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Oh my what a long post. Here’s an executive summary: BiertjeMan’s birthday dinner, wine, wine, wine, mid-dinner breakup of London and Tall Oz, painful reminder of la parisienne, pubbing and everyone’s there, major success with Barbie, and clubbing. Or something.
Friday was a quiet night. Shocking, only a one-party-night-weekend for adventure boy?! That’s a first in a long time. But considering Saturday’s events, it really didn’t matter. This is what happened.
BiertjeMan’s 34th birthday dinner with Da Gang at Fancy Spot in Town. Everyone was there. Well except London. And Musical Lawyer, who’s left the country for a new job elsewhere. Good food, good wine and plenty of merriment. Laughing Tyrolean and Mrs. Tyrolean were an hour late because of babysitting trouble for Little Tyrolean. When they arrive, Mrs. Tyrolean ends up next to Tall Oz and says “Hey, we just saw London outside on the street”. Whereupon Tall Oz’s eyes well up, her face goes a whiter shade of pale, and she stands up and staggers to the ladies’ room. Obviously Mrs. Tyrolean thought that that would not be a very dramatic statement. And clearly it isn’t to the unaided eye, but for Tall Oz it was pain because she and London have broken up. Or rather, she dumped him because he wanted to follow his dream and take up a Really Cool Job in Cambodia. So buh-bye she said. Kind of a tough ultimatum, follow your dream or follow me. Broke his heart, poor sod. Mrs. Tyrolean was shocked: she had no idea they had broken up (that’s life married with children – the changing and fluctuating romances of your unmarried friends are difficult to follow). And Tall Oz had no idea London was back in town. He was last seen in the city that bears his name, mending his heart with his friend JD. But on Saturday there he was, cruising the street exact same street on which said Fancy Spot is located. And just at the time we are there. I don’t think it was chance that drove him there at that time. Mrs. Tyrolean felt bad obviously.
Much traffic out and in of the restaurant entrance begins. BiertjeMan, who knows London the best, goes out to speak with him. Then comes back. Then Basque Princess, who knows Tall Oz., goes to her in the loo and then to London and then comes back. This continues over the course of an hour. Other restaurant guests are starting to wonder what’s going on. Then Assyrian Babe starts advocating “communication”, calling this behaviour of London and Tall Oz “childish” and saying that they need to talk. Easy to say for someone who’s found The Right One and has never really been dumped. Ever. I decided to remain silent as I chosen to be happy and positive and promised myself not to make the evening’s goings-on remind me of how la parisienne dumped me (but inside Assyrian Babe’s words hurt).
Now and again, BiertjeMan returned with news of how incredibly sad London was, explaining that he’s crying his eyes out on the street corner. Eventually Tall Oz left to go and see London. For the rest of us the whole event was pure theatre, like something that could happen in OC or Grey’s Anatomy. We drank more wine, listening attentively to the little bits of news we were served with our food by BiertjeMan. Of course the topic of the evening’s dinner conversation become relationships and breakups. Mrs. Tyrolean confessed that she and Laughing Tyrolean broke up once (wow, we all said, that must have been sooo tough).
Then, when we’re into the Xth bottle of wine, Spanish Prosecutor leans in to me and says “I never understood why you and la parisienne broke up – you seemed great for each other and looked perfect together”. I was silent for a while but eventually managed “Do you really think so?” Why is it that those of your friends, who know you well, always say that you’re great with whomever your with? Then again I do trust Spanish Prosecutor so if she says so regarding me and la parisienne she definitely means it. And she also saw me with Scottish Lass, my ex before la parisienne, so she should know. Anyway, bygones I told myself. But then she added “When she’s back in August, you fight for her, you fight with nails and claws, and all you’ve got”. This surprised me a lot. Those who know Spanish Prosecutor know that she’s the kind of woman who would break off a relationship in a heartbeat if she’s unhappy: she’s not the fighting kind but cuts her losses and moves on, seemingly without regrets. And she most definitely would not fight to get someone back. So you can imagine my surprise. Of course it got me thinking. But then I had another sip of wine and saw my life in a more rosy and pleasant light and forgot all about it.
