Last night, I received a text message I wasn’t expecting. It was from a guy, Mr. AB, who I was flirting with about five months ago, but then never really heard from after I turned down his advances for a night of no-strings sex. I received the text at half-past midnight, and it read something like this: “Hey there pretty lady. How are you? Will you let me take u out for dinner this week? :)”.
In theory, I should be over overjoyed that I’ve finally been asked out on a date after three years of being dateless, but there was something about this text message that wasn’t quite right…
First thing is first, I haven’t heard from the guy in over five months. Now, I’m honoured if I’m still on his mind after so long (I’ve usually long forgotten a guy by then) but it does reek a little of going through one’s black book and sending the same message to all the girls in there, hoping at least one of them will respond so that he can get laid. Although, what if all the girls agreed? That would be a very time-consuming and expensive way of emptying his balls. Anyway, had he perhaps sent me a couple of text messages prior to the one I received last night, I may believe he had genuinely wanted to take me (and only me) out.
But what if he really does want to take me out for dinner? What if he’s been plucking up the courage over the last five months to ask me out? I’m wondering if I should reply. You know, just to find out. Then again, I really don’t want another Mr.PL situation where his invitation wasn’t sincere and I end up pining for a reply – it’s not my style. Saying that, if he does respond to me, this guy could be exactly what I need right now; a distraction from my recent conquests. Or, it could be that he’ll completely sweep me off my feet, make me fall madly in-love with him and then we’ll get married, have beautiful babies and live happily ever after… Ha! Ok, yeah, maybe not.
It could be that Mr.AB was drunk when he sent me the text, after all I did receive it at an unsociable hour, and drinking in Dubai is not only limited to the weekends. Are drunk texts a good thing? I would always text J when I was drunk because he was always on my mind, and he was my friend, but when a guy you haven’t heard from in five months texts you when he’s drunk, that can only mean one thing, right? Yes, “take you out for dinner” actually means “get you drunk and fuck you”. Not sure I really fancy that with Mr.AB. Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while will already know; I generally reserve my sexual relationships for guys who are either my friends or are at least friends of friends.
The other thing about Mr. AB’s out of the blue text message is the smiley face at the end. Dude, you’re in your mid-thirties, why are you sending me a message with emoticons that, even as a teenager chatting on msn in the late 90’s, are socially unacceptable. It’s just unnecessary.
I’m really in two minds about whether or not I should reply to Mr.AB’s text message. Does anyone have any insights?
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
Sunday, 9 January 2011
Drink Dating
Alcohol: the maker and breaker of my entire love-life. Since J walked out of my life, I depend on the stuff to have my animal urges satisfied. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I hooked up with a guy for the first time without being, at least a little bit, tipsy. It’s like some kind of confidence-boost potion that brings out my don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.
There’s very little chance I’d come onto a guy if I’m not intoxicated; quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me. But a little bit of Dutch courage and I’m unstoppable. And if I’ve had a big night, I’ve been known to make some very daring and, what some might call, stupid decisions. I enjoy the feel good factor that comes with drinking, which is why most of us enjoy a drink from time to time I suppose, but I’m also becoming more and more concerned that I only get lucky when I’m wasted.
I’m by no means a wall flower when I’m sober, so why is it that I can’t approach a guy I’m interested in without a couple of drinks? Has society shaped me into being a twenty-something binge drinker or am I the only one that suffers from this dependency? Don’t get me wrong, I can go without booze for a fair amount of time but, when I’m off the wagon, I quite often take it too far. Perhaps I try too hard to keep up my party girl image… Health issues, puking in my handbag and stumbling around in 5 inch stilettos aside (although I am much better at managing the heels these days), binge drinking is a personality disorder in many ways, yet most of us are guilty of it.
Who hasn’t been drunk and thought it was a good idea to bed their friend or colleague? And why do TV programmes promote it? In the TV show Friends, Monica was drunk when she and Chandler first got together, something which she wouldn’t have done had she been sober. Ok, their story (yes, I’m aware it’s fictional) ended up being a happy one but, in reality, how many of us end up living happily ever after with our drunken one night stand? My guess is very few.
Instead, I suppose most of us have ended up in messy situations – waking up the next morning, realising you’re naked and the man next to you is your best friend’s boyfriend or your boss. Then comes that sinking stomach feeling and you wrack your brains trying to figure how the hell you’re going to get out of the situation. You pray that nobody saw you go home together and that the other person won’t mention it to anyone else. It’s embarrassing, it’s not big and it’s certainly not clever. So why do we do it? Personally, I think I crave the risk, the secrecy and the drama. At least that’s the only explanation I really have, otherwise it’s just crazy, irrational behaviour.
Maybe it’s just the way we roll in Dubai. After all, in London, I could go internet dating, saving me from being publicly humiliated when rejected. Yes, I definitely have a fear of rejection; who doesn’t? I guess when I’m drunk I can laugh off being rejected or proceed to throw insults at the guy in question and then cringe about it the next day, blaming it on the booze. And that’s exactly what alcohol has become – a barrier, a safety net, protecting my feelings.
I’m worried what all of this says about my personality. I also worry that one day I’m going to end up doing something I shouldn’t and hurting people around me, which I really, really don’t want to do. It’s bad enough waking up with a hangover, let alone waking up with a hangover and guilt. But how do I get out of this vicious cycle? Or am I just over-analysing something that’s a bit of fun? Something tells me this could be a case for a shrink…
There’s very little chance I’d come onto a guy if I’m not intoxicated; quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me. But a little bit of Dutch courage and I’m unstoppable. And if I’ve had a big night, I’ve been known to make some very daring and, what some might call, stupid decisions. I enjoy the feel good factor that comes with drinking, which is why most of us enjoy a drink from time to time I suppose, but I’m also becoming more and more concerned that I only get lucky when I’m wasted.
