Be Careful What You Wish For...

Now this is a post I have been contemplating for some time, but the horrific experience made me reluctant to relive it. However, B's freedom of posting has given me courage to divulge perhaps the worst love life experience I (or another) could ever have had.

Last year I happened across an email sent from myself to a friend sometime before I embarked on a working holiday in the Whitsunday Islands in Australia- a couple of summers ago. It basically went on and on about the exotic foreign stud I was going to be snapped up by and whisked away by in order to escape the cold Christchurch winter. As I read this I shook my head and wondered how this dream could have gone so wrong. How could I have been so naive?

Lets recap.

Beautiful island, sun, sand, and a group of attractive young staff from various countries meant that my dream of having an exotic holiday romance could come to fruition. Multiple romantic (and not so romantic) encounters with the opposite sex including; a resort guest, an English bar tender, and a vegetarian crazy type from a neighbouring resort created an exciting month. Then one night the Portugese room-mate of the English bar tender made advances toward a rather intoxicated me. Although initially hesitant, the night somehow ended down at the jetty with English bar tender looking for me.

After the night at the jetty, a night at the back beach, and numerous other encounters led to Portugese pressuring me to be his girlfriend. Although I came across many pictures one day of a girl on his computer, and he said it was his ex who had slept with his best friend so he had come to the island. I felt bad for him and as the Portugese was the 'cool' guy on the island who EVERYONE liked and had an amazing body I succumbed to this pressure and said I would be his girlfriend. BANG, somehow an innocent holiday romance had become something more. I was devastated when he returned to his home on the Gold Coast- and I was convinced that this was the real deal.

This 'real deal' though was not so much the case after he made several trips to NZ and I had a trip to AUS. However, all he was when he was in AUS was a voice on the end of the phone, or nice gifts sent in the mail. I was a little concerned when I received a 14 page (yes 14 page) letter declaring his undying love- but hey he was far away and I did not have to deal with the reality. I lived my own life when I was at home, and had nice holidays to Noosa on him when I was in AUS. Win/win I thought!

Then he booked me flights over for his graduation. His parents were also going over from Portugal. From the get go I was a bit worried- he had only bought me a flight to AUS, not a flight home. Strangely, when I raised my concerns he got angry that I already wanted to go home. Other problems arose involving his jealous tendencies when I mentioned a good guy friend was also over for the week- he actually found my phone when I was not there and rang the guy in question and said some threatening words. Alarm bells also were ringing when a few days later I still did not hav a flight home. In the end I had to call my parents to bail me out and when I got on that plane I gave a sigh of relief especially after receiving over 10 phone calls once I had gone through customs with the Potugese crying into the phone saying how sorry he was. Yes, crying.

However, despite expressing that I no longer had feelings for him, and we would never be together EVER AGAIN, Portugese arrived in NZ to win me back.
He had his own accommodation and I felt bad he did not know anyone so I said I would try and be his friend nonetheless. Unfortunately, he did not seem to understand and the second day he was here, he went and bought me expensive lingerie. Not what friends do I tried to tell him, but this was only the beginning.

From then on I had to deal with him on my doorstep when I arrived home from town at 5am on a Saturday night (luckily a friend was with me), him crying when I said it made me scared to be around him and I did not want to see him again, him demanding all gifts he ever gave me back, him texting me and calling me ALL the time to say spiteful things like how being single got him a threesome in the weekend, him pretending to leave the country in order to spur me into stopping him (instead I expressed my relief yet again and said it was for the best), him turning up at work randomly, and much much more.

Nice right?

Eventually it took a facebook message to his mother (yes the whole damn family had added me on facebook) outlining this craziness to put a hold on it. I would still hear from him randomly up until I changed my phone number- it was like he was fully mental and did not realise what he had done.

But it still gets worse. Turns out that he not only lied about his ex-girlfriend sleeping with his best friend so he broke up with her- they were together the entire time he was on the island and he arrived home to her with millions of pictures of me and said see you later. But he also was sleeping with many random girls while I was in NZ. This was while he was calling me every day and writing me letters. I had somehow been sucked in by a complete and utter nutcase.

