Tuesday the 13th
Trip Start Sep 28, 2011
333Trip End Ongoing
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As far as the 'date' part of the evening goes, rarely have I enjoyed one more. I thought it went rather well, with never an awkward silence, dodgy remark or foot-in-mouth comment from me. Good food, good wine, better company. Where's the catch?
Ahhh there it is. Alarm bells should have been ringing (and they were) when for some reason we're making our way back to the hostel to see her friends as soon as the meal is over. That's not protocol is it? Shouldn't we be going dancing? Drinks? Not returning until silly o'clock? This is a new one, but I'll roll with the punches.
I'm then told I've managed to make it to a '4'. Shortly followed by being informed she's 'not interested' and that she 'doesn't get men at the moment'. I'm then left to sit alone while she goes behind the bar to talk to her friends, thick as thieves, safety in numbers, back to base. In the moment it appears that I was a meal ticket. I slowly set the half finished beer bottle on the counter and walk out.
I'm not one to expect anything from taking a girl out for dinner. I don't expect a kiss, or sex, marriage or anything else just because I put a visa card down. Nor do I pre-empt it, as I know I need to do pretty well before, during and after in order to seal the deal. I'm actually very comfortable in the environment. I don't get too nervous, and I enjoy asking and answering questions, telling and hearing stories and finding common ground. Just a small consideration then, is that she is actually interested in me before she says 'yes'. Call me old fashioned, traditional, whatever you will. I don't think it's really too much to ask. Otherwise I just feel used.
Staggering around the Zona Rosa looking for anyone I know with a bottle of Chilean red inside me isn't fun. I end up talking to some idiots at a shot bar, all of whom are looking to "smash" something tonight because they're not "fags." All of whom seem to be doing much better than I am, with numerous girls fawning over every word and sleazy grind. Maybe there is something to be said for all this "smashing" that appears to be going on. As I've said before, maybe I need to be more of an arsehole.
I manage to run into some pals, sink a ridiculous amount of shots and return to a darkened hostel in the early hours. There in the TV room, for all to see, making no attempt to be subtle, are two stark naked individuals, having a very loud, animalistic shagathon. He's mounted her from behind, pointing, smiling and waving at us through the glass, similar to a Patrick Bateman scene in American Psycho. She's screaming the house down, either uncaring, unaware or just downright stupid. Regardless they're screwing as if their lives depended on it, while half the hostel looks on through the sliding doors. Another timely reminder that everyone seems to be having a lot better luck than I am. Perhaps I shouldn't arrange dates for the 13th.
I've realised I've actually given this whole episode much more thought, time and type than it was worthy of. I'm away to take my laptop into the toilet.