I’m by no means a wall flower when I’m sober, so why is it that I can’t approach a guy I’m interested in without a couple of drinks? Has society shaped me into being a twenty-something binge drinker or am I the only one that suffers from this dependency? Don’t get me wrong, I can go without booze for a fair amount of time but, when I’m off the wagon, I quite often take it too far. Perhaps I try too hard to keep up my party girl image… Health issues, puking in my handbag and stumbling around in 5 inch stilettos aside (although I am much better at managing the heels these days), binge drinking is a personality disorder in many ways, yet most of us are guilty of it.
Who hasn’t been drunk and thought it was a good idea to bed their friend or colleague? And why do TV programmes promote it? In the TV show Friends, Monica was drunk when she and Chandler first got together, something which she wouldn’t have done had she been sober. Ok, their story (yes, I’m aware it’s fictional) ended up being a happy one but, in reality, how many of us end up living happily ever after with our drunken one night stand? My guess is very few.
Instead, I suppose most of us have ended up in messy situations – waking up the next morning, realising you’re naked and the man next to you is your best friend’s boyfriend or your boss. Then comes that sinking stomach feeling and you wrack your brains trying to figure how the hell you’re going to get out of the situation. You pray that nobody saw you go home together and that the other person won’t mention it to anyone else. It’s embarrassing, it’s not big and it’s certainly not clever. So why do we do it? Personally, I think I crave the risk, the secrecy and the drama. At least that’s the only explanation I really have, otherwise it’s just crazy, irrational behaviour.
Maybe it’s just the way we roll in Dubai. After all, in London, I could go internet dating, saving me from being publicly humiliated when rejected. Yes, I definitely have a fear of rejection; who doesn’t? I guess when I’m drunk I can laugh off being rejected or proceed to throw insults at the guy in question and then cringe about it the next day, blaming it on the booze. And that’s exactly what alcohol has become – a barrier, a safety net, protecting my feelings.
I’m worried what all of this says about my personality. I also worry that one day I’m going to end up doing something I shouldn’t and hurting people around me, which I really, really don’t want to do. It’s bad enough waking up with a hangover, let alone waking up with a hangover and guilt. But how do I get out of this vicious cycle? Or am I just over-analysing something that’s a bit of fun? Something tells me this could be a case for a shrink…
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
What Men Want
Is it just me, or are men the most confusing things on Earth? I'm sure Isaac Newton had an easier time working out gravity than I do what's going through a man's mind!
At first, I wasn't sure whether I'd bother contacting Mr.PL or not. Not because the sex wasn't hot, not because he wasn't interesting or attractive, but because I just didn't want to give him the satisfaction. I absolutely despise the ball being in the guy's court. It comes from years of disappointment and let downs; whether it's just flirting, engaging in a casual fling or having a full blown relationship. I always imagine their smug faces when they hear from me, thinking, "Yeah, she's well into me and I just couldn't give a fuck. I'm the fucking man!" Eugh!! You twats.
Despite my initial reluctance, a few days later, I thought I'd drop Mr.PL a cheeky email. It's the least personal form of communication, which was ideal for the message I wanted to get across. The content, however, was personal. It referred to a conversation we'd had about a mutual interest but it was also intimate. Short and sweet, I was hoping he'd catch my drift.
At the time, I wasn't overly bothered whether Mr.PL emailed me back or not, but as the hours passed, I found myself becoming more and more obsessed with the email. Fuck! Had I let him get the better of me? Had I reopened the door of disappointment? I spent all day refreshing my emails, waiting for a reply, and it's driven me crazy. How did I make such a rookie mistake?
From Mr.PL being someone I had fun with but wasn't too fussed about, he has now become someone that pops into my head, uncontrollably, every five bloody minutes. And I hate it. I also hate him. Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is not replying to my email? And why did he bother giving me his business card in the first place if he had no intention of responding to me when I contacted him? I'd have quite happily walked out of his apartment that day and not looked back. But no, he had to dangle the metaphoric carrot in front of my face, the bastard. Not only that, but I initially snubbed his card for this very reason (which is why I ended up receiving it in two halves, after he seemed offended and ripped it)!
Anyway, this incessant need for an email from Mr.PL has led me to question myself and why he hasn't replied to me. Am I too fat? Am I not interesting enough? Am I not intelligent enough? Did I email too soon and now he thinks I'm needy? Is it because I threw Kettle chips around the apartment in a drunken rage? God, the questions just go on and on and I have no answers. Then I take a step back and think; "fuck him".
It's not like I'm some air-head bimbo, sucking some 50 year old man's cock, in the hope he'll buy me a Tiffany necklace. No, I'm a well travelled, well educated, sociable girl who goes for guys on a similar level. I have some pretty cool hobbies, great friends and I work damn hard to get what I want from life; so what's missing? Or is it that guys actually do prefer inferior women? Someone who will depend on them entirely, so that they know they're in control?
Perhaps it's that I'm too full on? God, I really hope I'm not! I know reading this blog you'd probably think I was, but you have to remember that these are all my honest thoughts, stripped down and bare, for everyone to see — don't mistake my heart-on-sleeve attitude with being full on.