He is gone now (as of last year) and I have long since changed my phone number so he is completely erased. That is an actual picture of my worst nightmare. Why do I still retain this you ask?

It is a reminder; all that glitters is not gold. Handsome is as handsome does. Ah you get the gist.

S

What's in a Text?

Ah the mighty text machine. It makes life so easy...or does it? I frequently find myself in problematic situations because my fingers tend to do the talking. Take the other night for example. Somehow an innocent thank you for the coffee text turned into something fair seedier and unintended.This actually embarrasses me as I am not one to endorse 'text flirting' or 'text sex' as referred to by some. Anyway as a bit of background:

I have recently begun to wonder if the reason I do not have a boyfriend is because I like to have boys doing things for me. I mean I could easily go and buy lollies or a coffee myself- but I prefer to have them brought to me so I do not have to leave the library/house/room. It is rather a skill of mine to successfully coerce members of the opposite sex (who are not romantically involved, nor ever will be) into doing things for me- all without sounding like a wanty/needy cow. All in all, I have created a sort of harem whom I can call upon in times of need, or just down right laziness.

Thus, the other night in the library I get a coffee delivered to me from Broadcasting Boy (who so owed me after texting me on a Sat night for a wine AFTER he and his girlfriend had broken up as mentioned earlier). He looked cuter than I remembered. Anyhow, after a nice text from yours truly to politely thank him for ferrying a coffee to me at a university he does not even attend- I get a reply querying whether I am still at the library and that he had packed in the documentary he was working on to watch Go Girls on demand. I would have been invited but he was naked and in bed. Now, instead of either taking the piss for him watching such a female themed show or not replying at all- the delirious me jokes that maybe I would like that. HMMMMM. The ensuing texts all went on rather suggestively from this point, until I got bored and went to bed.

I have not heard from him since. Go figure.

Other scenario's I am sure many are familiar with, include the inappropriate texts sent after a few wines...and after a bottle they tend only to get even more inappropriate. Mine are inappropriate in the fact the tend to be blatant booty calls to inappropriate men. In fact, I had a certain booty call boy where it would get to a certain time on a Sat night if neither of us had picked up and the text would be sent- 'Out?' Seriously, what a joke! Not a 'how are you' or anything showing an actual care factor. Straight to the point.

The cell phone- like facebook, is a tool for one to portray themselves in a manner they otherwise would not and to aid in picking up. I think it may be time for me to put some restrictions on my technology use, yes? Or stop encouraging creeps. Either or.

S

The International Element - Foreign vs Creepy

The beauty of living in a cosmopolitan city (well, at least compared to Christchurch) is that I am constantly meeting people of a variety of nationalities. however, while I love anyone with an accent, I have to wonder whether dating a foreigner long-term would ever be worth it. Yes, there is the thrill of the international element (and the outcries of jealousy from friends, whether or not the foreigner in question is actually an attractive option. Because let's face it, throwing the phrase my 'Italian/Spanish/Swedish lover' into conversation is always going to sound impressive) and the allure of communication carrying over cultural or language differences. But at the end of the day, who doesn't want to sit down and have a good bitch to their certain someone about the random crap from their day? Or send a lazy text that barely makes sense but you know they will understand? The effort required to date a foreign man must be balanced by his level of attractiveness, I feel.

This was not the case for Frank, unfortunately. However, he is a case study which proves that you CAN meet men in random places and people actually DO give their number out sometimes - I had previously thought this was restricted to cliched rom-coms only. Frank, 28year old cafe worker from Athens, manages the cafe directly opposite my apartment. The first time I entered the cafe with a friend, Frank struck up conversation; also undercharging us for our purchases. Upon discovering that I was a new member of the city, he offered to show me the city and give me a tour. I was both taken aback, distracted, and exhausted (having not yet consumed my coffee), so did not think anything of this.

A week passed. By chance, I entered the cafe again, and saw my new friend Frank. His boss informed me that he had 'been waiting for me all week.' I don't know how I missed this. Frank reiterated his desire to give me a tour of the city, gave me a free coffee, and even wrote his name and number on my receipt. All in all, a nice little romantic story. However, upon actually going out for drinks in Surry Hills, it turned out that Frank was loud, opinionated, and a little deranged (see: fond of yelling 'rape!' out the window of his car while speeding through Sydney on too many scotches). It might have been that I am ignorant of the particularly Greek sense of humour...but maybe he was just odd? How much can be attributed to culture, and how much to strange personality? Needless to say I haven't made it back to the cafe yet...and have been sneaking out the back entrance of my flat.

