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It’s been nearly a month since my last blog. Not because I had nothing to report (oh I do!) but because I’ve been in two minds whether to keep the blog at all. It was stupid to let 248am post the link on their site. To me, blogging has never been about getting as many followers as possible, it’s just my place on the web to vent, rant and look back and laugh at. Except having just looked back I’m five posts missing because I deleted them. Turns out there was no point in deleting them because people have guessed my identity. And that makes me feel weird. I’d tell people my blog stories over a drink anyway, I have nothing to hide, but I’ve heard people have been talking about me behind my back and that just makes me insecure and paranoid. So what if I had crap sex with a Kuwaiti? We’ve all had crap sex. So what if I fancy every single man they crosses my path for about five minutes? I’m so frustrated I’m cross-eyed but as soon as the hormone rush has gone I’ve found someone else to crush on.

A fellow blogger recommended I move the blog and take the subscribed followers with me. But this is already blog number two thanks to the trolling and hacking incident that occurred over on ‘The Last Single Girl’. Plus, why should I run away from doing what I enjoy; ranting to an empty space. If you’re reading it it’s because you’ve chosen to, not because I’ve asked you to. Don’t like it? Don’t read it.

My friends in the UK knew about the blog and were always complimentary, especially when it made the Cosmopolitan Magazine’s Blog Awards short list. Some may think I over share but my mates know the stories that don’t get published (as some ‘dates’ have had a lot more to lose than their pride). They also know I don’t put other peoples’ stories up unless I ask. I could tell you all sorts but it’s not my business.

No one knows what goes on begins closed doors. I’m only letting you peek through the curtains.

Life Lessons

So things have been a little quiet on the blog front, and for that I apologise. It’s not that I had nothing to say – I was just in hiding. You see, the wonderful Mark at http://www.248am.com asked me to guest post. I did, and he then drove 10 times more traffic than my lowly little blog usually gets in this region. Which caused me to panic, throw a blanket over my head and pretend no one in Kuwait was sat laughing at my tedious love life. Plus there was the risk of being ‘found out’ How could I turn up to work and face a room full of innocent young minds if there is gossip going around about what Miss Sis got up to on her holiday to Dubai? (This is also why I’ve locked Twitter down – I’m not being rude but I can’t risk people telling tales!)

But then when the feedback wasn’t negative, and no one text to say ‘I know it’s you’, I figured I was safe for a bit longer. It helps that I don’t socialize with people from work and I certainly don’t date there (believe me, you wouldn’t). I’ve fancied the same colleague for 12 months but am never going there. He knows too many people I know (doesn’t mean I don’t stare at his bum when I see him on the stairs though).

But, the dating desert is bound to get a little dryer now it’s back to the day job – if dryer is possible. So to fill my depressingly vacant weekends I called in the troops. Two British friends came to stay: one a confirmed bachelor (he thinks this makes him sound like Clooney) and the other a former single-girl-blogger like me that went and fell in love and got all happy. Of course, over most dinners the topic of conversation would turn to men, women, relationships, sex (or my lack of it) and ‘how to play the game like a pro’. As some of it was quite enlightening I felt I should share some of the life ‘tips’ that came out of it.

All girls are bat-shit crazy: Fact.

Yes, this is true. We wouldn’t be so crazy if men weren’t so stupid. If you like a girl, ask her out. If you don’t like a girl then stop contacting her. We get crazy when we can’t predict your next move and you’re being stupid. So stop it.

Hob-dating.

I love this idea. This idea would suit me down to the ground except there is one major drawback. I can’t find one man to date, let alone four.

The concept of hob dating is simple. You treat your dating arrangements like a cooker hob. You have the little burner, two medium burners and one big fiery one right? So you have four men on the go at one time… however…

The little one is early days, is casual and simmers lightly. This is likely to be coffee dates or that crush you flirt with at work. Nothing’s really cooking but it is warm.

The medium ones burn pretty much the same. They’re hotter and cooking better than the little one. They are dinner dates and cinema dates and you just can’t decide if they’re worth keeping on.