So, even though I'd like to continue where I left off with Mr.PL, I don't think I'll contact him again. Well, not unless I feel like telling him he's a wanker. As for me, I know my email obsession will fade away in a few days if he doesn't reply to me. Mr.PL was good, but not that good.
At first, I wasn't sure whether I'd bother contacting Mr.PL or not. Not because the sex wasn't hot, not because he wasn't interesting or attractive, but because I just didn't want to give him the satisfaction. I absolutely despise the ball being in the guy's court. It comes from years of disappointment and let downs; whether it's just flirting, engaging in a casual fling or having a full blown relationship. I always imagine their smug faces when they hear from me, thinking, "Yeah, she's well into me and I just couldn't give a fuck. I'm the fucking man!" Eugh!! You twats.
Despite my initial reluctance, a few days later, I thought I'd drop Mr.PL a cheeky email. It's the least personal form of communication, which was ideal for the message I wanted to get across. The content, however, was personal. It referred to a conversation we'd had about a mutual interest but it was also intimate. Short and sweet, I was hoping he'd catch my drift.
At the time, I wasn't overly bothered whether Mr.PL emailed me back or not, but as the hours passed, I found myself becoming more and more obsessed with the email. Fuck! Had I let him get the better of me? Had I reopened the door of disappointment? I spent all day refreshing my emails, waiting for a reply, and it's driven me crazy. How did I make such a rookie mistake?
From Mr.PL being someone I had fun with but wasn't too fussed about, he has now become someone that pops into my head, uncontrollably, every five bloody minutes. And I hate it. I also hate him. Seriously, who the fuck does he think he is not replying to my email? And why did he bother giving me his business card in the first place if he had no intention of responding to me when I contacted him? I'd have quite happily walked out of his apartment that day and not looked back. But no, he had to dangle the metaphoric carrot in front of my face, the bastard. Not only that, but I initially snubbed his card for this very reason (which is why I ended up receiving it in two halves, after he seemed offended and ripped it)!
Anyway, this incessant need for an email from Mr.PL has led me to question myself and why he hasn't replied to me. Am I too fat? Am I not interesting enough? Am I not intelligent enough? Did I email too soon and now he thinks I'm needy? Is it because I threw Kettle chips around the apartment in a drunken rage? God, the questions just go on and on and I have no answers. Then I take a step back and think; "fuck him".
It's not like I'm some air-head bimbo, sucking some 50 year old man's cock, in the hope he'll buy me a Tiffany necklace. No, I'm a well travelled, well educated, sociable girl who goes for guys on a similar level. I have some pretty cool hobbies, great friends and I work damn hard to get what I want from life; so what's missing? Or is it that guys actually do prefer inferior women? Someone who will depend on them entirely, so that they know they're in control?
Perhaps it's that I'm too full on? God, I really hope I'm not! I know reading this blog you'd probably think I was, but you have to remember that these are all my honest thoughts, stripped down and bare, for everyone to see — don't mistake my heart-on-sleeve attitude with being full on.
So, even though I'd like to continue where I left off with Mr.PL, I don't think I'll contact him again. Well, not unless I feel like telling him he's a wanker. As for me, I know my email obsession will fade away in a few days if he doesn't reply to me. Mr.PL was good, but not that good.
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Festive Flirting
The festive period - dreaded by all singletons. Let's face it, it's a time for smug couples to thrust their public displays of affection in your face. It's also an excuse for retailers to remind you how imperfect your life is, with countless adverts of loved-up couples, grinning inanely next to the Christmas tree, exchanging gifts. It all makes me want to gauge my eyes out, and it's even more difficult to stomach when you're so far away from your best friends and family. To be honest, I'm surprised I survived this year.
I usually make it through the season by surrounding myself with my single friends, using "it's Christmas" as an excuse to binge drink and partying until all hours. This year was a bit different; with barely any single friends in town and having been struck down with a nasty case of flu, Christmas was, in a word, shite. Christmas eve was spent in bed, reading everyone's festive facebook updates whilst trying to cuddle a kitten who couldn't wait to escape my embrace. Christmas day was spent coughing and spluttering, at the other end of the table from my friends, whilst staring longingly at my Christmas dinner, which I couldn't stomach eating. That left New Year's Eve as my only festive saving grace...
A White Party, on the rooftop of a Dubai hotel, with the Big Sis and some other media luvvies saw me bringing in 2011. After a shocking 2010 in terms of my love-life, I wasn't really expecting to get so much as a midnight peck, but if my New Year's Day is anything to go by, that all looks set to change...
As most of my friends know, I love a bit of flirtatious banter; I'm sure it releases all sorts of feel-good endorphins. So what started as some harmless flirtation with Mr. PL, turned out to be some harmful fun. The good kind.
It was all a bit aggressive, but oh so hot. I can be feisty, but Mr. PL definitely brought out my more mental side, which was really very liberating. He annoyed me, but in a I-want-to-rip-your clothes-off way. And so I did.
There was something about Mr. PL that was incredibly intriguing. I'm not sure if it was his lack of charm, his almost-mental state of mind or his ability to handle my feistiness. Whatever it was, after scratching the surface, it was evident Mr. PL was quite an interesting character. I love being in the company of anyone who's well travelled, which he most definitely was. And to then see a bookshelf in his apartment, stacked with books I'd love to get stuck into, well, it turned me on.
In the bedroom, Mr. PL hit the spot. Three times to be exact. And after barely any passion all year, it was gratefully received. He totally took control and whispered obscenities into my ear. It was quite erotic, and he definitely left his mark; bruises in the shape of fingerprints all over my arms. In return, he was left with scratch marks.