Which brings me to case study number 2: French man.
This one, again, started out just like a fluffy rom-com featuring me, instead of Jennifer Lopez. I met French man by chance in a friend's hotel lobby, where I was hurrying to after work to get ready for a dinner. "You are not Australian, because you dress so well" remarked a smooth, foreign accent behind me. This came from Sam aka French man - 26, Parisian and graphic designer. Attractive, thank god, in a dark, stubbly kind of way. Well-dressed. He struck up a conversation by the lifts; he paid me compliments, I made a poor attempt at French, he got my number. Success!! I thought smugly.

I then made the poor choice of exclaiming to all and sundry that I was going on a date with a Parisian/an older man/an artist/all of the above. Mum got excited. Unfortunately I was to learn that 'foreign with a sexy accent' does not equal 'man of my dreams,' and that even I cannot view a date from hell through rose-tinted glasses. Saturday: 5pm. I entered the swanky Meriton World Square apartments to meet Frenchie at his flat, in my best dress and new coat. Would we go somewhere fancy for dinner? My stomach rumbled in anicipation. Would he cook for me and ply me with French wine? Would we take a romantic walk down to Darling Harbour?

Answer: None of the above. The pain of this disaster date is still fresh in my mind (no matter how much comforting banana bread I consume); to explain it in detail would be too much to bear.
Highlights include: Frenchie's room, which he shared with a Japanese girl. Ohh no, I'm sorry - by 'room' I mean an enclosed balcony, divided into two, with sheets pegged together to act as a door. I've seen squatters with better digs. Another highlight was my dinner, which consisted of an apple, as Frenchie 'doesn't really eat lunch or dinner' (no wonder French people are so thin). Throw a socially awkward Korean flatmate, Peter, into the mix: 'You two look like you are going out. Are you going out? Are you going to go and kiss?' (2 minutes after I entered the door). Other high points include misogynistic comments re: girls playing soccer, then viewing a movie on a tiny laptop, followed by watching French man watch French political satire. Even if it was in English I doubt I would've got the joke/cared. After this we viewed something bordering on French porn. When I could take it no longer I threw myself towards the door on the pretext of 'catching my bus.' Which is when he finally tried to hook up with me.

Sorry Frenchie, it's not that I don't get your subtle French humour - it's just that you're a creep. PS I'm pretty sure a bite on the face doesn't constitute French kissing. PPS Wearing socks and sandals is NOT making an effort.

To settle or not to settle....that is the question

So, last night (yet another boozy Saturday) we were discussing relationships amongst other topical issues. I piped up with a truth I still hold to be evident: for me to get into another relationship before I reach 100, I believe I would have to settle.
I currently feel like the 'search' for a boyfriend is fraught with average Joe types who would be perfectly fine as boyfriends, but nothing exciting nor particularly fabulous. But really, do we need a fabulous man to hold our interest?

What provokes this query, was having a drink with an old player yesterday afternoon. I have always ignored the blatent interest J has shown in me, as I always found him kind of skeezy, and whilst not completely unattractive nothing wowed me about him. Anyhow, low and behold I am sitting down having a red wine after work with him- due to a rather misplaced text last weekend. However, the follow up from J was good- he suggested a catch up and he made it happen. Kudos.

Now I actually did not hate this encounter- and it makes me wonder, do we write off these average Joe's too fast? Should we be more open to giving them a chance?

Love S

Rebound Sorbet

While recently perusing the bookshelves of North Sydney library in my lunchbreak, I stumbled upon a book entitled 'The Between Boyfriends Book,' written by a woman who has also written screenplays for Sex and the City. Though I only got a quick flick, I picked up some real gems from this bright pink paperback, so I would highly recommend it to anyone who, like me, is "between boyfriends." (Cringe) Or to anyone who just needs a laugh.