After dinner we went to the Irish-Scottish Pub where someone had organised a massive party just for the heck of it. It was ridiculous how many people I knew there. The Gang and I hit the party at its peak and so made a suitably glorious entré. After what must have been half an hour of cheek-kissing I manage to go to the bar. Just as I turn around, Barbie, of all people, comes up the stairs. She smiles broadly, walks straight up to me and kisses me on the cheek. I was stunned but remained cool. I didn’t expect her to be there, but more importantly I really didn’t expect her to be so forthright considering we haven’t actually spoken for a year but have only smiled and said hi in the corridors at work. Truly bizarre, but oh, oh so nice.
Irish was there as well and she knows Barbie’s ex, who also was there. It was all rather weird in some almost incestuous way. Then suddenly lights go on and we have to leave because the pub is closing. Quick, quick, where to now?! And how ensure that Barbie ends up where I go? Irish was quick and cornered Barbie’s ex while I slid up to her and proposed a suitable club. Then I added in an assortment of other people from those who stood around, some friends of hers, some of mine, I broke up groups of friends, picked cherries from other people’s cakes and to make my own. Truly Alpha, which is not normally how I choose to behave. But lo and behold if I didn’t manage to create a magnificent evening at said club. Again we hit it at the perfect time, music is great, much dancing ensues and drinks are flowing freely. Barbie is visibly interested and insists on dancing next to me all the time. I move to another group on the dancefloor and, whoop, there she is. After a while, one of Barbie’s friends grabs me and starts to salsa. I’m taken aback and sees the shock on Irish’s face as she fears that all my plans with Barbie will now go down the drain. So she positions herself right in my way and through some cunning dancefloor trick manages to bounce my dance partner off and send me right into the arms of Barbie. Whoa, heck if I know how she did it but there we are, dancing salsa, feeling great for the first time since we laid eyes on each other more than two years ago. That big ocean of lost time now seemed tiny. Then as I spin Barbie around I see that her ex is also in the club! I hadn’t seen him before and started wondering why he was there in a dark corner of the dancefloor all by himself. Highly suspicious. Later I see them talk a briefly before she comes over to my group again, but it’s as if there’s no display of feelings, neither good nor bad. I’m starting to wonder how serious their relationship really was and who broke up with whom. Perhaps it was mutual? Great for me in that case.
Anyway, dear reader, nothing happened with Barbie and me that evening. I didn’t want to do anything right in front of her ex’s eyes, incidentally a guy I also know and even if it had not been a problem from his or her side. But the evening was a success because rarely have I received so many IOIs from a girl in one night, and from a girl I’m really interested in. So while the evening started dramatically and for me also quite sadly, as I was reminded of the pain of losing la parisienne, it ended with nothing short of spectacular fireworks. I will return with more info after our first date 
Friday was, well, interesting. At around 8 p.m., I receive a phone call from a number I don’t have in my phone, no name pops up. “Hello?” “Hi, it’s Danish”. Maintain cool. “Hey, what’s up?” She proceeds to ask me if I’d like to go ice skating at this outdoor rink in the centre that same evening. She points out, as one should to friends so as not to give any false impressions, that it won’t be only the two of us but that other friends are coming too. I say yes, and we hang up. I had deliberately refrained from making plans in order to work at home that evening. Twenty minutes later she calls again saying it’s raining outside and that all of us should instead meet at a bar. So I go there, arriving five minutes late…and find that only she is there. Small talk and witty chat ensues. More interesting body language, touching my arm etc. I’m thinking the others should be arriving shortly. But nobody comes for more than an hour. I get mixed feelings about this spontaneous tete-a-tete encounter: did she deliberately organise it before the drinks in order to see me or was this just a result of the other friends always being late? Maybe it’s my ego talking (see link to article below re male and female bias when dating) but I’m inclined to believe the former. Then again maybe not. After a while her German Friend arrives, a very pretty tall blonde lady and so I find myself with two gorgeous women at a bar, much to the envy of the whole male population in the bar. I had promised to make it an early evening so after the rest of the gang has arrived and we’ve had some drinks and it’s midnight, I decide to go home to be fresh for all the serious and important work I have to do on Saturday.
