’m not a big believer in suppressing feelings. In fact the only feeling I suppress is anger, but I’m not sure I even suppress that. I guess I’m just not an angry person.

So, I have a whole week to continue fantasizing about what will happen with S and, yes, I will let my imagination get carried away. I’ve always been a dreamer, my parents told me that so many times, and they’re totally right. So why change old habits? In terms of reality, I’m hoping to see Mr. A.P tonight and for something to progress there. Something happen!! Please!!

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...

Where is the love?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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