A particularly entertaining read was the chapter describing the 'rebound sorbet' - the sweet, no-strings attached hook-up with a man post-breakup (not to be confused with a rebound RELATIONSHIP, which is never a good idea). The 'rebound sorbet' is a palate-cleanser, if you will; because, as the author so correctly puts it: 'You don't want your ex to be the last person you kissed.'

For me, this palate cleanser was Will, the British traveller. A month or two after fleeing Christchurch, I was feeling particularly forlorn and single, which stung even more in such a romantic city. Waterfront? Check. Fireworks at Darling Harbour? Check. Sunshine and beaches? Check. Boyfriend? Sadly no. My long-suffering flatmate finally declared: 'We are going out tonight and we are finding you a man to pash!' Though I felt a little like a 14 year old going to a school dance, I was also excited at the prospect of 'moving on.'

The alcohol consumed may have contributed to this excitement and lack of inhibition; neverthless, my clever flatmate spied just the man for me in Soho, a crowded nightclub. He was English, he was tanned, he was fresh from a Thailand trip (so likely to be a little wild), he called me 'Madam,' he was only in Sydney for a week - perfect.

Any memorable rebound sorbet stories out there? Though mine was perhaps not the most crazy or exciting palate-cleanser story, for me this was a big step (and a fun one). All in all, the night was just like a strawberry sorbet - sweet, light, satisfying, and with no sour after-taste.

your profile pic is nice BTW

For a guy to get your number, it used to be a big deal (unless out in town under the influence)...it used to mean something. Now tables have turned over recent years with the exploding popularity of social networking websites like Facebook. One only needs to search the individual they so desire and add as a friend with a witty, fun message, and then they can chat their way (shame free) into a date or something more.

I for one have had multiple problems with the ease Facebook gives to picking up. Especially as I seem to have a penchant for internet chatting. Such problems include:

#1 The random private message from some guy who I sold jeans to one time saying (amongst other things) that I should 'come hang with him and the boys sometime'.
#2 The private message with phone number included 'to meet up in town on Saturday' by a Facebook friend trying to take things to the next level.
#3 The private message saying I 'look familiar' and where do I 'live in Christchurch?' from a complete stranger with some Turkish name. I mean we all have encountered the strange foreigners who add friends with 'hot profile pics'.

All of the above may seem bad enough, but the worst of these encounters came from taking pity on a guy I got some notes off, but otherwise would not have given the time of day. Lets call him Doug. Not wanting to make it obvious I had only been friendly in order to get said notes I would embark on long and deep Facebook conversations with Doug. Yes, I can admit now I was guilty of enjoying being told multiple times how intelligent and good looking I was...I should have stopped it at the point where Doug would constantly talk about my long blond hair and try and touch it when I saw him.

Unfortunately exams were just around the corner and all the help I could get was required, so I endured this creepy behaviour. I mean having a hair fetish was harmless right?

WRONG. I began to get poems via email from Doug, he made me a CD with songs he 'thought I would like' on it; and then there were the stories. Short stories involving characters eerily similar to myself, and what Doug imagined he was like, arrived in my inbox. They had plot lines revolving around those of Mils and Boon.
OH SHIT I thought. However, I would write snarky poems back (yes I know I should not have indulged his creepy behaviour) and laugh off the similarities of the 'fictional' character Sandy with long sandy hair to myself.

Anyhow, I got much better marks than I expected in my exams and I have now deleted Doug off Facebook as a friend. Unfortunately, since Doug had my phone number I received some texts at 4am on a Saturday night:

- 'OMG I just realised what you did'
- 'You deleted me'

After not wanting to admit I had no idea a) who these were from as I had also deleted the phone number, and b) deleted from what; I generically replied. End of the story was that Doug was very upset I had deleted him, and I got a phone call to this effect last Saturday night at 2am. I sense a pattern. Unfortunately, I cannot recall the exact conversation that transpired (look it was late and I had been on the cocktails) and I got several texts saying he had always been there for me etc. A few days ago I replied to this saying it was inappropriate to call me at that time when I had been drinking and I get a reply:

- 'I know you want to be with me, you just need to cap the aggression'

Facebook needs to come with a user beware: WARNING- YOU ARE GOING TO BE EXPOSED TO COMPLETE WEIRDOS


love S

Because First Impressions Last

I have always been all about first impressions. Like it or not, when you first meet someone the way they look, dress, talk and behave are imprinted on your mind. I read a study once (or who knows, maybe it was in Cosmo) that women have usually made their mind up about a man 10 seconds into meeting him. But if I've learned anything from my 4-month single struggle in Sydney, it's that I should not be too quick to judge.