Walking home I run into BiertjeMan and Gay Peruvian who are marching inappropriately like SS soldiers up and down an alley near my house. Hilarious. And of course I cannot just go home and so find myself visiting three more places. At one bar we invent a game. We summon the barmaid, a busty seemingly clueless blonde whose boyfriend is sitting at the bar playing with his laptop (odd). The game is very simple: we ask who of the three of us is gay and who is straight. Gay Peruvian is somewhat surprisingly (because he’s rather flaming) declared straight. BiertjeMan, the barmaid says, “is not as easy”. She goes for “probably straight but not sure”. Much laughter ensues. My turn, and I’m in dread as this woman’s gaydar is obviously in need of maintenance. Here she’s completely certain – gay. Even more laughter ensues, though on my part it is a forced and rather uneasy one. My God. This however leads to a Great Plan and at the next place the three of us are playing gay for the evening. Gay Peruvian and myself are a couple and BiertjeMan is our hang-around. I need perhaps not explain how amazingly popular we suddenly become with the women we meet. It was ridiculous. Guess it has something to do with women letting down their defences (also pejoratively known as ‘bitch shields’) when they meet supposedly gay men.
Fast forward to yesterday. Birthday Party of A Kiwi. A Very Long and Late Evening with A Lot of People. During which Danish and I dance – we dance really well together (and we all know what that means) – and there’s the odd “innocent” hand-holding as we pass each other in the party. At a certain moment very early in the morning she half sits/lies on one of those Fat Boy™ sacks. I lie down sideways, placing my head on her tummy and she starts caressing my arm. Well this was 4 a.m. but still. Next thing, she and I and another friend share a taxi home. Friend gets off first and then as we’re approaching my stop I say “Perhaps a cinema tomorrow evening?” She’s positive to the idea but adds, almost as if she feels that she has to, that we should check with other people as well.
Analysis. Clearly Danish and I suffer from Unclarity, a known dating-related disorder. We’re in that weird land when it’s not yet clear if we’re going to go down the Friends Route or if we’ll to try that rather more interesting, but certainly more uncertain Dating Path. It’s a fact that both men and women decide fairly quickly upon meeting a new person if they could date that person. And because Danish and I have not spent that much time together, we’ve not yet had the chance to find out which of the two ways we will choose. Add to this the fact that we’re both in this rather close, if extended and nebulous, group of friends and things become more complicated. I’m not saying that this in itself militates against dating – we’re definitely mature enough to handle such things as the awkwardness which may occur after having finished dating should it not work out. What I mean is that being in a group of friends complicates things slightly because it does constrain as more than only the connection between the two of us is, potentially, at stake should things go sour. For clean dating it’s really better to meet people who are either entirely outside, or at least more peripheral to, one’s group(s) of friends. But the problem with Danish and me is that we’re now starting to accumulate time together and unless the Unclarity is cured, we’ll automatically slide into the LJBF Land. I therefore feel I will have to be clear with her in my behaviour and approach that I’m interested. Then we’ll see where that goes.
On the topic of dating logic and how we fool ourselves when looking for a (short-term or long-term) Mate, here’s an interesting article Irish gave me the other day. Some really interesting conclusions. And it got me thinking, especially this bit:
“Men and women selectively tune into the noisy channel of opposite-sex interest depending on their own gender-specific needs: Men scan for sexiness and availability; women scavenge for clues to personality and commitment readiness.”