Mr. PL did give me his business card, albeit ripped in half. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it yet; I think a business card is a little impersonal when you've just been intimate with someone, although for some reason, on some level, I do feel compelled to know more.
Whatever does or doesn't happen, I'm hoping 2011 goes on as it started...
Happy New Year!
I usually make it through the season by surrounding myself with my single friends, using "it's Christmas" as an excuse to binge drink and partying until all hours. This year was a bit different; with barely any single friends in town and having been struck down with a nasty case of flu, Christmas was, in a word, shite. Christmas eve was spent in bed, reading everyone's festive facebook updates whilst trying to cuddle a kitten who couldn't wait to escape my embrace. Christmas day was spent coughing and spluttering, at the other end of the table from my friends, whilst staring longingly at my Christmas dinner, which I couldn't stomach eating. That left New Year's Eve as my only festive saving grace...
A White Party, on the rooftop of a Dubai hotel, with the Big Sis and some other media luvvies saw me bringing in 2011. After a shocking 2010 in terms of my love-life, I wasn't really expecting to get so much as a midnight peck, but if my New Year's Day is anything to go by, that all looks set to change...
As most of my friends know, I love a bit of flirtatious banter; I'm sure it releases all sorts of feel-good endorphins. So what started as some harmless flirtation with Mr. PL, turned out to be some harmful fun. The good kind.
It was all a bit aggressive, but oh so hot. I can be feisty, but Mr. PL definitely brought out my more mental side, which was really very liberating. He annoyed me, but in a I-want-to-rip-your clothes-off way. And so I did.
There was something about Mr. PL that was incredibly intriguing. I'm not sure if it was his lack of charm, his almost-mental state of mind or his ability to handle my feistiness. Whatever it was, after scratching the surface, it was evident Mr. PL was quite an interesting character. I love being in the company of anyone who's well travelled, which he most definitely was. And to then see a bookshelf in his apartment, stacked with books I'd love to get stuck into, well, it turned me on.
In the bedroom, Mr. PL hit the spot. Three times to be exact. And after barely any passion all year, it was gratefully received. He totally took control and whispered obscenities into my ear. It was quite erotic, and he definitely left his mark; bruises in the shape of fingerprints all over my arms. In return, he was left with scratch marks.
Mr. PL did give me his business card, albeit ripped in half. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it yet; I think a business card is a little impersonal when you've just been intimate with someone, although for some reason, on some level, I do feel compelled to know more.
Whatever does or doesn't happen, I'm hoping 2011 goes on as it started...
Happy New Year!
Saturday, 6 November 2010
Damned if I do, Damned if I don't
Nights out in Dubai are not uncommon for me; I can be found gracing some of the city's best bars every weekend, and occasionally during the week too. Sipping cocktails is a Dubai-expat's most popular hobby. We'll fill every bar, beach and boat during the weekend. After long hours at work all week, it's almost necessary to unwind with a beverage in hand at the weekend. You know what they say - work hard, play harder!
With the majority of the city's population descending upon its watering-holes on a Thursday night, you'd think it would be prime mate-hunting ground. Well, it's not. At least it's not for me. Many of my friends always score on nights out, but I find it to be a rarity these days.
However, on the odd occasion I do meet a charming young man, I struggle with what I'm actually meant to say and do. It's been drummed into me that I need to be mysterious and alluring, that I should never go home with a man on the first night I meet him, that I shouldn't wear short skirts and low-cut tops if I want to be considered girlfriend material and that I need to give them the chance to chase me, etc. None of those things are me; I wear my heart on my sleeve, I'll answer all sorts of questions, I like wearing low-cut tops, I'm easy going and if I want to have sex with a man on the first night, I will.
However, having been single (dateless in fact) for almost 18 months, I decided I might just take some of my friends' advice. But before I go on to tell you what happened when I took their advice, I'll first tell you about what usually happens when I don't take their advice...
It was a Friday night, I'd been at brunch all day and I was a little bit tipsy. I wasn't at one of Dubai's classier joints, but everyone in the club was up for a good time. Stood at the bar, trying to order a drink, I took a toke on my cigarette. As I did, a tall, handsome stranger turned to me and asked to borrow my lighter. Of course I obliged and he struck up a conversation with me. His name was Gerry, and not only was this guy cute, he was also intelligent and interesting without being a complete dick like the rest of Dubai's male population. I was hooked.
Next thing I know, the bar's lights come up and we were being thrown out. We'd been chatting for four hours. I was so into the conversation, that I'd forgotten I was wearing high-heels and that my feet were killing me. I felt like I'd know this guy for ages and I was so overwhelmed that I'd actually met a man I found attractive and intriguing.
When he asked if we could continue drinking at mine, I was a little apprehensive at first, as I didn't want to give him the wrong impression. But then I thought one little drink wouldn't hurt, and so we jumped in a cab and headed back to my place.
At mine, I made us both a drink and we sat on the sofa chatting. We must have been chatting for another three hours, because the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up. I remember thinking how much I liked the guy, something which is so rare for me these days. When he asked if he could stay over, I told him he could sleep on the sofa, but somehow, he made it into my bed. We chatted some more and ended up falling asleep, cuddled up, but without so much as a kiss. However, in the morning, that all went to pot.
I'd done so well up until that point, but I didn't stress about it as we had so much chemistry, I was sure this was the beginning of something beautiful. He took my number and made his way home whilst I snuggled up in bed feeling so very, very happy.