Enter friend of a friend and fitter/welder. Let's call him McTrashy. He was 'friend suggested' to me via Facebook (I could go off on a tangent about modern dating and technology but will refrain), got in touch, had a friendly chat which turned into a 'friendly dinner' later in the week at Darling Harbour. Not being entirely sure what 'friendly dinner' encapsulated, I dressed in a nice skirt and top (but not a dress), heels (but not my platforms) and nice but not OTT makeup.

This man turned up in his 'scumbag' work truck (his words, not mine), a t shirt and jeans. During dinner I discovered that a) he never finished high school, b) he didn't go to university or tech, c) he smokes like a chimney (though was respectful enough not to do it in front of me), d) he left NZ because he had a 'drinking problem' and e) he enjoys ecstasy on a weekly basis. The real crowning glory was when he asked the bemused maitre d' if they could take the parsnip out of the parsnip mash.

I would never judge on any of these points alone; however, being exposed to them all so truthfully and at such an early stage left me reaching for the red wine, and crossing this one off the dwindling list of male dating options. How discouraging.

Yet, despite the trash factor, it seems that I judged too early. The next weekend I found myself alone with McTrash for several hours at Ivy, having lost the rest of our group. Despite being a drunken brat, and not only asking him if he had herpes, but also declaring that he was 'the trashiest person I have ever met,' we had quite the insightful conversation.

Not only this, but McTrash turned out to be a bit of a diamond in the rough, and - crass language and casual drug use aside - quite the gentleman underneath. Examples include ditching his friends to meet me safely at the train station, paying my entry to the exclusive Ivy bar, buying me countless drinks, carrying my handbag and making me (a demanding drunk) a hot chocolate at the 24/7 at 4am. After telling me that he had 'fallen in love with my eyes' and paying me a ridiculous amount of compliments, I felt obliged to give him a kiss, (just one!) while also obnoxiously warning that we were "just friends, McTrashy, just friends."

This was perhaps my downfall, for after that one very nice kiss I felt a certain fondness for this trashy man...and realised that, damn it, I really cared about his feelings. It would be cruel to lead him on; to make him think I wanted to be his girlfriend. I knew that I must cut (or at least cut-down) the contact. Yet we kept being thrown together at drinks and ex-pat BYOS, and McTrash continued to worm his way into my affections, with numerous compliments, drinks, hugs, kisses, laughs and even a dinner for two at a nice Chinese restaurant at 2am, after a particularly hideous BYO meal in Chinatown.

Now I find myself wondering whether it is wrong to 'use' someone. Is it so bad to be keen for the odd back massage or spoon in winter? For a male companion to eat out with? What's the general consensus on this? I know girls, lovely ones, who have similar relationships all the time. I try to keep the boundaries clear, slipping the word 'friend' or 'buddy' into conversation and texts regularly.

I may have blurred these boundaries, however, by sleeping with him last weekend...

B

I am a Bad Person

Location: Christchurch

Now I have two persona's, the sober sensible me, and the intoxicated man-eater me.

Last night I went out. After some pressure from varying sources about getting some man action I was on a mission. Unfortunately, this 'mission' ended with a dirty pash outside the door to my house by a guy who was 'walking me to my door'. He has a girlfriend.

See, things like this make me so disillusioned about men. It also makes me feel like being single makes me a 'threat'...I am that girl other girls dislike. Not because I am some seductress, but because I am single, available and loose when drunk.

Anyway, it is again Saturday night. This time I am tipsy on cocktails, have some friends around and have action on the phone. (Despite taking some time out to write this...) So I have had a text from Broadcasting Boy who 2 weeks ago said we could not catch up now he has a new gf...anyway tonight I get a text asking me if I wanted to go round to his for a wine as 'it has been a while'. That is BULLSHIT. Nonetheless after some inquiry about how 'odd' it is he is inviting around for a wine after girlfriend disapproval, low and behold- they have broken up.