I have to be honest. Sure, I’m looking for a girlfriend, or actually a girlfriend+ since it’s somehow about time I got settled (or is it? That’s a topic for a later post I think), but one has to start somewhere. But as a man, I’m still very much driven by a desire for short-term commitment and sex. This is the honest truth. When I go out, like yesterday at the party, I feel that I look at women, including Danish, not as “potential long-term partners” but as “targets for short-term pleasure which may develop into something long-term”. This is how la parisienne and I began. In fact, it’s how my last two relationships began. I am wondering, if not doubting, if it is such a smart move to go about dating this way and I feel caught in-between these two desires. I’m not sure if women feel the same way – according to the article, “women [...] tend to rally for an earlier commitment” than men, something which creates the apparent collision course of interests. But from a man’s point of view it’s tricky because we’re supposed to be seen as sexual beings, rather than nice guys, in order to attract women. The nice guy thing, which is latent in all men except rapists and mentally ill individuals, can always be brought out later. Oh well, and as I’m writing this I get a text from Danish about tonight and movies. Sorry gotta go and reply.
Well that famous old song should’ve been called “Oh what a weekend” to properly illustrate my life since Friday. Who-ha! Where do I start?
Remember how I was to have dinner with little officer + fiancée, Football Player, and perhaps K, the girl who’s a long-time friend of little officer’s fiancée’s? Well, as I was given K’s number a little too late on Thursday to call and ask about the dinner, I decided to text her instead. After a suitably nice and charming message ending with an offer to call her in the morning with more info, I sat waiting eagerly by my mobile (and, incidentally, watching the movie “Prime” – uneasily applicable to myself and la parisienne, sigh). K’s reply was almost too quick and said that she unfortunately had plans. I was slightly confused so this week I brought it up with my sound-minded friend Irish. My confusion stemmed from an assumption of mine (and I know that when you assume you make an ass of u and me) that the dinner had been a done deal, considering that the fiancée had really pushed me to contact K. Sure, part of my feeling was a bit of rejection or, um, miff (or whatever the noun is) about not getting K to join, but that’s ego. More importantly, I was wondering if Irish really thought that little officer’s fiancée and K had not discussed the blind dinner date and me when they had celebrated New Year’s together. Irish said that little officer’s fiancée had probably “lied” to me when she said this. Of course they had talked, she said adding several exclamation marks! It had just been one of those “lies” in order not to divulge what girls say to each other about boys. Anyway…if it’s true it’s a bit of a weird behaviour. I have therefore decided to put K on the shelf.
The dinner on Friday however was a nice affair. Fast Lieutenant and Lady M also joined and so Football Player and myself found ourselves at dinner with two engaged couples. This was in itself not a problem as they are friends and it’s cool that they’re engaged and, therefore, relationship-wise accomplished. Though at a certain point during the dinner after the Xth bottle of Allesverloren I sensed that also Football Player (who’s currently single) had had enough of the fairly regular smooching on both coasts of the table. I mean what is it with newly-engaged people? It’s like they really cannot have anything better to eat, nibble or lick than each other’s tonsils. Yuk. And at the dinner table! Really. Anyway all in all, we committed an excellent dinner together, and managed to follow it up with an equally excellent evening/night. Though no chica for me (or Football Player).
As lame as it may seem, I have asked both little officer and Fast Lieutenant to keep their eyes open for suitable ladies for me. They know what I’m looking for and that while I currently live in another country, I’m certainly the kind of person who would not hesitate to fly home every weekend if that’s what it would take to find out if a girl’s interesting (plus at the moment I can afford doing so). So far the only one who’s bitten the bait was K. Fingers crossed.
Now rapidly onwards to Saturday, the day which I arrived here at my undisclosed location with X-mas presents, Russian souvenirs and lots of dirty laundry. For those of you who know your Julian calendar, Russians celebrate their “Old New Year” on 13-14 January, with Christmas being celebrated one week earlier. This meant that I literally flew straight into an ongoing Russian Christmas Party organised by Marinsky and Russian Cleavage. There, I found a very Cute Canadian (and in fact I think I will nickname her that). Very intelligent and quick-witted, if somewhat anal. Something which she happily volunteered when she described her Christmas vacation which she had planned in a way that would have made General Patton green with envy.
