In a jam packed week I managed to go out with two guys between all my other engagements (school, shopping, and sightseeing). My first date was a disappointment mostly because this guy seemed to have so much potential. Wednesday night Officer save the world picked me up at my flat at about 8pm and we headed out for pizza at a place called Bogart's. He asked me what I wanted on my pizza and when I asked if I could have half without meat, he seemed puzzled. Eventually he let it slide, like being passively accepting the rational of a child whose mind can't be swayed due to insolence. It bothered me, but what bothered me more was that reflecting on the night, he didn't ask me one question about myself. Not one. Doesn't that seem odd?
He took me for a drive out to see all the "views" of Sydney, which were breathtaking and pretty romantic, especially under a canopy of upside down constellations. But I wasn't feeling the awkwardness that had settled between us. We sat on a bench, while he "pushed" me into making out with him. As he pushed into me, I pushed away. It was so irritating. I just felt like the whole time he was going through the motions. When he suggested he come over so "we can be naughty" (who says that???), I told it wasn't going to happen because I barely knew him. I used to think that guys who wanted to sleep with a girl by the fourth date were being pushy. Thankfully he hasn't called. Apparently, in Sydney, I'm a prude to think I should at least know a few details about a guy before I sleep with him.
To make cheer myself up, I answer the persistent text messaging of my Verona boy, and when he asks, "can i see you?" I text him and tell him I'll meet him in the city. I can't help but smile around him, his big blue eyes, his mop of loose curly hair, and between us barely a sentence in one language. I don't know much about this boy, who is slightly younger than myself. We head to the boardwalk, grab a coffee and he tries, despite the barriers, to find out a little about me.
He's pretty sweet and I can't resist when he leans in for a kiss. It's kind of endearing to see us, both speaking to each other in a different languages. In all this struggle to communicate, there is an absence of deception, and something refreshingly forward. "When can I see you again?" He asks. I'm not sure this is going anywhere but where I find myself right now. When I get home, an Italian text message on my phone is as transparent as it gets in this silly upside down world, "Mi piaci molto! xx" (I like you a lot). I think I'll take Officer save the world's advice and embrace this moment.
Friday
Sunday
while i was waiting
I've been waiting patiently during the past week for the handsome pauper to call me and still no avail, although it hasn't fully been nine days yet. If this is some sort of test of my steadfastness I'm sure I've failed. I've been racking up a handful of potential alternatives, at lunches, on the train and in the pub. I never knew it could be this easy!
The first of these, a shy guy from Peru, I'm certain I won't date. He is very sweet and perhaps that is the problem. He invited a friend and I over for a lunch-party on a Saturday afternoon. He prepared the meal himself and even baked a cake. The entire afternoon he wore the look of, "it's all for you" proudly on his face. When he called the house a few days later to ask me out, I said I was surprised. He said, "I'm full of surprises!" I promptly nipped that one in the bud.
Then, on the way home from a massive hilly hike on the ocean's shore, and let's just say fully embodying the look, a cute tall boy with big blue eyes smiles at me. He says hello and I immediately recognize his accent, Italian. The train ride is full of broken languages, English: his, Italian: mine and coy smiles. He tells me he is going to Verona in April for his niece's christening. "Have you ever been there? You should come with me." I didn't consent to the trip, but I did give him my phone number when he asked. Verona in April does sound nice!
Yesterday, a swarm of guys surrounds our table. For some reason the underdog has my eye. When I ask him what he does, he says, "I save the world." I almost spit my drink out my nose. Turns out this fair haired, Australian is a police officer and what he is lacking in game, he surly made up in his ability to make me laugh. He coerced me onto some silly dancing. He even sent me a fully coherent text message shortly after we parted complete with punctuation. I think I could like him.
My pauper better find his fingers dialing my phone number soon because apparently this city is full of surprises!
The first of these, a shy guy from Peru, I'm certain I won't date. He is very sweet and perhaps that is the problem. He invited a friend and I over for a lunch-party on a Saturday afternoon. He prepared the meal himself and even baked a cake. The entire afternoon he wore the look of, "it's all for you" proudly on his face. When he called the house a few days later to ask me out, I said I was surprised. He said, "I'm full of surprises!" I promptly nipped that one in the bud.
Then, on the way home from a massive hilly hike on the ocean's shore, and let's just say fully embodying the look, a cute tall boy with big blue eyes smiles at me. He says hello and I immediately recognize his accent, Italian. The train ride is full of broken languages, English: his, Italian: mine and coy smiles. He tells me he is going to Verona in April for his niece's christening. "Have you ever been there? You should come with me." I didn't consent to the trip, but I did give him my phone number when he asked. Verona in April does sound nice!
Yesterday, a swarm of guys surrounds our table. For some reason the underdog has my eye. When I ask him what he does, he says, "I save the world." I almost spit my drink out my nose. Turns out this fair haired, Australian is a police officer and what he is lacking in game, he surly made up in his ability to make me laugh. He coerced me onto some silly dancing. He even sent me a fully coherent text message shortly after we parted complete with punctuation. I think I could like him.
My pauper better find his fingers dialing my phone number soon because apparently this city is full of surprises!
Thursday
maybe now you can understand...