I am THAT girl. The one who is called upon when a relationship ends. I feel like I need a boyfriend so I am not that shameless hussy...home-wrecker...desperate time booty call...Oh God.

S

Just Friends?

I have a problem.

It involves putting men in the 'friend box'. I do it constantly. Now I don't mean my male friends who I have been friends with for years; I mean boys who are interested in me. I have made many so-called friends over the years and I am only learning now that the only reason these 'friends' stay around is because they keep thinking there will be something more, and that I will change my mind.

EXAMPLE: I lived around the corner from a guy I once was 'seeing' (due to the fact I did not want to be his girlfriend) and since that saga we had become very good friends. SO good we would see each other multiple times a day, every day. He would drop any other plans anytime I wanted to do something. In fact, we had a relationship in every single way except for the physical side of things. Anyway, I thought this was a normal friendship and would call him multiple Sunday mornings to pick me up from many awkward situations, or from town at 3am to pick me up (more than once). He always did this.
Now every now and again when I was completely inebriated I would accidentally hook up with him. Then would laugh about it to him the next day. This again all seemed normal. Thinking about it now I have no idea what possessed me to 'string' him along for the entire year upon the pretext we were just friends. Nonetheless he eventually got a girlfriend. Now I do not see or hear from him at all.

Many more scenarios from the passing years illustrate this bad habit I have of kissing various unsuitable boys and then telling them I just want to be friends. Sometimes we do become actual friends, and I have retained a surprisingly high percentage of these. Other times when the guy stopped talking to me and does not want to catch up once I break the news of being just friends, it would make me so angry. I just could not understand why we could not become great friends now that the awkward stage was out of the way.

The problem is now I do it without even realizing. The way I act, the way I talk, even the way I text guys is conducive to just friends. The friend box is overflowing, yet I cannot seem to stop adding new members. I feel like showing anything more than friends is too 'desperate', if I am not ruthlessly pursued then I am out. This is a habit I need to stop- I have enough friends and no love interests because I have efficiently either wiped them out or stuffed them into the box along with the other non-potentials.

I have a defense mechanism so good that I cannot stop it- any ideas?

love S

Damsels in Distress - General Musings

As I crawled, bleary-eyed, out of my apartment and down the still moonlit street to my bus stop at 6.30 this morning, I was suddenly faced with Theofino or 'Frank' - Greek cafe manager, 5 years older than I, and unfortunately not attractive (awkward gin-soaked date with Frank will be briefly outlined in future post, if I can bear to relive it). Not only had I not contacted him since our 'date,' my lack of caffeine and sleep meant that my conversation efforts were incoherent; my small talk punctuated by umms and ahhs, before the grand finale in which I called him the wrong name.
Frank did not seem to mind, though. He gave me a bear hug, warmed my hands and buttoned up my coat, reminding me with a worried look that I must keep warm and look after myself.
This is the point at which I could have gone down one of 2 paths; I was at a crossroads, if you will. I could have fluttered my eyelashes, looked down at my cold little hands and breathed: 'Thankyou, I do get so cold sometimes...' I realise now that such an action would probably have scored me a free ride to work in Frank's car, or at least a free skinny capp (apparently 'trim cappucino' is an unknown term here). Possibly a spoon.

In reality? I crossed my arms, gave a derisive snort and declared: 'I'm from New Zealand - we don't GET cold.'

It seems that my attempt to be 'tough' around men is pathological behaviour. Just last week, a nice young man in a suit offered to catch me a taxi in the city, as the streets were slippery with rain and I would need to 'be careful not to slip in those high heels.'
To which I retorted: 'HA! I can walk in heels for miles.' Should I have stumbled a little, looked up with a winning smile and fluttered my thanks instead?

There are many more examples, all which involve me disadvantaging myself in everyday life (including attacking my baked beans can with a steak knife for a full half hour tonight, instead of finding a strong man to prise the lid).

So I ask: is presenting yourself as helpless and weak the way to go? Or just a sell-out? Should I try for all the help I can get, and pride be damned? Opinions welcome.

B