Rereading my last post, it’s weird how events from so many weeks that seem to drag out forever in real life are summed up in just a few paragraphs. I can assure you it wasn’t all that simple as it reads, a multitude of turmoil and confused emotions and ever-changing states along the way. I know I post most anecdotes on Facebook instead of writing it out here, but not about this, so you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Anyway, getting back to more recent events – I might add that I’m writing this from a tired, somewhat blue state on a Friday afternoon, which doesn’t do justice to the otherwise joyous occasion of the topic.
I met someone.
There, I said it. My job was sucking, my family was a work in progress, my relationship was essentially over, and then I met someone. By accident, of course. In the process of feeling free and single and ready to mingle, I went out to dance with some friends, with the firm intention in the back of my mind to have fun. And by that I mean fun, insert innuendo here. It was an evening of two clubs, one entrance fee and much rock. Mucho gusto. All my friends except one had turned me down, and the friend who was left had her own crowd. Introvert that I am, I didn’t put in much effort to get to know the other people. I was there to dance, drink, and dance some more (and consequently drink some more).
The first club was empty, but the music was ok, long lost indie-tunes of yore that reminded me of a wild summer when I would go out 2-3 times a week. That is where I learned to dance to the music, regardless of how many (or in this instance, few) people were there dancing with me. Still, after a while the others wanted to head over to the second club, which was in fact much better and totally packed. So the others went to give away their coats, I was still hanging on to the illusion I would find a corner to stuff mine in. As it became evident that that wouldn’t happen, I headed back up with one of the others who might have thought the same. Or might have been waiting for me, I’ll never know. Standing in line we talked and I was actually being friendly. The guy was funny, in fact, and quite charming and pretty tall and very confident (in a healthy, non-arrogant way). Talking turned into flirting, turned into buying drinks, turned into friends saying “I saw how he’s looking at you!”, turned into the friends staring when he put his arm around me, turned into dancing together and forgetting the others, turned into him kissing me. All this interspersed with flirting on the dance floor, very funny remarks, an imitation of Axl Rose and more drinks bought. In the end, most had left and I hadn’t noticed, until the hard-core rest, at about 5am, asked: “So, are you going to his place or yours?”. That’s the kind of friends I have.
The next morning – I’m skipping a bit here, because like Ross said on Friends: I’m not one to kiss and tell, but I’m not one to have sex and shut up about it either – we had originally planned to have brunch and then go walking in the forest along the river. His idea, not mine. How cute! Problem was, I had drank mulled wine, bad red wine, absinth, caipirinha and god knows what else. My stomach was not on it’s best behavior. And maybe it was a pinch of psychosomatic in there, seeing that I wasn’t 100% officially single… yet. So I called it off, sent him home after tea, and thought that would be that. Later that day, he asked if we wanted to meet up during the week. I thought, no harm in making new friends. Boy was I wrong. It was not planned for me to like him this much, and it all took a turn for the “You’re so screwed!” after that following Tuesday. I can see the rest of the story requires more posts, so I’ll only say this much: he had planned to take a world tour for a year, starting January 11th. And I knew this all along.
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED!