Barbie, oh Barbie

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

Weekend round-up

Friday was an interesting evening. Met up with Da Gang for burgers and beers at our standard burgers and beers joint (though Mrs Tyrolean had to stay at home with Little Tyrolean). Fun all around. At a certain point during the dinner a friend, Gay Peruvian, arrives with two Peruvian female friends of his. Later I was to find out that the Blonde Peruvian was actively looking for A Man in Her Life. She’s 38 or so. Anyway, once they’re seated the whole conversation turns into Spanish. But quite a few of the burger companions do not speak that language and so we felt a little bit left out. Not to mention miffed about the fact that these people had just arrived and hijacked our nice time. When the Blonde Peruvian makes a move on me, I’m cool and ask her why her last name is German. Swiss, she corrects me, whereupon I ask her, Oh, when did your family move to South America? Intentionally , and I admit slightly rudely, I hinted to the move of many Germans, Austrians etc to countries in South America after WWII. Well, here the reason was quite ordinary and, also, her father had only moved there in the 60s. Perhaps for love, who knows, I didn’t pry further. I got the point across, however, that I wanted no more from her. Harsh perhaps, but hey it’s Darwinism in a way – she ain’t gonna mix her genes with mine. On Sunday in the sauna after a tennis match with my very good friend BiertjeMan, who incidentally is good friends with Gay Peruvian, I was told that apparently Blonde Peruvian had seen me as a very good Potential Mate, something which Gay Peruvian himself had also thought. Interesting.

Saturday offered more interesting developments. As mentioned earlier, Russian Old New Year was to be celebrated in style. First sushi dinner with some friends, including Danish, who was as ravishing as always. My oh my, there is something to be said for stay-ups. Seeing a glimpse of such at the slit of a nice black dress sends a man’s mind racing like crazy (and not down Gutter Lane as many girls might think). And she was very friendly and kept touching my arm at every little crap joke I pulled. Fantastic body language. Unfortunately she was slightly under the weather and would eventually pull out later that evening. But she’s still a Potential. I think I will ask her to teach me squash, which she plays. I only played it once and had enough of it because I kept running into the walls.

The actual New Years Party was ok, but not more than that. In a bar and completely unorganised. Most Ruskies were already shit-faced before midnight (one could assume that they’d celebrated according to Moscow time which was a few hours ahead, but this theory is unproven). Hungry Hungarian was there, now sporting a new hairdo which she was happy I noticed. But apparently I must have done something wrong because there was no vibe. At. All. Oh well. After gulping down some champagne (and, btw, we didn’t find any bolsheviks to shoot firecrackers at) some of us moved on to a Cuban club where we danced. The rest of the group went to another place and so that evening was pretty much fucked up.

Well that may not be entirely true. After we had left the Cuban place we found a late-night joint. With us was A Girl Called S, whom I went running a few times with a year or two ago. Haven’t seen her since actually but earlier that evening she was entangled with my friend Social Sarajevo. Anyway, here at the late-night joint she showed interest in me, suggesting that she and I start practising for the New York marathon. First reaction: say what? Second reaction: my that’s a bit blunt. Third reaction: how unattractive. Then, when two friends say that they’ve got engaged on New Years Eve and that they’re getting married in Africa, A Girl Called S blurts out that she’s going to crash their wedding on Zanzibar and be a witness at the ceremony. When informed that several witnesses are required by law in Tanzania, she says that I will be coming with her! She’s not drunk at all when she says this, having refrained from drinking all night. Moments later we’ve all left the bar and as I’m walking her to her door she says, still on the topic of the engagement, that “Everyone’s been engaged and broken it off. At least once.” First reaction: WTF?!? How inappropriate to say when a friend , and in fact a very good friend of hers, has just got engaged. Second reaction: ???? Third reaction: Ah, she wants to de-dramatise her previous engagement which she broke off. This led on to a discussion about the recent big break-up she’s gone through with her former fiancée with whom, thus, she once more got together. But this time it was he that dumped her. So I figured that I didn’t need more indications that she was, to say the least, in an unstable place, and so kissed her good night and made my way home to my big cold bed.

Fast forward to yesterday evening. After a great dinner at my place with Irish and a polish friend, I met up with Hungry Hungarian at a local pub. Since we first met in November, and with significant sms contact since, this is actually the first time we’ve talked together for longer than a few minutes. Following general PUA operating procedures we met in a bar and not at a restaurant, simply to make it easier to bail in case it turned into shit. Well, what shall I say? I should have left. While I find her physically attractive, she’s completely immature and there is nothing attractive in her as a person. She has no clue about anything, it seems, mainly due to lacking life experience. But I wouldn’t kick her out of the bed and with almost a month since last time…And this is interesting, she insisted on discussing her latest pottery class where a nude female model appeared several times. She was very careful to describe how the model had spread her legs to allow the students to sculpt her intimate parts. She also did follow on in my harmless discussions about porn, adding that she liked going to sex shows. Interesting.

So folks, here’s the weekend’s party post mortem: Danish is still on as Potential. Hungry Hungarian is demoted from Potential to Potential Shag. A Girl Called S doesn’t even make the list.