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

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.