And then there’s the big one. The big one is the only one you get intimate with. This burns big. It’s hot, it’s heavy and it takes up a lot of gas. If the big one stays alight then you can turn off the other three. If the big flame goes out, you can juggle the pans and find a new little one.

Now if I was back in London I would be following this advice – and maybe having the power in this way would mean being a little less bat-shit? So who gave us this piece of wisdom? The Batchelor. But not because he has done it himself. He’s been the little pan that quickly got moved up to big pan status before a powercut. The girl was honest about it from day one, and if he’s honest the whole game was a bit of a turn on.

Once a cheater, always a cheater

This to me depends on age. When I was in my late teens I would snog other guys at parties whilst my boyfriend was at home and quite often overlapped one relationship with another. I was 16 and a serial cheat. Nowadays I have a different view. If I like someone enough to sleep with them behind a boyfriend’s back then I can’t like the boyfriend all that much (look at me using the B-word when I haven’t had one in years). I had the opportunity to cheat on The Ex with a crush I’d been flirting with for years but I never, ever acted on it. However one month after The Ex moved out…

You see, once a guy has got away with cheating, and does it more than once, he loses all feelings of guilt. And once the guilt has gone he no longer sees a problem in his actions and to him it’s not ‘cheating’, it’s ‘extra-curricular activities’. If he does get caught then he’ll go one of two ways. Remorse and promises to never ever do it again; or, he’ll learn from his mistakes and make sure he never ever gets caught again. Personally I would then be driven crazy trying to work out which one he was, so would have to walk away for my own sanity. You see, girls are crazy when men are stupid.

So what a cynical, unemotional bunch we must have been to listen to? Girls are crazy, men are stupid, seeing four people at one time is acceptable unless it’s a man cheating and then it’s the biggest sin of all.

But you don’t read this blog for logic do you?!

Ouch, my nipple

As I seem to date better (well, more) in Dubai I rounded up another for my most recent trip. I thought I might land two until I realised that the reason his Tinder pic looked so familiar is because it’s also his Twitter pic. Very hard to land a night with someone when they know their every move will be reviewed within the month. So I settle for the ‘maybe’ – the guy you pick on Tinder when you’re not feeling so selective. He seemed quite good on paper: good job (lawyer), nice apartment, not been in Dubai long (ie hadn’t slept with half or was likely to know anyone I knew) and wasn’t looking for anything too serious (perfect when you only work there a percentage of the time).

We tried to meet a couple of times but work got in the way. He then wanted to come to my hotel’s bar on a night a was grumpy and tired so I said no. The next night, following dinner with an old friend that wrapped up at 10pm I text him to say I was not far from his and would be in Kanpai having a cocktail should he want to meet. Of course he did.

He walked in, and around a bit, searching for me. There’s me thinking being the solo brunette at the bar might be a giveaway. He eventually found me and bought me another drink. I assessed him and apart from the awful jeans he was better in person. And in profile.

The chat wasn’t poor, it was just stilted. I’m not asking for an immediate intellectual connection at 10pm in a bar after I’ve put away a bottle of wine but I would like to feel like I’m not interviewing. Something told me he was bored, shy, bit clueless or just didn’t fancy me. But when he did speak he kept touching my leg; so maybe it wasn’t the last one.

After several rose martinis (me) and a couple of beers (him) we were talking about shisha. I’m not too fussed by smoking shisha but he was very excited that he had his own and invited me back to his. Part of my head was saying ‘it’s midnight Cinders and this isn’t a great date. Cut your losses now’ and the part that causes me to get in to blog worthy situations said ‘sod it, you’ve wasted a couple of hours so you may as well get a snog out of it’. So, I hopped off my bar stool, realised that the date was a bit shorter than me, and followed his skinny legs out of the bar.