Needless to say, I didn't receive a call, or even as much as a text from him. I felt so disheartened; it had been such a long time since I felt that way about someone and I suddenly remembered how cruel men can really be. Seeing as I didn't have his number, I thought I'd look him up on Facebook and send him a friend request. I typed in his name and up popped his profile picture... with a woman in it. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I thought I better try and find out if he was in a relationship or not before sending him a friend request. I googled his name and, through various other social networking sites, found out he was married.
Why I was surprised, I'm not sure. As I've mentioned before, married men seem to buzz around me like bees around honey but single guys, single guys don't come within 20ft of me... It was, as Alanis Morissette would say, ironic; I'd met the man of my dreams and then seen his beautiful wife. I vowed not to take another guy home ever again.
A few weeks later, I met Steve. Steve was a silver fox that reminded me of an ex (GJ, if you're reading this, it was you). He was tall with beautiful dark brown eyes (although I usually prefer blue) and a cheeky chappy demeanour that kept me hooked. We chatted for ages, discussing everything from work to politics - it was heated, and I loved that he was so opinionated.
We moved from the bar we were in to a karaoke bar across the road. We continued our heated conversation until he ended up singing Johnny Cash songs to me. It was also here we shared a little kiss. Nothing full on, more small pecks on the lips than drunk, high school style snogging.
As we lived in the same area, we shared a taxi home. Steve was first to be dropped off, and as the taxi pulled up outside his building, he tried to persuade me to come in for a drink. I had to really resist the temptation to go up to his apartment, but I knew an innocent drink would end up being not-so-innocent sex, and so I continued my journey back to my apartment. However, despite having had a great night together and Steve inviting me up to his for "a drink", when I declined, he didn't ask for my number or when he might see me again. He was clearly a good-time guy up for whatever he could get his hands on, so to speak.
Then there was Craig, the guy I did follow my friends' advice with. I met Craig at my local, where our eyes literally met across a crowded room, and he spent the evening looking over at me. When I caught his eye, I smiled, but he didn't come over. It was only as he was about to leave that I smiled and waved and he came over to chat.
Craig worked in construction and was manly and flirty. He's definitely one of those guys you'd feel protected being with. After a few hours of flirting, I told Craig my friend and I were moving on to another bar and he immediately asked me for my number. I took it as a good sign and gave him my digits. He did text me, but only for a booty call, which obviously I declined.
After that, I bumped into Craig on a couple of occasions. He continued texting me, but never asked me out on a date. I gave up texting him back.
So, despite all my friends' advice of abstaining and playing a little bit hard-to-get, none of the scenarios proved to be fruitful. So, what is it exactly that makes a guy want to take a girl on a date? When I meet guys, I always have interesting, intelligent conversations but I always throw in a little bit of flirting too - in fact I can't help being a little flirty - but, I never let it become smutty or full of innuendo. So where am I going wrong?
What I've learnt from this is that it doesn't matter how far you go with a guy on the first night - a little flirty conversation, a kiss or hot, sweaty sex - the scenario isn't based on any of those. So, if you want to sleep with the guy you just met, why not? A friend of mine is currently dating a girl he met in a bar and slept with on the first night...
What I've concluded from all of this is that it doesn't matter what I do; I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.
With the majority of the city's population descending upon its watering-holes on a Thursday night, you'd think it would be prime mate-hunting ground. Well, it's not. At least it's not for me. Many of my friends always score on nights out, but I find it to be a rarity these days.
However, on the odd occasion I do meet a charming young man, I struggle with what I'm actually meant to say and do. It's been drummed into me that I need to be mysterious and alluring, that I should never go home with a man on the first night I meet him, that I shouldn't wear short skirts and low-cut tops if I want to be considered girlfriend material and that I need to give them the chance to chase me, etc. None of those things are me; I wear my heart on my sleeve, I'll answer all sorts of questions, I like wearing low-cut tops, I'm easy going and if I want to have sex with a man on the first night, I will.
However, having been single (dateless in fact) for almost 18 months, I decided I might just take some of my friends' advice. But before I go on to tell you what happened when I took their advice, I'll first tell you about what usually happens when I don't take their advice...
It was a Friday night, I'd been at brunch all day and I was a little bit tipsy. I wasn't at one of Dubai's classier joints, but everyone in the club was up for a good time. Stood at the bar, trying to order a drink, I took a toke on my cigarette. As I did, a tall, handsome stranger turned to me and asked to borrow my lighter. Of course I obliged and he struck up a conversation with me. His name was Gerry, and not only was this guy cute, he was also intelligent and interesting without being a complete dick like the rest of Dubai's male population. I was hooked.
Next thing I know, the bar's lights come up and we were being thrown out. We'd been chatting for four hours. I was so into the conversation, that I'd forgotten I was wearing high-heels and that my feet were killing me. I felt like I'd know this guy for ages and I was so overwhelmed that I'd actually met a man I found attractive and intriguing.
When he asked if we could continue drinking at mine, I was a little apprehensive at first, as I didn't want to give him the wrong impression. But then I thought one little drink wouldn't hurt, and so we jumped in a cab and headed back to my place.
At mine, I made us both a drink and we sat on the sofa chatting. We must have been chatting for another three hours, because the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up. I remember thinking how much I liked the guy, something which is so rare for me these days. When he asked if he could stay over, I told him he could sleep on the sofa, but somehow, he made it into my bed. We chatted some more and ended up falling asleep, cuddled up, but without so much as a kiss. However, in the morning, that all went to pot.
