“Did that shit just really happen to me…”
Sitting there dumb founded over what just transpired I realized that I have moved back to Beirut after all these years, yet somethings have not changed. Dating here is such a miserable, tiring experience, that it could give a Care-Bear depression and a Prozac prescription.
But let me rewind a month and put you in the picture.
It is February 7th, I’m out and about with a bunch of friends and everyone if moaning about being alone on Valentines day. The day invented by the card company Hallmark to remind their non-customers how shit life is without a reason to buy their terrible products that never really suit the occasion but manage to deliver on the saying “It’s the thought that counts”.
As the evening wore on this topic would not die gracefully. Being a man of initiative, I announce that I am gonna hold an Anti-Valentines day party at my place and only singles are invited. Immediately I see that there is momentum here as people announce that they will make cake or bring cheese, or know a lawyer that is cute and could set up with so-an-so.
So, the pressure is on. I go back to the house and make a little flier to suite the occasion.
After a quick brainstorm I come up with a funny theme. At least in my world the idea of holding a teaddy bear hostage is funny. Even as a child I wanted to cause pain to the annoyingly optimistic characters on Care-Bears, who are they to be so happy all the time.
After posting the event on Facebook, the RSVP’s start piling in. Since I made it a open invite, within 5 days I had a ~100 people that “might” come. As per the usual Flake-out rate in Beirut, about 45% show up.
As everyone is standing around drinking red wine and eating various smelly cheeses, suppressing that farts that arise from the combination I spot the target. Their in my very own living room is a tallish blondie with tits for days and legs that suggest a lovely boom-boom is attached. After a quick once over I can tell she is either not from town or new, which is perfect for me since I’m in the same boat. So, walking over to talk I grab a bottle of Rosé to offer a refile and make transverse the battle field for an approach.
Me: “I noticed you need a refill, would like some more Rosé…?”
Her: “OMG, thank you so muuuch, i really love your apartment…”
Me: “Oh, thank you very much. I just moved back to Lebanon from Madrid and saw this place… blah-blah blah-blah blah-blah blah-blah blah-blah blah-blah blah-blah”
Her: “blah-blahblah-blahblah-blah OMG blah-blahblah-blah OMGblah-blah OMG…”
Now, I use the phrase “blah-blah”, because this was a retarded conversation. No depth, nothing interesting, and completely forgettable. Nevertheless, beautiful babylons and a butt that required further investigation make me take her number and arrange for a date. Then I quickly escape and find someone else to talk to.
So, fast forward to date night.
Meet was set for MyBar at 10:30. I decided drinks not dinner so either one of use could escape if it got too painful (a practice that apparently is not understood her and apparently means you want a cheap screw?!?!).
As she walks in I am quietly delighted that I was right about the butt, it looks great. However, 10 min into the conversation I am remembering why we didn’t talk more when she was over at my place. She does not really have an opinion on anything, no job, tells me her dad is rich though so she does not care for one and she is on her BlackBerry all night.
Me to the Bar Tender: “Buddy, if you see this glass empty fill it up to the rim with Glenn..”
Needless to say this is an extremely painful conversation. I’m so drunk at this point that urge to stab myself in the ear is gone, but replaced with single urge to bounce those boobies. Sorry, but this is what men think when all else is lost.
Making my move we start kissing which was definitely a step up from talking but the collogen in her lips feels like I am wrestling with rubber shoe-laces. I’m a forgiving guy, so I order the check and suggest we go to my place, which received an “OMG, ‘Blah-Blah’ ok!”
Check arrives…. $275 USD. Ouch. Trying not to think about how I could have flew to Turkey to see a much cooler girl. I pay and tip well for the great service. After all the bar tender saved me from self mutilating my ear.
Arriving at mine, I waste no time at all. Before I know it we are on the couch and my boys below are cheering me on. Exploring the various plastic surgery areas of her body I am content that the evening got at least this far and there is surly more to come….
Then the damn BlackBerry rings which is followed by her loud “OMG!!!”
Her: “Remember that guy I told you about and how I love to fall for assholes???”(Admittedly I have a vague recollection of this but was not really paying attention. )
She then proceeds to give this guy directions to my house as I lay there with one hand on the butt and the other on the tittie for maximum return on investment and completely dumb founded.
Now, I am a little drunk at this point. But I can’t really believe this is happening and I almost think it is a joke. Yet, 10 min later there is a nice Mercedes out sit with a chubby little guy smoking a cigarette waiting for this self-destructive simpleton to come scurrying down.
She thanks me for the evening and then asks why I look upset… But after asking “really???” for the third time I just shut the door and go sit on the couch in silence.
Ladies & gentlemen please fasten your seat-belts. We have just lost cabin pressure.
“Did that shit just really happen to me…”