Back at his the conversation did flow better and we were laughing and joking. He went through the palaver of setting up the shisha and I took the piss out of the effort he was going to just to get a girl to suck something in his new apartment. Of course lines like that do me no favours but he grabbed me and kissed me. So far so good. Nice pressure, hands not wandering just yet, no saliva issues and…
Next thing I know my top has been yanked up around my neck, my bra ripped down and he is sucking on my nipple. Okaaaay, bit fast but feels nice until…
OWWWWWWWWW
He proceeds to chew on my nipple. I squirm, say ouch, kick a leg out and move his head off. So he turns to the other to even the pain out. Bastard.

At this point I regain composure and ask him to call me a taxi. I need ice and my own (hotel) bed. If he worked nipples like he was chewing toffee there was no way he was going anywhere else.

He continued to text over the next few days and he was included in the drunken texting the following Friday. I was horny and decided I wanted to play. I was also so drunk I had one eye shut. So when he replied to ask where I was I thought better of it and said it was too late, I’d bumped in to a friend. That did not go down well it seems.

The next day I text to apologise for drunk texting (I sent 4 people apologies). His reply was a little precious: ‘I didn’t like the way you blew me off. Not cool’.
Calm it sweetheart. I didn’t like you bruising my nips but was still drunk enough to consider a second chance.

I didn’t bother to reply. There’s no point. And my nipples are thankful.

As I left for the airport I thought my Dubai Dating escapades were over. That was until a British guy walked in to the crowded airport lounge bar and asked if the stool next to me was taken.

We did the usual ‘where are you from?’ and ‘where in the GCC do you work?’ chat that defines the start of most expats’ conversations. He was working in Qatar, had been in Dubai working all week and was a newbie expat. I however seem to be an aging expat who spends too much time in that lounge as the barman never lets my glass get empty whilst the hoards of men in dish dashas queue to get as much whiskey in as possible before they return to being good Muslim boys.

We managed to cram in a lot of chat in an hour, including the ‘my ex cheated but karma kicked his arse’ story’. In fact with the endless free wine and the banter it could have been a great date but then airport services killed it like the clock did to Cinderella. The tannoy was calling his name to board. And with that he kissed my cheek and ran to his gate. But I keep being told I’ll meet a man in random places so maybe airport lounges aren’t the worse place to hang out? Next time I’m at least getting an email address though.

An ex of mine from many (many) years ago (god I feel old) now lives in Dubai. So, having gone 8 trips without looking him up I messaged to say I was in town all week. Amazingly he agreed to drinks. On the provisos that I didn’t throw a tantrum, get drunk or flirt. Now if I avoided the middle one then the other two would be taken care of.

I got twatted.

In my defence, I needed a couple of nerve steadiers pre meeting and several wines later the bar snacks were not going to take the edge off.

Some guys get under your skin and stay there. This one did and always will. But we’ve both grown up and I no longer want to rip his clothes off and bite his shoulders (ok by drink 8 I did). Gay Husband did.

Because no ex-date is complete without your Gay Husband crashing it, looking your ex up and down and loudly announcing that there is no way on earth that you ever managed to get him in the sack. Charming.

That set the tone then. The two of them took the piss out of me all night.

But The Ex did say one thing that stuck. I started a rant about how all my exes marry the one after me. This one included (and there was an overlap). But he turned to me, looked at me with his piercing eyes and said:

‘Have you ever considered we realise that we’ll never be the one to make you settle down so we move on to someone that is ready?’.

Now at the time the voice in my head screamed BULL SHIT, but the genuine look in his eyes threw me. Do I give off this vibe that I’m too independent for my own good? Are my walls built so high that climbing them seems the impossible challenge?

Maybe I do need to be more open. Or I just need to stop doing sambuca shots and listening to advice based on what I was like when I was 19. Because I’ve changed. Haven’t I?

I have over 580 lovely followers on Twitter and some I’d count as actual friends, despite never actually meeting them. So, when I tweeted I was being sent to Dubai there were a few people I was staring in the direction of, in a virtual sense.

A Twitter Boy got the hint and proposed a day chilling by his pool and a few drinks. Stupid work got in the way so a few drinks a couple of days later were arranged instead.