I'd done so well up until that point, but I didn't stress about it as we had so much chemistry, I was sure this was the beginning of something beautiful. He took my number and made his way home whilst I snuggled up in bed feeling so very, very happy.
Needless to say, I didn't receive a call, or even as much as a text from him. I felt so disheartened; it had been such a long time since I felt that way about someone and I suddenly remembered how cruel men can really be. Seeing as I didn't have his number, I thought I'd look him up on Facebook and send him a friend request. I typed in his name and up popped his profile picture... with a woman in it. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I thought I better try and find out if he was in a relationship or not before sending him a friend request. I googled his name and, through various other social networking sites, found out he was married.
Why I was surprised, I'm not sure. As I've mentioned before, married men seem to buzz around me like bees around honey but single guys, single guys don't come within 20ft of me... It was, as Alanis Morissette would say, ironic; I'd met the man of my dreams and then seen his beautiful wife. I vowed not to take another guy home ever again.
A few weeks later, I met Steve. Steve was a silver fox that reminded me of an ex (GJ, if you're reading this, it was you). He was tall with beautiful dark brown eyes (although I usually prefer blue) and a cheeky chappy demeanour that kept me hooked. We chatted for ages, discussing everything from work to politics - it was heated, and I loved that he was so opinionated.
We moved from the bar we were in to a karaoke bar across the road. We continued our heated conversation until he ended up singing Johnny Cash songs to me. It was also here we shared a little kiss. Nothing full on, more small pecks on the lips than drunk, high school style snogging.
As we lived in the same area, we shared a taxi home. Steve was first to be dropped off, and as the taxi pulled up outside his building, he tried to persuade me to come in for a drink. I had to really resist the temptation to go up to his apartment, but I knew an innocent drink would end up being not-so-innocent sex, and so I continued my journey back to my apartment. However, despite having had a great night together and Steve inviting me up to his for "a drink", when I declined, he didn't ask for my number or when he might see me again. He was clearly a good-time guy up for whatever he could get his hands on, so to speak.
Then there was Craig, the guy I did follow my friends' advice with. I met Craig at my local, where our eyes literally met across a crowded room, and he spent the evening looking over at me. When I caught his eye, I smiled, but he didn't come over. It was only as he was about to leave that I smiled and waved and he came over to chat.
Craig worked in construction and was manly and flirty. He's definitely one of those guys you'd feel protected being with. After a few hours of flirting, I told Craig my friend and I were moving on to another bar and he immediately asked me for my number. I took it as a good sign and gave him my digits. He did text me, but only for a booty call, which obviously I declined.
After that, I bumped into Craig on a couple of occasions. He continued texting me, but never asked me out on a date. I gave up texting him back.
So, despite all my friends' advice of abstaining and playing a little bit hard-to-get, none of the scenarios proved to be fruitful. So, what is it exactly that makes a guy want to take a girl on a date? When I meet guys, I always have interesting, intelligent conversations but I always throw in a little bit of flirting too - in fact I can't help being a little flirty - but, I never let it become smutty or full of innuendo. So where am I going wrong?
What I've learnt from this is that it doesn't matter how far you go with a guy on the first night - a little flirty conversation, a kiss or hot, sweaty sex - the scenario isn't based on any of those. So, if you want to sleep with the guy you just met, why not? A friend of mine is currently dating a girl he met in a bar and slept with on the first night...
What I've concluded from all of this is that it doesn't matter what I do; I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
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?
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?
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Around the World
As some of you may know, I was recently in Australia for a wedding. I had high hopes for this particular ceremony, not just for the couple tying the knot (they excelled my expectations in so many ways) but also for myself. Yes, after all the post-J trauma, I figured travelling to the other side of the world in search of a man would be a great anecdote to my broken heart. And excellent for blogging purposes!
I'm not going to lie, in the run up to my trip down under, I'd had visions of meeting a cool, bronzed, Aussie hunk who'd sweep me off my feet and teach me how to surf. But alas, it was clearly not meant to be. Instead, all of the Aussie guys I met seemed to have little direction in life... They were all in jobs that were practically handed to them, rather than having carved out career paths for themselves that they worked their toned tushies off for. Call me a snob, but I found it a little disappointing.
It's not that I wouldn't date a guy who wasn't a doctor, teacher or lawyer; I would. For example, I'd date a bartender, if he had bigger dreams and was working towards managing or owning a bar one day. I just can't date a guy with no passion for his career. I know that makes me susceptible to dating a workaholic, but I'm willing to take that chance.
The other thing I noticed about several Aussie men is that they hadn't ventured past Australian shores. Or if they had, it'd been to New Zealand when they were 10. If I met a guy in London who'd never left the UK, bar a French exchange trip in 1990, it's more than likely I put a strike through his name in my little black book.
Perhaps I'm spoilt in Dubai, where every eligible bachelor here has a career path and an ambition. And they're not afraid to travel to unknown terrioties to acheive their goals. Or is it that I'm just looking for someone on my wavelength? Someone who'll take the bull by the horns, a leap of faith or a risk?
The good thing about most Aussie men is their love for the outdoors; be it surfing, offroading or hunting. Whilst all these activities are great (no, I'm not ant anti-hunting activist so sue me) they all show brawn but not brains. And I need a balance between the two.
After all, they're just basic primal instincts, right? The intelligence to hold down a decent job to provide for our family, and the brute strength to be able to protect us, conduct basic DIY around the house etc.