Anyway, as we’re chatting and getting along really well in walks Danish, who has just spent the better part of four hours playing four games of squash. Bloody hell, was pretty much all I was thinking. Finally a girl who really likes to do sports. Rare. Anyway, she also happens to be good friends with Cute Canadian and so the three of us chatted away and I was all witty and funny without dominating the conversation too much and without overtly hitting on either of them because I really wanted to attract both their interest rather than force myself upon them. Well you know how it is at a party. Inebriation ensues though at this party it was controlled until Russian Cleavage brought out the vodka chessboard. Just after that I got a moment alone with Danish and she told me (most likely because her tongue had become untied by the liquor) straight up that in the beginning she had thought I seemed “boring”. I had to ask her once more to repeat because I really couldn’t believe my ears. Me? I smiled my mocking smile and she added quickly and totally endearingly “but I see I was very wrong”. Good save. So we danced, and danced. A lot. And my she’s a fox, what a body! Plus she’s strong-willed and independent, which I like.
All went really well until some other dudes started interfering. Or perhaps I was the one interfering considering I’m sort of the new dude in the gang and she may very well have had built-up channels to other guys (at least two of whom were there that night) before I joined the group. So it didn’t take long before she snogged a short not too attractive Aussie with spikey hair in the corridor leading to the kitchen (oh how romantic. Not). Oh well, I thought, your loss. I’ll bide my time and dance with Cute Canadian.
So more dancing and my oh my, even more foxy! She danced like a white R’n'B back-up vocalist, amazing moves. Well at this time we were well past 2 a.m. and so we had jelly legs and felt daring. Which probably explains why she and I crashed, me on top (184cm muscles; kidding) with my back towards her, right onto the side of the coffee table which was suitably pushed into a corner. Bruises on her shoulder and neck and she probably hit her head too a little. Did I feel like an IDIOT? Yes, do a wiki of the word and you’ll see my picture. Daauuum. Of course two guys immediately stepped up adding helpful advice, like we must not let you fall asleep tonight because you’ve got a serious concussion and may die if you close your eyes. Etc etc. Innuendo. I felt less than happy, partly because I hadn’t controlled myself better and but mainly because these guys would not let me care for her, a need I had to show her that I really wasn’t such a clumsy loaf. But alas they would not let me, so I got pissed off and extracted myself from the party after a little while.
Of course there’s a new year’s party this weekend as well and I really have no clue how to behave at that one seeing that I may very well have been stamped persona non grata by a large chunk of the people in this gang. Though Marinsky seems to like me still as she suggested drinks tonight (hurrah).
What else has happened? Oh yes, the g-reat news! Barbie. Is. Single. Ta-daa! What shall I do? The daring approach, going in with guns blazing (and then meekly asking if she’d like to join for a coffee?)? Or wait a bit and see if we meet at work and a more spontaneous conversation could ensue around, for instance, what she did over the Christmas holidays (though I suspect the honest answer would be “I broke up with/got dumped by my boyfriend”). Ugh. Not easy.
What say you, people? How quickly after a break-up can you approach them? Should you lie and pretend you know zero about it? Gimme something to work with here.
Kiss, peace, love and understanding
I don’t know what I have done to deserve this but my life is since a few months filled with Russians. The ones I know are all women, young, pretty well educated, sexy and work in the oil industry. Lots of potential for sure. One is particularly interesting though I fear we’re in the LJBF zone, not through any fault of either of us. We shall see if it will change in 2007. Anyway, there is a benefit in befriending Russians (and I say this with full awareness of my recent experiences with the Russkies in St Pete’s) and that is that they follow the Orthodox calendar and celebrate, if they follow it strictly) Christmas on 7 January and New Year on 14 January. In addition to our New Year. So upon returning to my second country on Saturday I’ll have the pleasure of going to a Christmas party at Russian Cleavage’s. Then a week later it’s New Years at Marinsky’s. Again.
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