We met at my hotel bar… which seeing as the hotel bar attracts prostitutes and this was the second man I was meeting in 3 days it may not have been my best idea.

He took me to a complex I’d never been to before, the Madinat Jumeriah, and we made it to The Agency bar just in time for the end of happy hour. After a few wines and some delicious bar food (the crispy fish tacos there are a must) I realise that non-dates beat real dates hands down. There I am, sat with a man I’ve never met before discussing life, the universe and everything (by that I mean dissecting shit relationships and his commitment phobia) and there’s no voice at the back of my head. That voice that says: ”smile, flirt, don’t tell that story, does he like you? He won’t call you you know, etc etc”. It was just a fun night.

At the end there’s no ‘is he going to kiss me?’ because it was a Friend Date. So a double kiss in the back of the cab held no awkwardness. I could skip back to my hotel room with a wine head, big smile and none of that standard post-date bullshit.

So if I do have to die alone surrounded by cats I’m going to insist on weekly date nights with male friends. Beats the alternatives.

The first date I arranged for the Dubai Dating saga was a Tinder date – of course. Yes Tinder is a shallow place full of oddballs, cheats and wankers but you try meeting people the normal way in my situation!

This guy was one of the guys that replied during the Gay vs Straight hook-up challenge but was too late to be the actual hook up. Every so often I’d get a ‘hey Kuwait how’s your week been?’ and because I am unable to ignore messages I’d reply. We’d message for a bit and that would be it. No flirting, no suggestion of meeting and no issue if the messages stopped. He’d text just before I’d gone to Sri Lanka and I’d forgotten to reply. Bored and sore from Dubai Boy’s lack of interest I messaged him. We got chatting and I mentioned I’d be in Dubai the following week.

The night after I arrived my phone rang. I picked up assuming it was a work call. It was this guy! He’d actually used his phone to CALL ME. Something I have ranted about in a previous post. We chatted for 20 minutes, he announced he was picking me up the next day and taking me out. Knows how to dial and be decisive. I likey!

So we meet for our date at the bar in my hotel. Shorter than I had imagined but from London and very outgoing and relaxed. It wasn’t long before I’m laughing my head off and the cosmos are flowing at the Dubai Yacht Club (which, by the way, is a perfect date spot).

I had to meet a colleague later that night – which had given me the perfect out if needed. Because he knew we were on a time limit he suggested a takeaway back at his to soak the booze up and I could call a cab from there. Plus he lived very close to the bar so it made sense. And I’d had 4 vodkas and 6 cosmos on an empty stomach so I was torn between starving and horny.

An order of greasy tacos and dirty nachos arrived and we put on a film. He poured another drink and we finished the food and… Nothing.

By this point my shoes are off, I’m practically stretched out on his sofa like a cat and he’s not looking twice at me. He’d rather watch Star Wars for what was probably the 26th time.

I gave up. He had me in his apartment, tipsy and playful and didn’t twig. So I gave him a kiss and tottered off to meet my colleague.

After that date I didn’t hear from him. But as I knew he wanted to go traveling and I live a 90 minute flight away I hadn’t gone in to it wanting a hot and heavy romance. This took the pressure off as we both knew exactly where we stood.

Logging on to Tinder a few days later I saw he’d disappeared from my messages. Had I been blocked? You don’t block me for being normal (for a change) boyo. Bat-shit crazy psycho stalker yes, but I had done nothing untoward this time. So I text him:

‘I was going to send you a message to say I’m back again next week in case you fancied hanging out. But seeing as you blocked me I can’t’

To be honest I was not expecting the reply:

‘Hey Kuwait. I messaged you to say I was deleting my account and to text me if you wanted to go out again. I guess deleting my account pulled the message.’

Now that wasn’t what I was expecting. So maybe sometimes it’s right to text the boy?

However, he’s away next time I’m in Dubai so it won’t make it to a second. But for once it’s a first with a tolerable ending.

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