I hate to think I'm fussy, and this is probably one of the reasons I've been single most of my adult life, but I want someone to inspire me. Someone to come home from work to where I think 'Fuck, you're amazing', after they've told me a story about how they dealt with something difficult at work or acheived something new in their personal life.
Guys who just plod along in life don't cut it for me. A relationship is about compromise, and having get-up-and-go is not something I'm willing to negotiate, which is why I need someone like-minded. I want to tell my kids I met their father in some random place, doing some crazy activity. And I want to tell them we were married on a Himalayan mountain with goats as guests. Or something along those lines...
I think of some of the stories my parents told me over the years about their travels, and I wonder if this is one of the elements that attracted them to one another, along with the fact they were both at university trying to acheive something when they met.
I don't want a repetition of my parents' love story, but I do want to find a similar synergy that they once shared, and perhaps still do. I guess I just need a little more patience and a plane ticket to somewhere more exotic than Oz.
I'm not going to lie, in the run up to my trip down under, I'd had visions of meeting a cool, bronzed, Aussie hunk who'd sweep me off my feet and teach me how to surf. But alas, it was clearly not meant to be. Instead, all of the Aussie guys I met seemed to have little direction in life... They were all in jobs that were practically handed to them, rather than having carved out career paths for themselves that they worked their toned tushies off for. Call me a snob, but I found it a little disappointing.
It's not that I wouldn't date a guy who wasn't a doctor, teacher or lawyer; I would. For example, I'd date a bartender, if he had bigger dreams and was working towards managing or owning a bar one day. I just can't date a guy with no passion for his career. I know that makes me susceptible to dating a workaholic, but I'm willing to take that chance.
The other thing I noticed about several Aussie men is that they hadn't ventured past Australian shores. Or if they had, it'd been to New Zealand when they were 10. If I met a guy in London who'd never left the UK, bar a French exchange trip in 1990, it's more than likely I put a strike through his name in my little black book.
Perhaps I'm spoilt in Dubai, where every eligible bachelor here has a career path and an ambition. And they're not afraid to travel to unknown terrioties to acheive their goals. Or is it that I'm just looking for someone on my wavelength? Someone who'll take the bull by the horns, a leap of faith or a risk?
The good thing about most Aussie men is their love for the outdoors; be it surfing, offroading or hunting. Whilst all these activities are great (no, I'm not ant anti-hunting activist so sue me) they all show brawn but not brains. And I need a balance between the two.
After all, they're just basic primal instincts, right? The intelligence to hold down a decent job to provide for our family, and the brute strength to be able to protect us, conduct basic DIY around the house etc.
I hate to think I'm fussy, and this is probably one of the reasons I've been single most of my adult life, but I want someone to inspire me. Someone to come home from work to where I think 'Fuck, you're amazing', after they've told me a story about how they dealt with something difficult at work or acheived something new in their personal life.
Guys who just plod along in life don't cut it for me. A relationship is about compromise, and having get-up-and-go is not something I'm willing to negotiate, which is why I need someone like-minded. I want to tell my kids I met their father in some random place, doing some crazy activity. And I want to tell them we were married on a Himalayan mountain with goats as guests. Or something along those lines...
I think of some of the stories my parents told me over the years about their travels, and I wonder if this is one of the elements that attracted them to one another, along with the fact they were both at university trying to acheive something when they met.
I don't want a repetition of my parents' love story, but I do want to find a similar synergy that they once shared, and perhaps still do. I guess I just need a little more patience and a plane ticket to somewhere more exotic than Oz.
Monday, 9 August 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
The big, bad World Wide Web of dating
When I lived in London, much of my social life was consumed by online dating. I signed up to all sorts of different matchmaking websites, and I used to meet two or three guys a week. I had a great time, met some lovely guys, some of whom I'm still friends with today. Yes, there were one or two horror stories, but on the whole, it was a lot of fun.
In Dubai, I've been heavily reliant on friends to set me up with eligible bachelors that they know. This is partially because most dating websites are blocked. Yes, in a country where an arranged marriage to your cousin is the norm, dating is still somewhat a taboo, despite the fact that the 90% of the city's population is made up of expats. But hey, that's their rules and I've learnt to live with it for the last five years.
However, recently, a friend of mine introduced me to a dating application available on Facebook that has not yet been blocked. I was excited at the prospect of being cast back to my ways of dating, circa 2003, and eagerly set up an account. In anticipation as to whom I might find on one of the only available dating sites in the country, I immediately went through the site's list of eligible bachelors... except they weren't so eligible.
I'm not quite sure what it is about online dating in Dubai, but it just doesn't produce the goods like it does in London. I must have trudged through almost a hundred profiles to find only one or two guys who weren't either sex-obsessed maniacs, passport grabbers or just complete weirdos. Within minutes, I'd received a number of messages saying 'Txt 050 76X XXXX plz', 'Hi Babie' and 'You want meet for sex'. Obviously, none of these gentlemen particularly appealed to me.
Now, without coming across as a complete snob, I'm looking for someone who is articulate, can spell and can hold a decent conversation. After all, I work in communications and if you can not communicate properly, then, quite frankly, I'm just not interested. Sorry, but first impressions count, boys!
Now, I'm going to move on to onscreen names... If your onscreen name is something such as HeArTbrEakKiD, Sexy4U or Russian Mafia, then I'm probably going to skip right past your profile. Why? Because I don't want to date a kid that's going to break my heart, a guy who is sexy for all women on the web and beyond, or someone who might shoot me in my sleep. Just your name will do. If you really don't wish to reveal your identity on a dating website, why not just use your initials instead of making up some teenage chat room-esque name?