I was doing some media monitoring for an assignment when i randomly (and for the internet, i have to say it is quite the feat!) fell upon this comment:
"London Boy from Canada writes: We are talking about spending tax payers money on anti-spam technology implementaton. We are dicussing this when there are children in Ontario going to school hungry, when seniors are waiting in prolonged hospital lines, when the canadian winter is gearing up and homeless persons are in desperate need of space and blankets. whatever happened to priorities?
Posted 18/10/06 at 8:35 PM EDT"
Maybe now you know why its so hard for me to let him go.
"London Boy from Canada writes: We are talking about spending tax payers money on anti-spam technology implementaton. We are dicussing this when there are children in Ontario going to school hungry, when seniors are waiting in prolonged hospital lines, when the canadian winter is gearing up and homeless persons are in desperate need of space and blankets. whatever happened to priorities?
Posted 18/10/06 at 8:35 PM EDT"
Maybe now you know why its so hard for me to let him go.
Sunday
my first kiss down under
I know it's been a while, but moving to a new country is a big deal, especially with all the shenanigans I've put up with in the last month. But the storm is finally starting to settle and I did have a slightly romantic escapade yesterday.
I was having a splendid night out on the town, scantily clad, in a busy bar overlooking the harbour where the champagne (I use that term loosely) flowed cheaper than domestic beer. In full party mode we are dancing to the music, taking a million candid shots and toasting to the glories of this strange down under. One of my friends, seizes a guy for a cigarette, noticing her manners were less than becoming and drunkenly devoted to protecting our diplomatic reputation, I apologize.
Mid "sorry" I realize that this guy is dreamy. His friend says, "Ah, your mate is crazy, but you seem sweet. Ain't she a sweet one?" And the tall, dark and handsome one I'm eyeing says, "she must be an angel." Cheesy, I know! But if you knew how unbelievably SHY Australian guys are, you would also realize that this is the equivalent to putting a dime in a slot machine and winning the jackpot.
Before I know it, this (half-Italian) Aussie is wooing me in my grandparents' language with the one line he knows and making me laugh. "I want your number so I can take you out, but you have to wait nine days because I'm starting a new job, can you wait nine days?" I pretend this may be a problem, "hmmmm," I say turning to his friend, "is he worth the wait?" I have a feeling he might be, even if he is a penniless pauper, he looks like a prince!
As one of my friends said, he looks a smidge like my london boy and my knight-and-shining-disguise rolled into one, but apparently when this was brought to my attention with a raised eyebrow, I enthusiastically replied, "I don't care! I luuuuv him!" He was adorable, especially when he teased, toyed and tempted me, all the while holding my hand (who does that?).
We slip away for a moment and as he kisses me the crowded confusion disappears. And what a kiss! It makes the scene in the Notebook look like a peck on the cheek! In fact, my giddy inability to stop blushing is further evidence to this point. When we return, his friend says, "oh look at you kids! I can't wait for the big Italian wedding, it won't be long until you have all those Italian babies." "Four," my princely pauper announces and I give him a surprised glance, "okay two," he says. I concede, "no, four is fine by me."
It takes a while to tear myself away from him, but the threat of not securing a cab and sleeping in the streets eventually persuades me to reason. So with a peck goodbye, I scrambled into a cab for the long (and expensive) journey to my bed.
I was having a splendid night out on the town, scantily clad, in a busy bar overlooking the harbour where the champagne (I use that term loosely) flowed cheaper than domestic beer. In full party mode we are dancing to the music, taking a million candid shots and toasting to the glories of this strange down under. One of my friends, seizes a guy for a cigarette, noticing her manners were less than becoming and drunkenly devoted to protecting our diplomatic reputation, I apologize.
Mid "sorry" I realize that this guy is dreamy. His friend says, "Ah, your mate is crazy, but you seem sweet. Ain't she a sweet one?" And the tall, dark and handsome one I'm eyeing says, "she must be an angel." Cheesy, I know! But if you knew how unbelievably SHY Australian guys are, you would also realize that this is the equivalent to putting a dime in a slot machine and winning the jackpot.
Before I know it, this (half-Italian) Aussie is wooing me in my grandparents' language with the one line he knows and making me laugh. "I want your number so I can take you out, but you have to wait nine days because I'm starting a new job, can you wait nine days?" I pretend this may be a problem, "hmmmm," I say turning to his friend, "is he worth the wait?" I have a feeling he might be, even if he is a penniless pauper, he looks like a prince!
As one of my friends said, he looks a smidge like my london boy and my knight-and-shining-disguise rolled into one, but apparently when this was brought to my attention with a raised eyebrow, I enthusiastically replied, "I don't care! I luuuuv him!" He was adorable, especially when he teased, toyed and tempted me, all the while holding my hand (who does that?).
We slip away for a moment and as he kisses me the crowded confusion disappears. And what a kiss! It makes the scene in the Notebook look like a peck on the cheek! In fact, my giddy inability to stop blushing is further evidence to this point. When we return, his friend says, "oh look at you kids! I can't wait for the big Italian wedding, it won't be long until you have all those Italian babies." "Four," my princely pauper announces and I give him a surprised glance, "okay two," he says. I concede, "no, four is fine by me."
It takes a while to tear myself away from him, but the threat of not securing a cab and sleeping in the streets eventually persuades me to reason. So with a peck goodbye, I scrambled into a cab for the long (and expensive) journey to my bed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)