Bearing all that in mind, I'm left with very few guys on this website, and I haven't even taken into account physical features yet! I disregard all profiles without a picture. I'm sorry, but in this day and age, there is absolutely no excuse for not putting up at least one semi-decent photo, unless you're a total minger or have something sinister to hide. But not being one to give up, I persevere through the profiles. There are two or three guys that catch my eye, and so I drop them a line.
The first message is important, so I always make sure I refer to at least one or two points in their profile. Generic "Hi, how are you?" messages just won't cut it. The fist message needs to be flirty but not filthy, witty but not ridiculous and most of all, it needs to be intriguing. It needs to let my personality shine through without giving away too much away. You don't want to repeat what's already been said in your profile, but you also don't want to divulge your life story so, that when you do eventually go out on a date, they can find out more about you.
Once the perfect message has been crafted, all that's left to do is sit and wait for a reply. Quite often, this can be agonising - have they been online yet? Have they read the message? Have they just not had time to reply? Does my profile picture make me look too fat? Did they not get my sense of humour? Is it because I'm a smoker?
Not receiving a reply can feel like being dumped after a second date with a guy you quite like. You imagine what could have been with the cute man in the photo and wonder why he didn't even give you the chance to show him how wonderful you are by taking you on a date. But when you do receive a reply, all the hassle of scouring through all those profiles seems worthwhile, and you're reminded that you're still a catch, no matter how many dating disasters you've endured over the past few weeks.
I've not yet met any of the guys I've been having email conversations with, but I'm hoping they'll restore my faith in online dating in this city. I'm giving it two weeks for at least one date to materialise, otherwise I'm casting myself out of the dating world in Dubai because dating shouldn't be this difficult. Some girls have the patience for it, but I guess I just don't want it that badly anymore...
In the meantime, if any of my friends have real eligible bachelors to set me up with, they will be gratefully received!
In Dubai, I've been heavily reliant on friends to set me up with eligible bachelors that they know. This is partially because most dating websites are blocked. Yes, in a country where an arranged marriage to your cousin is the norm, dating is still somewhat a taboo, despite the fact that the 90% of the city's population is made up of expats. But hey, that's their rules and I've learnt to live with it for the last five years.
However, recently, a friend of mine introduced me to a dating application available on Facebook that has not yet been blocked. I was excited at the prospect of being cast back to my ways of dating, circa 2003, and eagerly set up an account. In anticipation as to whom I might find on one of the only available dating sites in the country, I immediately went through the site's list of eligible bachelors... except they weren't so eligible.
I'm not quite sure what it is about online dating in Dubai, but it just doesn't produce the goods like it does in London. I must have trudged through almost a hundred profiles to find only one or two guys who weren't either sex-obsessed maniacs, passport grabbers or just complete weirdos. Within minutes, I'd received a number of messages saying 'Txt 050 76X XXXX plz', 'Hi Babie' and 'You want meet for sex'. Obviously, none of these gentlemen particularly appealed to me.
Now, without coming across as a complete snob, I'm looking for someone who is articulate, can spell and can hold a decent conversation. After all, I work in communications and if you can not communicate properly, then, quite frankly, I'm just not interested. Sorry, but first impressions count, boys!
Now, I'm going to move on to onscreen names... If your onscreen name is something such as HeArTbrEakKiD, Sexy4U or Russian Mafia, then I'm probably going to skip right past your profile. Why? Because I don't want to date a kid that's going to break my heart, a guy who is sexy for all women on the web and beyond, or someone who might shoot me in my sleep. Just your name will do. If you really don't wish to reveal your identity on a dating website, why not just use your initials instead of making up some teenage chat room-esque name?
Bearing all that in mind, I'm left with very few guys on this website, and I haven't even taken into account physical features yet! I disregard all profiles without a picture. I'm sorry, but in this day and age, there is absolutely no excuse for not putting up at least one semi-decent photo, unless you're a total minger or have something sinister to hide. But not being one to give up, I persevere through the profiles. There are two or three guys that catch my eye, and so I drop them a line.
The first message is important, so I always make sure I refer to at least one or two points in their profile. Generic "Hi, how are you?" messages just won't cut it. The fist message needs to be flirty but not filthy, witty but not ridiculous and most of all, it needs to be intriguing. It needs to let my personality shine through without giving away too much away. You don't want to repeat what's already been said in your profile, but you also don't want to divulge your life story so, that when you do eventually go out on a date, they can find out more about you.
Once the perfect message has been crafted, all that's left to do is sit and wait for a reply. Quite often, this can be agonising - have they been online yet? Have they read the message? Have they just not had time to reply? Does my profile picture make me look too fat? Did they not get my sense of humour? Is it because I'm a smoker?
Not receiving a reply can feel like being dumped after a second date with a guy you quite like. You imagine what could have been with the cute man in the photo and wonder why he didn't even give you the chance to show him how wonderful you are by taking you on a date. But when you do receive a reply, all the hassle of scouring through all those profiles seems worthwhile, and you're reminded that you're still a catch, no matter how many dating disasters you've endured over the past few weeks.
I've not yet met any of the guys I've been having email conversations with, but I'm hoping they'll restore my faith in online dating in this city. I'm giving it two weeks for at least one date to materialise, otherwise I'm casting myself out of the dating world in Dubai because dating shouldn't be this difficult. Some girls have the patience for it, but I guess I just don't want it that badly anymore...
In the meantime, if any of my friends have real eligible bachelors to set me up with, they will be gratefully received!
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